Frodo's Exciting Day Out

by Llinos
beta Marigold

Chapter 1
Eight o'clock and the Road is Long

"Is it secret? Is it safe?" Gandalf was breathless and dripping with anxiety and raindrops as he stooped under the beam in Bag End's hallway and brushed the outside weather brusquely off his grey robe.

Frodo Baggins always expected his Uncle Bilbo's old friend to make some kind of dramatic entrance, but this time he had surpassed himself. His beard was ragged and tangled and his eyes were flashing with a fire that surpassed anger and had grown into a belligerent omnipotence that only a truly erratic wizard can possess.

"Gandalf! Is something wrong?" Frodo was not given to irony, he just tended to stumble over it now and again. "You don't look too happy."

"The Ring! Bilbo's Ring!" Gandalf allowed his host to take the wet cloak and even spent a second to note that Frodo made no comment about his lack of pointed hat. "You would not believe the trouble I have just been through on account of that wretched thing! Where is it?"

"Tea first, Ring second!" Frodo decided firmly. Wizards sometimes needed hobbits to help keep emergencies in perspective.

"Very well," Gandalf suddenly found the seductive allure of a fresh brew more attractive than mysterious rings of power, age-old riddles and thwarting evil plans for the domination of Middle-earth – they could all wait until after tea. "But none of your bloody seedcake, mind!"

Frodo frowned behind Gandalf's back as he followed him through to the kitchen. Bilbo always told him that Gandalf liked linseed cake, oh well it was just as well he'd only made three and there was the lardy cake and melting moments and, at a pinch, they could always fall back on the bread pudding. Lost in thought, Frodo suddenly realised that the wizard was looking at him with a sympathetic smile as if he understood the dilemma.

"I know it's been difficult for you Frodo, since Bilbo left," Gandalf placed a kindly hand on the hobbit's shoulder, "and now I bring more problems to your already troubled life."

"It's no bother really Gandalf," Frodo's frown deepened, he was puzzled now, "It's only cakes after all. I mean I know they're important, but I'm sure we can manage."

"Indeed." Gandalf agreed, "However, I was thinking more of the impending doom of a growing shadow that threatens to cover the whole of Middle-earth – rather than the more immediate, but rather localised, cake shortage."

"Oh," Frodo was a little taken aback but his hand never faltered as he set out the tea, the melting moments on a stand with a doily and a sumptuous lardy cake, dripping with fat and sugar, under a glass dome. "So you're still worried about my Ring then? I wondered why you'd been gone so long, did your boss know anything?"

"Saruman?" Gandalf sneered at the name, although the sneer was lost on Frodo and any spy who might have been watching, as a curled lip under a beard makes little effect. "He has turned traitor! That was why I was gone so long. I thought you might have set out by now – I did tell you to."

Frodo opened his mouth to list the reasons why he had not started the journey. Summer had spilled over into autumn and Frodo had sold Bag End to the Sackville-Baggins's. Then, at the last minute, they had pulled out of the sale and Frodo had to find a new buyer. There had been quite a few genuine enquiries, including several from mysterious riders, cloaked in black, who had asked for the residence of "Baggins", but since all the folk that saw them did not want them as neighbours, they mostly got directed up to Scary. Frodo was still waiting in each day to show these prospective buyers around.

Gandalf held up a hand to stop the explanations. "No matter. It is just as well I still find you here."

"Oh so it's all right then?" Frodo was a little disappointed, he had quite looked forward to an adventure, running away to Bree and places beyond, just like Bilbo. "Does that mean I don't have to go?"

"No!" Gandalf blew on his tea to cool it. "I'm afraid I was right all along. The Ring is the One Ring made by the Dark Lord Sauron."

Frodo looked up in alarm, "You mean…"

"Yes, Frodo," Gandalf sipped the tea and paused to eat a cake, "I have been very busy since I left you. The Ring must leave the Shire and you must take It."

"Why me, Gandalf?" Frodo had fetched the Ring and It sat ominously on the table before them. "Could you not take It – I'm sure that would be best."

"I cannot touch It Frodo," Gandalf shook his head solemnly, "I mean I'd love to, don't get me wrong, but I've seen what just the lust for it has done to Saruman. That's where I've been you know."

"What all this time?" Frodo realised that Gandalf had not yet explained his dishevelled appearance. "What were you doing there?"

"Being held prisoner." Gandalf, slightly embarrassed at the revelation, hurried swiftly on. "I was imprisoned on the top of the Orthanc Tower and had a great deal of time to think things through, although I fear my beard has suffered greatly from the wind and rain."

"Is that where you lost your pointed hat too?" Frodo could not let that go completely.

"No," Gandalf scowled, "that came later. Now listen carefully, we have much to do and not much time in which to do it. The Ring – your Ring, actually Bilbo's Ring, well The Dark Lord Sauron's Ring if we're being pedantic, must be destroyed and, according to Lord Elrond, who I stopped off to see on the way over here, It has to be taken to Mount Doom in Mordor and cast into the fire from whence It came."

"Mordor!" Frodo's heart really sank now, "But that is league upon league Gandalf! How will I ever get there?"

"Oh it shouldn't take too long," Frodo had been expecting Gandalf's voice of impending doom and destruction, so when he chuckled and ruffled his curls in a jovial manner, the hobbit was a bit taken aback. "No, I've got a friend or two waiting outside who should be able to help." Gandalf went to the window and looked out. "Hmm, do you mind if I take a couple of those seedcakes out to them? They'd go down a treat!"

"Dwarves! That's it" Frodo remembered Bilbo's tales of Gandalf's methods of acquiring overnight accommodation and cake for his friends. "You've got dwarves out there – haven't you!"

"Not at all," Gandalf turned back from the window, looking somewhat affronted at the suggestion. "Although I think you'll find these chaps just as grumpy and aloof, but far more useful. I'm always telling you Frodo, it pays to have friends in high places."

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One of the immense benefits of being a gardener, Samwise Gamgee had learned early on, was that it put you in the best position for gathering gossip. Good, well nurtured and carefully harvested gossip was the best coin he knew, especially down at the Green Dragon, where it could be traded for copious free ales.

When Sam saw Gandalf arrive at Bag End that morning, the gardener's lad realised that today would be a good day to trim the verge and so, shears in hand, he crouched below the window of the lounge and began snipping and listening.

It ought to have been interesting, after all, Gandalf had arrived in a great hurry and looked pretty dishevelled, soaked right through and it wasn't even raining, but there was nothing Sam could make any sense of. At least, nothing that would get him so much as a flagon of cider, just a load of nonsense about secret rings, cakes and fiery cracks of doom, although the stuff about cake sounded promising.

Still he was happy enough, snipping away and repeating the odd word out loud to himself, "impending doom… prisoner… Mordor… league upon league… seedcake!"

"Ahem – excuse me!"

The voice sounded so close to Sam's ear that he dropped the shears in a panic of guilt and began to babble, "j-just tr-trimming the verge – honest… I didn't hear nothin' an' – an' I was just leavin' an… an'… wha…!" As Sam turned around his face blushed as red as Ma Putterduck's pickled beetroot which was nicely offset by the shade of green which followed when he saw who had addressed him, rounded off by him collapsing in a dead faint in the herbaceous border.

Sam did not hear the subsequent remark, "I'm sorry, I just wondered if you had any seedcake."

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"Remember Cousin Brandybuck" Peregrin paused to take a great breath, then hurtled after his companion again. "This whole scheme was yours!"

"Indeed Master Took!" Meriadoc stole a brief glance over his shoulder as he ran, "And who complained of dire hunger and need?"

"I was merely complaining, I did not expect you to do anything about it!" Pippin stopped again, causing Merry to turn back and catch hold of Pippin's scarf so he could pull him along like a dog on a lead. "Besides," Pippin gasped when he could manage any air, "what are you planning to do with raw carrots anyway?"

"Hours of endless entertainment may be obtained from a raw carrot," Merry puffed. "Don't talk – run!"

"And why…why did we need so many squishy tomatoes?" Pippin could feel them oozing into his britches already. "We could have got a firmer variety."

"No – they have… to… squelch!" Merry insisted between pants. His breath was almost spent.

"And I still don't see… the point… of the goat." Pippin generally tolerated Merry's eccentricities – he was half Took after all – but there were times when he pushed it to the limit.

"Pip, you've got to have a goat!" Merry was too exasperated to hyperventilate now, regardless of how out of breath he was from running, "what's the point without a goat?"

"But Merry…" Pippin stopped once more, pulling the scarf from Merry's hand and putting his hands on his hips, "why are we running away? It's not as if anyone's chasing us!"

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"Samwise Gamgee!" Gandalf's used his special admonishing-hobbit's-because-I-can-get-away-with-it-on-account-of-they-are-smaller-than-me-and-don't-have-beards voice, "What are you doing sleeping in the herbaceous border?"

"I beg forgiveness Mithrandir, I startled him." Gwaihir looked down from the top of Bag End where he was now perched, "Landroval reports that the little creature was astonished to see me and that his face became imbued with various interesting hues before he was overcome with sleep and lay down amidst the flowers."

"No need to apologise my friend." Gandalf called back, hauling Sam to his feet by the handy protrusion of the hobbit's ear. "They do not see so many Windlords here in the Shire." He gave the dazed gardener a small shake. "Where are your manners Samwise, this is Gwaihir, Lord of all the Eagles, what do you say?"

"Sorry Master, I'm pleased to meet you," Sam pulled off his hat, clutching it nervously before him and bowed low. "Your Grace, er Your Honour!"

"And this…" Gandalf continued poking Frodo in the back with his staff, "this is the one I told you about, Frodo Baggins."

"How do you do, Sir." Frodo had been instructed by Bilbo in the correct way to address a dwarf, an elf, a troll, a spider and, should the chance occur, an eagle. "May the wind under your wings bear you where the sun sails and the moon walks."

Gwaihir and Landroval looked at each other with the eagle equivalent of raised eyebrows, although exactly what that is cannot be described here. "May your eyrie be ever fair and safe," Gwaihir replied. "As indeed it seems to be." The Windlord scratched at the roof of Bag End, pulling up a little turf and replacing it with an air of approval. "This is my brother Landroval," Frodo bowed low. "And this Meneldor, young and swift." Both hobbits doffed imaginary caps politely, Sam because his hat was already in his hand and Frodo because he had none.

"So, introductions complete, are we ready?" Gandalf glanced up at the sky, "It's almost 8 o'clock and the road is long."

"But my friend," Gwaihir spread his great wings, "That is of no matter since we are not going by road."

"Where? err… what?" Sam certainly did not know how to address an eagle. "But where are we going Master?"

"I just have something I need to do today, Sam." Frodo smiled at the gardener, "I know I said you could come with me the next time I went anywhere, but I'm not sure if there'll be room for you."

"There is no burden too great for the Windlords," Gwaihir stated proudly, his head raised up to catch the morning breeze, "Well certainly not a couple of hobbits. Bring your little friend if you care to, Master Baggins."

