The East Gate

by Eastgaters

When Gandalf fell in Moria, The Fellowship escaped through the East Gate with relative ease. This story is what might have occurred had the orcs not fled but kept on coming. Features all the remaining 8 - COMPLETE!

9. Escape and Rescue

The East Gate

Authors The Eastgaters

Cast list
Frodo – Baylor
Samwise – Budgielover
Pippin – Marigold
Merry – Llinos
Legolas – Mainframe
Aragorn – Nilramiel
Boromir – Rachel Stonebreaker
Gimli – Q
Gollum – Llinos
The Wicked Elves – Baylor & Mainframe
Mister and Missus Tugman – Llinos

Story Editor Llinos
Beta Marigold

Chapter 9 – Escape and Rescue

Boromir clenched his teeth and let the breath he was holding escape loudly through his nose. He'd have no luck convincing Gimli of a different course, of that he was certain. Gimli was right, when all was said and done. Still, he rankled at the idea of leaving someone behind who obviously had enough verve to sit and argue the finer points of rescuing a mission. If he couldn't convince the dwarf that he was needed, then perhaps the hobbit could. Peregrin could sell wool fleece to a sheepherder. Clearing his throat, Boromir rose to his feet, "Have it your way, Master Dwarf. Pippin will be most displeased."

Pippin was more than just displeased, he was frightened and he was angry, and he wished that he had minded what his elders had always warned him about eavesdroppers often hearing what they wished they had not. He had, in truth, started to wake up when he heard Boromir stirring, but did not want to intrude in the man's private conversation with Gimli about the loss of the dwarf's family. Pippin's turn for that would come later, and in privacy. So he had tried not to listen, pretended that he still slept, but then his two friends had begun to argue quietly.

At first Pippin could not believe it! Gimli was refusing to go on! He was going to sit here in this hole until he died while his friends went on without him. He couldn't be serious! Truly the dwarves had stiff necks! Well, so did hobbits. Pippin cracked his eyes open, just enough to see Boromir looking down at him thoughtfully and Pippin understood at once that it would be up to him to convince Gimli that he must go on. Pippin sat up, stretched and yawned.

"You are both eating without me." He pouted, only half-jestingly. Pippin fixed Gimli with a calm stare. "If we are all going to starve to death together we could at least divide up the food properly, or perhaps we should just end it quickly?"

"Don't be ridiculous!" Gimli spluttered in exasperated response. "It's perfectly simple, you two have to go on and obviously I cannot come with you."

Pippin ignored this and turned to look up at Boromir, craning his neck. "I don't think I'm brave enough to do it myself Boromir, but you could kill me quickly, and I suppose it wouldn't hurt much." He looked at Gimli again. "Or perhaps Gimli can deliver your death blow and mine, as that is what he is doing anyway, because I won't leave here without both of you and that is just that."

Boromir settled down next to the hobbit, kicking his long legs out in front of him. He decided if he were going to be persuasive at all, he'd better add what he could. "There is another choice to consider. Starving to death is slow but really, after a few days not so painful."

"And how pray would you know?" Gimli challenged. "You'd not be alive to tell the tale."

Boromir ignored this and pulled out the knife he'd used to remove the hobbit's splinter. "But yes, I could easily and swiftly dispatch you, Pippin. You'd feel naught but a warm seeping of the blood from the cut in your throat. You'd feel as if you were going to sleep." He pressed it to his thumb and laid it open, the blood easily spilling to the ground showing just how sharp it was.

Pippin crossed his arms around his knees and gazed levelly at Gimli. "I know all about the stubbornness of the dwarves Gimli. Do you know much about the stubbornness of hobbits? No? Well, they can out-stubborn a dwarf any day of the week and the Took's are the most stubborn of all, and I have been accused of taking the prize even amongst my own clan. I have been called obstinate, adamant, unyielding, inflexible, obdurate, mulish, perverse, tenacious, and unswayable in my stubbornness since before I knew what any of those words meant." He fished in his pack for his pipe and settled himself comfortably, reaching out a hand to the dwarf. "Now, as we are all going to die anyway you may as well share out that Old Toby. Come and sit by me Boromir, and I will teach you how to smoke a pipe…you don't want to die without having learned to smoke a pipe properly do you?

Boromir looked over at Peregrin, his cold calculating gaze never wavering. He laid his knife between them and reached out for the pipe with one hand while sucking on his finger to staunch the blood. "Might as well see what all the fuss is about."

"Come on Gimli, hand over the pouch," Pippin persisted, "because I am not moving from this spot until I hear your oath to Aulë Himself that you will come with us, and do your best to stay alive...no promising to come along and then conveniently falling off the next precipice on purpose. And as I am the only one that can get through that little shaft you will make that promise or we will all die together. What is your choice Gimli?"

Pippin gave Gimli no chance to respond to his ultimatum, instead he picked up the knife that Boromir had set down between them and considered it carefully. He had meant what he said. He would leave neither of his comrades behind. Not looking up he spoke softly. "I will not abandon a friend to die alone, no matter what your reasoning Gimli. If you cannot continue then I will not go without you."

He met Gimli's eyes then and managed a small chuckle, surprised at how calm he felt. "I wish you would have told me your plan before I crawled through that hole though. That was about the scariest thing I have ever had to do."

There was a faint quiver in his voice but his eyes were steady as he looked at his two friends. "I know it will distress you Boromir, but when the time comes I would choose your knife please. I can't think of a death more frightening to a hobbit than starving, and I am sure my complaining about it for several days would be quite annoying. And falling asleep does not sound so terrible, and I am very tired anyway. But do not take me unawares thinking to spare my fear, I would embrace my death as bravely as Gimli will no doubt face his own, in whatever way he chooses to meet his end."

Still holding Boromir's knife he carefully slit his own thumb as Boromir had done, then, before his friends could react, gently took Gimli's hand in his and did the same. Placing the knife carefully back onto the ground Pippin took Boromir's hand, and brought it to meet his and Gimli's, pressing their three bleeding thumbs together and clasping his other small hand over the three joined hands.

"Before we were friends. Now we share blood and are kindred as well. I trust you both to do what you must do, and I place my life in your hands."

Gimli rolled his eyes and looked at Boromir, whose mouth was twitching suspiciously. "Really! Hobbits!" He muttered with an exasperated sigh. "Foolish young Took," he added gruffly, and thought he heard the man chuckle. Gimli placed his other hand on top of Pippin's small one, which still covered their cut thumbs pressed together, their blood mingling, and then Boromir placed his other hand on Gimli's.

Gimli cleared his throat and, with some embarrassment, said, "I swear by Aulë Himself that I will go with you both, and that together we shall win through to freedom, unless fate decrees otherwise." He scowled at Pippin. "Are you happy now, you meddlesome creature?"

Pippin's hand was so small in Gimli's, so hot and pulsing with life, that he felt a pang of remorse for scolding the lad. He squeezed the little hand gently before pulling his own away. "Clean that wound," he barked. "The Lord Boromir just got you clean and look what you've done." He wiped his own hand on his tunic, shaking his head over the proceedings.

Pippin smiled but said nothing, merely wiping his bloodied finger carefully on the remnants of cloth that were still wet and then popping it in his mouth to suck until the bleeding would stop.

There was an awkward pause, and then Gimli looked at Boromir. "Very well," Gimli finally said, and this time he was serious. "I will let myself lean upon a man and a hobbit. No dwarf has ever done so before, not since Durin himself walked this Middle-earth. I shall be first, and I ask you both to keep that fact to yourself." Boromir nodded and Pippin beamed. "And for the love of all dwarf-kind, don't tell that elf!"

