Every Man for Himself

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or anything related to Lord of the Rings. I am not making any money from this… Damn! :P

Chapter 12: Countdown

5 May 3019 – Late Night

"You don't suppose he got lost or something do you?" wondered Pippin fearfully.

"Of course not," reasoned Merry. "He's got too much sense to get lost. I bet he's even now making his way back here."

"But Merry," said Pippin, green eyes widening. "What if he's not? What if something's happened to him? What if those Men caught him? What if-"

"Pippin will you be quiet!" said Merry sharply. "Those thoughts have been crossing my mind too since he left – I don't need to be reminded of them even more."

"Sorry Merry." Pippin heavily sat himself down on the ground. His elder cousin sighed and joined him.

"It's alright Pip," he said gently. "I'm sure we're worrying for nothing. After all, Sam managed to find Frodo in that tower without anything terrible happening. I'm certain he'll be able to find him now."

For a moment the two fell into silence before Merry's head perked up and he looked intently at the door. He could have sworn that he had heard something outside their room. "Do you hear something?" he asked Pippin in a hushed voice. The young Took frowned in confusion and listened carefully. The sound of careful footfalls in the hallway met his ears.

"That sounds like one of the Big Folk," he whispered. "It sounds like they're going to…"

"Frodo and Sam's room," finished Merry in a horrified whisper. The two pairs of eyes widened to the size of saucers and both hobbits hastened to the door of their room. They burst out of it and into the hallway just as Aragorn's hand turned the doorknob to the adjacent room.

"Aragorn!" cried Merry loudly as he flung his arms out in a welcoming gesture. The King jumped and turned to the hobbits, a confused and concerned frown on his features.

"Yes, Merry?" he said, suspicious at once at the bright and innocent smiles he received. "Is there a problem?"

"We just…" Merry's eyes flew to Pippin, silently begging for help.

"We thought we heard someone coming," rallied Pippin. "So… So we thought that maybe you'd had some news or something." Aragorn's eyes narrowed.

"And I would be coming to tell you all this in the middle of the night, would I?" The faces of the hobbits fell rather convincingly.

"We didn't think of that," mumbled Pippin.

"Well it could have been urgent news," muttered Merry.

"Indeed," said Aragorn, still looking dubious. "I just thought I'd check on Sam. A hobbit who does not eat is a concerning matter."

"NO!"

Aragorn stared in astonishment as Merry and Pippin placed themselves between him and the door. "You don't want to be doing that," said Merry quickly. Aragorn's eyebrows shot up.

"And why ever not?"

"Because… Sam's sleeping," said Merry almost desperately. "And I really don't think it a good idea to be waking him so late, especially knowing how tired he was… is…" The hobbit corrected himself quickly, scowling at how uncooperative his tongue was being.

"He really doesn't want to be woken up," provided Pippin after a pause.

"I won't be waking him, Pippin," assured Aragorn a little slowly. "Not unless it is absolutely necessary. I just want to make sure that he isn't falling ill."

"Sam fall ill?" said Pippin.

"Not a chance!" said Merry.

"He's as strong as an ox."

"Hardly been ill a day in his life!"

"Well that may seem," said Aragorn, starting to sound more than a little impatient. "But might I remind you both that it was not so long ago that Samwise was on the brink of death and is even now still recovering from the Quest. He is not as strong as he once was. He must not yet strain himself overmuch and I fear that he may be worrying himself to illness over Frodo's situation. Now if you'll excuse me, I must check on him."

"You don't need to worry about Sam," said Merry quickly. "We… We checked him ourselves." There was a silence that seemed to ring loudly around the apartment. Merry unobtrusively stomped on Pippin's foot.

"Yes!" exploded the Took suddenly. "That's right. We asked him some questions just before we went to dinner and he assured us that he was quite fine. Just tired. So there's really no need to go checking on him."

Aragorn's frowned deepened. "All the same," he began. "I would feel much better if I-"

"What is going on here?" The three turned to find Legolas and Gimli considering them with questioning gazes.

"Absolutely nothing at all!" said Merry loudly.

"Nothing happening here," provided Pippin with his most charming and innocent grin.

"Nope," agreed Merry. "We were all just about to go to bed." Aragorn's head snapped furiously back to face the hobbits. As he was distracted by them, Legolas worked hard to school his face into a blank expression. He could not help but be amused by the desperation and tension he sensed radiating from the small folk as they put all of their efforts into diverting the King's attention. He also found it quite entertaining to see his old friend caught in such a dilemma.