"You're not going to fly are you – like Mr Bilbo did," Sam had heard the stories from his former master, "they do say it's awful dangerous – you know flying – you have to get so far off the ground and all."

"It's either that or walk, Sam." Frodo shrugged in resignation, "Now do you want to come?"

"Will I need my frying pan?"

"No."

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Farmer Maggot was affable by nature, a genial, friendly sort of chap who would always give one the time of day. Mrs Maggot worried often that he was too easy-going, too trusting and amiable for his own good. "You and your kindness – it'll be the ruination of us all Maggot, you mark my words!" she would scold. But Maggot could not find it in his heart to be surly or unforgiving.

When the strange rider dressed all in black stopped by his farm, Maggot tried to give directions, but it was so hard to make out what the gentleman on the big horse wanted. The friendly farmer would not be rude enough to beg his pardon over, when he could not make out what was wanted, but the man was so sibilant it was difficult to know for sure.

"Bagginssss?"

"Well now, there are many Bagginses in these parts. Are you after the Sackville-Baggins or mayhap the Frogmorton Baggins? There are some, well 'twere, some but now I think 'tis all but one, since Mr Bilbo left you understand, anyway, there's one up in Hobbiton, but I doubt he'd be the one you want. Youngish lad, bit of a scamp really. No I should try…" But the rider was obviously upset with something Maggot had said and rode off in a huff before the farmer could finish.

Before he could chase after the rider with another thought he had had about Bagginses and their whereabouts, another matter caught his attention. Two hobbits suddenly appeared in the road before him, from out of the vegetable patch, their arms laden with freshly pulled roots. They looked at Maggot and gasped and, before the startled farmer could say a word, both lads plunged through the hedge and into the field on the other side of the road.

Maggot was stunned into rock for several heartbeats, he knew hobbit lads could move fast, but these two seemed to be in a complete panic. Gradually recovering his senses, the stout yeoman picked up the dropped carrots and pushed through the hedge to run as fast as he could after the fleeing pair.

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"There's something moving very fast down there, Mr Frodo." Sam had finally plucked up the courage to peer over the side of the eagle's neck and glimpse the terrifyingly distant land moving swiftly beneath them. He and Frodo were perched on the back of Landroval and, for most of the journey, the gardener had kept his eyes tightly shut.

"Glad you decided to join me at last Sam," Frodo was getting a little bored with having to give him a running commentary in an attempt to get Sam to look.

"You might also try not clinging on so tightly to my neck?" Landroval suggested. Eagles are very polite, if a trifle sarcastic.

"Ha!" Gandalf riding comfortably on the back of Gwaihir had spotted the progress of Frodo's cousins several minutes earlier. "It's young Meriadoc and Peregrin, up to no good I do not doubt. Those two are the worst behaved hobbits in the whole of the Shire. Valar help all hobbitkind when they become Master and Thain!"

"What think you Mithrandir?" Gwaihir turned to look at the wizard with a wicked gleam in his golden eye. "Should we teach them a lesson? Give them a taste of real adventure?"

"Do you know, my friend, that might not be a bad idea." Gandalf called over to Frodo, "Shall we collect your cousins, Frodo? If Meneldor is willing to bear them."

"I'm not sure I can bear them," Frodo giggled. "Not for a whole day anyway! Still, if you think it will do them good, why not?"

Meneldor swooped closer to his brothers, "Shall I seize the little moving cousin creatures? They seem to be in peril at the moment. However, it might be instructive to see what occurs if they are captured. Will the pursuer eat them?"

"If it's not too much trouble my friend." Gandalf did not want to disappoint the eagle, although he suspected Farmer Maggot would not eat Merry and Pippin even if he caught them. "You would do me a service by saving them."

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"Merry! Wait for me!"

"Run Pip! Come on! Don't stop!"

"Hoi! You two! Come back here!"

Pippin, as he ran along behind his older cousin, was suddenly aware of a great swift shadow moving across him. Had the weather changed? Or possibly his luck and this was his final retribution in the form of the vengeful dragon coming to pluck his sinful body in its great talons and tear him limb from limb. Merry always said he was too fanciful and should not worry so much. So it was probably just a rain cloud, Pippin decided.

"Merrrryyy!" Pippin screamed out the name as the colossal claws wrapped around his small frame and lifted him off the ground.

"Pip! Not the dragon again," Merry knew where his cousin's mind wandered at times like this. "It's not a dragon…" Merry was seized in Meneldor's other claw and borne up into the sky. "It's just an eagle – all right!"

"Hoi – you two!" Farmer Maggot watched the escaping hobbits soar up into the sky in the talons of the mighty bird of prey. "You dropped your carrots!"

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Tom Bombadil looked up briefly at the sky as the great eagles flew overhead. He laughed and waved to Gwaihir and his brothers as the Windlord swooped low, almost knocking the yellow hat off Tom's head.

Hey ho my merry birds flying o'er the greensward,
Light upon the weather-wind, rides the mighty Wind-Lord,
Danger lingers here below, without your hobbit holes,
Take the straighter road above and save your feet and souls.
So sing you loud my jolly lads, merrily you fly now,
No need for elven wisdom, or words that are so highbrow.
You shall not even call for Tom to save you from the willow
Nor spend the night with Goldberry's strange dreams upon your pillow.
You do not need to fear the wight that lingers in the barrow,
Your quest will be completed ere the rising of the sparrow.
So fly my hearties straight and true, into Mordor's flame
You might even change the world – but I'll still be the same.

And with that he laughed uproariously once more – at who knows what – and ran off down the Withywindle.

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To be Very Much Continued…

Frodo's Exciting Day Out

by Llinos
beta Marigold

Chapter 2
I Think It's a Kind of Bath

"I'm sure we should have turned right at Bree!" Gandalf hadn't liked to say anything for a while, after all you can't complain when an old friend is doing you a favour. "Maybe we should ask?"

"Friend Wizard," Gwaihir did not mind backseat drivers, but impugning his sense of direction, that certainly ruffled his feathers, "I am merely keeping our course to Mordor, as the eagle flies."

"Crow," Pippin corrected recklessly.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Crow," Pippin repeated, really pushing his luck, "it's 'as the crow flies'."

"A crow," Meneldor remarked, the tone in his voice disguising the extra tight squeeze he applied to Pippin's middle, "could no more fly to Mordor, than you could."

"Oh," Merry sounded disappointed, "I thought that was where we were going?"

"I meant," Meneldor now applied similar pressure to Meriadoc's waist, "without my assistance. Now please do not mention crows again, or I may start to lose my grip!" Both hobbits fell silent until they felt it was first, possible, and then feasible to breathe once more.

"Nevertheless," Gandalf coughed politely, "I think it might be a good idea to stop and ask, just to be on the safe side." The wizard was rightly embarrassed, he knew how much eagles hate to stop and ask directions, but this was far too important.

"Look, down there!" Frodo pointed and changed the subject in one fell swoop and, Landroval, taking the hint, made one very fast fell swoop and grabbed the running man in his talons. Sam was not sure whether to throw up or offer the newcomer his seat on the eagle's rear. To circumvent either outcome, he just kept his mouth shut.

"Strider!" Gandalf proffered his hand as Landroval dropped the ranger next to him on Gwaihir's pillion. "Just the man! We're not too sure if we are on course or not."

"Ahem," Aragorn returned the wizard's handshake and nodded sagely. It is always difficult to out-cool a Ranger and this one was no exception. "That rather depends on where you are trying to get to. Have you got a map?"

"There wasn't time," Gandalf lied, "besides, they're all in Minas Tirith and I haven't been able to get down there recently." This much at least was true. "I was hoping you could put us on the road to Mordor – Mount Doom to be precise. I fear we're a bit lost and I want to get these hobbits home for teatime."

"Well I wasn't doing anything too important," Aragorn sighed, "just guarding the whole of the Northern Kingdom from marauding trolls, demons, orcs, dragons, evil doers of every persuasion as well as wargs, wolves, witches and itinerant wanderers up-to-no-good-for-their-own-nefarious-purpose. That, and I was on my way to the Prancing Pony, but it can wait."

"Or we could all go to the Prancing Pony!" Pippin suggested hopefully. "You know, just to get acquainted over a pint or two."

"Aragorn this is Peregrin Took, Peregrin Took, this is Aragorn. How did that need a pint?" Gandalf made the rest of the introductions, "now left or right at the next mountain?"

Aragorn put his finger in his mouth and then held it up in the air. "Right, then straight on until you see the river, then we might have to ask again."

"Fair enough!" Gandalf pulled out and lit his pipe and made himself comfortable.

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"What the…!

"Swoosh!" The second arrow parted the fur on Frodo's foot.

"Gandalf! Gandalf, I think someone is shooting at us!" Pippin always had an amazing grasp of the astoundingly obvious and wasn't shy about letting everyone know. "Shouldn't you do something?"

"I suppose I could wait until he hits you," Gandalf suggested, "then at least I could consider the problem in peace."

"Whuueeeshh!" The thirdarrow pushed Gwaihir's patience (not a ubiquitous quality amongst eagles at the best of times) past what could reasonably be tolerated from casual pot-shots and he plummeted earthwards beak first, with Gandalf and Aragorn holding tightly to their robes and britches, respectively, their dignity having been abandoned 2,000 feet above.

"That explains the pointed hat," Frodo muttered as he watched the rapid descent. "Don’t' worry Sam, I don't think we're going to…Woahhhhh!"

"Mister Frodo really needs to work on his irony", Sam thought. "Oh bugger!" Landroval too made no concessions for his passengers, so enraged was he at being used for target practice, and he too began to streak on the assailant below.

Meneldor shrugged and followed, Merry and Pippin both shouting "Wheeeeee!" As the wind parted their hair. Followed by "Whuuuuu" as the descent parted them from their breakfast.

Gwaihir hit the ground flying – a clever trick if you can do it and one where eagles generally score well over swans and possibly ducks. His assailant was still firing arrows upwards at the other rapidly descending eagles.

"I shall be speaking to your Father about this!" Gwaihir rounded on the archer and snatched the bow while it was still in operational use. Gandalf and Aragorn picked themselves up from the embarrassing tangle they had landed in and managed to assemble their gravity (both kinds) and decorum before the rest of the dive-bombing party arrived.

"Legolas Greenleaf, what on Middle-earth do you think you are doing?" Gandalf quivered from his staff down to his wizard's boots. "Why were you trying to shoot us down?"

Legolas bowed deeply and looked warily around at the hobbits who had now arrived and even more warily at the three eagles encircling him in a less than sociable way. "My Esteemed Windlords," he began, "pray forgive the error of my judgement. I believe a rare bout of elven myopia…"

"Elven what?" Aragorn put his head on one side in question, "there's no such thing! Tell me Legolas, what do your Elven eyes see?"

"You Aragorn, Mithrandir, four hobbits – oh and um three very large and cross eagles!"

"Then why young elfing," Gwaihir had never been particularly forthcoming about his age, but this was a bit of a giveaway, "were you shooting at us? Please state your response with haste and precision as I have several pressing engagements today and I am not sure if I can fit in slashing and cleaving your lithe elven body to shreds."