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Reaching the edge closest to the Ring-bearer, Aragorn shrugged off his burdens and cast about for a strong vine or long branch.

The Ranger was able to tell when his shouted instructions finally penetrated Frodo's senses, the hobbit slowed, and then stopped his movements. Gollum continued to thrash nearby, out of reach of the Ring-bearer now, but closer to the overhanging tree that he had been pushed towards.

Frodo, on the other hand, was at the moment out of reach, both of tree and hand. He was shoulder deep in the fool's sand, but his face, hair and neck were covered in the stuff. The hobbit's heavy lashes had kept the muck from obscuring his eyes, and Aragorn could see in them that, although Frodo had ceased his physical struggle, he was thrashing still in his mind and heart.

A sudden venomous hiss caused the man to glance back towards Gollum. The creature was groping with his wiry arms, trying to take hold of the hanging branches above him. Again and again, his bony fingers brushed the dangling leaves, and he hissed his frustration with each grasping swipe.

"Yi! Yi! We is caught! Caught! We falling in the fool's sand and the stupid great man pulls the clumsy hobbit out – grrr!"

At once the Ranger had an idea, one that might assist more quickly than groping at the Ring-bearer with a branch.

Gesturing towards Gollum, he spoke quickly, "Samwise, keep a watch on that wretch while I fetch Frodo. I do not know what he will do if he succeeds in getting out, but I do not think it wise to turn our backs to him."

"Right you are Sir," Sam wrinkled his brow as he controlled his urge to ignore the man and leap into the fool's sand to save Frodo himself. "You will pull him out all right, won't you Sir? Only…"

Aragorn managed a crooked smile for the younger hobbit, then taking hold of the lower limbs, pulled himself up into the nearest tree and began moving along the branch closest to the sinking hobbit. As he suspected, it began to bend towards the earth. As the angle of the branch dipped lower, the Ranger stretched onto his belly and edged himself inch by inch closer to the leafy extremities. He moved as quickly as he was able, whilst being cautious, alert for sounds of splitting wood behind him. If he were to fall upon the Ring-bearer from above, it was unlikely that the stout but exhausted hobbit on the bank would be able to save either of them.

"Sam," Frodo choked out, "Sam, don't let them take It. Please, Sam, help me."

At the sound of Frodo's voice, Aragorn started, taking his focus from the smooth wood in front of him and looking towards the mire below. He was less than a staff's length from the hobbit now, and he could see naked terror outlined on Frodo's features. Did the little one actually believe that Aragorn had become a threat? That the man was after the Ring, rather than attempting to rescue him? Although he knew that the Quest was of utmost importance – more important than his own life, or the life of these young innocents that he had sworn to protect – Aragorn would have never taken the Ring from Frodo by force, or even were It offered willingly. Nay, his only design at the moment was to pull Frodo, Ring and all, from the treacherous sands, and if Frodo determined to resist him, the Ranger was unsure that it could be done.

Sam's heart twisted within him at Frodo's desperate cry, he could recognise the Ring-induced confusion in his exhausted master. The branch along which the Ranger was climbing dipped deeper and Sam prayed it would not break and mire them both in the drowning sands. If there were no other way, he would go after Frodo with all the strength of his body and at least tug his master to safety before he drowned himself. If his strength wasn't sufficient, perhaps Frodo could use his body as a bridge to make it to dry land. But right now, Sam realised he was best suited to talking a bit of common sense into his Master.

"Now, Mr Frodo," Sam called in his most 'just-you-let-Sam-take-care- of-it voice', "Strider's there to help you. He's going to pull you out and bring you here ta me. He won't do anything else, Sir, not after he swore and all."

What little of Frodo's face that Sam could see under the sand and muck looked confused and weary beyond words. He could not tell if his master understood his assurances. "He's almost there now, and I want you to reach up an arm to him so he can pull you out of that nasty place." Sam put a slight wheedle into his voice, knowing from years of experience how that tone both annoyed and amused Frodo.

Frodo hunched into himself in the only retreat available at the moment as Aragorn eased himself out on the limb toward him. Just as he was about to return to his struggle in one last attempt to escape these enemies, he finally registered Sam's familiar, comforting voice.

"And a hot bath you'll be needing too, Sir. There must be a bit of soap in my pack. I'll make us some tea and pull out something – you have a bite to eat and a forty winks while I wash them filthy clothes. What Mr Bilbo would say o' them clothes I can't imagine. Most likely he'd…"

Frodo blinked in confusion. Was he trying to escape Aragorn? This made no sense, but even as he sank in mire, something inside him still hissed, "Take It, they will take It."

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Looking Peregrin in the eyes Boromir settled into a somewhat perfunctory mode of operation. "I do believe we'll be needing a crutch for Gimli. Peregrin, see what you can manage. You've already produced more than adequate materials for the splint. Do you think you could conjure up another marvel? Gimli, what do you know about the locking mechanism of the interior door?"

Boromir did not miss the jolt of surprise and the suspicion on Gimli's face. "I swear by my father's God, I will not reveal anything about the hidden secrets of this Mine to anyone, including others in the Fellowship, when we reunite."

Gimli sighed. He would have to be content with this vow.

"There is a latch on the other side," Gimli said at last. "If Master Peregrin would carry a rope through the vent and tie it to the latch, I believe you may have the strength to pull it up and open."

Boromir stood up and fetched the water skins. Emptying first one and then another over his head, he laughed as he shook his head as would a wet dog. "Might as well take advantage of the water," he said as he made his way over to the well to refill the skins dragging fingers through the tangled mess of wet hair.

Pippin looked up at his words but said nothing. Boromir nodded and shook himself again, splattering Gimli with drops of chilly water.

"Stop that," Gimli said sharply. "Or else shake like a dog elsewhere. Is it the habit of Men to refresh themselves thusly? Or is it only the Men of Gondor who do so?"

Boromir gave his head an extra shake to send yet another flurry of droplets everywhere, just because he could. He was rather enjoying teasing the dwarf. He definitely understood now why Legolas baited Gimli so persistently.

After offering the water skins around for one last chance at clean water before they moved on, Boromir refilled them and untied the rope from the well's bucket. He debated tying it to Peregrin rather than letting the lad carry it though the vent and decided against such an obviously distrustful move. His lad had proved himself many times over today. He looked down at Peregrin and saw a steeled determination he'd never really noticed before. There was too much at stake and the lad knew it and would not lose his end of the rope. Whatever they might say about the youngest hobbit, the lad was growing up; fast.

"Up you go, lad! Quick about it and we'll be out of here in time to join the others for dinner or breakfast or tea or whatever it is at the time we meet up with them. I'm sure you and Frodo and Meriadoc and Samwise will have some decent hobbit name for the repast."

"It'll be my fiftieth birthday feast at this rate," The irony of Pippin's words were softened by his grin.

Pippin had made short work of making a crutch for Gimli, and the remainder of the wood and cloth he carried over to Gimli to fashion torches from while he and Boromir worked to open the door.

Pippin found himself perched again on top of the cabinet, and Boromir handed him the end of the rope. He was about to attempt the difficult entry into the tunnel, this time conscious of two sets of eyes watching him anxiously. The entry had been the most difficult part before, though certainly not the most frightening, and Pippin wondered if he would be able to execute the manoeuvre again with the rope in his hand, and decided no, he wouldn't. And none of them could risk him falling at this point.

