Middle-Earth, The Shire, Hobbiton, Number Three Bagshot Road: T.A 2994, April 1st

Laws were made to protect us, both as individuals and as a collective society. So, if the laws said something was illegal, it could only be for our benefit…that was the general consensus anyway. It was an easy enough fact, or opinion, to accept depending on what was made illegal.

For your average upper and middle-class hobbits who had long degraded the tradition, the fact that Ganymen were now illegal was no great burden …for everyone else…well…things were slightly harder to accept, especially now.

No one was entirely sure what or who had caused the plague folks had started calling 'The Grand Sickness', but what was certain, was that it spread quickly. One child would come home coughing or with an ill-feeling stomach and before you could blink the whole damn street would have it.

Generally, it took quite a lot to get a hobbit sick, at least in a serious way. Everyone got a cold now and then, and of course there were childhood diseases like chicken-pox that most had to go through sometime in their life. But stuff like this, stuff that was life-threating; nu-uh hobbits just didn't get that kind of sickness. Yet no one could deny they were certainly getting it now, when the first child died.

Crops lay untended in the fields because the farmers, whose families often were considered large even by hobbit standards, were too afraid to leave their houses; were too afraid to risk another child. Hence the food supply was going down, and hobbits eat a lot, so it was going down quickly.

If you already had a large fully-packed cellar or could afford to import from out-side the Shire you and your family were unlikely to starve. And if you had caught 'the grand sickness', you were unlikely to care if you did. However, the poorer families, those of the working class, were in quite a bit of trouble. Sometimes folk didn't know what was killing the lower classes quicker, the Sickness or the Hunger.

It was a time of terror for most everyone and the loss of the Ganymen was felt most keenly where it had been believed. A child would collapse in the street for one reason or another and would be on their death bed by the end of the week; and the mothers and fathers of the more rustic families would have to watch their child die without their Last Tale being spoken. They would have to accept that their child's spirit would fade away into dust, as if they'd never been in the first place. For they could not even attempt to do the task themselves, for even the mention of the dead was considered Gany-Art and a hanging offence. And for the Ganymen themselves, unable to practice their craft, for anyone, even their own families, lest they be executed without a trial …it was almost unbearable.

May Gamgee had come home with a sour stomach around a month ago…in retrospect it was a lot longer than most families had to say goodbye.

Bell Gamgee sat at her daughter's bed-side unwilling to move even to eat, this had led some to believe that the mother of six had caught the sickness as well… but no, that was just how Bell was. May lay nestled in a cocoon of blankets in the middle of her parents' bed. Her fever was shockingly high, her nose ran continually, and she had eaten nothing in at least three weeks. It was a miracle that she'd survived this long…especially considering no healer of any worth would see her.

It was well known in Hobbiton, perhaps even further than that if the fallout was anything to judge by, that Hamfast was one of the top Ganymen in the Shire. All this positive press, and warm feedback for his skills may have worked to the Gamgees favour before, but now it just served to warn right-minded hobbits away from them.

Hamson had lost his place at the blacksmiths, the official explanation was that apprentices were expensive, and Master Bullroarer could only have so many at a time. But everyone knew the real reason and money had little to do with it. People had even begun to swerve round them in the street as if they carried the sickness with them.

However, there was one silver lining amongst all this grey fog of despair: Mister Bilbo Baggins, by far the best Hobbit anywhere that hobbits called home. He'd kept Hamfast on as his gardener for a start, not only that but he had increased the ex-Ganyman's pay. Ham's eyes had boggled the first time he'd caught sight of his new income, he'd never seen so much money in all his life. Mister Bilbo had also said that if any of Ham's little 'uns felt the call of the green thumb the gentlehobbit was happy to take them on…and at full salary at that. Ham could recognize charity when he saw it, and his first knee jerk reaction was to thank Mister Bilbo for his kindness and to politely decline, but one hard look from Daisy and he stilled his stupid tongue. It was because of him and his craft that his family were suffering now, he couldn't be the one to prolong it.

Truly the Gentlehobbit's kindness and generosity knew no boundaries, for no one on Bagshot Row went hungry. Carts driven by some of Mister Bilbo's dwarves arrived monthly and dropped crates of food at hobbits' doors. It wasn't no great delicacies or the like, just plain simple fair that would keep a hobbit's belly full if they ate with some sense. A lot of pickles and preservatives, stuff that would keep on the long trip from the dwarf kingdom to here, Ham had found that he was starting to quite like the taste of dwarf bread. It was tougher than a hobbit-made loaf, but it was filling and more importantly kept for a long while. The Gamgees had several of the hard breads stored in their cupboards already.

