Last Time: We experienced the experiences of the inexperienced hobbit amidst very experienced guards in a dungeon and the surrounding premises. An inexperienced Sam accidentally encountered a mad hobbit, and the experienced keeper saved him. Now, we will find out (if I can get any more annoying) if all these experiences will teach the previously inexperienced some lessons, which SHOULD have been learned from experience! (ode to Captain Jack Sparrow)

~~~~*~~~~

“Released, you say?” Aragorn’s eyebrows shot up in surprise as Sam nodded.
“But the reports I have been getting say Frodo’s not getting any better. He’s gotten worse, they say. Have you heard them?”

“The what, sir?’ Sam asked.

“The reports from the Houses of Healing, where Frodo’s being taken every day for treatment.”

“No, I’m sorry sir, I have not.”

“Would it trouble you to hear them?”

Sam shook his head, and the King shifted through the papers on his desk until he found the right ones.

“According to the reports, Frodo goes mad whenever he enters the Houses of Healing. The madness leaves once he returns to his cell. Now, it would seem logical to avoid the Houses to avoid the fits, but he also has fits in his cell, thereby concluding the fits are not limited only to a specific area.”

He glanced sadly at Sam.

“I heard you experienced such a fit the other day. Now, tell me. Did he give any sign of madness before he attacked you?”

“No, he didn’t,” Sam answered.

“He didn’t draw up his chin, grab the back of his neck, or clutch at his wrists?”

“No, sir. Is that what he’s been doin’?”

Aragorn nodded seriously.

“Yes,” he sighed. “Just before he has a fit in the houses, he does one of those three things, so they say. They also say he seems to faint without falling before he goes mad. Yet he didn’t show any of those signs before attacking you?”

“No, he didn’t, sir,” Sam confessed.

“Well, then, I’m sorry to say I can’t release him just yet, Samwise. He isn’t safe.”

“You make him sound like an animal!” Sam burst out angrily. “He’s not! He apologized sincerely to me afterwards, and seemed genuinely sorry.”

His thoughts traveled back to the event two days ago, and as he recalled them, his resolve hardened. He would have Frodo released as long as his name was Samwise Gamgee. Perhaps bribery would workÂ…..
‘No, no,’ Sam thought to himself. ‘What can I bribe him with? He’s a King now. Strider has anything he could ever want.’

Sam sighed.

“If he can’t be released, then may I go down to him?” Sam swallowed, waiting anxiously for the reply. The King stared sharply at the rash hobbit.

“Why, what would you do that for?” he asked in surprise.

“Because I can help him better if I don’t have to spend an hour walking to and from his cell every day.”

“But where would YOU stay? Not in his cell!” Aragorn laughed quietly, and Sam’s face reddened. He hadn’t gone through all this trouble to be laughed at.

“Very well,” he said, preparing to leave. “I shall be with Frodo when you change your mind.”

Sam turned on his heel and stalked briskly from the room, heading determinedly for the dungeons. Perhaps they would understand.

~*~

A glaring light unfolded through the doorway as the guards entered for him. Frodo shuddered as another chill swept over his sweat covered body, and he groaned as the guards pulled him from his makeshift bed of straw on the floor. Every bone ached as the room heaved in circles around him. He felt as though he were being pulled up in an arch and then yanked down again, like the time he was rolled down the hill in a barrel at Brandyhall.

“He’s awful hot, sir,” said one of the guards anxiously to his captain. The commanding officer shrugged it off noncaringly.

“It’s this blasted whether,” he said decisively, turning his back as Frodo glanced up at him with glassy eyes.

“Come, let’s go.”

The gaurds dragged the stumbling hobbit along the familiar passageway, stopping once when he fell to his knees from the dizziness. Frodo thought it would never end, the stone walls leading to stone steps, going down, down, always down.

‘Then up,’ he thought in dismay as he remembered the equal ascending distance. He hung his head in awful anticipation. As they passed one of the countless passages intersecting their own, a familiar voice met his fever-sensitive ears.

“Frodo?”

He snapped his head up a little too fast, and his vision misted over. He shook his head and it passed, beholding to him the alarmed faces of Merry and Pippin.

“What happened to you?” gasped Pippin as he surveyed his cousin, making Frodo suddenly aware of his torn, dirty clothing and disheveled appearance. He hung his head in shame as he croaked

“I’m sorry….I, tell Sam I’m sorry, for everything….I….”

He caught Merry staring at the chains hanging from his hands and feet, and the iron collar clamped firmly around his neck. He realized what a shock this must be for them, and suddenly wanted to hide. It was his own fault he was here. His suffering was his own. Why need Merry and Pippin see it? He felt his face redden as they continued to gawk at his predicament, speechless.

The captain sighed in impatience and shuffled the company along, leaving FrodoÂ’s kin staring in shock at his retreating form.

“Come, Pippin,” said Merry, dragging his cousin along behind him. “Let’s find Sam. He must know of this atrocity.”