Thinking quickly he bent and tied the rope around his left ankle where it would be out of the way. There was also the added comfort that if he should get stuck that Boromir could pull him back out. Knowing the way of it now, and where the handholds were, he climbed inside the vent and wriggled down the tunnel as fast as he could go.

Gimli leaned heavily on Pippin's makeshift crutch, wondering whether the lad would make it through safely. He closed his eyes. Boromir murmured to him, "I know he has already traversed this path, but still, I can not help but worry," and Gimli nodded, eyes still closed. He worried, too.

Pippin distracted himself from the pain and discomfort and fear by wondering just what mealtime it was…surely teatime by now? And what would he choose if he could have anything he wanted for his tea…hmmm. Scones definitely, with clotted cream and strawberry jam. And bacon…he would dearly love some bacon. Cheese! But what sort? Perhaps a bit of each of his favourite kinds, especially the smoky flavoured one his Uncle Merimac was so good at making that went so well with Aunt Esmie's twisty buttermilk bread. And a big mug of fresh warm milk and honey with nutmeg sprinkled on the top like he had had when he was just a little fellow and poorly.

Oooh, and dare he even think it…treacle tart with custard! Lots of those fat little sausages his father made at slaughtering time slathered with horseradish…mushrooms, fried with bits of bacon and onion…and then suddenly he was at the end of the tunnel and he hadn't been scared at all! Good old Boromir, thinking to distract him that way!

He was at the tricky turn, and for all of his best efforts the only way he was able to get into the open space that held the door was once again to fall in, and his attempt to cushion his head was an abysmal failure and he spat out some curse words even more colourful than before. His head started ringing and then he felt blood dripping from the already huge lump on his forehead. Perfect! Better get the damned door open before he whacked himself on something else and knocked himself unconscious.

Hurriedly relighting his candle that he had left in place, he untied the rope from his ankle and deftly tied it around the latch. He pulled on the rope three times, the signal they had agreed upon, and slowly but surely the rope became taut and the latch began to slowly lift! Pippin lent what little strength he could and pushed upwards and the latch swung over and away. One obstacle down, then.

He called back into the shaft. "The latch is open! I am going to turn the handle now!" He heard a faint response of encouragement and went back to work. It was a large round handle that was very stiff, but by pulling it with all of his might to get it started and then hanging on it with all of his weight, it turned just a little. When his feet touched the floor again, he repeated the process, then once more. This time he was rewarded with the sound of a faint snick, as though a hidden bolt had been drawn. Oh, yes, please! Again he called to his companions.

"I've finished here! Push now!" Oh, please, he thought. please, let thiswork.

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Sam rambled on, fighting to keep the tension from his voice, one eye looking to his master and the other firmly fixed on that loathsome creature. Was it listening, too? It was going to pay for this, for every grain of dirty sand that soiled his master. 'Keep Mr Frodo watching you and not Strider,' Sam thought.

With wide, exaggerated movements, Sam slung off his pack and flourished it before Frodo. His movements slow and deliberate, he untied it and flung back the flap, rooting among the neatly-packed contents. "Oh, what's this, then? Soap! And look, Mr Frodo, clean blankets. I'll have them all shook out and ready for you after your bath. Can still smell a bit of the cedar in them, you can. A nice mug of hot tea, a bit of dinner and a bath and a lie-down, now don't that sound good? And look here! There might be the tiniest sack of boiled sweets that your Sam tucked away." He straightened and waved a little draw-string bag in the air. "Or maybe you'd prefer a pipe? I've got…" Sam hoped that Aragorn had been taking advantage of his distraction to edge closer to Frodo. He was running out of inanities. And they were all running out of time.

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The door from their trap swung away from him and he saw the guttering flame of the candle held by his youngest student. Grinning wildly, Boromir looked from hobbit to dwarf and back again.

When the door swung away to reveal Pippin, filthy, sweating, and beaming in proud joy, Gimli opened his eyes and tried to hide his own smile in his beard. "Good lad," he muttered, and shifted on the crutch.

But how was he to get through? Pippin scarcely fit, and though Gimli was not a particularly tall dwarf, he was sturdy, and well-armoured. Bulky and heavy, he would need the help of Boromir, who stood grinning at the hobbit. "Well," Gimli said shortly. "Get yourself through. Like a cork in a bottle you'll be," he added as Boromir ducked and squeezed himself in sideways. Pippin vanished from Gimli's sight, blocked by Boromir's bulk and no doubt backing up to make room.

Boromir really did not fit, Gimli thought, shaking his head. How on Middle-earth were they to get through this most secret of secret ways? A giant and a lame dwarf, coached by a halfling.

"Ridiculous creature!" Gimli shouted at Boromir. "Get out and try again."

Boromir swore quietly as he tried to move either in or out of the doorframe, his body contorted in a painful position. He was stuck! He'd had to duck and turn sideways to attempt the barely-dwarf sized doorway and, with his pack on his back and his large frame, he'd not even made it half way through! With his head and most of his body still in the guardroom and his pack and one shoulder in the passageway, he discovered the folly of a rash decision.

"Now what are you going to do? Wait until you starve down?" Gimli called impatiently, "D'yer want a push? He added sarcastically.

Boromir took as deep a breath as he could manage, exhaled mightily and twisted as he pushed himself back into the guardroom; really the only option at the moment. He struck the side of the doorframe as he freed himself and wrenched his shoulder mightily. He swore vehemently out loud. When he couldn't move his arm to drop his pack, he swore again. Finally managing to get his pack off, he picked it up with his good arm, shouted at the hobbit to "pay heed" and angrily threw his pack into the passageway. He stomped over to where they'd set Gimli's and Peregrin's packs and grabbing both, swearing again at the pain in his shoulder he didn't even wait until he reached the doorway before hurling both, with a practiced aim, through the door. He watched as Peregrin ducked and dodged and then made to fetch the abused packs without a word.

Boromir turned away and took another deep breath to calm himself. It would not do to lose himself now. He hadn't realised how close to the surface his impatience rode and how something as small as a bruised shoulder would cause it to flare up. Another deep breath and he felt he just might be able to face his comrades and get on with the task at hand.

Gimli had watched with grim amusement as Boromir wrenched himself out of the passageway, but his humour died as he realised that the man had injured himself. Truly, they were an ill-fated Fellowship. He sighed and tugged on his beard.

Pippin remained silent from the other side, so Gimli knew he also understood the situation. No cheery piping words of encouragement drifted back to the dwarf, just the scuffling sounds of the lad setting the battered packs to rights.

"Very well," Gimli said at last. "Let's think this through before ye try again. You are a bit bigger than most dwarves; it would do well for us to remember that fact." Boromir nodded sharply but looked away, clearly vexed at the situation. "How d'ye propose to get me through?"Gimli continued. "Drag me like a piece of baggage? Or push me like a wheelbarrow full of ballast? Or perhaps have young Pippin carry me through?"

Boromir was in a foul mood. His shoulder ached something fierce. He'd bruised it for certain. It was much worse than he'd originally thought when he forced himself free of the doorframe. When rock meets flesh, flesh usually loses he thought darkly, glaring at the dwarf, as if it were Gimli's own personal fault that he, Boromir, had made a rash move, possibly costing them more time and adding to the difficulty and danger of their escape.

"I think I'll just pick you up and have you take the same path as the packs. They bounced, I think," he said sourly. "Stand aside little one, this may get messy!" he yelled through the passageway, though he made no move to carry out his threat.