"Now really, you two," Aragorn was saying. "Enough is enough. I promise you that I will not awaken Sam unless it is absolutely necessary. I have his best interests at heart. Surely that should be good enough for you."

"Of course it is!" said Merry. "But… ah… the thing is-"

"What in Arda's name is happening here?"

The two young hobbits jumped at the sharp voice and spun around to face the owner of it with a shrill yelp of, "GANDALF!" The wizard's bushy brows drew down into a stern frown as he considered the two, both looking tense and uncomfortable. "What have you done now?" he demanded.

Both Merry and Pippin were distracted for a moment as they swelled indignantly. "What do you mean, now?" stipulated Pippin. "We've been perfectly good!"

"Peregrin Took," bristled Gandalf. "The words 'perfectly' and 'good' will never fall into the same sentence when you and your cousin are the subject matters. Now what have you done?"

"We have done absolutely nothing," said Merry unashamedly and half-truthfully.

"Nothing but prevent me from examining Samwise," said Aragorn irritably. "So if you will be so kind as to step aside, gentlemen, I will go and do that now." Merry and Pippin immediately huddled closer together, still between Aragorn and the door.

"We've already told you," said Merry. "We can't let you do that."

"Do what?"

The hobbits yelped again and everyone turned to see Faramir and Éowyn regarding the group with politely puzzled faces. Pippin bit his bottom lip and looked nervously from Merry to Aragorn to Gandalf to Faramir. Merry started muttering under his breath something along the lines of people not going to bed when they should be. Aragorn sighed.

"Pippin," he said. "I didn't think that such a simple matter would have to come to this – but either you allow me to enter through that door right now or I will have to dismiss you from my service as a Guard of the Citadel."

Pippin paled visibly and stared up at Aragorn with wide, fearful eyes, almost causing the King to change his mind. But at last the tweenager took a step to the side, grimacing an apology to Merry as he abandoned his cousin to his fate. The elder hobbit swallowed and looked up at Aragorn's stern face with wide eyes.

"Merry," began Aragorn in a voice that carried austere warning. Recognising defeat, the hobbit's head bowed and he too stepped out of Aragorn's way. Then at last Aragorn turned the handle to Frodo and Sam's room and opened the door.

"Merry," whispered Pippin in such a tone that only his cousin could hear him. "Should we start running?" Merry shook his head.

"It would do no good," he murmured back. "Their legs are too long. They would overtake us within five strides."

They and everyone else followed Aragorn into the bedroom, everyone looking curious while the hobbits looked plain petrified. The pair started backing towards Faramir and Éowyn who seemed the most likely candidates to offer them protection should the need for it arise.

Aragorn was silent as he came to Sam's bedside. There was a hobbit sized lump hidden amidst a mound of blankets. But the lump was not moving. There was no physical sign to indicate that Sam was breathing. Aragorn couldn't even see any part of his body from beneath the blankets, suggesting that perhaps the hobbit was not able to breathe. With a concerned frown, the King quickly peeled back the covers from the area where the head should have been. Expecting to see a pile of light brown curls, Aragorn was aghast when he saw a head-shaped ball made from a nightshirt and a pillow that should have been Sam's upper body.

"Meriadoc, Peregrin," said Aragorn in a conversational voice. He slowly turned to face them, his expression strangely calm. But the hobbits immediately went rigid, all colour draining from their faces. They could not remember Aragorn ever calling them by their full names. No one ever called them by anything but their pet names unless they were in trouble. And by the hard fire they could see burning in Aragorn's eyes, it looked like they were in BIG trouble. "Would you care to explain exactly what it is I am looking at?"

"Aren't you looking at Sam, my Lord?" said Merry weakly.

"No," said Aragorn shortly. Pippin instinctively cowered further behind Merry. "I am looking at pillows."

"Really?" said Merry in quite a convincing surprised tone. "But… I thought Gandalf promised he wouldn't turn us into anything unnatural."

"Gandalf did not promise to not turn anyone into anything unnatural," said Gandalf sharply. "Now where is he?"

"Where's who?"

"SAM!" At the sound of the gardener's voice, the two younger hobbits had jumped and whirled around to face their companion, their slightly hysterical cries of surprise being strong evidence of their severely frazzled nerves. Sam himself jumped, surprised and rather put off when everyone turned to stare at him.