"I believed you to be Nazgûl?" Legolas suggested.

"Good Grief! Are they flying already?" Gandalf would have looked anxiously at his watch, only he didn't have one. Frodo took his from his waistcoat pocket and held it out for the Wizard to see. "They were on horses not fifteen minutes ago, we really must get on."

"Just a minute," Gwaihir still pinned Legolas with his beady piercing eyes and, if you've ever been looked at by an eagle – which I doubt, you would know how uncomfortable that can be. "How could you mistake the great Windlords for Nazgûl? It's not as if we are remotely related or any such thing!"

"I um, forgot to wear my spectacles, in fact," Legolas looked down at his feet rather too shamefaced to confront the unbelieving, albeit bemused, company. "I've lost my spectacles."

"Spectacles!" Aragorn tried not to laugh and failed. "Since when did an elf need spectacles?"

Frodo looked baffled as Pippin whispered to him, "what are spectacles? Is it what my mum is always saying to me? 'Don't make such a spectacle of yourself', is it Fro? Hmm… is it?"

"No," Frodo hissed back, "he means eye-glasses – you know like Great Aunt Petunia's lorgnette!"

"Well I don't really need them," Legolas began defensively, "I can see close-to, it's just long distances and such. Anyway I'd like to see you with 20/20 vision after two thousand plus years."

Aragorn put his head on one side in a sympathetic stance, "you just don't want to wear them – do you? You'd just die of embarrassment?"

One of the things that elves can die from, apart from falling in battle or dying of a broken heart, is embarrassment, but they tend to keep quiet about it as there is no known cure.

"It's only come on recently," Legolas was still on the defensive, "I was supposed to go to a meeting in Imladris, but when I got there, Elrond said, not to bother as it was all being dealt with."

"That is true," Gandalf nodded sagely, "but how did that affect your eyesight?"

"Some of the lads and I, because the meeting was cancelled, we went on a bit of a bender," Legolas was still carefully examining his feet, "and I ended up on the Telperion Old Peculiar."

"Ouch!" Aragorn and Gandalf winced in unison.

"Anyway," Legolas sighed, "long story short, when I woke up everything was a trifle blurred – been that way ever since."

"So what are you doing out here all alone?" Aragorn tried to ignore Gandalf tutting and tapping Frodo's pocket watch.

I was a bit embarrassed to go home, what with not being able to see straight," Legolas admitted, "so this dwarf invited me to go and stay with his folk for a bit – you know, just until I got better."

"A dwarf wanted to help you?" Aragorn gasped. This was unheard of, dwarves generally find elves snooty and so up themselves they're coming out the other end.

"Yes, Gimli son of Glóin, his name was, nice enough chap in his own way. But I kind of got slightly lost," Legolas went on, "this dwarf was supposed to put me on the right road, but I think he was having a laugh. I ended up in these caves, well it was more of a mine really.

"You mean Moria?" Gandalf corrected.

"Yes that was it!" Legolas snapped his fingers in recognition, "Moria. This dwarf said I could stay with his family there – you know, that they'd be pleased to put up any friend of his. But when I got there they were all out."

"Out?" Gandalf asked suspiciously.

"Well, dead actually," Legolas agreed, "but it amounted to the same thing. Now I'm stuck here in the middle of Middle-earth with no idea how to get home."

"Erm, begging your pardon, Mr Gandalf Sir," Sam took his bag of a hat off and stood wringing it with both hands, "what with him being an elf and all, couldn't he come with us?"

"Yes, I wouldn't mind," Frodo added enthusiastically, he liked elves.

"More the merrier, I say," Merry put in, "Perhaps we could have a party when this is all over."

"Gwaihir?" Gandalf hardly liked to ask. Of course, an elf or two always came in handy, but a myopic elf?"

Gwaihir narrowed his beady eyes even more, which made them almost invisible. "You have my condolences elfperson, for to be bereft of vision over a 50 mile radius must be an appalling state of affairs. I too would not wish to return to my eyrie in such a condition. You may accompany us, but no more shooting!"

"You may ride with me," Meneldor offered graciously, "on the understanding that my hobbits agree to stop wriggling and making sarcastic remarks!" Merry and Pippin both dropped their jaws in indignation and were about to protest when Meneldor added, "or I'll send you home by orc and, believe me, you would not like that!"

The hobbits nodded in acquiescence. But when the eagle's back was turned Pippin hissed into Merry's ear, "what's an orc?"

"Shhhush!" Merry whispered back, "I think it's a kind of bath, maybe one with wheels on."

Luckily, they never found out.

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"Arrrrrroooouuuuuuugggghhh! Arrrrrroooouuuuuuugggghhh!" The piercing sound echoed across the desolate land of Hollin, hit Celebdil the White and ricocheted off Cloudyhead, totally missed the Dimrill Stair and doubled back round the Redhorn Gate to bounce off Caradhras and went skimming across Hollin, where it hit a flock of crebain and put them to fright and flight.

"What is that dreadful noise?" Gandalf put his pipe down and glanced over the side of his eagle. "It's usually so quiet around here."

"No use asking me," Legolas had swapped eagles as Merry and Pippin had not stopped fidgeting and was now riding with Frodo and Sam. "I can hear it, but I'm afraid I can't see a thing – not at that distance."

The blast sounded again – twice!

"Ow Merry!" Pippin clasped his hands over his ears. "Make it stop Merry, I can't hear myself eat!"

"I do not know why you protest so hobbit," Meneldor cried over yet another ringing blast, "You should try listening to it through my ears!"

"I didn't know you had ears," said Pippin, looking with interest now, "I can't see any. Where do you keep them?"

"Shhh Pip!" Merry put his hand over his reckless cousin's mouth, "don't tease the eagle. Especially now we've made it up onto his back or do you want to go back down in the claws again?" The eagle had offered them a ride on his back in the vain hope they might behave.

"Enough!" Meneldor snapped. Merry and Pippin headed towards the eagle's tail in panic. "That noise will stop!"

"Yes, we'll be quiet now!" Pippin squeaked, "We're sorry Mr Eagle, sir."

"What d'yer mean? We!" Merry began indignantly. "I didn't… whooah!"

"Arrrrrroooouuuuuuugggghhh! "Arrrrrroooaaaaaackkkk! Oi! Give that back!"

Meneldor had easily located the source of the noise, as it was the only living thing for 200 leagues around, now that the crebain had departed. He soared aloft once more, Merry holding desperately to his tail and Pippin holding frantically to Merry. "Got it!" He announced proudly, holding up a large horn-shaped object in his claw.

"Hmm!" Gandalf examined the article carefully, "It's a horn!" Wizard's are very astute about such things. "It looks terribly familiar. Could we stop for a chat with its owner? Just a quick word should suffice, only I need to tell him something."

"Very well," Gwaihir agreed. "Although all these unscheduled stops are not making your journey shorter."

"This is true," Gandalf admitted, "but it will save me writing a letter in the long run, so that's all to the good."

The airborne convoy headed Middle-earthwards once more and alighted next to the bearded, surly looking man, who had been shaking his fist angrily at the clouds ever since his horn had been removed.

Gandalf spoke first. "Slow should you be to wind that horn again, Boromir," he said, "until you stand once more on the borders of your land and dire need is on you."

"Well I can't bleeding wind it at all now!" Boromir spluttered, "I have always let my horn cry at setting forth. I will not go forth as a thief in the night."

"Well you weren't exactly setting forth," Aragorn pointed out, "you're in the middle of Hollin, which is 200 leagues from the middle of anywhere."

"Maybe so," Boromir sulked, "But I'd lost my horse, lost my way and lost my temper. Now I'm late for my meeting and my father is not going to be pleased!

"Oh yes," Gandalf put in, "about that – the meeting's been cancelled."

"What?"

"Cancelled, yes," Gandalf looked very slightly embarrassed, which with a wizard is always very slight, "I was going to let you know – well I was going to let everyone know – but things kept coming up at the last minute, you know how it is."

"Same thing happened to me," Legolas put in unhelpfully, "only I got all the way there before I found out."

"That's just fine!" Boromir obviously did not think it was fine. "I come all this way, I had to leave right in the middle of my recapturing-Osgiliath-aren't-I-clever party and now you tell me I'm not needed! Have you any idea how much I've got to do?"

Gandalf shook his head, he really did not have a clue how much Boromir had to do. Meanwhile Merry and Pippin had climbed surreptitiously off Meneldor and were sitting in Boromir's shield and using it as a see-saw. Sam was going through the Man's pack to see if he had any spare food and Frodo had borrowed the horn from Meneldor and was trying to get a tune out of it.

"I've got to fight the marauding foes of Gondor; protect the White City from Orcs; cover the river for Corsairs; continue the never ending struggle against the Hordes of Harad; battle against the looming blackness that threatens to cover all the land in a second darkness," Boromir ran out of fingers and switched hands. "And ward off attacks from the Dark Lord Sauron, to name but a few. Oi!" He suddenly noticed what the hobbits were doing. "Get off that, you little buggers!"

"We're just testing the balance," Merry said indignantly, "You wouldn't want it off-balance with all you've got to do."

"And you!" He snatched the horn from Frodo, "That's the renowned Horn of Gondor! A treasured relic and heirloom of my House. Don’t play Jingle Bells on it!"

"And that…" Sam pointed in outrage at Frodo, "I mean, he, is Frodo Baggins, the Ring-bearer himself! Don't you go telling him what to do."

"Ring-bearer?" Boromir narrowed his eyes, "Which ring is that exactly?"

"The Dark Lord Sauron's Ring a'course!" Sam couldn't believe how ignorant this man was, "Whaddya think? Ring around the Rosie?"

"Sam!" Frodo looked at Gandalf for help, as he hissed at his servant, "we're not supposed to tell anyone that!"

"Oops!" Sam put his hands to his mouth, dropping the haunch of venison he had extracted from Boromir's luggage. "Sorry!"

"So!" Boromir's expression towards Frodo changed to an ingratiating smile, "let me see this Ring, little one – just to make sure, you know, that you've got the right one."

"I don't think I need It appraised sir," Frodo stepped backwards away from the Man. "Gandalf already did a valuation for me thank you."

"Well I'd like to have a look anyway," Boromir took a pace forward. "After all, I have come all this way and I'd have seen It anyway if Gandalf hadn't cancelled the meeting."

Frodo reluctantly reached inside his shirt and lifted the Ring out on Its gold chain. "There! Satisfied? It's just a Ring you know."

"That's nice," said Merry, seeing It for the first time.

"Yes," Pippin agreed, "very stylish. Why don't you wear It Fro?"

"Because if I wear It," Frodo explained sighing deeply, "you wouldn't be able to see me."

"Even better," Pippin muttered, "then you wouldn't be able to tell me off all the time."

"I'd still be able to see you," Frodo pointed out. "And get off that shield and put the venison down!"

"So this is the Ring?" Boromir's eyes and mouth opened wide in wonder. "What are you going to do with It?"

"We," Gandalf began, "or rather, Frodo, is going to destroy It in the bowels of Mount Doom. So if you'll excuse us, we have to get a move on."