Gimli bared his teeth at the man and drew himself up to his full height, shifting the crutch to do so. "Take one step toward me, my lad, and your thick skull may finally be defeated." The two glared at each other for a long moment, and then Gimli sighed, and slumped heavily. His leg pained him greatly, far more than he was willing to admit; he was tired, worried, and not in the mood for further disaster.

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Another voice made itself heard over Sam's, sounding old beyond its years, and weary, and heart-broken. "No, but It may take them, or you. How are you ever to destroy this Evil that has cost you so dearly? We have barely begun this journey, and yet look already at the toll.

"You could end it here. Even the minions of the Dark Lord would be hard pressed to discover the Ring at the bottom of a pit of fool's sand. You have nearly sunk now, 'twould not be much effort to finish it. And then you could rest, and lay down these burdens."

Frodo recognized this as his own voice of grief and despair, but that did not help him fight it off, and for a moment his body stiffened as the two wills – the Ring's and Frodo's defeat – strove for superiority.

Then another voice entered into his head as clear as a bell, and it silenced all others.

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Pippin heard the angry voices back in the chamber and sighed. Was it only hobbits that seemed capable of getting along with every race? He'd be making friends with an orc next, for pity's sake! He scuttled through before anything else heavy - say Gimli for example - could be hurled in his direction, and stepped between the two potential combatants trying to be charming and reasonable instead of annoyed and anxious.

"Is something wrong? Nothing worth two friends arguing over surely? We are almost free of here – well, free of this little room at least." He scrubbed absently at the lump on his forehead. It was still bleeding again from his last fall and he had a headache and was in no mood for this, but he was the son of the Thain and the nephew of the Master and had seen enough disputes mediated to know that a calm voice and rationality was what was needed here, not the whinging of a hurt child.

Pippin ignored the glares passing between the two and pointed to the arrow slit high above. "It looks like the day is getting on, and we should go. I don't know how far it is to an exit but I am sure we don't want to spend another night in these Mines…no offence Gimli. And I know it's a tight fit for you Boromir, but not nearly so tight as that vent was for me and it's ever so much shorter, and there are no twists or turns and I have the candle lit in there now so it's not at all dark and scary."

"I do not fear the dark, little one," Boromir kept his eyes fixed pointedly on the dwarf, "Just the dark humour of some."

The hobbit tutted and looked at the doorway again, thinking quickly. "Boromir, instead of going headfirst if you back in just a short way, then Gimli, you could fall back into Boromir's arms and he can drag you through. I will stay here and come last, and help with getting your poor leg in without bumping it too much. And I'll bring your crutch when I come after."

He looked from one to the other hopefully, smiling brightly, confidence that the problem had been solved exuding from every pore. His Da and his Uncle Saradoc would have been proud.

"All right then? All sorted out? Let's go shall we…I want to get back to the others. I need to see they are all right and how Merry is faring. He needs me, I know he does. He will be worrying himself terribly that I am not there and I won't have him hurting anymore than he already does because I am loitering about when I should be trying to get to him as quickly as I can. Come along now."

He gave Boromir a friendly little nudge toward the door and beamed up at him with his best smile, one that had won him many an extra tart or last slice of cake in his time, then gave a bit of a tug on Gimli's cloak and gave him an encouraging grin.

Gimli stared down at the little creature appealing to him so charmingly. Pippin was bleeding, filthy and battered, yet trying to assuage the bickering of his two much larger companions and Gimli's heart went out to him. He'd been unconscious at the point when the lad had so bravely wriggled his way through that small dark place, another birthing into a dark and terrifying world.

"Ah, Pippin," he said, when the hobbit finally fell silent. "We Big Folk are the ones loitering. Don't tug at me now, not with my leg." He shifted on his crutch, then said to Boromir, "Here, man. Have you not something with which to bandage this lad's wound? His cousins will be right sharp with us if we return him in this state." He studied Pippin, disbelieving the exuberant performance. "You need another bath," he finally said. "And a haircut." Pippin rolled his eyes.

"What say you, Boromir of the lad's plan? You've injured your arm; don't deny it, I see your discomfort. Can you catch me?" Gimli did not ask: Would you catch me?' But his look into Boromir's heavy-lidded eyes asked the question for him.

Boromir stepped back surprised and a little off balance after Peregrin nudged him. Looking down at the childlike face smiling up at him, Boromir began to feel chagrined. "No, fear not Master Dwarf. As you well know, I keep my promises when I state, 'I will not let you fall'. Come now, the sooner we start, the sooner we finish."

He grabbed his shield and Gimli's one unsheathed axe and walked back to the passageway. He had to toss his shield onto the packs but thought twice about tossing the axe. He'd brain anyone who mistreated his weapons so he suspected the same treatment should the dwarf catch him heaving one of the cherished dwarven blades, even if it were done carefully. "Pippin-lad. Seeing how you are so good at disarming people, would you take Gimli's weapons and my sword and put them safely on the other side? We need to be as light as possible to do this juggling act."

Pippin hid a sigh of relief and a smile at Boromir's comment about his being good at disarming people. No doubt the man had thought that he would not understand the jest, he laughed to himself. Pippin knew where his talents lay when it came to certain things.

Pippin made several trips through the entrance carrying the various items. Boromir's sword was heavy, and the hobbit was taken aback, remembering all of the training sessions the man had had with Merry and him; it must have been difficult for Boromir to control the blade and not knock them halfway back to Rivendell when he had countered their feeble blows!

Gimli's axe too was heavy and yet the dwarf carried it as though it were nothing! How amazingly strong these companions of his were! He scrambled back into the chamber after his last trip and waited to help get Gimli into the exit. Then they could leave this little chamber once and for all to go and find the others!

Boromir handed the last of the recently filled water skins to Peregrin when he saw the hobbit re-enter the guardroom and stand, as the lad often did after accomplishing something for which he was immensely proud, with his hands on his hips. Boromir fought the desire to ruffle Peregrin's hair. He had recently become aware that ruffling hair irritated Frodo and Samwise although not necessarily Peregrin and sometimes not Meriadoc. He suspected it was something to do with age and station besides just basic temperament but halfling society was still a very large mystery to him. While it was easy to just reach out and tousle the curly little head that barely reached to his waist, he refrained this time. Best treat the youngling as an adult, Boromir suspected he'd have to call on Peregrin a few more times before they met up with the others.

Gimli's not so quiet "hrumph" broke Boromir's thoughts.

"Let us not tarry here in the gloaming. Not whilst the clear fresh air of freedom calls sweetly to us. Master dwarf, ready thyself! Be thou stout of sinew and brave of heart!" He waved his arms theatrically as he slipped into an ancient accent he'd learned while studying dry, witless history with his tutor. His tutor had often amused Boromir and Faramir by slipping into ridiculous accents to keep their attention.

As he backed into the passageway he caught Peregrin hiding a smile. This time Boromir was very careful to make sure both his shoulders went through. He had to turn sideways still and nearly double over. Without pack and other encumbrances he fitted, though when he stood up too soon a resounding thud was heard by all three. The awful hollow sound was followed by copious swearing. He didn't even try to spare the lad's ears this time! Any good mood had vanished.

"Are you ready, Master Boromir?" Gimli shouted, breaking through the barrage of vulgarity. "Dwarves may be shorter than men, but you'll find we are no less substantial. More, perhaps, since we are greater in breadth and depth."