"Where in the Shire have you been?" exclaimed Merry loudly. "We all thought that you were asleep. In your bed. Because you said you were so tired. Too tired to even want supper. Isn't that right, Sam?"

At the severe looks Merry and Pippin were giving him, Sam nodded his head vigorously. "Oh yes, sirs," he said. "I was sleeping, but then I… ah… I woke up. And I thought I'd… I'd go for a bit of a walk."

"You thought you'd go for a walk in the middle of the night?" said Aragorn with a disbelieving look.

"Yes sir," said Sam with another nod, the colour creeping up his ears. He had never been good at lying. "Such a lovely night, sir."

"It is indeed," commented Aragorn. "So lovely that you thought you'd go out for a walk without telling anyone? So lovely that you carefully positioned pillows beneath your blankets before leaving for this walk?"

"Ah… y-yes, sir," said Sam uncertainly, the colour spreading to his cheeks. "That sounds about right, sir."

"So where did you go for this walk?" inquired Aragorn.

"Ah… J-just around."

"Samwise Gamgee!" Sam jumped and turned to Gandalf, his features wearing the distinct look of a young child caught by his parents doing something he knows he's not allowed to do.

"Y-yes M-Mr Gandalf sir?" he managed to stammer.

"Where did you go?"

It was amazing how alike the old wizard and his gaffer sounded in voice, mused Sam. His eyes darted to Merry and Pippin, silently pleading for help. Merry almost imperceptibly shook his head, a look of guilt in his eyes. Sam lowered his own eyes to the well-polished floor as he answered, not wanting to lie to the intimidating wizard, but not wanting to betray his fellow hobbits and their plans. "Just down to the fourth circle."

"What in Elbereth's name did you go down there on your own for?"

"I just went to the inn there."

"WHAT!" Sam jumped as all of the Big Folk stared at him in astonishment, most of them with their mouths hanging open. Had he been younger, he would have held his hands guiltily behind his back as his toes nervously drew circles on the ground.

"I felt like an ale?" he offered timidly. Aragorn had his eyes closed and began to massage his temples, a habit both he and Gandalf seemed to have picked up from Elrond over the years. Aragorn mused that he would rejoice the day he ever met a hobbit that would give him a straightforward answer. In fact, he would make that day a public holiday in all the lands that lay under his rule.

"The truth if you please, Sam," he said.

"But I did go to the inn, sir," said Sam. "And when I got there, I did feel like an ale. But I only had one."

"What then, Samwise?" said Gandalf. Sam shifted uncomfortably, eyes darting around at the faces about him. The memory of meeting Faramir for the first time in Ithilien and the Captain's relentless questioning of his Master suddenly surfaced in his mind. Realising that there was no way he could avoid speaking the truth this time, he hung his head again.

"Then one of the Men came in," he said. Had he looked up, he would have seen Legolas murmuring something to Gimli while everyone tensed, their eyes now fixed on the hobbit. "I didn't see much of his face, but he had dark hair. He grabbed one of the barmaids and dragged her out of the inn, then made her follow him back to his house. I… I followed them out."

"Did you follow them all of the way?" asked Gandalf intently. Sam nodded.

"Yes sir," he said, daring a look back up at the wizard. The tight knot inside of him eased slightly to see that Gandalf no longer looked particularly angry. He suddenly felt as though he could elaborate. "All the way to the front door – not a particularly nice front door though. The house is a wreck, sir."

"But could you identify it again?" asked Aragorn eagerly.

"Aye, sir," said Sam with another nod. "I made sure as I'd be able to."

"Thank you, Sam," said Aragorn earnestly. He turned to Gandalf, his expression thoughtful and somewhat relieved. "I think I might have a plan after all."

Desmond closed the attic door behind him with a snap. Arlyn jumped at the sound, feeling about as far from calm as one could get. As her eyes adjusted to the new light, she noted the presence of Reynard, a man she did not know and a small figure about the size of a child. The small one did not look well at all. What little she could see of his face in the dim light was discoloured, and his dark, curly hair was limp and soaked with sweat. He was shivering badly.

"Good evening," said the unidentified man. Arlyn gasped and jumped to turn to him, his icy voice piercing her heart like a wraith's cry.