~

The guards escorting Frodo had arrived at the doorway to the Houses of Healing, and tightened their grip on the prisoner. They knew as soon as they passed through the doorway he would go mad, trying to wrench himself away. It was their duty to keep him there until a Healer arrived.

Frodo shuddered not from the fever, but from the sight of the ominous doors. As he approached, the light tore into his eyes, searing itÂ’s way into his brain where it exploded into a thousand daggers of burning fire. He waited to pass out, but the feeling never came. He was through the doors, and in a room he was sure he had been in before, but never consciously.

It was a spacious room, square, with bright morning sunshine streaming in through many tall, open windows overseeing the bustling city below. Long, gauzy curtains blossomed gracefully on small currants of air drifting lazily through the windows. The room was organized with two long rows of white beds waiting neatly to host a tired patient. Many Healers buzzed too and fro, intent on their tasks, paying no heed to the company passing through.

Frodo stared wide-eyed at the comforting scene. He couldnÂ’t be in Mordor. This was too beautiful, and no presiding evil hung in the air, only a feeling of rest and peace.

His musings were brought to a sudden halt, however, when a stern-faced Healer approached them, swinging a small bottle on a chain. Upon seeing Frodo, he stopped and stared at him.

“He’s not mad.” He said in surprise to the captain, who turned in his turn in gaping at the hobbit.

It was only then that Frodo felt himself about to faint, and the Healer grasped him firmly.

“How do you feal?” he demanded, and Frodo found himself answering

“Heavy, and tired, so….very tired,” and he collapsed.

The Healer caught him as he fell and laid him gently on one of the beds. As soon as his head touched the pillow, he sprang from the bed, eyes wild, and bolted for the doorway. He was stopped by a guard (who happened to grab the chain dangling from his neck as he passed) and jerked roughly to the floor.

“NO!” he yelled, scrambling to his feet, and was jerked down again. This time, he was held firmly by the arms as the guards struggled to keep him there.

“I had to say something,” the Healer mumbled to himself as he uncorked the bottle. He nodded to one of the guards.

“You know what to do.”

“No!” Frodo yelled again, his eyes wide with terror and madness. The guards hauled him over to the bed and four held him down while the others lashed ropes around him, binding him to the bed and securing him tightly so the Healer could administer his medicine without being harmed.

“Please! Don’t hurt me! Don’t take me!” Frodo pleaded, completely ignored by the others.

“I won’t tell you! NO! You can’t have it! It’s mine!”

“Open his mouth,” instructed the Healer, “And let’s get this over with.”

FrodoÂ’s jaws were pried open and the Man poured a spoonful of the medicine into his mouth, forcing him to swallow it.

“Poor thing,” he pitied as the guards untied the fighting hobbit and led him from the room.

‘If only Mithrandir would return,’ he thought to himself, ‘Everything would be all right.’

~*~

The Keeper was roused suddenly form his nap by an incessant banging on his office door. He grumbled to himself as he sulkily rose to open it. Three anxious hobbits stood on the threshold, three hobbits who pushed their way rudely into his room and demanded Frodo be set free. His reaction was worse than AragornÂ’s.

“Why did you disturb me?” he complained angrily. “You must know I can’t let anyone out without a signed released from the King.”

“Very well,” said the one who had been there before. “We’ll stay here until he recovers.”

“What?”

The hobbit (was his name Sam?) padded across the room and inspected the furniture for a place to sleep.

“This couch looks comfortable,” he said cheerily. “I wonder why they don’t put these in their cells. Where are you going to sleep, Merry?”

Merry had spied the KeeperÂ’s own bed, and darted towards it.

“Hey! Get off of there!” The Keeper yelled, outraged, reaching for Merry. He was suddenly grabbed form behind by the other hobbit, who shouted for help.

“SAM! Help me with him!”

“Get away from me you stinking foreigners!” The Keeper bellowed, but Merry and Pippin had been in more battles than he, and despite their size, overwhelming numbers won out in the end. Sam hit him on the head with an empty bottle while the other two held him, and it was all over.

Pippin shouted for victory and undid the ManÂ’s belt, drawing off the ring of keys while Merry tied his hands together.

“We’re going to get in so much trouble,” laughed Pippin, twirling the large bracelet.

“Stop celebrating and go find a cell for him,” commanded Merry sternly. “We haven’t got Frodo yet.”

A new thought dawned on Sam, and he groaned.

“I can’t remember which cell it is!” He agonized, laying down the broken neck of the bottle he still clutched in his hand.

“Well, if we haven’t found it by the time he wakes up, we’ll ask him,” suggested Merry, pointing to the unconscious Keeper with his thumb.

The three hobbits dragged the Keeper into the nearest cell and, after trying more than half the key ring, finally locked it.

“I wish these keys were marked,” complained Pippin, eyeing the nearly identical keys with distaste.