Boromir muttered and Pippin gave Gimli a grin. "Take my crutch, lad," Gimli said to him, "once I'm a bit closer to the opening." He manoeuvred himself carefully until he stood balanced on the threshold. "Here you go." Pippin took the crutch, his smile gone. "Boromir!" Gimli shouted again. "Catch me well, my boy, or you will catch it hot from both Pippin and me." He took a deep breath, cast a fond thought to his father and cousins at home, and tried to relax. "Say something, man, before I fling myself into the abyss!"

The man knelt down and turned sideways to get more of one arm and his good shoulder back through the opening. "Good Master Gimli, I am quite ready." He touched Gimli's back to let him know he was there before he reached around the massive torso. Just before Gimli trusted himself to Boromir's strength, Boromir thrust a leg out and between the dwarf's legs effectively throwing Gimli off balance and forcing the dwarf to collapse. Boromir hoped this would work, that he wouldn't drop Gimli and that no one would crack their skull this time.

Gimli relaxed and began to let himself go. When Boromir kicked at him, he toppled, crying, "Khazâd aimênu!" as he fell. "My leg, you half-witted man, my leg!" He collided heavily against Boromir, who grunted at Gimli's sudden weight. Durin, he thought as the pain washed through him, let me live long enough to kill this son of Gondor. And then he knew no more.

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Merry was searching desperately. He was floundering around in blackness and he needed a light. 'Grandmamma, where are you?' He called out plaintively. The last time he had been in this blackness Grandmamma Gilda had found him and rocked his anguish away. But then she had sent him back to his hurting body. Perhaps that was where he was meant to be, but right now it was too painful there.

'Merry, my dear, why are you back?' Merry could not see her, but he could hear her voice. 'You can only stay with me for a short while, then you must return. You are only sleeping, but I know you are hurt, so come here my precious one.'

Merry allowed himself to be enfolded once more. It was strange, but each time he found his Grandmother, he was more like the child he had been when she died. It was as if they took up where they left off and he was a youngling of 12 again. "Grandmamma it hurts too much there. Must I keep going back? I can't find Pippin and I'm no use to the others now, what can I do for them when I'm so wounded?"

"Well my child, there are still things you can do to help." Grandmamma swept her hand out in front of her as if she were removing a cloth from a table. "Look Merry, Frodo needs help right now, or he might be joining us sooner than he should."

Merry looked in horror. Frodo was sunk up to his armpits in some kind of swamp. He was covered in filthy sand and mud and appeared to be arguing with himself. Merry could hear him quite clearly even though his lips did not move. It was as though he was able to listen directly inside Frodo's mind as his cousin sank further into the cloying mire.

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Aragorn was impressed with Sam's composure, considering the circumstances. Besides watching his beloved master drown right before him, he had a very dangerous Gollum, who could regain safety at any moment, within a stone's throw. Yet Sam spoke to his friend as a nursemaid speaks to an adored child, and began opening his pack as if determined to set up camp right then and there.

As Sam prattled on, Frodo's attention sluggishly shifted from the suspended Ranger to his servant on the bank. As soon as this began to happen, Aragorn recommenced inching along the branch even though it bent precariously. More jarring and, intermingled with Sam's soft chattering, there was a harsh screeching from the wretched creature that had pushed Frodo into the bog in the first place.

"Not let the hobbit sinksses, No, no, poor Sméagol drowns in the sand… hurrhmp! ooff! Wicked man lets us die, but has to save hiss preciousss hobbitsess!

But, oblivious to both, a new voice rang clearly in Frodo's head, its familiarity taking away the depressed and murky thoughts. "Well, this is all muck," it said. "You'd best reach out for Aragorn now, or it's all been for nothing. And I wouldn't worry about him trying to take the Ring, not with Sam about. He may be a Ranger, but he'll be a dead Ranger if he tries to harm you. Never underestimate a gardener and all, you know."

It was Merry's no-nonsense, assured voice, and Frodo answered automatically in his mind, "Don't use that language, Pippin will hear."

The Merry-voice ignored him and continued on, "Sometimes I wonder where all the Brandybuck in you has got to. There's nothing to do but let Aragorn pull you out and then there's nothing to do but go on. Sam will see that you have a rest and bite first, at least. You'll feel better then. But for now, try being a sensible hobbit for a change and reach for Aragorn's hand."

The Ranger wrapped his legs securely around the bough and rolled his shoulders a few times. Frodo may be only a hobbit, and a thin one at that, but he still wore his pack, and he was soaked through with the heavily clinging fool's sand. Strong as the man was, he was weary and he expected it would be no easy task to lift the hobbit from the mire whilst extended on his belly along a tree branch.

Frodo had become very still, apparently listening – whether to Sam or to something within himself, the Ranger did not know. For several eternal heartbeats, the man lay still, arms loose, listening along with Frodo to the soothing voice of Sam from the bank. Just as he determined he would have to try and reach out and make a grab, Frodo spoke.

"You have no respect for your elders," the hobbit mumbled, and he reached his hand towards the Ranger.

Aragorn was startled, but not so startled as to miss this opportunity. He grasped Frodo's proffered forearm with his right hand and hauled him up, out of the sticky sand, levering himself into a sitting position at the same time. Frodo offered no more help in his own rescue, but the Ranger was able to draw him up onto the life saving bough and into his arms.

He tightened his thighs on the limb and pulled the filthy hobbit against his chest, heart pounding with adrenaline and relief, ignoring the still strident tones of the wretch who had caused this near disaster.

"Precious! Yes but he saves the Precious too. Good man, nice man. Saves the Precious for Sméagol."

"Mr Frodo! Strider!" shouted Sam, "you've got to get down from there! The branch is about to break!"

Clasping Frodo tightly to his breast with his left arm and bracing with his right, the man used his powerful thigh muscles to edge backward along the branch until he was above dry land.

Frodo blinked sluggishly as Sam shouted urgently. "Get down!" registered in his fuzzy, over exhausted mind. "Must I?" some whining part of him answered, but some other part had already taken over his arms. He dragged himself from Aragorn's arms, sliding down the Ranger's body until he reached solid ground.

The branch, not satisfied with the removal of only Frodo's slight weight, creaked again. Sparing only a brief look at Gollum, Aragorn swung himself down. The freed limb sprang back at once, seeming to sigh its relief. The Ranger patted the bough, as if in thanks, and unconsciously brushed the clinging sands from the front of his clothing.

In a dim and distant reality, Frodo could hear his antithesis escaping the bog at the same time. In some strange reality it almost seemed to Frodo that the voice was in his head with Merry.

"Grrumpp uooff! There – we pulls ourselves up and up. Get good hold on the strong grass. Sméagol not weigh too much, not sink with big fat feet like the thieving, sneaky hobbit. We not got big man to drag us out! We have to save ourselves Precious. Pull and pull! Find the safe ground now. Goll-umm, Goll-umm. Kershshoo! Achh! Nasty sand in our mouthsess. Stupid peoples!

Then, finally, Frodo allowed himself to collapse in a heap and shut his eyes.

"There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" the Merry-voice said in his mind. "You're such a nitwit sometimes, Frodo, really."

"Soap, Merry," Frodo muttered, a holdover threat from Merry's childhood that usually shut the cheeky younger hobbit up quickly. As he lost consciousness, he thought he heard Merry's mischievous laughter fading away – or was it Gollum?

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Merry had clutched his Grandmother's hand tightly as he watched Aragorn try to pull Frodo from the bog, but his cousin, caught in despair and grief, would not reach out his hand. Merry sighed and, without knowing quite how, began to talk to Frodo.