"Wh-who are you?" she stuttered. The man chuckled, a truly horrible sound, and rose to his feet from his previous position seated on a dusty old crate.

"Never you mind," he said. "Just you see that you do as you are told. Or else you might be looking something like this fellow here before the night fades." He indicated to the small figure. With a jolt as though she had just been struck by lightning, Arlyn realised that this was one of the acclaimed Periannath. She could see his strangely large feet dangling limply several inches off the ground.

"What do yeh want with me?" she asked fearfully.

"Yer ter look after this 'alflin' fer a bit," said Desmond. "'E's sick, see. Got a fever. Yer job is ter bring it down."

"W-what about 'is bruises?"

"Leave 'em," snapped Desmond. "Jus' bring 'is fever down." Arlyn glanced around at the three men before tentatively moving closer to the Perian. On closer inspection, he looked to be in a terrible way. The barmaid drew out a slightly trembling hand and took away the damp rag resting on his brow. She felt his temperature for herself, and let out a hiss of dismay at how hot he was.

"He'll need a lukewarm bath," she said. "This fever's dange-"

"No!" answered Seregon immediately. "No baths. You are to do what you can for him as he is."

Arlyn bit her bottom lip, regarding the small creature before her. She could tell that he was very weak, and without the proper care he would not likely last long. Nevertheless, she would have to do what she could for him.

"I'll need a jug of cool water," she said softly. "And a blanket. And a basin of lukewarm water. And… do yeh have ingredients fer a broth?"

Frodo could not understand what was happening. One moment he was stuck in another horrible nightmare, and the next he was back in the attic. But this time something was different about his surroundings. It took him some moments to realise that he was being held by a pair of gentle arms. It had been a long time since he had been held so. Of course, there had been occasions during the Quest where one of the Big Folk had carried him, but this was different. A very faint memory of being held like this by his mother surfaced in his mind. He gave a small sigh of content. Though he felt absolutely abysmal and knew that he was not out of danger, he somehow felt at least a little safe in these arms.

Arlyn held the small body carefully, being mindful of any hidden injuries he might have. It had been a long time since she had held such a small person. The last time had been when she had helped look after her sister's son when he had fallen dreadfully ill some years ago. The young lad had had a fearful fever that would not abate and had eventually claimed his life. At the memory of her nephew's dying moments – imprisoned in a nightmare that he would never escape – Arlyn held the Perian closer.

For a couple of hours, the barmaid continued to bathe the halfling's face, neck and hands, occasionally chafing his feet to try and draw the fever down from his head. But without being permitted to bathe his full body, Arlyn did not know what good any of it would do. Without the proper medicines, his fever would soon rise again. Forcing herself to not think of what would happen to her charge then, she looked up at Desmond.

"I'll need ta make him a broth," she said softly, not wishing to disturb the halfling in his light doze. "He'll need ta keep up his strength ta fight the fever."

"We dun' have that sorta stuff," said Reynard.

"Then one of us will have to go and get it," said Seregon pointedly.

"I'm not goin' out again!" exclaimed Reynard. "I already risked me neck gettin' that letter ter the King! Des can go."

"I ain't goin'!" countered Desmond. "I jus' went out ter get the flamin' woman!"

"Well one of you will have to go," cut in Seregon sharply. "As the whole city is currently looking for me. So decide who is going quickly and get on with it."

Perhaps twenty minutes later, Reynard was stalking down the street, muttering under his breath while mentally repeating the required ingredients for the broth.

As the grey misery of a long storm finally dissipates into a light shower and then dissolves into non-existence, so the gloom of night gradually deserted the world as Arien guided the Sun higher into the heavens. The beloved Maia watched with a smile as its first mighty rays spilled colour and warmth onto the canvas of a new day. But while many turned their faces to this comforting and familiar touch of the morning and closed their eyes in bliss, Aragorn paced his room while mulling over the plan still formulating in his mind, completely oblivious to the change that was this new day. With a frustrated sigh he impatiently ran his fingers through his slightly dishevelled hair. Not for the first time since this ordeal had started, he asked himself how it had all come to pass. He was the King of Gondor, was he not? It was therefore his responsibility to see that such crimes as kidnapping were prevented from happening.

Well! What a great success he had been so far! Not only was he failing abysmally in bringing the lower circles into control, he had allowed for the Ringbearer of all people to be kidnapped and mistreated. Who knew what unforgiving nightmare was now feeding on the little peace of mind that Frodo had so far managed to attain after the completion of the Quest?

