-Prologue-
The wind thrashed about wildly within their little room. Monstrous waves beat upon the ship in an angry rage to sink it. The wood creaked and moaned with each wave encounter. Lighting turned night into day as the never-ending storm attacked. Thunder exploded like cannon fire, leaving you breathless. Shouts came from above as elves ordered and counseled. All the while two hobbits huddled together soaked and shivering. “I’ve never experienced a storm so fierce!” Bilbo yelled over the noise.

“Neither have I.” Frodo said weakly.

“I’m sorry? I can’t hear a blasted thing.” Bilbo said looking at Frodo.

“Me neither.” He said clearer. Suddenly the boat tipped so much that it sent the two tumbling to the floor and rolling to the side of the ship. The ship calmed briefly then tossed the Baggins to the other side. As they were tossed and turned about, old Bilbo could hardly take such rush, his bones were too frail. Frodo managed to stand and finally found his balance. As his Uncle began to roll he picked him up. With great difficulty Frodo staggered toward the cot. He was able to rest Bilbo in the secured bed right before he was tossed onto the floor once more.

Bilbo recovered enough to see his boy thrown across the room. The hobbit reached down as Frodo passed. “Take my hand!” Frodo grabbed the hand and struggled to his feet. Before the ship slanted again Frodo jumped into the cot. He sat there and caught his breath. After a while Frodo looked at his Uncle and found him with his eyes closed and looking pure exhausted. The hobbit untied his cloak and wrapped around his Uncle. “Thank-you.” He whispered as Frodo came closer.

Frodo cautiously heaved himself off of the cot and ran to the door. He relaxed once his hold was firm on the latch. He inched toward the window, holding onto what he could. Suddenly his hand slipped and caught the doorknob, turning it slightly. The wind immediately pulled it open and forced Frodo into the life of a sailor.

A towering wave crashed up on the deck and he was tossed along the floor and pushed into the rail. His head spun from such rush of pain and motion. He felt dazed as elves busied about. Suddenly two hands took hold of his collar and pulled him to his feet. The confused hobbit looked up, the salt water stinging his eyes. There beside him stood Gandalf warily looking around for the next wave. “Hold fast!” His voice suddenly pierced through the wind. A strong, monstrous wave arose above the rail. Frodo glanced at it then turned away in fear of pain. A sheet of water rammed the hobbit against Gandalf.

Then he was suddenly in the wind again, feeling soaked. To his surprise he was still in the arms of the wizard. “You’re going to get washed away. Go below deck!” He yelled as wind whipped so hard that it bit at the wood and splintered the rails. Gandalf gave him a push toward the door and Frodo just made it in before another wave of water washed by. Exhausted Frodo staggered to the cot. He took hold of the extra rope that hung from the bed. He stood there half asleep, soaked to the bone, swaying with the ship.

Suddenly a cloak was thrown at him, awaking the hobbit from his weary slumber. Frodo grabbed it and glanced at his Uncle, who had pretended to go back to sleep. But Frodo saw the laughter and care in his guilty face. The Baggins put his cloak on and began to feel a little warmer. He glanced out the tiny window and saw a glimpse of white robes, and then they vanished as a wave washed on deck. As the wave passed two elves ran by the window shouting to the other as a sense of hope grew. “Mithrandir, Lach en Annun!”

“Gandalf… flame of the West.” Frodo whispered to himself in wonder. The Baggins saw Gandalf again. He was making his way to the mast, Master Elrond was following. The wizard started the climb, staff at hand. Slowly he rose against the wind and out of sight from the little window. A few moments later lighting came, but it lasted much longer than the others. Slowly it faded and after no thunder came. To Frodo’s wonder it was no trick of weather, but Gandalf the White trying to conjure a storm that was against them.

This was no storm, as Elrond presumed… it was evil. The evil of Sauron’s spirit made his last allegiance of darkness, a storm so great that none at sea can succeed in completing their voyage. This was the Dark One’s revenge on the two Halflings that made it past his mountains and into his deathly layer unseen.

As Gandalf lay unconscious in the crow’s nest, the wheel spun and the rudder turned, leading the beaten crew back to land.

And so they enter the fourth age and endure more legends…