"Well, this is all muck," he said and then frantically babbled on, telling him things he already knew but had obviously forgotten temporarily. Merry realised he was finally listening when he muttered something about his language and Pip hearing.

Frodo was being even more ridiculous Merry thought. How could Pippin hear him? He carried on, "Sometimes I wonder where all the Brandybuck in you has got to." Merry chattered, distracting Frodo from his gloom and persuading him that he had to trust Aragorn and that Sam would still be there for him.

"You have no respect for your elders," Frodo muttered aloud, and finally reached out his hand.

"I say that's just as well Frodo Baggins," he retorted. But there was no need. Frodo was safe now and Merry turned back to his Grandmother with a happy smile. "Oh Grandmamma Gilda, I think that I actually saved dear Frodo! He might have sunk in that wretched bog if he hadn't heard me."

"You did indeed, my darling." Gilda pretend tweaked his nose as she always used to, "my clever lad."

"Frodo can be such a nitwit sometimes," Merry giggled a little.

"Now, don't you get too cheeky, he's your older cousin remember," Gilda scolded.

"But can I see Pippin now? Merry rubbed at his nose as if checking it was still there. "Perhaps he needs me too."

"No, Merry my dear one," Gilda stroked his hair fondly, "You must go back now, I cannot stay with you. Try to find your way, there's my good brave lad… promise me you will now?"

"Yes Grandmamma," Merry agreed meekly, "I'll try. Can I come back if I don't find the way?"

"Yes, of course my darling, if you need me again, I'll be here… waiting… but it's not time yet…" Gradually his Grandmother's voice faded to nothing and Merry was once more in the darkness.

Frantically he turned his head this way and that, it seemed to be the only part of his body he could move. Just then he thought he heard Pippin's voice. 'Pip where are you? I'm coming, where are you?" Merry forgot his promise to try and find his way back, the thought of Pippin pushing everything else from his consciousness. For a moment he caught a glance of Pippin, he was moving away from Merry, scrabbling around in a dark, narrow tunnel and seemed not to see or hear his cousin.

"Pippin? Pippin! Please, where are you? Don't leave me!" Merry turned his head from side to side, frantically seeking anything familiar, but knowing with a sinking heart that Pippin would not be there. His head felt full of wool and his mouth tasted like the bad meat they'd once had to eat on the journey, when they were unable to find any game and their supplies were almost spent.

A woman's voice sounded close by, so Merry struggled to sit up, but found his arms would not support him and that dreadful pain was back, slicing across his chest and making him gasp for breath.

Then the memory of what had happened struck him like a slap across the face as he still struggled with complete consciousness. Gandalf falling with the great fiery monster; the fight to escape the mines; Pippin slipping and falling; the troll throwing him; losing his sword and then… then…

Merry cried out in anguish, a sobbing entreaty for Pippin to be there and this nightmare to end. "Pip! Please! Come back, don't leave me!"

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"Hush now child, don't go vexing thysen," The woman's calloused hand came down and stroked his face. Merry whimpered with anxiety and pain. "Lie quiet, lie still. Oi'll nay give thee more'n the poppy, not one as young as thee. It'll finish thee for sure, if'n Oi do."

"Please Ma'am," Merry was feverish and weak but he had to speak, "Where am I? What happened?"

"Oi found thee," A deep timbre of a male voice answered. "Thought thee were dead an all. Found thee a'floating down the river. Can thee tell to us, how thee came there?"

Merry furrowed his brow, he really had no memory of much after the fight in the Mines… except being carried, he was being carried by someone. Legolas! That was it. But the elf had put him down for some reason. Perhaps he was too great a burden and had decided that Merry would soon be dead anyway.

"W-was elf… but left me… in woods… don't recall…" Merry weakly stuttered a few words but was cut short when the woman gently lifted his head up and, cradling him to her ample chest, put a cup to his lips and slowly helped him to drink the warm milk laced with honey.

"See!" The man exclaimed. "Oi told thee Missus Tugman it'd be them elfs. They been a'stealing this little boy away from his mither and ferther and torturing he afore leaving he int' woods fer the wargs and wolves."

"Well theys not get he agin!" Missus Tugman exclaimed indignantly. "Oi'll not let they near my sweet little one. Oi'll do fer any elfs what comes near he agin!"

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"Brother truly since you became Marchwarden you are no fun!" Rúmil teased.

Haldir bit back a scathing remark and settled for grinding his teeth while the prince tried unsuccessfully to suppress a chuckle. "Be thankful your brothers are not constantly at your side ," he groused and sent a glare at Rúmil, who grinned at him widely.

"Actually watching you three makes me wish they were," he smiled.

"You would not say that if you were the eldest!" He glared, but could not keep a small smile from forming.

Orophin had been listening to this line of banter for the last ten minutes, it was instigated by Rúmil who had noticed Legolas's darkening mood and was determined to lighten the elf's demeanour. In that respect, he mused; Rúmil was much like their older brother. Haldir had always made light of matters when either of them was troubled as elflings and, though he showed that side rarely these days, it was good to know that despite his reputation for being the opposite, he was still the same Haldir. But his position certainly had taken much of the carefree nature and spontaneity from him and both he and Rúmil lived for the day when he would not be so burdened.

"Well? What are they saying?" Orophin demanded, after listening to the warble of sound from within for a few minutes, unsuccessfully trying to decipher it.

"Shuuuu, I can't understand…what language are they using?" Legolas enquired.

"Don't look to me, I don't speak any Westron." Rúmil mumbled unhelpfully.

"That is Westron?" The prince gasped as he then recognised a few words before it once again descended into chaos.

"Yes, the local dialect is very thick in these parts," Haldir's frown deepened as he spoke, not liking the turn the conversation was taking inside the cabin.

"So you understand them?" Legolas' eyes briefly flicked to his before returning to Merry's restless form. He watched as the woman reappeared and after a short time pulled Merry to her as he tried to speak. His concern for his young friend grew a notch as he listened to Merry's confusion, 'Elbereth! Please don't tell me he has a fever…or his wounds are infected…or…' But his thoughts were broken as Haldir answered his question.

"Some, but not all. They know your friend was carried by an elf but, as I expected, they have jumped to the wrong conclusion!" He seethed, unconsciously watching Orophin before continuing. "They think that the perian is a human child and that we have stolen him away from his parents to torture him and leave him to wargs in the woods!"

Silence followed his translation and allowed Haldir to absorb the fact that wargs must be quite common here now for the man to mention them so freely, this information he filed away for later before turning his attention to Legolas who remained at the window drinking in the sight of his young charge. Orophin and Rúmil wisely decided to remain silent; they knew their brother's stance on the matter.

At length Legolas spoke, "We must reach him as soon as we may, he seems far more muddled than the last time I was with him and I must check his wound."

Haldir agreed, they could all smell the heavy scent of blood and sickness from inside the cabin and the Marchwarden knew that only in the hands of elven healers would the hobbit recover. "We shall wait until those two have retired and then we will take him back. Orophin you will remain here and watch for orcs or humans, who knows how many more of them there may be around here. If you find any you know what to do. Rúmil you will go with him.

Rúmil frowned, Haldir had effectively ensured that neither of the two would come into contact with the elderly humans, a fact which had not escaped Orophin either as his face mirrored his brother's. Rúmil was about to protest but Haldir's eyes brooked no argument, they were as cold as an ice-covered river, all warmth drained from them and his stance was aggressive, it made Rúmil shiver as Haldir withdrew from them, wrapping his position around himself as he rose to his full height.