Aragorn sighed again and threw himself into a convenient chair. His currently stormy grey eyes turned to the eastern window. He lowered his lids as the Sun climbed higher, its dazzling light and warmth pouring into the room. Aragorn remembered a time not so very long ago when the imminent approach of dawn had been his only source of hope.

He did not know how long he sat there, but very suddenly, he opened his eyes again and rose to his feet. He left the room swiftly, making his way to the lowest level of the citadel where the gold vaults were.

The sun was rising swiftly as Arlyn ladled the thin vegetable broth into a chipped mug and returned to the attic. When she sat back in her place by the Perian's chair, she saw that he was awake, though barely. And it was obvious that he was confused and in pain. She felt her own heart clench agonisingly as she listened to his laboured wheezes. In turn, she found him studying her own face with fever-bright eyes and a frown.

"Here, sir," said Arlyn softly. She had her back carefully turned to the shadowed corner where Seregon sat watching. She did not think he would be too pleased to hear her addressing his prisoner so formally. "Have some o' this. Yeh'll feel better fer it. It's broth." Frodo, feeling too weak and weary to refuse, sipped tentatively from the mug as it came to his lips. When he had had as much as he could handle, Arlyn put the mug on the ground by her feet and offered him some water before returning to sponging his face and neck with the damp cloth. Frodo didn't take his eyes off her.

"I seem to remember your face," he said at last in a cracked voice barely above a whisper. "But I cannot place your name."

"My name's Arlyn," answered the barmaid. "I work at 'The Silver Springs'."

Frodo nodded, accepting this answer, though at that moment he couldn't really process it. He felt his eyelids getting heavier again, and he thought longingly of sleep. But even as the mesmerising melody of slumber pulled him ever closer to that other place, he noticed the streams of daylight sifting through the grimy window of the attic.

"Is it morning, Lady Arlyn?" he said drowsily. "I believe I've forgotten what morning looks like."

And then he was asleep.

Aragorn sat alone in the majestic Great Hall, for he had excused the guards of their duty for a while. Long had he sat on his throne, his gaze travelling around him to take in the rich marble carvings of plant and animal and king. He had not yet had the opportunity to appreciate how beautiful this place was. But it was a foreign beauty. Being raised by Elves and the Wild, he had been accustomed to seeing the virtues of living things. He had not often given his reverence to stone. To him this hall felt cold – like a melting icicle clinging to a branch on a late winter's afternoon. It had survived the test of time so far, and was still fair to behold. But it now seemed familiar, had lost some of its virtue, and was still so very cold.

But Aragorn would still not take such things for granted. After all, this was his home now. He had responsibilities towards this hall of halls, and all of the rooms and passages leading off it. He would have to look after them if they were to see another generation of kings.

As his gaze roved across the carvings of these lords of old, he saw suddenly a scattering of red beads embedded in the monotony of grey stone. His mind immediately flew to the blood-decorated letter folded carefully in one of his pockets. Remorse flooded his heart to think of what his friend must be suffering at the hands of those Men. Remorse and a pounding fury.

Almost impulsively, Aragorn looked down below him to the foot of the dais where his throne was raised. Nine full sacks sat heavily and almost innocently on the ground. Though they were closed, Aragorn could just see a wink of gold. And for one moment, he hated that gold with every fibre of his being. Right then, it was not a materialistic necessity that sustained people's way of life. It was a curse and a bane that incurred some of the deadliest plagues of the mind – greed, lust, obsession and jealousy. For one moment, Aragorn would have liked nothing better than to throw the coins out of the window and be done with it. But this notion was interrupted by another voice.

"So you have come to a decision then?"

Aragorn did not know how long Gandalf had been watching him, but he found he did not really care. "Yes," he said heavily. "I have. Though it is precarious."

"What is your plan then?"

The rest of the day seemed to pass in a thick miasma. Time passed in fits of speed and tardiness. Sam usually was not very fond of such a day. He much more preferred it when time moved at a steady and reliable pace. But on this day, such a thought barely even crossed his mind. The only part of him that really kept track of the hours was his stomach. When it was time for another meal, it would not fail to let him know. But now, Sam was beginning to understand what Mr Frodo had been going on about in Rivendell – he knew he had to eat, but eating was the very last thing he wanted to do. Now as the gardener sat outside in the warm afternoon sunshine, he knew that it was time for afternoon tea. He knew that he should rise to his feet and go to the dining hall to get at least something to keep him going. But how could he when it was bare hours until the time for the Exchange (as it had come to be named)?