“Then give them to an elder.” Merry snatched them from Pippin, who tried to take them back but failed and snorted in disgust.

“Very well, I’m going to find Frodo before you do!” He darted off into the labyrinth of passageways in the dungeon, calling Frodo’s name loudly. Merry sighed, and motioning to Sam, started after him, more carefully than his cousin.

~

Pippin rounded a corner and stopped suddenly, darting back into the shadows. A company of guards passed by, so close he could have touched them had they known he was there. As they disappeared, he gave a sigh of relief, letting out the last three hoursÂ’ of frustration with it. He had searched everywhere, but he couldnÂ’t seem to find Frodo! His legs ached from trying to jump up high enough to look in the cell door windows, and his patience hung on a very fragile thread.

“Frodo!” he called one more time, and as he expected, silence ran true to it’s word. Frodo wasn’t down this way. He was coming to believe he wasn’t in the dungeons at all. As he turned to go find his friends, a sudden sound, so faint only a hobbit or elf could have heard it, came from one of the cells down the hall to his right. He made his way suspiciously towards it, and called once again

“Frodo!”

Nothing. Still, Pippin couldnÂ’t give up hope. He had thought it was a groan. He ran back down the hallway, retracing his steps until he found Merry and Sam.

“I think I found him!” Pippin exclaimed excitedly, and ran back to the passage where the guards had passed, two pairs of hobbit feet slapping softly and urgently behind him.

~

SamÂ’s heart leapt to his throat as he ran after Pippin. Suppose he was wrong? What if it wasnÂ’t Frodo? What if he had to go back and check all these cells they were passing? He groaned imwardly thinking of the task they had taken upon themselves, and the consequences of their actions.

‘Mad or not mad,’ Sam thought, ‘Frodo shouldn’t be kept in that cell, with the horrible Keeper who slaps him.’ His face burned in anger as he recalled the scene, bringing extra strength to his legs.

Pippin rounded the corner abruptly and stopped.

“Frodo!” he called out, and Sam had an instant flashback of the tower in Cirith Ungol. He shuddered.

Pippin led them to the cell he had heard the noise come from and motioned for Sam to give him a boost up to the window. Sam let Pippin climb on his shoulders, and held him fast by the ankles as the youngest hobbit latched onto the bars in the doorÂ’s window and peered inside.

“I can’t see a blasted thing,” he complained. “We must enter to make sure.”

~*~

Frodo heard keys, and strange sounds as though someone was trying the keyhole numerous times, without success. It was very confusing, and he figured it was his mind playing tricks on him. He was too weak to try and figure out what it was. A deadly chill shook him from head to toe, and he wanted to curl into a ball, but he couldnÂ’t move. He hadnÂ’t moved since the guards had thrown him down, and a sharp stone was sticking into his thigh.

‘Useless,’ he thought weakly. ‘Everything is useless. I can’t get away. I can’t even move. Why try? Nothing can change where I am.’

Even as he thought this, the door swung open and voices flooded his small cell, calling his name over and again.

~

“Frodo!” Sam gasped in horror as he beheld the forlorn figure of his master lying sprawled on the floor, dirty rags gray in the dim light. His face was hidden by his tangled hair and Sam leapt forward in anguish, kneeling urgently by his friend’s unmoving side. He checked his breathing. It was weak and hot, but present.

“He has a fever!” exclaimed Merry upon contact with his burning hand while releasing him from his chains. “We must get him out of here. Come, Sam. Help me lift him.”

“Sam? Is that you?” Frodo’s hoarse, scratchy voice was barely above a whisper. His glazed eyes searched the darkness until they found the face of Sam.

“You……shouldn’t have come.” He coughed weakly and Sam found tears coming to his eyes.

“I’m not alone,” he said trying to draw the attention away from the unpleasant memories. “I’ve brought master Merry and master Pippin along. Pippin found you and Merry unlocked the door.”

“Yes, we’re here, Frodo,” came Merry’s voice form beside Sam. “We’re getting you out of here. Come Sam.”

The two grasped a surprisingly light Frodo gently and carried him from the cell all the way to the KeeperÂ’s room. There, they rested while Pippin unlocked the KeeperÂ’s cell (who was still unconscious) and set his keys beside him.

“Now perhaps our consequences will be more lenient,” Pippin said in attempted cheerfulness, but they all knew it would only be hours before their deed would be known everywhere. They started out once more, stopping only once until they reached Frodo’s former room.

Here, the light was better and they saw instantly how close Frodo had come toÂ…they dared not utter the word. He was deathly pale, save for where the fever set fire to his delicate skin, bruised, and sore where the shackles had rubbed raw the skin. He was incredibly weak, and fell asleep as soon as his head touched the soft pillow. Pippin ran for water and blankets, and when he arrived, Sam did his best to carefully clean and bandage his master.

Once he had finished, he sat back and for the first time breathed a shaky sigh of relief. Frodo was free, for the present, but what the outcome of his ‘release’ would be, nobody knew.

~To be continued!~