Rúmil realised with a start that this whole business had disturbed his brother greatly, bringing back old memories of another place, and other humans, long candlelit nights keeping vigil over Orophin's battered form, listening to his laboured breaths and sadly noting his natural glow dim a little further by each morning. 'You take too much upon yourself dear brother… you cannot keep us safe forever.' He smiled and it grew wider as he watched the set of his brother's shoulders relax a little at the silent communication.

When Orophin and Rúmil were safely positioned in the willow overhanging the right side of the cabin, Haldir turned back to Legolas who remained kneeling at the window.

"You and I will enter, I shall keep your path clear while you take back the hobbit," he whispered.

"Merry." Legolas spoke in a detached way that surprised him.

"I beg your pardon?"

"His name is Merry, Haldir."

"Yes, forgive me. We will take back Merry" Haldir could see that Legolas was blaming himself for their current predicament and prayed to the Lady that this night went as planned, it was a simple enough task.

A little over an hour they kept vigil until the candles were extinguished and the humans moved to their sleeping area. Haldir waited until he heard soft snores from the bedroom before he and Legolas moved soundlessly to the strong wooden door and opened it.

The hinge creaked protesting the movement as they stepped into the darkened room Legolas' eyes were only for the little one and he quickly crossed to Merry's side. The hobbit stirred as he placed a cool pale hand upon his brow slowly allowing himself the luxury of running his fingers through his thick curls freshly washed he noted. As Merry stirred further and released a soft moan, Legolas bent to his ear and began to speak to him in elvish all the while moving his fingers through his hair and delighting in the small smile that graced Merry's lips. It was the first the elf had seen since his injury and it filled Legolas with new hope.

"All will be well soon Merry, I promise" He whispered at last as he gently lifted him and held him still as Haldir helped secure the blanket around him.

It was in that moment of distraction for Haldir as he aided Legolas that the door to the bedroom opened and the human woman who had tended Merry let loose a bloodcurdling scream.

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TO BE CONTINUED

Notes

Hullo, folks. Sam Gamgee, at your service and your families. What with Mr Frodo sinking in quicksand and everyone else being a tad busy, I was asked if I could step in and reply to your kind comments. Ahem, with a little help from Mr Boromir.

Hyperactive Forever: is it ok if some parts made me laugh even if this is an angst story? i hope so or i'm in trouble...
Sam You sure are full of questions! You sound like Master Pip. In my opinion, it's all right to laugh here and there. I wouldn't laugh at Mr Frodo when he's thrashing about in sinking sand though … for a gentlehobbit, he's got wicked aim with that sling.
Boromir - Laughter in hard times is indeed appropriate behaviour, especially if one is going to have a mental breakdown from too much serious thinking. My weapons teacher always laughed hysterically when he belted me from behind with a sneak attack.
HyperactiveForever - hm is Gollum going to have a 'part to play' in this story, or are they referring to his part to play in the Mount Doom sequence?
Boromir: We have so many wonderful additional characters coming into the stew, some we have heard from before (or will hear from in the future) and some are additions only recently heard from. All of them are wonderful assets to a story as long-winded, I mean difficult to manage, I mean intricate. Yes, intricate as this one.

Periantari: i wish i could find them a nice bed for all of them! (and much comfort as well)
Sam Thanks so much for the kind words, and hugs back (if I may be so bold). I agree that all of us poor souls need a nice bed and a bath or three. A meal would be nice, too. And some sleep. And any pipe-weed, if you've have it?
Periantari - and Pippin is so brave with everything! so proud of his strength ) :hugs to all the East-gaters:: keep up the good work! (and save Frodo soon! ;) )
Boromir - Thank you for the accolades in our story writing. We love to hear so specifically how you liked our little ramblings about the Mines. Yes, Pippin is a brave little lad, so full of mischief sometimes but always a chipper little trouper, eh? I must go now, I have an appointment to help save Frodo BOTOR.

Maripo5a: I WANT MORE!! (Also enjoying the back story – quite intrigued
Sam So glad you found the story! And here's more, just like you asked for. As for "Behind the Scenes at the East Gate," well… all I can say is that after all that running and hiding and fighting and awful things happening, the writers went a little mental. "Behind the Scenes" is the result.
Maripo5a - Wowza! Just found this yesterday and have now read all 8 chapters.
Boromir - You read all eight chapters in one sitting? I believe there must be some sort of award available. If not, then I shall ask my father if he might see fit to bestow one. I have trouble just sitting through one chapter of listening to the whinging and complaining. Really, you should be on this side of the pen. I am becoming very fearful of the suggested group hugs to remedy the angst and pain felt by many of my fellow travellers.

My-fool-of-a-tooki think its cute how legolas misses Gimli's banter. :)
Sam: Have to say that you might not think Mr Legolas and Mr Gimli's banter so amusing if you had 'ta listen to months of it on the Road … months and months and months of it…
My-fool-of-a-Took - hmm yes, i agree: hugs all around, for all hobbits!
Boromir - Stop it with the hugs, I beg you. If the hobbits start hugging then they insist that every one else join in. Hugs are neither manly nor hunky. I have a valuable reputation to protect and these incessant requests for hugs is beginning to take its toll on my sanity. I am truly beginning to worry. The Elf seems to have no problems with hugs and I have seen in the recent past that the Dwarf is warming up to the idea. Sigh. No rest for the respectful.

AuntiemeeshThe whole splinter incident had me in tears of laughter. (Sorry, Pippin.) It reminds me of a certain story from the FotR EE DVD.
Sam: After all that lad's been through, I think the splinter was just the last straw. And I know the story you're thinking of, I do. As for Mr Frodo, you should see the look on his face while in that sinking sand.
Boromir - Yes, it is hard to keep a straight face when Peregrin displays youthfulness, isn't it? One either wishes to cuddle him (did I just say that?) or brain him.
AuntieMeesh - Poor Frodo. He's wounded and exhausted and now he's been thrown in quicksand. Hopefully he'll get himself under control soon, however, or there won't be enough of him above the surface for Aragorn to grab hold of.
Boromir: We are all hoping Frodo, BOTOR, manages to haul his sorry aging arse out of the bog. As I have stated before, there is a minor fact remaining that something must be done with The Ring and it must be done soon. I will pass on your request and see if it speeds him along at all.

Lindahoyland: Did you get the splinter idea from one of the documentaries about FOTR ?
Sam I'd have to ask Master Pip but I have my suspicions. He's not one to let a good "ouchie" go to waste.
Boromir: The Splinter. Despite common theory, that story did not surface at the expense of Samwise. It is a true tale from my childhood. Unfortunately.
LindaHoyland - Great story,you have me very worried about Frodo now and I love the way Gimli is so noble and self sacrificing,
Boromir - Gimli, noble? Considering staying behind while Peregrin and I flounder aimlessly around those HUGE caverns without a guide? I suspect you need to reconsider your verbiage in describing our thick-necked friend.

SmalldiverLegolas' love for the hobbits is so touching! And it's so sad that Orophin got hurt so badly by humans. Sometimes I hate us... And that blimmin' Gollum!
Sam: Now, Smalldiver, there's good and bad in all of us, Men included. Excepting that slinker, of course. I agree with your sentiments about him.
SmallDiver - Hugs to everyone (even Gimli, Aragorn and Boromir, since I know they secretly love hugs)
Boromir - AAARRRRGGGG! More hugs. I feel an incredible need to run away, very fast. And as for me masking "fluffiness", I must complain, tactfully of course, that never in my life have I ever been fluffy or ever plan to be. I do appreciate however the comment about the Dwarf and I being under appreciated. We feel the same way.