The young hobbit frowned at the ground as he swung his legs back and forth like a fidgeting child. More than anything, he wanted to go back to the Men's house right this moment and get his master out himself. But he knew he would never be able to do it on his own without something going wrong. So what, then? He couldn't sit around all day doing nothing – it would drive him mad.

"Sam?"

But then again, there wasn't much he could do. Not until the Exchange, anyway –

"Master Gamgee?"

But to think of his poor master lying in that desolate house, friendless and beyond immediate help was more than the hobbit could bear.

"Samwise!"

Sam jumped and his head snapped up to regard Aragorn towering above him. The gardener hurried to his feet and bowed a little clumsily, his stiff muscles throbbing in protest at the sudden movement after long sitting.

"Sorry, sir," he said. "I was in another world completely, sir."

"So I see," said Aragorn. "I apologise for interrupting your thoughts, but I need you to come with me."

"Of course, sir," said Sam. He followed the King as he led him back into the citadel and to his private study where Legolas, Merry, Pippin and Faramir were awaiting them.

"Sir?"

Seregon's eyes glittered with a mysterious yet undeniably hostile light. "What?" he hissed. Arlyn bit her bottom lip, debating whether or not she should continue. But a white heart overrode the voice of reason that screamed at her to think first of her own safety. She gulped her fear down and summoned up every ounce of courage left within her.

"Sir, about the halflin'," she said. "I've managed ta get his fever down a mite but-"

"Good," interrupted Seregon. He moved over to the being lying in a fitful doze. His prisoner was trembling still, and even he could tell that the fever was still rather high. But it mattered not. Only a few hours more and the useless creature would be taken off his hands for good.

"But sir…" Seregon scowled and glared at the barmaid, irritated that she still felt the need to natter on.

"What?" he snapped, rising to stand at his full towering height. Arlyn visibly cowered, and though Seregon wanted to curl his lips up in satisfaction, his mask remained cold and intimidating – daring her to continue.

"H-he's still in a r-right bad way," stammered Arlyn, all courage draining out of her as she met those steely eyes. But she continued on, fighting to get her words out. "I-I really think he ought ta be t-taken to a proper healer straight away, s-sir."

"Is that so?" said Seregon softly. Arlyn's eyes lowered nervously to the ground.

"Th-that fever's gonna finish 'im off, s-sir…" she continued. "And he's weak as it is. H-he's developin' a nasty cough a-an' he won't be able ta breathe soon an' some o' them cuts and bruises look right nasty and will only be encouragin' the fever and… Sir, if he don't get the proper attention needed, he'll die."

"Everyone dies, girl," said Seregon. "That's a lesson you'll have to learn sooner or later. Will the halfling survive to see the morning?"

For a moment Arlyn stared hard at the man before her. She wondered briefly what had turned his heart so cold. Had it been the war? Had it claimed someone dear to his heart? Somehow she knew this was not the answer. No… for she perceived a spirit and a soul long darkened by some force or another. As the moment passed, and her silent question went unanswered, Arlyn blinked and answered the man's question.

"He should last a day or two more yet, sir," she said softly, her eyes lowering to the ground. Seregon nodded slowly, perceiving the change that had come about this woman. Was that pity he saw lurking around her eyes? His own expression darkened. Pity was something that he could not tolerate. To display pity and compassion meant a weak mind and an easily moved spirit. And weakness was something that Seregon abhorred more than anything else.

"What's going on?" Sam could not hold back the question as it spilled from his mouth. He blushed furiously at his own forwardness, not seeing the brief smiles that lit Aragorn, Faramir and Legolas's features, if only for a moment.

"Thanks to your escapade to the lower circles last night, Sam," said Aragorn. "I have been able to conceive a plan that should return Frodo to us without having to lose so much money."

"That's wonderful," said Merry, a small frown on his features. "But what exactly does this have to do with us? Unless, of course, you need us to fetch some supplies or something for this plan to work?"

"This plan has everything to do with you, Merry," said Aragorn. "Out of all the peoples that walk Middle Earth, Elves and Hobbits are the best at walking it silently. Has it not often been said of your folk that hobbits possess a magic allowing them to disappear without a sound?"