But sometimes even Mister Bilbo's powers could not make the world move. When Mayor Proudfoot decreed that to heal any Ganyman or any future Ganyman was as good as committing the crime yourself, the grand hobbit had tried to send for a dwarven or even an elven healer to come see to May. But they'd been turned away at the border, which had a steady supply of slightly wounded and bitter Shirriffs guarding the perimeter. When news of that had gotten back to Bag-End Mister Bilbo had stamped and raged even harder than Ham had.

Ham was angry oh aye there was no doubt in that, but he had learned quickly that ranting and raging did little to help either himself or his family. If anything, it only served to frighten Sam-lad and little Marigold, who since May's sickness, now spent most of their time up at Bag-End learning their letters. Hamfast had felt unsure about that to begin with, having never really learnt his letters himself and seeing no real reason why a hobbit of their class ought to. But Mister Bilbo had been insistent, and Daisy-lass had brought up the quite solid point that Sam-lad and Marigold had to keep away from May while she was lying with sickness anyway. She was right of course, they couldn't stay in the house while May was sick…the younger you were the quicker it took you, and Ham trusted Mister Bilbo more than anyone to keep his children safe.

They weren't there now of course, because Mister Bilbo had gone up to Buckland for the week. But it was no matter; May had long passed the stage where she might be infectious to others. She spent most of her days now, unconscious, except for those few and far between moments where she woke up and screamed for death. Like she was doing now or had been until she'd given up words altogether and lapsed into a high keening wail.

Daisy had ordered Halfred to take Sam and Marigold for a walk round the market, even though half the stalls were closed. She then set to work making a lunch of Dwarrow bread with raspberry jam and pickled eggs; desperately trying to block out the sound of…of May.

Ham couldn't block her out, no matter how hard he tried. It wasn't just that his daughter was dying…it was that his daughter was begging to die, and there was nothing any of them could do to help.

Almost nothing.

A small voice in his head whispered and Ham began to shake all over. No, he couldn't do that no more, it wasn't legal now and he'd put his family through enough because…because of that.

Isn't it putting them through more to leave her in that much pain?

Ham shook his head till he was sure his ears were starting to bleed, yes…yes it was, but he couldn't. He'd promised Daisy and Bell, that he wouldn't put the family in danger no more just because…just because…

She's in pain.

Finished the voice, Ham was beginning to recognize as his own.

No one will know, even if Daisy and Bell see they won't tell.

Ham probably could have stood the temptation if May hadn't been screaming like that, but…how could he stand that noise, those pleas for death in his daughter's voice anymore and not answer them?

He couldn't claim that what he was doing was right for all concerned, but he had to make the screaming stop. He had to make May's pain stop…she was never gonna get better, all she had left now was her hope for death; and Hamfast was always an awful one for spoiling his girls.

Squaring his shoulders, Ham made his way past the kitchen without being noticed, and down into the back-garden where he had buried his Ganyman Staff.

Middle-Earth, The Shire, Hobbiton: T.A. 2994, April 2nd

Frodo Baggins sat at the head of the cart, his head nodding from lack of sleep. His Uncle Bilbo had been adamant that they get back to Hobbiton as quickly as possible, so the pair had driven through the night. Frodo had tried to get some rest in the back of the cart, like Bilbo had suggested, but with every bump in the road the young hobbit was jiggled awake once again. Eventually he'd just givrn up entirely and climbed up beside Bilbo, who sat holding the reins of the joyfully galloping pony they'd hired from one of the farmers in Buckland.

It didn't really matter anyway; Frodo wouldn't have been able to get a peaceful night's sleep even if the road had been flat. The image of Merry's face as he ran after the cart, screaming for Frodo to come back haunted the tween's every waking thought. He knew going with Bilbo was the right decision in the long run, but that face…oh Valar that face. He'd tried to consul himself with the knowledge that Merry would be coming to visit, but it wasn't enough to still his raging conscience. Frodo just couldn't fight the feeling that he'd somehow let Merry down.

With a jolt the cart came to a sudden halt, and Frodo found himself nearly jerked out of his seat. Bilbo had stopped the cart just at the bottom of the lane and was staring fixedly up a it in a disturbed manner.

'Bilbo?'

As if shaking himself out of a dream Bilbo threw Frodo a tired smile, then gave the reins a harsh slap and the pony was off again. They continued up the hilled lane, but at a much steadier pace than before. The houses and smials they passed didn't seem very different to the ones in Buckland, the thought comforted him, as Bilbo pulled up alongside a crowd of hobbits congregated outside a small garden.

'Ho! What do we have here? What's going on?'