"Wait!" Boromir held up his hand, shaking his head in despair and misunderstanding. "You're going to chuck It away?"

"Pretty much," Frodo confirmed. "I don't like It that much anyway."

"Weee-ll…" Boromir began tentatively, "if you're going to throw It away, could I have It instead? I mean there's no sense in getting rid of It just because you don't like It. I think I know someone who would really appreciate It." Boromir surveyed the grim faces staring back at him and turned to Frodo again, "I'll swap you the horn if you like?"

"I don't think I'm supposed to do that," Frodo looked longingly at the great horn, but as Ring-bearer he knew where his duty lay. "No, I think I'll send It to a fiery doom if it's all the same to you."

"Well could I come with you?" Boromir looked from Gandalf to Aragorn. "Perhaps he'll change his mind and then I'll be there to take It off his hands."

"Um," Aragorn stroked his chin as if in thought, "I'm not sure that would be such a good idea. I mean you have so much to do in Gondor, we wouldn't want to hold you up."

"I think it would be best if Meneldor just takes you quietly back to Gondor," Gandalf suggested. "Would that be all right with you Windlords?"

"If you think it wise Mithrandir," Gwaihir spoke for them all. He was not too sure why the Wizard and Ranger did not want this Man along, but it was evident that they did not. "The two small cousin creatures can double up with the Ring-bearer and the other hobbit and I can manage the elf, it doesn't seem to weigh too much." Gwaihir picked the unsuspecting Legolas up in his claw and hefted him up and down to check.

"Oh no!" Breathed Pippin, "Now we'll have to go back in the claws, that or put up with Frodo bossing me all the way."

"Besides," added Gandalf, ignoring Pippin's protest, "this quest could be quite dangerous for one such as you, Boromir. It's possible we could run into quite a few orcs and I have this strange feeling that you, of all people, shouldn't do that.

"I don't know," Merry whispered to Pippin, "looks to me like he could use one of those orc-bath things."

0-0-0-0-0-0

Tromp, tromp, stomp, clump, tromp, tromp! "Halt!" Uglúk held an oversized mitt up to bring to a standstill his thumping troop of Uruk-hai. It had absolutely no effect and they kept on stomping madly ahead.

Uglúk shrugged and shouted his orders again over the reverberating stamp of fourscore pairs of oversized feet. "Find the halflings!" He bellowed. It didn't matter too much with this crew whether they were standing or running. Given an order they would mindlessly pursue the goal against all other distractions.

The Uruk-hai stomped on and on, never pausing, never doubting, hunting their quarry until they ran them to earth or their Master called them away. Halflings! They would not rest nor break bread until they had won the prize and could bear them home in victory. Uglúk sniffed the air as he ran – they were near – so near!

They stomped through the woodlands past Sarn Gebir. They crashed over the top of Amon Hen and splattered through the little spring that tumbled down to feed the grass and they pounded out onto the lawn of Parth Galen. No one was there!

The Uruk-hai had a vague feeling that something wasn't quite right, but, since they were pod-bred and incredibly stupid, they could not even begin to think about what it might be.

"Halflings!" Uglúk repeated, as if that would make them magically appear.

"Halflings!" The rest of the horde echoed. And, with Uglúk in the lead, they stomped down into the mighty Anduin and were washed neatly over the Rauros Falls and were never heard of again.

0-0-0-0-0-0

 Still To Be Continued….

Frodo's Exciting Day Out

by Llinos

beta Marigold

Chapter 3
That's Elevenses? Right?

Gandalf was worried, this was taking far too long. The morning was half spent and they still were not even close to the borders of Mordor, but then eagles only go as fast as they go. He was also concerned about their navigation. "Aragorn, are you positive this is the right way? I'm sure we've already passed that forest down there – several times!"

"It's hard to say," the Ranger admitted, "it all looks the same from up here. I think that's Lothlórien, in which case we are at least headed the right way. We could stop and ask.

Gandalf sighed, "Another stop? We really must get on."

"But we're hungry!" Merry and Pippin chorused.

"We've not had elevenses yet," Merry added, "to say nothing of second breakfast!"

"That is true," Frodo agreed. "You can hardly expect a hobbit to save the whole of Middle-earth on less than six meals a day."

"For pity's sake," Gandalf spluttered, "it's only one day, didn't you bring anything?"

"Yessir," Sam checked in his satchel, "We brung two seedcakes, 5 rounds of egg and tomato and 6 rounds of ham and mustard. There was 2 pork pies and some cold chicken and a batch of buttered scones with strawberry jam." Sam delved a little deeper, "all that's left is half a dozen macaroons, the haunch of venison we borrowed and two and a half sticks of rhubarb."

"You've eaten all that already!" Legolas gasped. He had heard that perian were mighty creatures imbued with mysterious powers, but this was extraordinary.

"No," Pippin was quite offended, "the eagles ate one of the seedcakes."

"Very well," Gandalf capitulated, "I suppose it is too much to expect hobbits to exist on such short commons. We'll see if the Lady Galadriel can spare a morsel and set us on our way."

The eagles soared, or rather didn't soar but descended in a soaring kind of way, down to Lothlórien under Cerin Amroth, down to Caras Galadhon and straight into the City of the Trees.

The Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel were waiting to greet them, for they saw many things afar and knew much and had been observing the party since breakfast. In any case, Galadriel was expecting Gandalf and Gwaihir, although she was a bit surprised they had brought so many friends with them.

"Welcome to Lórien the Fair," the Lady spoke first. "Your quest is known to us. Not in vain will it prove, maybe that you came to this land seeking aid, as Gandalf himself has plainly purposed. For the Lord of the Galadhrim is accounted the wisest of the Elves of Middle-earth and a giver of gifts beyond the power of kings."

"Does that mean we're going to get elevenses?" Pippin whispered to Frodo. "I'd sell my foot-fur right now for a cup of coffee and a sticky bun."

"Just a minute!" Legolas frowned, "who's that?"

"Who?" The Lady Galadriel followed the elf's squinting gaze to just beyond the centre of the circle of elves. "Oh him! He dropped in just before you. Says he got lost in Fangorn and had to hack his way out. Something to do with a cancelled meeting and time on his hands. We don't usually allow dwarves in Lothlórien, but…" The Lady lowered her voice to a mere hint of a whisper, "…he seemed so pathetic and was very flattering to me; I didn't like to turn him away."

"Dwarf?" Aragorn spluttered, "he must be over seven foot tall!"

"It's that bugger who sent me to Moria to stay with his dead uncle!" Legolas strode over and looked belligerently up at the dwarf, "even without my specs I'd know you anywhere. What was the big idea, Gimli son of Glóin? If that Balrog had got an inch closer, I would have been toast!"

"Hruumph," the dwarf half coughed and half grunted in obvious confusion and embarrassment, "sorry about that. I've been having a few problems of my own though, so I must have forgotten that we hadn't actually heard from Uncle Oin for a few years."

"How come he is so big?" Merry tugged at Gandalf's cloak. "Whatever he's on, could we get some?"

"Nay," the dwarf came and stooped over the hobbits and shook his finger in warning, "you younguns had best steer well clear of Fangorn Forest." He straightened up and glanced down at Legolas. "I had a bit of a run in with the ents there. You think you're hard done by. They are a right bunch of jokers. I thought they were being friendly, kept giving me this water to drink. I wasn't that thirsty, but tried to be polite – as you do. I was actually trying to keep myself awake during the poetry readings. Anyway, after about 20 pints I went to kip and woke up twice the dwarf I used to be. Nothing fits and I had to come here and beg some new clothes and stuff."

"That is a sad tale indeed," Legolas succeeded admirably in not laughing too much. "What do you plan to do now?"

"Nothing much," Gimli said glumly, "I can't go home, that's for sure. I actually went to Isengard first, but got short shrift from the wizard there. I did mention to that Treebeard chappie that Saruman could do with sorting out more than me. After all, I only axed about half a dozen trees, whereas he was taking them out as if it were going out of fashion. But he seems a bit slow on the uptake."

"Hmm," Gandalf nodded sagely at this. "I too have a score to settle with Saruman, I may have to pay him a visit before the day is done."

"Well I don't think you'll find him in a very happy state," Gimli explained, "he's had a bit of a flooding problem around there, although I'm not entirely certain that the Ents didn't have something to do with it."

"Right," Gandalf decided, "in that case I'll definitely go and see what he's up to." He turned to Frodo, "You'll be all right with Landroval, won't you? I mean all you have to do is fly over and drop It in."

"Yes," Frodo agreed, "That should be no problem."

"He ain't going without me," Sam folded his arms and set his jaw. "Mr Frodo never dropped anything proper without I was there to pick it up."

"Well Sam," Frodo began gently, "I don't really want you to pick It up, but you are welcome to keep me company."

"All right," Gandalf agreed. "You two go to Mordor and the rest of us will just pop over to Isengard and check what the state of play is there."

"That'll be after elevenses then?" Pippin asked hopefully.

"Oh before you go," Galadriel clapped her hand to her head in sudden remembrance, "something I had to tell you. You've been promoted."

"Really?" Gandalf's face broke into a wide grin, "I was hoping for something soon, but thought I'd have to die or kill something big first."

"Well yes," Galadriel agreed, "you were supposed to. Both of those things actually, but there simply isn't the time. In any event, it's really just dead-men's shoes. You've got the White now. Between you and me, Saruman is on the way out, he's already crossed the line, it's just the formalities really."

"Fine!" Gandalf was quite relieved he didn't have to mess about fighting and dying – so time consuming. "Just let me have the staff – it is a staff promotion I take it? Then I'll be off and break the news to Saruman at the same time."

"Ahem…Gandalf?" Gwaihir scratched up a piece of Lothlórien carpet as he was wont to do when embarrassed. "I don't like to complain, but…"

"Ever am I fated to be your burden, friend at need," Gandalf began.

"A burden you have been, but not so now," Gwaihir noticed that the Wizard had begun to lighten considerably, his beard was almost white already, "it's just all these others. I don't think I can manage any more passengers, I'm already over on the baggage allowance. You'll have to leave the cousin creatures, the elf and the big dwarf here I'm afraid."

"Do not fear," Galadriel soothed, "I foresaw this possibility and asked Radagast to summon more eagles." Sometimes it was handy, the White Lady thought, to be telepathic and farsighted, to say nothing of having a great line in mirrors. "They should be here ere the pre-noontide, ante-prandial, partaking is served."

"That's elevenses? Right?" Pippin nudged Merry hopefully. "We're finally going to get some elevenses!"

0-0-0-0-0-0

"Well Sam," Frodo sighed, "it's just you and me then. May the others find a safe road! Strider will look after them. I don't suppose we will see them again."

"Yet we may, Mr Frodo. We may," said Sam. "Besides, you've invited Merry and Pippin to come over for their tea this evening and I've never known them to miss that!"

"Ahem!" Landroval gave a loud aquiline cough. "I don't mean to be rude but…"

"Oh sorry," Frodo had forgotten about their feathery mount, "I meant you too Landroval… oh and I hope you can join us for tea as well!" Frodo added hastily. It doesn't do to forget to invite your transport round for meals.