"Yes…" said Merry slowly, exchanging a confused look with Pippin and Sam.

"When it is time for the Exchange," continued Aragorn. "I will need you three and Legolas to come as well-"

"But-" Sam's explosive interruption cut Aragorn off. "But didn't the letter say that you had to go alone, sir? They'll kill Mr Frodo if we come!"

"They are not going to kill Frodo," said Aragorn in a determined voice. "Because they are not going to see or hear you. You three and Legolas will go to the public gardens in the fifth circle an hour before the Exchange. You will go into hiding and you will stay in hiding. Unless something goes terribly wrong, you are not to reveal your presence to the Men in any way. If all goes well, the Men will hand Frodo over to me and they will get their money. Then Merry, Pippin and Legolas will follow them back to their house. My guess is that they will stay up for a while celebrating their 'victory' before they all go to bed. When you are certain that they are asleep, you are to break into the house and retrieve the gold. Sam, you will stay with me and help me with Frodo. I have a feeling that he is going to need the support your presence will bring more than anything else."

There was a pause of silence as this information sank into the hobbits' minds. "It's a good plan," said Merry at last, a frown still gracing his features. "But what do we do once we've gotten the gold out of the house? We can't carry it all the way back here without extra help. And what about the Men?"

"By the time you get the gold out," said Aragorn. "It should be morning. Faramir will be waiting outside with some guards. Once you are out, Faramir and some of the guards will go in and arrest the men while the rest of the guards will help you bring the gold back here."

There were nods as everyone agreed to this plan. But suddenly Sam spoke up. "But sir," he said to Aragorn. "How is Lord Faramir going to know where to go?"

"Either you will give him an excellent description and directions," said Aragorn. "Or you will have to take him there yourself."

It was so swelteringly hot. But at the same time, he felt unbearably dry, though he was sweating profusely as his body fought to cool down. His cracked lips and taut skin were aching for water. His parched throat was screaming for moisture while his tongue was like a mass of sand and cotton in his mouth. He had never been so hot in his life. But then again, he supposed that it should come as no surprise that he was so hot considering he was in a mountain of fire.

The flames about him produced an inconceivable amount of heat, burning his skin even though he did not touch them. When he breathed, it was not air his body took in, but black fumes – poisonous gases making him want to gag and choke. But how could he even think of such things when that familiar Pulse was ringing in his ears… drumming in his head… beating in his heart… That lulling Rhythm which had entwined Itself with his own life's music. He closed his tearing eyes as he felt that precious Beat becoming stronger and louder and faster than ever before. It left in him the sensation like he had just taken a wild ride on a runaway pony. He felt in himself a sense of power and daring. This Pulse, this Rhythm and Beat and Force… It gave him everything. It was feeding him his very life, even at this moment. And It was becoming louder and stronger and faster so that everything about him melted into a blur and all he could think about was this Beat. It was so fast that each stress was barely distinguishable from the last or the next. And so loud. His ears were almost hurting with Its incessant pounding. No – they were hurting. The Pulse was becoming unbearable and the blur of surroundings about him began to spin in a nauseating manner. He found himself sinking to the rocky ground as his legs turned to jelly. He tried putting his hands to his ears, wanting to block out the Sound. But It would not die down. It was in his ears, his chest, his stomach, his head… It was everywhere and he could not escape It. He could not rid himself of the unrelenting Pulse or Its meaning. It sang to him of guilt and failure and weakness though It spoke no words. He felt his chest becoming tighter as he fought to draw in breath. But the Pulse was twisting around him like a snake, squeezing him tightly – unforgiving. What breath he did draw in was poisonous and made his head feel lighter while his limbs were leaden heavy. He felt sure he was about to burst. Suddenly he dissolved into a fit of coughing that ripped at his lungs and throat. He could hear and feel the Beat laughing at him. Taunting him. Taking pleasure in his suffering. Enjoying every moment of his self-induced punishment.

And he hated It.

He hated It as It refused to bring him comfort or peace. He hated It as It ate away at his soul. He hated It as It distorted him into another person – some unrecognisable creature from nowhere. He hated It as It filled his entire being, driving out everything that he fought to retain. He hated It as It completely and utterly destroyed him…

But he could not help but love It…

Seregon watched in silence as once more the prisoner was overcome by nightmares. He watched as the barmaid tried to bring his mind to ease – 'tried' being the key word. His eyes narrowed as she stroked the halfling's fevered brow and began to softly sing a child's lullaby. She was telling him not to worry, that everything would be fine.