Bilbo leapt down from the cart and marched into the crowd. For a moment or two Frodo sat there, awkwardly balancing at the front of the cart, unsure of what to do. His mind was made up for him though when a sharp cry came from the crowd, a cry that sounded vaguely like Uncle Bilbo. Leaping down from the cart Frodo pushed hobbits aside far rougher than he would have had he not been so panicked. Thus, it did not take him long to reach the source of the crowd's agitation and the source of the cry.

The house at the end of the small garden did not look dilapidated from age or lack of care. Instead its boarded-up windows and the crude graffiti on its walls and carved into its yellow door, gave more a feeling of a building under siege. Whoever was in there, Valar help them, were trying to wait out the mob…hoping they'd get tired or lose interest soon and wander off.

Bilbo stood in front of the jeering crowd his arms spread wide as if he were trying to hide the whole house behind his body. But it was no use, the crowd was closing in and Bilbo's back was pressing hard into the yellow door behind him. Frodo had to do something and quickly at that.

'Hey!'

His voice was shaky and the hobbits in the crowd paid no heed to the tween. So, taking a deep breath Frodo yelled again.

'Oy!'

This they heard, a few of them even stopped in their tracks and gave him a quizzical look. Finding his courage, Frodo spoke in the most commanding voice he could muster.

'What's this now? Is its common practice in Hobbiton to destroy your neibors houses?'

A burly hobbit at the head of the crowd turned and growled at him.

'Tis when we got a righteous reason to, Outlander. These scums be Ganymen…don't be fooled into feeling pity for the likes of them: liars and sneaks and baby-killers the lot of 'em.'

Frodo snorted not even attempting to hide his disdain for the hobbit in front of him.

'Only the ignorant believe that. I may not believe in Ganymen and their ways, but I certainly wouldn't call them killers. They may be misled in certain beliefs but at their heart they're trying to help you. Which is a lot more than your kind would do for anyone. '

Frodo and the brute were now nose to nose, and the large bully sneered at the fine hobbit.

'Who comes to our town and talks like this? Like we're the scum of the Shire? Aye outlander you have a look of a Took about ye…well that makes sense, always sticking their high and mighty selves where they don't belong. What oh mighty wonder of the Took Clan brings ye here? Lost on the way to a ball? Or perhaps a banquet with the elves…you Tooks like those folks, don't you?'

Frodo shrugged unintimidated by the oaf.

'Some do that's true; it varies from member to member. But I am not a Took…I am a Baggins. Frodo Baggins at your service, ward and heir to Bilbo Baggins of Bag-End; whom I believe, you owe your continued existence to. Food is running scarce everywhere my large friend, and it would be a pity if the supplies from Erebor and Dale stopped arriving…which they're likely to do if you turn on the hobbit who made it happen.'

The thought of an empty belly is liable to stop even the angriest hobbit in their tracks, and the image of what would happen if the supplies from the dwarves dried up sent many of the crowd skittering back to their homes. This included the brute in front of Frodo, although in his case it was more that he was dragged back there by concerned lackeys.

Once the last of the crowd had disappeared off into the distance, the door to the house creaked open and a small face peaked out. Frodo thought of Merry again and tried to swallow his apprehension.

Three hours earlier

Sam Gamgee for once did not wake up screaming from his dreams, but that didn't seem to matter because everyone else was. He'd clambered out of bed and into the hall before he'd really wrapped his head around being awake again. So, the people that ran past him were little more than jittery blurs to his child's eye. The voices though…they were as clear as the brightest day in summer.

'No…No…please…please…he didn't do this! She just died, like they all die. He doesn't even have his staff anymore!'

That was Ma's voice, more frantic now than even her nastiest of turns. Sam's feet carried him to where the yelling was loudest. He could see a bit clearer now, so he saw right enough the two Shirriff's standing in the door way of Number 3 Bagshot Row, and he saw what they were doing.

His Da weren't even kicking or screaming or doing nothing to fight back as those two villains dragged him out the door and away from Sam's Ma. Well this weren't going to stand…not while Samwise Gamgee were alive to stop it. Gathering his courage, the young Hobbit ran after the two Shirriffs, evading the capture of his sister Daisy's arms, young Sam scooped up a handful of pebbles and threw them as hard as he could at the two Shirriffs' heads. Of course, as hard as he could was not very hard at all, and so only one pebble out of the many found its mark. But it was enough to turn the villain's head, and before Sam could be jerked out of the way a large hand came down and struck him right across the face.

Twelve Weeks Later

The charge, as the Shirriff's called it, was Murder under the first degree and willing devotion to followers of the death arts, otherwise known as Ganymen. It was decided, by the Mayor's office and only them seeing as how no judge in the Shire was allowed let alone willing to touch a case like this, that the punishment while of course leading to eventual death should be more drawn out than that.