Domstygerr OMG, where to begin.
Sam I feel that way a lot. Also, how did this happen? I knew this journey with Mr Frodo wouldn't be no bed of roses, but I wasn't expecting this.
DomsTygerr - Merry darling, please take care in what you are doing, you actions may prove to be harmful to you and that worries me greatly. and... Gollum, will you just piss off already, you are starting to really make me mad. You days are numbered I think.
Boromir - One can hope the odious and slimy Gollum would indeed piss off. Unfortunately, I have had a peek at the end of this tale and I will let you in on a little spoiler... he is around for just a bit longer. Sad, but true.
Might I caution you, just as a friend, to be careful about verbally pronouncing your love to so many males? We tend to be proprietary and by the looks of your screen name, you seem to have some affinity for Meriadoc. Are you a member by chance of The Pervy Hobbit Fanciers Anonymous? I personally have found it a worthwhile group, helping many people who enjoy the company of more than one hobbit to overcome their desire for more.
Merry: You leave her alone, Mr Gon(I'm too hunky for my studded leather)dorian! She has magnificent taste!

Ringmarciel Bah who cares about Frodo? Not me... at least not movie Frodo. I like book Frodo much more. Poor Pippin separated from Merry. I hope Merry gets healed by the elves or Aragorn.
SamHe'd be right hurt if he thought you really meant that, RingmarcielMr Frodo is a brave one, for being a gentlehobbit and not an Adventure like old Mr Bilbo. As for Master Pip and Mr Merry … we hobbits are a resilient folk. You'll just have to watch and see.
Boromir - Well, excuse me, but try as I might, I find myself caring about Frodo quite a bit. At least until I get my hands on The Ring. I mean, at least until he finds himself and gets rid of That Ring.
I, too, hope Aragorn can heal Meriadoc. He had better do something worthwhile other than run off and leave us to die in the Mines.
Merry: Thank you for your get-well-soon message. I'm battling insurmountable odds with little or no help, but my magnificence should prevail.

Azaelia Finding this made me so happy... Some of the best fanfiction writers on the internet all working together! Excellent work!
Sam: While we thank you for the compliment, miss, I might point out, lass,that you aren't the one who's been chased and hunted and…When this is all over, I'm going to suggest to the rest of the Fellowship we find out where these writers live. And pay them a visit. I'll hold the whetstone while Mr Gimli sharpens his axe.
Boromir - We are honoured and pleased to have brought a ray of sunshine into your living space, especially since you tacitly admit to reading the authors' other works AND took the time to send so many of us a cheerful note. Hopefully, we will not disappoint you by making our authors write terrible and horrid words in the next chapter.

ElwynaI feel awfully sorry for Gimli however, he shouldn't sacrifice himself like that!
SamDon't you worry, miss. Mr Gimli's a strong one, and a wise one too. He'll do what's best and no mistake.
Boromir - Do not feel sorrow for the Dwarf. He admittedly got himself into his predicament and I, for one, am getting rather tired of carrying peoples' sorry arses out of predicaments. Well, except maybe Peregrin's. It is by no means "sorry".

Navana Baggins:Well Frodo better stop struggling in whatever that is...quicksand or mud or else I will punish him severely! Smiles sweetly Just joking!
SamMr Frodo don't always do what's best for him, miss – I've found that out through the years. Master Pippin takes after him in that. Gentlehobbits can be a bit odd, if you ask me. Why, I remember one time when … er … well, maybe Mr Frodo wouldn't like me telling you about that.
Boromir - You must belong to that Pervy Hobbit Fanciers group, I have heard so much about. They certainly go in for punishment and watching others' torments. Might I suggest a helpful alternative, The Pervy Hobbit Fanciers Anonymous? Most helpful. Sincere. And you get to bring a hobbit to your first meeting.

Camellia Gamgee-TookI cannot believe that I've only just discovered this story! 'tis amazing! I'm glad they've found Merry...but why do I get the feeling that it won't be easy for them to get Merry back?
Sam Welcome, lass! As sore hurt as Mr Merry is, I have a bad feeling that you're right.
Boromir - Have YOU ever been injured so severely? Definitely time to call in some hunky, manly man to help out, I say.
Merry: Well you're welcome to try Boromir, Legolas isn't having much luck.

Pippinheart: Love it! Please continue it soon... It all fits together so perfectly...
Sam That's entirely due to Llinos, Pippinheart. There were over 500 pages of angst-ridden action, from multiple viewpoints, that Llinos whipped into a cohesive story and Marigold beta'ed. A task akin to carrying the Ring to Mt. Doom, if you take my meaning.

FreyaMay I humbly give my greatest thanks for sharing the story of Merry chasing Legolas up a tree with his Lore! Also, I am especially indebted to you for exploring the friendship between Legolas and Merry themselves. It is not explored very often, and I enjoy the bond there.
SamI can speak for all of us, I think, in sending you thanks.I agree that the Legolas/Merry adventure is one of the most heart-wrenching, exciting plots in the story. And don't you think Mr Merry isn't lapping up every "ooo" and "ahhh," too.
Merry: Very possibly Samwise, however I do resent the implication that Legolas was driven up a tree because he was bored! He said he was admiring the view!

Mystarri I checked day after day for an update!
Sam: Wouldn't want the updates to come too quick, would you?Where would the fun be in that?
Boromir - Your wait is over! It has arrived. Read on, enjoy and more hobbit tortures we have devised ... ooops, wait, I meant to say, Read on and enjoy, we are ever so happy to please you.

Ice Ember You should know by now that hobbits are perceptive. Love your story!
Sam: The Big People are learning, I think. Remember, not many of them knew about us before we all got thrown together in this FellowshipI wager we hobbits have set them back a time or two!
Ice Ember - OO They can't just leave Gimli behind!
Boromir- Fear not, oh Ember of Frosty Ice. We are working VERY hard to convince Gimli to leave with us. If for no other reason than he knows the way out.

Star StallionAragorn! Get your butt in gear and save Frodo! Gimli; stop being a bull-headed Dwarf (well... you can stay a Dwarf, just lose the bull-headed part!) and Merry, hold on!
Sam: It isn't my place to say all that, Star, but I agree with you.Big People sure seem to need a good kick 'ta get moving now and then!
Star-Stallion - Aragorn! Get your butt in gear and save Frodo!
Boromir - I suspect Aragorn has plans to get his arse moving. After all, I believe he has a vested interest in seeing that Ring get to Its destination. Ring in Power of Some Evil Person No Kingdom for Aragorn.
Star-Stallion:P.S. I can't believe so many authors working together can produce something so good; keep up the good work!
Boromir: As for so many authors being able to work together, if you could see the apartment we have rented in order to collaborate, I am most certain, you would change your mind. We do, though, graciously accept your admiration (and dutifully, I pass it all on to our editor Llinos and our Beta Marigold. It is they who own the golden pens) (All Hail and Kneel to the wonderful Llinos and Marigold).

Sam: And a special note to Earelwen: If you are sure about that, miss, maybe you'd like to get together after the Quest. My address is No. 3, Bagshot Row on the Hill. Just ask anybody in Hobbiton. They'll give you directions.