"Will there be seedcake?" Landroval asked, a little grumpily it must be said.

"I'll bake a whole batch, just for you and your friends." Frodo promised. "And a few worm and beetle cakes too if you like?"

"Don't be disgusting!" The Windlord snorted, "what do you think I am?"

"Um well…" Frodo began, "I just meant…"

"Wait a moment!" Landroval suddenly veered earthwards again so abruptly that Frodo and Sam had to grab each other to save falling off. "What's that down there? Looks like lunch to me!"

"It's all right Sam," Frodo straightened himself up as the eagle righted his path, "you can let go of me now – really!

The eagle continued his downward course until the hobbits also saw what he was aiming for. A wizened up creature that was mostly head and eyes, crawling about on all fours. Landroval pounced and grabbed it easily in his claws and soared skywards once again.

"Aiieeee! No! No! Put usss down!" The creature screamed, "We be too precious to eat! Too much ssskin and bonessses. Gollum, gollum! Put Sméagol back on the floor! We not even be a tasty morsel for the eagleses!"

"Excuse me," Landroval remarked apologetically, "only I haven't had lunch yet and you were handy."

"Noooo! We isss not for eating!" The creature flapped it's great hands and feet as if trying to fly, which he indeed was, but only because Landroval had not yet dropped him. "Even She wouldn't eat poor Sméagol! And She eats orcses and anythings!"

"Who is She?" Landroval's curiosity was piqued now. "A friend of yours?"

"Yes! No! She… She isss the One, the great She-lob of the secret passagesesss!"

"Oh a female spider!" Landroval gave an eagle chortle. "I'm quite partial to a nice big juicy lob!" The eagle shook the skinny being, held it upside down, put it to his ear and then agreed. "You really are not worth bothering with, hardly a mouthful! I'll drop you down and then see if I can find this spider of yours."

"Waits! Pleasssse waits!" Sméagol suddenly screeched at his captor. He had remembered something – something of his that he had lost a long time ago! He clambered up the eagle's leg and scrambled onto his wide back. Pointing a long bony, trembling finger at Frodo, he hissed, "You! You's got our Presssscious!"

To Be Continued…

Frodo's Exciting Day Out

by Llinos
beta Marigold  

Chapter 4
Shiny Larksong or Bravely Goodheart?

"Saruman!" Gandalf's voice rang out through Orthanc, come forth!"

No reply.

"Come forth!" Gandalf beat upon the door once more and it rang with a hollow sound, "Saruman!"

"Well?" A voice came from inside. "Why must you disturb my rest? Will you give me no peace at all by night or day?" Its tone was that of a kindly heart aggrieved by injuries undeserved.

"Oh for pity's sake!" Gandalf pushed open the door, "I haven't got time for this, there's too much to do today."

He marched into the octagonal shaped room followed by Aragorn. Legolas came after, blinking at the lack of light, and Gimli ducked down through the portal. Merry and Pippin peeped round the door, while Gwaihir, Coedwigwr the Tree Surfer and Gorawen the Cloud Carrier circled around the tower of Orthanc looking majestic and threatening and rather bored.

No one was in the room. "Where's he got to?" Gandalf fumed, "I haven't got all day!" He marched back out again, followed by his entourage.

Merry and Pippin were about to follow until something caught Pippin's eye. "Wow, Merry!" He grabbed his cousin's elbow and pulled him back, "Look at the size of that marble!"

0-0-0-0-0-0

Gandalf stormed back outside and shouted up at the tower once more, "Come on Saruman, I need to speak with you. There have been some orders from on top and the long and the short of it is, I've got your job!"

A figure finally emerged from a balcony and snarled down at the group. "What do you want with my boss, he's a little tied up just now."

"And you are?" Aragorn asked, quite politely, for all the man's snarling.

"Grima – Grima Wormtongue – and yes, I am a baddie. The name is a bit of a giveaway don't you think?" The man pushed his lank greasy hair back from his pus-soaked eyes, "I was thinking of changing it to something else. Maybe Shiny Larksong, or Bravely Goodheart, you know, just to throw people off a bit. What do you think?"

"I like the first one," Legolas admitted, "although it might be a bit too obvious."

"It's all totally irrelevant," Gandalf sighed. "Your boss has been made redundant, I'm his new replacement and there's no place for you on my staff – or under it for that matter."

"Why? What have you got against me?" Grima sounded most indignant, "I've fulfilled every aspect of the job; winning over Théoden and getting Rohan on our side."

"Yes well," Gandalf was growing impatient. "There's been a change of policy on that one. Unlike the previous administration, I don't want to rule Middle-earth, too time-consuming. So you can go back to Théoden and tell him to buck up, Orthanc is no longer interested in Rohan and there's no need to go to war because everything should be back to normal by tonight."

"Oh," Grima shrugged his bent and twisted shoulders, "I can do that. Oh and would it be all right if I stopped for a makeover on the way down? I'm getting pretty sick of this image. I think a haircut, some physiotherapy on the back and a manicure would be nice."

"Yes, and I'd rethink the colour scheme," Legolas put in, "black is so not you."

"And go with the name change," Aragorn suggested, "and try to cut back on the whinging and cringing."

"A trip to the orthodontist wouldn't go amiss either." Gimli added.

"Fair enough," Grima, or as he now preferred to be called, Shiny, backed away from the balcony and his voice could be heard echoing inside the Orthanc Tower. "I'm off now, my resignation will be in the post. It's just not really working out for me. No, no need for a leaving party. Oh and before I go, there are some people here to see you, I think you'd better talk to them yourself. Apparently, there's been some restructuring within the organisation."

0-0-0-0-0-0

"Pip, I don't think you ought to take it," Merry pulled Pippin back as he made a grab for the oversized marble. "Someone is bound to notice."

"Possibly," Pippin conceded, "but we'll be long gone by then. That's the beauty of travelling by eagle. Besides, I need it – I really do."

"What for?" Merry was accustomed to things Pippin thought he needed. They generally consisted of things that were of no use to him but that he wanted. "You've already got fifty three and a half marbles."

"That's just the point," Pippin pouted, "I haven't any more. I lost them all to Fatty Bolger last week, well except for the half one, he didn't want that, said it didn't roll very well. But honestly Merry, if you got it just on the right side and flicked it really hard, it went like anything."

"Were you playing dobblers – for keepsies?" Merry asked sternly. "I've told you before about taking on Fatty at dobblers."

"No," Pippin's voice was full of wounded indignation, "we were playing Ring Taw and I was winning until Fatty accidentally ate my best taw, and it was a cat's eye!"

"Well if he ate it," Merry was very confused now, "how come you let him win?"

"How could I beat him without my best taw?" Pippin wondered sometimes where Merry kept his brain. "Where do you keep your brain Merry?"

"In my head, Pip," Merry resented the implication, "unlike you, who apparently has lost all his marbles."

"Well there you are," Pippin announced triumphantly, "I obviously have to take this one, then I can swap it for all my others back. Fatty won't be able to resist such a big marble and it's a blood alley too! He loves alleys."

"Go on then," Merry finally capitulated, "only wrap it up in something and don't get any fingerprints on it – just in case you get caught. You can say it just slipped into your cloak by accident."

0-0-0-0-0-0

"Well that went off better than I hoped." Gandalf, once more astride Gwaihir was feeling good at last about the day's schedule. "Saruman didn't seem too bothered about me being promoted over him. I think he was looking rather exhausted by the whole business anyway."

"Where to now?" Aragorn, seated comfortably behind the Wizard was flicking through some old parchments. "I had wondered about going to Gondor and applying to be King. Apparently I do have a very strong claim to the throne there."

"Not sure you'd want to butt in just now," Legolas was seated with Gimli aboard Coedwigwr the Tree Surfer but could hear the others' conversation quite well.

"Legolas is right," the giant dwarf added, "that Boromir chappie didn't sound the sort who would want any interference."

"Well there must be something useful I can do." Aragorn went on, "I was quite content just to go to the Prancing Pony for the day and have few pints. Now you've got me interested in this whole battle for Middle-earth quest and I have the feeling I'm missing something. Perhaps we should check on the Corsairs of Umbar – you know, just to see what they're up to."

"We could do that," Gandalf agreed, "but last time I looked they were all at sea and not too bothered about what was going on around Minas Tirith."

"It's just that I feel I need to fight a war or something if I'm to claim the throne," Aragorn pondered. "It wouldn't feel right otherwise."

"I know what you mean," Gandalf said, "why don't we just stop by the White City then and see how things are going?"

"I'm up for it," Gimli said and nodded his agreement.

"Or we could look in on those dead people in the mountain," Legolas suggested, "they're always good for a laugh."

"All right," Aragorn perked up, "we can do all that and be back at Barliman's before closing."

"Yes," Gandalf was always up for a pint, "I think Barliman's ale…" The Wizard broke off as he suddenly noticed something very odd, "Peregrin Took! What on earth have you got in your pocket?"

0-0-0-0-0-0

Saruman sat in his chamber. "Gandalf promoted eh! Well, well! Can't say I'm surprised, always was a bit of a blue-eyed Wizard, even though he's grey."

Saruman reached out his hand. He felt strange, something was missing, as if a part of him was gone and he felt very alone. He was getting old. Age was creeping into his bones. His hands were gnarled with the passage of time and his mind felt tiny droplets seeping away, a constant drip, drip, drip, until all that seemed important had fled. "I'm sure there was something I was supposed to do," he sighed.

A wizened orc with pink eyes slouched into his chamber and gazed at him expectantly. When there was no reply he coughed and then spoke. "What orders from Mordor my Lord? What does the Eye command?"

"What?"

"The Eye my Lord, you know the thing we gets our orders from. What does it command?"

Saruman looked around with a bewildered gaze, "Oh nothing, nothing at all."

"Doesn't need us to build Him an army worthy of Mordor then?" Pink Eyes asked.

"No – not a word," Saruman shrugged. "In fact, I think He's gone."

"Fine," the orc sniffed loudly, "well me and the boys'll be getting off then."

"Yes," Saruman spoke to the orc's retreating back, "you do that, and thanks for everything."

"I must admit, I never thought redundancy would feel like this," he muttered to the gloom. "I knew I'd have time on my hands, but this is wonderful, so peaceful, nothing to do but think and read." Saruman had several novels he had not even started yet to say nothing of writing his autobiography, modestly titled, 'Saruman the Great, Wonderful and Wise (Orc's Choice of Wizard for 376 consecutive years!)'

"I'll just have a little nap," Saruman said to himself, "then I'll call the plumber in the morning, see about that leak." He yawned hugely, "No rush though, no rush – the water will do the trees good."

0-0-0-0-0-0

Boromir touched down lightly on the top level of Minas Tirith. "Thank you a thousandfold Meneldor the young and swift," Boromir bowed to his erstwhile steed, "May the breeze bear you gently and the rain walk in fields afar. Your service to me cannot be repaid, but ask of me aught that is in my power to grant and it is yours."