It was uncovered after much investigation and 'aggressive interrogation' that the Ganyman known as Hamfast Bungo Gamgee had committed more than one act of 'mercy'. The exact number was unable to be found yet, but his jailers assumed it to be somewhere in the hundreds. Thus, it was decreed that the simple drop from a rope that was the fate of most caught and charged Ganymen, was simply not adequate justice in this case. But no one, not even Mayor Proudfoot, seemed able to agree what exactly was.

Some said he should be burned, but others argued that that was simply too expensive an execution for a struggling Shire to afford. Some cried he should be boiled alive or drowned in the Brandywine River, but most found that too morbid for hobbit senses and argued that they wouldn't get a good turn out with that. It took a total of twelve consecutive weeks of deliberation and endless catered meetings and business lunches, for them to finally reach a decision. It was decreed to all hobbits who would listen that the Ganyman known as Hamfast Gamgee at high noon the following day: would be hung, drawn and then quartered.

During all those lunches and catered meetings the prisoner had to be relocated from the shire's holding cells. It was simply too expensive to keep the cells continuously open over a long period of time. The guards' salaries alone made the Mayor's accountant break out into sweats. So, with little debate on the matter it was decided that Hamfast should be housed in The Dragon's Keep Playhouse, which had been commandeered shortly after the outlawing of the Ganymen. It was the only place large enough to hold the crowds that turned out for a hanging.

He'd been lodged in one of the old dressing rooms, haphazard bars thrown across the entrance and a rookie guarding the door. If it had been anyone else who ordered it Hamfast might have thought they wanted him to escape…but no if there was one thing that Mayor Proudfoot was famous for, beside the slaughter of peaceful people, it was his cheapness. Which was why the Ganyman wasn't surprised when half way through his containment, they stopped feeding him.

Middle-Earth, The Shire, Hobbiton, The Dragon's Keep Playhouse: T.A. 2994, S.R. 1394, 15th June

Bilbo Baggins and Daisy Gamgee held their heads high as they passed the guards at the door. Sam walked between the two and didn't even acknowledge that there were guards there at all. His eyes remained fixed on the package held in his small hands. It had to be him who carried it – no one ever noticed him.

The cell door was unwatched this day, there really didn't seem a point in paying that extra guard one more day just to contain a prisoner who was too weak to move. The door wasn't even locked, so the trio entered unhindered into the Ganyman's dank cell.

Bilbo paused just beyond the threshold of the tiny room, it had been designed as a dressing room for the company's leading lady, if he remembered correctly. But any signs of beauty or glamour had been stripped from its walls. It was a stiflingly small room now, and the smell that hit Bilbo on entering it made him gag and wretch.

Feces and decay were evident all over the walls, as if someone had gone in beforehand and smeared it all along their once polished surfaces. This sight held Bilbo's focus so tightly that he almost didn't notice the small rag wrapped figure in the middle of the room. In fact, he very well might not have at all if it hadn't been for young Samwise's cry.

'Da!'

Bilbo's eyes were brought down to the child and where he knelt, or rather by who he knelt. The round, ruddy cheeked hobbit that Bilbo's son had once been, seemed to have vanished almost entirely. His cheeks were hollow now and his belly had depleted to barely more than a bump, and there was a thick layer of caked blood around his eyes, meaning he had to squint through it to look at them at all. And his hair hung lankly off his head, which was pressed to his chest now because he did not even have the strength to lift it. Bilbo fell to his knees before his child and began to weep.

It was Daisy who remained steadily calm as she knelt by her father. She knew what they had come here to do and falling apart now would only hurt him further. She snapped her fingers at her little brother who raised his head in confusion, still half dazed in a wash of grief and horror. But his tear clouded eyes soon grew in comprehension, and he tore open the package that had lain forgotten on his knee. And from within the depths of the brown crinkled paper he removed a small purple vial.

Sam hesitated seemingly unsure of what to do next, Daisy reached out her hand expectedly and he passed it over…his own shaking furiously as he did so. She turned then and cupped the back of her father's head and, tipping it backwards, she uncorked the vial with her teeth and poured its black contents down his throat. She held his mouth closed until he was forced to swallow and then she let go and his head flopped forward, a smile on his cracked and bloodied lips. Daisy couldn't be certain, but she thought she almost saw them trying to mouth 'thank you', but it was over in a flash and she would never be entirely sure of what she had seen that day.

If the guards of The Dragon's Den suspected what had happened in that cell they never let on. Not even when on the day that was to be his execution, when they went to retrieve the prisoner in question... all they'd found was the now stone-cold body of Hamfast Gamgee.

Somewhere, in a bedroom deep in the heart of The Elven-King Thranduil's palace, Gandalf the Grey opened his eyes and sat up in bed.

'Bilbo!'