~~~~*~~~~

Pippin leaned against the stone archway and yawned. The city was sleeping during the hottest part of the long day, and he felt he should be doing likewise. If only he had some form of entertainment. Where was Merry? He was probably eating, or lying in the shade right now, or perhaps talking to his friends. The lucky hobbit. Pippin sighed. Why had he been given duty now, of all times? His tired eyes traveled down the deserted street for the umpteenth time, sweeping here and there into the furthest corners and deepest doorways. Nothing. Not a soul was foolish enough to be stirring. Ach, it was hot!

“Pippin!”

Pippin recognized the voice without turning around.

“Hello, Merry,” he replied enthusiastically, grateful for the company. “Come to visit me?”

Merry nodded, and reached into his breeches pocket.

“I brought this for you,” he said as he pulled out a hunk of bread and a small square of cheese. Pippin received them eagerly.

“Thank you, cousin! Did you come alone?”

“Yes,” Merry nodded his head. “Everyone else was busy or too lazy to come.” By the last statement he meant Frodo. Pippin understood and nodded. The recent events concerning his cousin were still fresh in his mind.

“So, have there been any more, er, uh,”

“Attacks?” Finished Merry. Pippin nodded solemnly, and Merry sighed.

“Unfortunately so,” he said sadly, and Pippin grimaced.

“Have they been as bad as last time?”

“No, wait, what do you mean?”

“Well, have they left Frodo injured?”

“No, but I’m afraid it’s much worse than that,” Merry sighed. “He’s not hurting himself anymore, only the people trying to help him. For example, a guard a few days ago was kicked hard in the shin, and had to have it bandaged. And just yesterday he bit another guard on the wrist, hard enough to draw blood.”

Pippin winced again. The attacks were turning out to be more dangerous than he thought. But his cousin wasnÂ’t finished.

“Today was the worst. This morning after breakfast he had another attack. When Sam tried to help him, Frodo punched him in the face.”

Pippin gasped in surprise.

“He hit SAM?!” Merry nodded grimly.

“He’s putting ice on it now. Sam’s going to have a very nice black eye. Of course you can imagine how Frodo feels.”

“Oh, he must feel simply awful, knowing he did that to Sam,” Pippin emphasized, and Merry nodded again.

“Gandalf is very concerned, of course. I heard him tell Sam if Frodo doesn’t get any better, he’ll go seek help himself.”

A sharp clickety clack of horsesÂ’ hooves on the paving stones behind him brought Pippin jumping smartly back to his post. The sound of deep laughter greeted him in response as Gandalf came riding through the archway, mounted proudly on Shadowfax. However, there was a slight urgency, a quick nervousness to the wizardÂ’s movements that told the hobbit something was wrong.

“What is it, Gandalf?” He asked urgently. “Is Frodo worse?”

He nodded gravely.

“I’m riding for a friend of mine,” he explained. “He was able to cure anything once, whether it be a bee sting or a lance wound, or a sickness. Perhaps he will be able to help.”

Seeing the concerned look on PippinÂ’s face, he said in a gentler voice.

“Fear not, I shan’t be gone more than a week. Until I return, let the Men handle Frodo if he has any more fits. I have given them strict instructions. They know what to do. Farwell!”

With a nod to Merry, Gandalf turned back to his mount and Shadowfax leapt away down the silent street, his footfalls sounding even after he had rounded the corner. The two hobbits looked at each other in dismay. Gandalf had been the only one able to handle Frodo, the only one able to ‘reason’ with him when he was stricken. Now, with him gone, what hope was there of controlling him?

~*~

“No, Frodo, stop that….wait……come back here…..ugh…GUARDS!!” Sam’s strained voice rang through the halls for the second time that day. His eye throbbed where Frodo’s maddened fist had struck earlier, and his breath came in gasps from trying to catch his master. He had had enough of this. The guards arrived in the doorway, grimacing, perceiving their obvious duty.

“Please!” Moaned Frodo crouching in agony on the floor. “Don’t take me!”

Sam only nodded to the guards, wiping his hand across his brow.

“He needs to be locked up,” he complained in exasperation, only half meaning what he said.

“Yes!” shouted Frodo, bounding up from the floor. “Lock me away! I failed, I deserve no better.”

“Very well,” said the captain of the guards simply. He too was fed up with the constant madness. What did the old wizard know about handling a mad man, or hobbit? Ignoring Gandalf’s stern advice, the captain proclaimed loudly

“To the dungeon with him, until he recovers.”

“What?” gasped Sam in surprise, and then as he thought, frustration changed his mind. “Yes, he’s been asking for the dungeon, so he might as well go there! Perhaps it would help. At least it would give me a break from this infernal madness.”

“Aye, it would,” answered the captain, eyeing Sam’s injury with sympathy. “Away with him.”

The guards grasped Frodo firmly by the shoulders and hauled him protesting from the floor, tying his arms behind his back securely but not painfully tight. A slow trickle of nervous doubt began to seep into SamÂ’s hesitant mind, but it was too late now. As the guards took Frodo from the room he gave one last frantic call

“Sam! Help me!”

The words rang out clear in the afternoon sir, burning into SamÂ’s conscious and leaving a searing mark of guilt. But the noises faded down the hall and Frodo was gone.

~*~

“NO! Please don’t take me! I’ll do anything! Let me go! Pleeease!” The captain halted the company and with a sigh of annoyance approached the reluctant prisoner. The hobbit slowly raised his head and his anxious, nervous face looked frantically up at the captain, blue eyes stinging with fear.

“Now, don’t worry,” the captain soothed. “We’re taking you someplace where you can…”

His words were cut short by and sudden lashing out of the prisoner, a sudden violence almost succeeding in wrenching himself away.

“Sam!!” Frodo screamed, and the captain shook him hard.

“Be quiet!” he almost yelled. “We’re trying to help you! Now, you can come along quietly or come along the hard way.”

Frodo ceased his struggling and hung his head limply. The captain nodded to the guards and continued taking the prisoner down many flights of steps, passing by the kitchens, the food cellar, and the armory before at last reaching their place of destination.

“A prisoner?” questioned the Keeper in the dungeon, raising one eyebrow suspiciously.

“No,” answered the captain. “He’s mad. He continues to insist he be taken here, so perhaps it would help.”

“Hmm, is he one of those, uh, hobbits?”

The captain nodded in the affirmative.

“Very well, this way. I have just the cell for him.”

The guards hauled Frodo after the Keeper, who led them to a spacious, roomy cell obviously reserved for more noble prisoners. He unlocked the heavy wooden door and swung it open upon creaky hinges. The guards severed FrodoÂ’s bonds and placed him gently inside. The Keeper shut the door finally and locked it.

“Well, there you are,” he said. “How shall I have him fed?”

“Feed him well. Such food as is served to the Ringbearer. No prison food.” The captain laughed. “I’m warning you, these hobbits eat a lot. I’ll come for him tomorrow, if he’s settled down by then.”

The Keeper of the Keys stared at the captain through narrow cat-like slits of eyes.

“The Ringbearer?” he mused suspiciously. “Is this the Ringbearer?”

The captain nodded again, and the KeeperÂ’s eyes darted nervously towards the cell door.

“He’s mad, then?” Upon receiving the response, he shook his head in sympathy. “It’s a pity. A terrible shame. But I’ll make sure he has as pleasant a time as I can provide.”

“Oh there’s no need to waste your efforts,” the captain waved off. “He won’t accept them, no matter how helpful or sympathetic your intentions. You’ll see.”

With a harsh word of command to his company, the captain was off, leaving the Keeper still staring in wonder at the door to FrodoÂ’s cell.