Meneldor considered for a moment. "I don't suppose you have any seedcake?"

"Well not on me," Boromir agreed, "but if you wait a short while I shall have our cooks research the recipe and make a batch worthy of the greatest Windlords."

"Fair enough," Meneldor perched up on the highest pinnacle of the White City and tucked his head under his wing, "let me know when they're ready."

Quickly Boromir strode across the white-paved courtyard. A sweet fountain played there in the sun and a sward of bright green lay about it; but in the midst, drooping over the pool, stood a dead tree, and the falling drops dripped sadly from its barren and broken branches back into the clear water.

"I really must get that tree replaced," Boromir growled, "I'll do it first thing tomorrow." Then he strode on through the doors of the great hall beneath the gleaming tower and opened the tall door of polished metal.

"Father!" Boromir greeted Denethor who had risen as his son entered the great hall. "How are things going?"

"Well enough, now you are returned," Denethor embraced his son. "I feared for Osgiliath, for should it fall, there will be naught between Mordor and the White City. Faramir is doing what he can, but I feared his efforts would be in vain."

"Well not to worry," Boromir reassured his elderly father, "I am here now. I did, in fact see the halflings, and one of them bore the Ring of Sauron."

"Really! Did you bring him?" Denethor's face lit up in excitement, "or the Ring?"

"No Father," Boromir admitted. "He would not come, nor would he lend me the Ring. But by tonight It should be destroyed, well this afternoon actually. So no one will have It."

"Fair enough," Denethor agreed. "Now you get off to Osgiliath and make sure your brother is all right."

"I shall Father," Boromir bowed his head respectfully to his sire, "but before I go, may I beg one boon of thee?"

"One?" His Father smiled, "Boromir you may beg all boons of me and they shall be granted."

"Good," Boromir replied, "but all I want is some seedcake, if that's possible."

0-0-0-0-0-0

Sauron was uneasy. He had had a strange feeling all morning long that this was not going to be a good day for Him. He had pressed command after command upon His seeing stone, but the thing lay obdurately silent. Where was that fool Saruman? He should be building an army by now, but there was nothing, no reply, not even a message.

So perplexed and vexed was the Dark Lord that He threw, by the power of His great mind, the useless seeing stone into a dim corner and there it lay, humming and vibrating its last and only message. "Build Me an army worthy of Mordor…Build Me an army worthy of Mordor… Build Me an army…" Over and over. But no one saw or heard, or if they did they had no idea how to build armies or why they should bother anyway.

0-0-0-0-0-0

"My precious! Gives us my preciousss! Sméagol wants It! Sméagol needs It!" Gollum tried to stroke Frodo's foot ingratiatingly, but Sam pushed the foul creature away.

"Geddoff!" Sam snapped. "If Mr Frodo wants a foot rub, I'm sure he'll let me know. You keep your slimy hands to yerself, yer stinker!"

"Sam!" Frodo was not given to name calling, however base the recipient might be. Except for his cousins, but they were family and generally asked for it. "Don't be unkind." He turned back to Gollum, "I haven't got anything of yours, how could I have?"

"Our Preciousss!" The creature's sibilant hiss was chilling and reminded Frodo of a story Bilbo had once told him. In fact, now Frodo came to think about it, it was a creature just like this that Bilbo had got the Ring from in the first place.

"Your what?" Frodo asked politely.

"Our Preciousssssss!" Gollum did not have a clue who Frodo was, but if ever he met a hobbit, or something hobbit-shaped, like a very young elf or a shaven dwarf, he always accused them of having his Precious, just in case. "It's our birthday present, pretty, pretty It is. Please gives It to Sméagol."

"No, sorry," Frodo was certainly not going to own up to having anything of this strange creature's. "I've no idea what you're talking about."

"Nice little hobbitses," Sméagol was scrabbling to stay on board Landroval, who was attempting to brush him off like an annoying parasite, which was pretty much what he was. "Don't hurt us feelingses! We be nice to them if they be nice to us!"

"Well I'm not sure that we need anyone else along." Frodo certainly did not want to share his eagle with this nasty smelly creature, "besides, we're not going that far, just to Mount Doom and then home again."

"Cracks of Doom!" Sméagol began to wail, "what's the hobbitses doing there? They's going to throw their somethings in the fire! What theys going to throw? Not poor Sméagol! Poor, poor Sméagol – We doesn't deserve the fiery cracks! No we doesn't! Bad, bad hobbitses!"

"Calm down," Sam found this odd creature most exasperating, "we're just going to chuck Mr Frodo's Enchanted Gold Ring… well It's Mr Bilbo Baggins' Ring by rights, but It came to Mr Frodo in his inheritance as it were and…"

"Sam!" Frodo's eyes grew wider than usual, if that can be believed.

"Oops! Sorry Mr Frodo," Sam clamped his hand over his mouth, "I went and did it again!"

"Aeeiiiieee!" Sméagol let out a blood-curdling screech and launched himself at Frodo. "Baggins! We hates it forever! Gives us our Preciousss!"

To Be Continued…

Frodo's Exciting Day Out

by Llinos
beta Marigold  

Chapter 5
Where are My Armies?

"It's too quiet," Aragorn surveyed the vast expanse of the Pelennor Fields below them, "I don't like it."

"Why ever not?" Legolas blinked short-sightedly at the Ranger in surprise, "It's lovely and peaceful, or at least it would be," he turned to the two remaining hobbits, "if certain perian, who shall be nameless, would shut up for a minute."

Merry and Pippin were playing a hobbit version of I-Spy, which had very specific rules. The only letter allowed was 'S' and the only possible answers were 'sun', 'sky' or 'sand'. For a short while, as they had skimmed the Ethir Anduin looking for Corsairs, they had allowed 'sea', but that was now out of bounds.

"My turn," Pippin announced for the five hundred and fifty second time, "I spy, with my little eye, something beginning with… um… 'S'."

"Let me see," Merry pondered, "sky?"

"No!" Pippin announced triumphantly.

"Sun?" Merry tried.

"Yes – your go!"

"I spy, with my little eye, something beginning with… err, let me see…" Merry pursed his lips thoughtfully, 'S'!"

"Sky?" Pippin guessed.

"Yes," Merry conceded, "your turn."

"I spy, with my little…"

"Will you both shut up!" Gimli finally exploded. "That must be the stupidest game ever!"

"Not as stupid as being a seven foot dwarf," Merry muttered crossly. "Anyway, we're bored. When are we going to do something we want to do?"

"I thought you were enjoying yourselves," Aragorn said patiently, "you liked the dead people – now didn't you?"

"Yes," Pippin conceded, "but they didn't do much. I mean, you just released them from their oath and then they all ran away!"

"I know," Aragorn sighed, "but you see, I had no need of them. The enemy has been stopped at Osgiliath by Boromir and at the same time, he seems to have strategically held the Causeway Forts, then deployed his forces South to drive back the Haradrim, cleverly setting barricades and pits that could not be breached by troll or oliphaunt. So really, he's got everything under control."

"He's done really well," Gandalf agreed. "Nevertheless, you still need to get your sword re-forged, Aragorn. If you're going to apply for your throne back, I think it's a requirement of the job. You'll need to comply with all prophecies and lore."

"I've got it with me," Aragorn drew out a broken sword with one hand and reached inside his jerkin for two metal shards, "if we could get it fixed somewhere I can be ready by this evening."

"I could do that for you," offered Gimli, "just because I've grown doesn't mean I've forgotten what it is to be a dwarf."

"Wow!" Merry was very excited at the sight of the enormous weapon. "When it's done, can I have a quick go on it?"

"Only if you promise to stop playing that stupid game!" Gimli bargained. "If that's all right with Aragorn."

"Yes," Aragorn groaned, "anything to shut them up I suppose."

0-0-0-0-0-0

Sauron kicked (albeit with the force of His mind) at the palantír again. Stupid thing! Why did not Saruman answer? Now, becauseHe could not get itto stop relaying its last message, He could not get it to do anything.

This, He thought, was a great shame, since that fool and upstart Denethor had been coming along nicely. He had sown seeds of doubt in his mind and nurtured a soothing feeling of hopelessness and despair in the Steward.

The Dark Lord cast around (with the force of His mind) to see if His armies were massing from the South. Or perhaps Saruman had built Him an army worthy of Mordor as a little surprise!

Nothing!

"My Power is Mighty!" He roared from His tower, (with the force of His mind, of course – you couldn't actually hear anything) "I am the Dark Lord! All will bend to My Will! Middle-earth Will Fall Beneath My Feet! Where are My Armies?"

Bending low and subservient to the mighty will, the Witch King of Angmar trembled before his Lord and resisted the urge to say, up your sleevies! Instead he asked, "Master! What is your command?"

"Just find out what's going on!" He commanded, (mentally).

"I hear," for the Witch King was slightly telepathic, "and obey My Lord!"

0-0-0-0-0-0

"Gerroff of Mr Frodo!"

"Aiiiieeeee! My Precioussssss! Aiiiiieeee!"

"Sam! Help me! Ouch! Arrrgggghhh! Oh Sam!"

"If you three don't stop fighting, I'm going to drop you all off, and nobody will be going anywhere!" If Landroval had had any idea what a tether was, he would have claimed to be reaching the end of it round about now. "You're ruffling my feathers and being very boring."

"Well we didn't start it!" Sam puffed indignantly, finally managing to peel Gollum off his Master. "Come 'ere you Stinker!" He grasped the writhing creature firmly by the neck and managed to sit on him to keep him still. "Shall I just throw him off Mr Frodo?"

"It is a long way down," Frodo was a compassionate fellow, besides, he was also quite squeamish and did not want to see the mess Sméagol might make if he met the rocks below at great speed. "Couldn't we all just settle down and enjoy the ride?"

"Yesss," Sméagol sulked, "if we can hold the Preciousss!"

"Now why would you even want It?" Frodo asked reasonably, "I mean look at yourself!"

"We jussst wants It," Sméagol persisted, "It's our Preciousss!"

"Listen to yourself," Frodo said, "you're like a walking skeleton, you've got no hair left, you can't talk properly…"

"Whasss he mean?" Sméagol looked up sharply at Frodo, "Can't talk? Sméagol talks as good as the hobbitses does! We does!"

"No you don't!" Frodo snapped, "for a start you refer to yourself in the third person all the time – that's very bad grammar you know."

"Tom Bombadil does it too." Sméagol pointed out.

"Hmmp!" Frodo snorted, "that doesn't make it right, although I see your point. Nevertheless," he continued, "you're just being selfish, the whole of Middle-earth is at stake and that's why I've got to throw It away. Are you more important than the whole of Middle-earth? Hmm… are you?"

"Yesss!"

"No you're not," the realisation suddenly hit Frodo that he might not win this discussion. "I'm not and you're not and the Ring is going in the fire."

"Masster of the Precious won't throw It away," Gollum had stopped struggling now and started leering instead, which was possibly worse. "No one throws the Preciousss away, and Masster of the Precious talking big throwing away talk now, but he's not going to do it – you'll see! We'll see, won't we my Precious!"