Seregon almost gave voice to the bitter and twisted laugh rising within him. No doubt the halfling knew better. And the woman would soon learn. Yes… the woman would soon learn her last lesson alright. Everything was not going to be fine. For she knew too much now. Too much for her own good.

Seregon's lips curled up into a cruel smile.

5 hours…

TBC

A/N: I'm sorry! Sorry! Sorry! Sorry! Sorry! Sorry! I never imagined that it would take me so long to update. But I just had no idea how to write it! Only within the last couple of days have I been able to really get anywhere with it. So sorry for the wait, but if it's any consolation, the next chapter is the Exchange, and I've already started writing it so hopefully it shouldn't be too long until I update. Summer holidays have just begun, so I don't have much of an excuse now for not writing. ;) But thank you everyone for being so patient. I only hope the wait wasn't for nothing.

Again, my biggest thanks to Lexi for her help. Expect a big box of chocolates in the mail for putting up with my constant talk about nothing else but fanfiction. ;) And also a huge thanks to Vorney for her very helpful input. :D thanks a million!

Astron-Meares – Oooh! Thank you for that. This story is starting to sound a bit like 'Treasures'. I checked it out but I couldn't find where the whore goes and gives information about Frodo's situation. I think she just leaves it. So I'm hoping to make this story a bit different in that respect anyway. But I'll have to see what else I can do. And thank you for the words of encouragement too. I must admit, I have little faith in this chapter, but hopefully the next one will be better. ;)

Breon Briarwood – You are absolutely right. Sam is, after all, the most reliable and practical hobbit that Tolkien brought into existence. ;) And yes – the time for the rescue has come. Next chapter we shall see what dramas ensue. But I'm afraid the TLC will have to wait just a little bit longer. Probably the chapter after next. ;)

Elijahs-gurl – Thank you very much for the wonderful words of praise and confidence! :D But I'm sorry to say that it's not quite 'all good', as you put it. You'll find out what I mean in the next chapter. ;) But your lovely words are greatly appreciated. :D

FrodoBaggins87 – Hehehe. Hurray for Sam indeed! I must admit, I'm quite proud of him for finding the house and all without being caught. Bit of a shame that he was caught in this chapter though. Lol. Oh well, better being caught by Gandalf and Aragorn than being caught by the men. :D

Graphite ZK – Lol, thank you for the lovely words of wisdom. :P But again, my deepest apologies at the delay in updating. (hangs head in shame)

Indolosse – Lol. You're very welcome. I'm glad you enjoyed the intro to the previous chapter. I've been wanting to write something about that point in Frodo's life for a while now. And you are most welcome for the diversion from homework too. :D Congratulations on finally writing something of your story. I'll be wanting to read it now!!! Hehehe. But I assure you I will return the characters back in one piece after I'm finished with them. Though they may be a bit worn for wear. ;)

Kaewi – Hehehe. Well I wouldn't be a very good writer if I didn't have our loyal Sam doing something of the like! :P And you're right – Aragorn's reluctance is a little out of character, especially considering what Tolkien writes about his relationship with Frodo in the books. But I guess he is the King now and he does have to think of his people first. I'm glad you enjoyed the input of the blood, though, and the dream sequences. I enjoyed writing them all very muchly. :D

lindahoyland – Lol, thank you very much. :D Gripping, eh? Well that all sounds good to me! :D I am honoured to be on your favourites list – I only hope that I don't disappoint you! I'm sure there will be plenty of scenes of healing between Aragorn and Frodo in the very near future, so keep a look out! And don't worry, there's still plenty of angst to come. ;)

Night-light Diva – Hehehe, thanks Zaneta. Wow, I've done Tolkien justice, eh? That is wonderful praise indeed! Thanks!!! :D I'm very glad to hear that you're enjoying the story.

SaiyanQueenVega – Hahahaha. Thank you for that cheer – I'm sure Sam appreciates it too. :D Glad you enjoyed Sam's little escapade down to the lower circles. But you are right to feel worried about Arlyn's wellbeing. I'm sorry to say that I have a very bad feeling concerning what's going to happen to her (see the end of this chapter). We shall just have to wait and see though… ;)