0-0-0-0-0-0

"Go on Merry, let me try!" Pippin was sulking as Gorawen the Cloud Carrier circled lazily around the heavens waiting for Gwaihir and Coedwigwr to take off. In fact the younger eagle had been persuaded to go on ahead with the squabbling hobbits to give everyone a little peace. "Aragorn said I could have a go too."

"I'm still having my turn!" Merry stubbornly refused to relinquish Andúril, Flame of the West, the Blade formerly known as the Sword of Elendil, "you can only have it, if you can say its proper name."

"Um… And-you-will – same as the rest?" Pippin tried, "something like that. Oh go on Merry, let me have a go!"

"No! You're too young." Merry held the sword above his head and just out of Pippin's reach. "Anyway, it's still my turn and you didn't say the name right. It's, Advil, famous and best!"

"No it's not!" Pippin was indignant, "it's something else."

"It's not!"

"It is!"

"'s'not!"

"'tis!"

"'s'not!"

"gimmee!"

"gerroff!"

"nooo! gimmee – pleeeeessse!"

"legggooo!"

"aaaiiiieeee!"

"whooopps!"

"Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeecccaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!"

As the sword was wrenched from Merry's fist and he lashed out at his cousin with his feet, Pippin too failed to get a grip on his tantrum or the weapon and it slipped through his fingers and fell through the air with the velocity of a speeding arrow. A blood-curdling cry went up and echoed across the vast Pelennor Fields. The hobbits put their hands over their ears and their faces over the side of the eagle.

"Gorawen?" Merry was rather subdued now, "what was that?"

"You," the eagle began, "have caused the demise of a creature below. You have stabbed it through the face with the mighty sword of Prince Aragorn."

"Oh dear," Pippin looked at Merry with a gritted smile, "I hope it wasn't anyone we know."

"Not only that," Gorawen continued, "but you seem to have decapitated the victim's steed at the same time. Nice work, if a little impromptu and haphazard."

"Well it wasn't me!" Pippin declared hastily, "Merry wouldn't even let me hold the sword, so they can't blame me."

"If you hadn't been fighting, it wouldn't have got dropped," Merry pointed out crossly, "it's all your fault Pippin!"

As they argued Gorawen skimmed down to the plain below and retrieved the mighty sword, but no trace was there of its victim, only his empty hauberk and black cloak rising softly in the breeze and the great ugly, and now headless, beast on which he had ridden, lay in the dust.

As they ascended once more, Gwaihir and Coedwigwr came to meet them. Aragorn reached out and retrieved his precious sword from Gorawen.

"What have you been doing with this?" Aragorn anxiously ran his fingers over the blackened blade, "it's filthy!"

"It was Merry's fault!"

"Wasn't! It was Pippin fighting with me."

"I am not sure which of the small cousin creatures caused the dropping and the killing," Gorawen explained, "but they seem to have fulfilled an ancient prophesy, eliminated a powerful enemy and earned lasting fame and renown, although they might have just been messing about."

"It was me!" Merry announced hastily, "We weren't messing about, I did it bravely on my own and Pippin had nothing to do with it."

"I did so!" Pippin's mouth dropped open in outrage, "Merry! You just said it was all my fault… and… and… what did we do anyway?"

"You have fulfilled the prophesy of Glorfindel and slain the Witch King of Angmar, Lord of the Nazgûl and Sauron's Lieutenant of the Black Tower," Gorawen announced, "accidentally."

To Be Continued…

Frodo's Exciting Day Out

by Llinos

beta Marigold

Chapter 6
With Eggsies and Flowers and Fish

"I think you had better settle down and get ready," Landroval announced as he finally finished the last bit of giant spider he had been savouring. "We're just about coming up to Mount Doom."

"Thank you Landroval," Frodo was always polite, especially to eagles. Particularly an eagle that had just crushed in his claws a spider that actually was the 'biggest one in the world' and casually devoured Her whilst humming, …there were kegs, kegs, of great big hairy legs, in the Quartermaster's Stores… "Is everything looking all right? For the drop I mean?"

"I was a trifle anxious that we might be intercepted by Nazgûl," Landroval said casting his eagle eyes about constantly, "but apart from that great screech just now, it all seems remarkably quiet."

As they flew closer to the great mountain, a plume of flame and smoke belched from the volcano funnel, sending clouds of sulphur and asphyxiating gases and fumes into the darkening sky.

"It looks quite cross, doesn't it," remarked Sam, "do you think it's safe?"

"I don't think safe is the word I would use to describe it," Frodo said with trepidation, "I'm sorry Sam if our little day out is getting more exciting than you're used to. Next time we'll just go for lunch in the Green Dragon. Still," Frodo smiled at the gardener, his head on one side, "I'm glad you're here with me Sam, it would have been really boring on my own."

"Whatiss Sméagol then?" Gollum was quite slighted, "Is we's not good friendses with the hobbits? Iss we not entertaining enough for the Masster of the Preciouss?"

"I'm sorry Sméagol," Frodo's dislike of the creature was beginning to move more towards a genuine pity, "I didn't mean to be rude. Of course you're entertaining and perhaps you'd like to join us for lunch when we go."

"Iss there fisssh?"

"Oh yes," Sam joined in enthusiastically, "you get great fried fish and chips at the Green Dragon on Fridays, almost as good as I cooks meself."

"Fried!" Gollum repeated in dismay. "Spoiling nice fish, scorching it. Give me fish now, raw and wriggling. and keep nassty chips!"

"Well," Frodo considered, "I suppose we could get the landlord to pop it in a fishbowl for you, you know so it's still swimming. But it's much nicer fried…"

"We have arrived!" Landroval interrupted the culinary discussion as they flew over the very Cracks of Doom. "The hour has come for you, small perian, to reduce the Great Fortress of Barad-dûr to naught and rend asunder the malicious workings and evil deeds of the terrible Lord Sauron in all His might and dreadful splendour."

"Oh," said Frodo, "so I have to drop it now?" He carefully took the Ring from around his neck and laid It on his palm. "Now that I come to look at It, It seems so small and harmless, and beautiful, it seems a shame to destroy It."

"See!" Gollum gloated, "We told the hobbitses! We told thems. Masster can't do it! Oh no! He can't throw the Precious away!"

"Well I will in a second," Frodo began to stroke the piece of gold lovingly, "perhaps I'll just wear It again, just for a moment."

"Noooo!" Sam cried out in alarm, "you can't put It on! Remember the last time when you were trying rings on and got that big ruby one stuck? Took two bars of soap and half a pound of best butter to get it off!"

"Oh Sam," Frodo laughed, "don't fuss, I'll be careful this time."

"I think," Landroval was circling now and growing hotter by the minute, "that you should just throw It in now."

"If the nice Massster doesn't want to throw the Preciousss," Gollum's eyes had lit up and grown wide with excitement, "we can keep It for him! Gives It to usss my Precious!" And with that, Gollum flung himself on Frodo, bowling him over the side of the eagle and snatching at the Ring in his open hand with a triumphant cry of joy and pain.

0-0-0-0-0-0

The Dark Lord in his eyrie was in a black mood! Blacker and deeper than any he had faced before. Nothing was going right. His Lieutenant had failed to return. His palantír was stuck on repeat. His Armies were who knows where! And it was only the first day of His battle for Middle-earth!

Then suddenly! Across the void a clarion call came to his mind! It was seeking Him, crying out to Him in His darkness. At last It had found the way back to Him.

He reached out into the heart of His domain, to the very edges of Orodruin and the Cracks of Doom. It was there in the place It was forged! Waiting for Him, Its true and only Master, to claim It!

0-0-0-0-0-0

Frodo clung to Gollum's hand resolutely as he dangled under Landroval and over the fiery river of the volcano below. "Get me up!" He demanded loudly and insistently.

"Yesss Masster!" Sméagol had really not wanted to kill Frodo, especially after he had invited him for lunch and everything. He just got a little over excited when he saw his Precious after all this time.

"Coming Mr Frodo," Sam reached down and grabbed the seat of Frodo's britches and hauled with all his strength.

Sam's added weight put the whole operation off balance and Frodo shot up on to Landroval's back much faster than anyone was anticipating, especially Gollum. The creature was jerked violently backwards and slid off the other side of the eagle, albeit, still clutching frantically to the Ring in Frodo's hand.

"Oops! Sorry!" Sam leaned over and made another grab, this time for Gollum. "Come on up you daft 'a'porth!" As he pulled the wriggling creature up by his arm, Frodo, who was still carrying on the tug-of-war with the Ring, slipped backwards again.

Once more Sam pulled Frodo up, this time keeping a firm grip on Gollum. As the two faced each other across the back of the eagle, the Ring pressed into their clutched palms, Landroval's voice came wafting up and it did not sound happy. "If you do not drop that accursed Thing into the furnace at once, I shall dump you all in there and be done with it!"

At that moment a terrible shriek rang out across the Plateau of Gorgoroth. Great winged shapes were bearing down upon the lone eagle and his burden and the three small creatures cringed from the sound, as a bolt of dread and pain shot through their hearts.

"Mr Frodo, please," Sam whispered fearfully, "you have to let It go."

"I will, if he will," Frodo glared at Gollum.

Sam was about to entreat the gangling creature to have mercy upon them all and let Frodo dispose of his burden, when another terrifying cry rent the molten gas plumed air. "Oh for Pity's sake!" Sam momentarily closed his eyes and muttered a quick prayer for forgiveness to whoever had the power to grant such things, then grabbed his Master and the creature by the necks and banged their heads together. He then prised their fists apart to reveal the One Ring, lying glinting in the red glow of the raging furnace and, with a flick of his finger, sent It flying into the river of lava below.

"Let's go!" he shouted to Landroval and before the Nazgûl could know their doom laden fate, before the towers fell and mountains slid, walls crumbled and melted, crashing down. Before any of that could happen, Landroval was out of there!

0-0-0-0-0-0

"I think we are almost finished," Gandalf shaded his eyes against the sun as he watched the distant speck grow into Landroval. Gwaihir and company had flown close enough to observe Mordor, whilst maintaining a safe height. The Wizard chuckled happily, "made quite a stir though, did it not?"

"I'll say!" Merry's eyes shone with excitement, "that was brilliant! Even better than your fireworks Gandalf!"

"Especially the bit when the mountain exploded and the tower fell over," Pippin joined in enthusiastically. "Kaboom! Just like that. Must've made an awful mess of the people inside, bet there was blood and guts and grizzle and gore all over the place!"

"I should not think that Tower had too many dwarves or elves or suchlike in there," Gimli pointed out. "Probably was mostly just full of orcs."

"Yes," Legolas agreed, "thousands of orcs I shouldn't wonder."

"Gosh!" Pippin frowned, "I'm glad I didn't live there – not with all those baths."

Gandalf was, for once, intrigued to know what Pippin was talking about and was just going to ask him when Frodo and party arrived. "Gollum! Well I hardly expected to see you here. I take it you managed Frodo?"

"Oh yes," the hobbit replied airily, "it was a breeze really."

"Very nice," Gollum muttered, "talks about throwing my precious away, just like that! Just a breeze! A walk in the park. A stroll round the mountain! Huh! Very nice my precious, very nice!"

"Oh shut up," Sam elbowed Sméagol in the ribs, "you weren't much help, trying to talk him out of it and grab It for yourself at the same time. I should have just let you fall in and be fried with It! Oh excepting you don't like fried things – do you!"

"Um well," Gandalf looked thoughtfully at the gangling creature, "I had thought that was the plan… Oh never mind, all's well that ends better."

"That's what my Gaffer alus…"

"Look never mind about your Gaffer, Sam," Merry interrupted, "could we get on, only we're going to miss tea at this rate."

"Yes, I agree," said Gandalf, surprisingly supporting Merry, "we just have to pop over to Minas Tirith to drop Aragorn off to be King and then we'll be off home."

"Actually," Aragorn looked abashed, "there's no need for everyone to come with me. That is, I'm quite capable of telling them myself." He waited a beat, but no one spoke, "Gandalf, it might be good if you came, then you could explain about the prophecies and so forth."

"Fine," Frodo decided, "If Landroval and his friends are happy to take us, we could go on ahead and get the kettle on, and we'll see you later."

"This is an acceptable arrangement," Gwaihir, being the Great Lord of all the Wind Lords, spoke for them all, "I trust there will be an adequate supply of seedcake."

"I'll get right on that Sir," Sam doffed his imaginary cap, having lost his hat for wringing during earlier aerobatics. "Stinker here… I mean Slinker here…"

"Sam!" Frodo's voice had that note of caution his servant hated.

"…I mean Sméagol here, can give me a hand."

"Makes the cakesies? Sméagol?" The creature looked incredulous, "with eggsies and flowers and fish and things?"

"Well I'm not sure about the fish," Sam grimaced and screwed up his nose.

"This sounds like an excellent recipe for cake," Landroval commented, "eagles do not make good cake, but we enjoy it when offered."

"Right! Sam gritted his teeth, "so that's half a dozen seedcakes and a couple of fish cakes. I'll do my best."

0-0-0-0-0-0

It had not taken too long to get back. The wind was in the right direction, which was odd, as it seldom blew from east to west, and the velocity was well within eagle cruising parameters.

Frodo sat in the main comfy chair, knowing he would probably relinquish it to Gandalf as soon as he arrived. After all he was the host and would stick to his duty, however painful. He flicked through some messages that had accumulated during his day out.

There was one from his estate agent. Someone named Sharky had put in an offer for Bag-end and the agent seemed to think he wouldn't do better.

"I'll have to see him in the morning," Frodo muttered to himself, "let him know I've taken it off the market for good."

Frodo immediately recognised the flamboyant script and red seal on the next letter. A long rambling missive from Bilbo, telling his nephew that he was thinking of taking a long sea voyage before retiring permanently and did Frodo fancy coming with him.

"Hmm," Frodo mused to himself, "I'll have to think about that one." On the one hand, the idea of getting away from it all sounded good, but what would he do with Bag End? He really did not like the idea of some stranger living there. Maybe he'd just leave it to Sam, perhaps once he'd asked that young Farmer's daughter Rose to marry him – yes, that would work.

The eagles, Landroval, Coedwigwr and Gorawen sat expectantly perched on the roof of Bag End. Even Frodo's best parlour would not accommodate their wing spans.

Merry and Pippin were actually making themselves useful by laying the table. In deference to the eagles, Frodo had decreed a picnic. The evening was still warm and the cousins set out cups and plates on a long bench table and even used doilies on the cake stands. Sam was up to his arms in flour and fat, baking for all he was worth.

He had had a little trouble to start with as Frodo had neglected to bank the fire before going out and, after he relit it, Gollum had doused it again in fear of it being seen. Sam pointed out that it no longer mattered.

"So Sméagol puts the eggsies in the cakesies?" Gollum asked for the tenth time.

"Yes, yes," Sam explained again, "only you need to break the shells first. Aggghhhh! No you throw the shells away, don't put them in the basin!"

"Sméagol not going to learn the nasty hobbit cooking!" The creature sulked and skulked into the corner, "It's too higgledy-piggledy for Sméagol."

"Come on," Sam encouraged, "you need to learn something else to do with yourself now you haven't got Rings to chase all over the place. You could do with a hobby and with a bit of fattening up."

He was interrupted by a cry from the garden. "Sam! They're here, Gandalf's here! Is the tea made? How are the cakes doing?"

Sam rushed into the garden, wiping his hands and arms on his apron as he went. Gollum slunk after him. "There're sandwiches to start and bread and jam and honey." Sam nodded to the well-appointed board and took Gandalf's staff. "Please help yourselves, Mr Frodo will be out directly. I'll fetch the crumpets and the tea."

"Wine for me please," Legolas called.

"I'll have coffee," Gandalf sat at the head of the table and helped himself to a cheese and tomato sandwich.

Legolas and Gimli seated themselves next to Merry and Pippin, who needed no such invitation. The eagles flew down and perched upon the bench, eyeing the bread and butter suspiciously.

Frodo joined them and took the far end of the table. "So?" He looked enquiringly at Gandalf, "How did Aragorn get on? Oh and where is he?"

"Well," began Gandalf with the air of someone settling in to tell a long story, "We arrived in Minas Tirith in the middle of a party. It seems that Denethor has had enough of being Steward and wants to spend more time with his sons. He had a nasty shock when he dreamt Boromir was dead and so has decided to retire."

"And Aragorn?" Merry asked, "does he get to be the King?"

"Well yes," Gandalf said between mouthfuls of sandwich. "Seems there's a vacancy now. Boromir doesn't want the job, far too busy repelling invaders and such."

"But I thought the war was over?" Frodo frowned. "Wasn't that why I took the Ring?"

"Oh yes," Gandalf agreed, "I think it's all in his mind. He just likes playing soldiers if the truth were told. Anyway, Denethor doesn't think Faramir is up to the job, so Aragorn turned up at just the right time."

"So he's King now?" Pippin asked, "with a crown and everything?"

"No," Gandalf said, "not yet. There were a few conditions."

"Really?" Legolas raised his eyebrows, "I thought being the heir of Isildur was the only qualification."

"Apparently," Gandalf finished the sandwiches and started on the crumpets, "he has to be married. So," he bit into the buttery honeycombed side without getting a jot of jam on his beard, "he already had a sort of arrangement with Elrond's daughter, Arwen and she's on her way down. In fact Meneldor has kindly taken her."

"Oh," Frodo looked around, "I wondered where he had got to. Sam we must save him some seedcake."

"The Coronation is next week," Gandalf continued, "after which Denethor intends to go and spend some time with his old friend King Théoden in Rohan."

"That sounds nice," Frodo poured more tea for the wizard, forgetting he had coffee in his cup. "Have they known each other long?"

"Well Théoden grew up in Minas Tirith, so I suppose so." Gandalf surreptitiously poured the tea/coffee away and beckoned Sam to fetch him another cup. "I understand that Denethor is going to speak to him about the value of children and intends to persuade him to retire and hand over to his son Théodred, or perhaps his nephew Éomer."

"Is Boromir going with him?" Merry asked. He had been quite impressed with the tall handsome warrior and was interested to know his fate.

"No," Gandalf explained, "he's too busy guarding things and planning to guard things. But he is taking his other son, Faramir. Apparently Théoden has a very attractive niece, Éowyn, and Denethor thinks she and Faramir might get along."

"So that's all the loose ends tied up pretty much!" Sam had been busy serving during most of the explanations and now sat himself down with a fresh brewed cup of tea, leaving Sméagol to pass the fish cake around to the eagles. "Unless there's anything else we need to do?"

"No," Gandalf considered for a moment, "I think that's it. Oh, except Aragorn and Denethor both said to say, thank you to Sam and Frodo for saving Middle-earth and Meriadoc, your knighthood is in the post for killing the Witch-King."

"What about me?" Pippin cried, "I helped!"

"Hmm, well the records just say Merry," Gandalf was checking a long parchment he had pulled from his robes, "and killing a Witch-king equals a dubbing,"

"Well I'm going to kill something all on my own next time." Pippin said with a sulk. "And it's going to be something really big, like a troll or something."

"You mind it don't fall on you," Gimli warned, "I'm not pulling you out if it does."

As the sun grew red and big and began to sink to the horizon, Gandalf looked at Frodo's watch and tutted. "Well I really must be off." He turned to Gimli and Legolas, "Are you two coming or staying here?"

"We're going to Ithilien for a bit," Legolas said, "I couldn't see it very well, but Gimli said it looked the sort of place I might like."

"Yes," Gimli added, "then we're going to see some caves I spotted – sort of glittery and shiny. I'm hoping to find some good glass-making materials so I can make the elf a new pair of spectacles. I may even run to contact lenses."

"That would be nice," Legolas smiled at his new friend. "And perhaps if you shave your beard off and stoop down a bit, you might even pass for an elf."

"Hmm," Gimli considered this, "worth a try."

"But you are all coming to the Coronation?" Gandalf shook the crumbs out of his robes and smoothed them back into place. "If the eagles don't mind doing the honours."

"It would be our pleasure," Gwaihir winked at Sméagol, "If the gangly creature promises to bring more fishcake."

"So Frodo," Gandalf swigged the remains of his coffee and stood up, "Did you enjoy your day out?"

"Yes, thank you so much," Frodo tried to suppress a yawn; he'd had a long day. "It was very exciting!"

The End (nearly)

Epilogue

Several days later Peregrin Took met with Fatty Bolger and persuaded him to swap back all his prize marbles in exchange for one really big marble. Fatty had been very impressed with the sheer enormity of the thing and took it home wrapped in the thick material Pippin had carried it in to save it from getting scratched or, heaven forbid, damaged or, as Merry had pointed out, leaving fingerprints as evidence.

Fatty squirreled it away in his room where his prying sister and mother would not find it and there he removed the cloth and ran his hands over the smooth, satisfying glass orb and gazed into its swirling depths. As he lay in bed at night, it sang to him.

At first Fredegar did not mind the singing, but it was the same words, over and over, "Build me an army worthy of Mordor! Build me an army worthy of Mordor! Build me an army worthy of Mordor!" Over and over and over again.

Freddy found he slept less and less and listened more and more. The voice was insistent, compelling and now it followed him into his dreams and his nightmares. He began to lose weight and his hair started to grow thin.

People would comment behind his back about how ill and wan he was looking. Not hobbit-like at all, it was whispered. Even his mother had to agree. She tried to fatten her son up again, but he seemed to have lost all interest in her well stocked board.

He would wander around listlessly all day muttering to himself. And, if anyone had cared to listen, they would have heard him saying, "where shall I start? I don't know how armies are made? What do I have to do? Where's Mordor anyway?"

Eventually, one day in late September, Freddy ran away. All he took was his giant glass marble, some thick clothing and his father's bow and arrows.

The last news anyone heard about poor mad Freddy was that he was hiding up in the Brockenbores by the hills of Scary. There he was slowly gathering to him other slightly crazed or disaffected ruffians and ne'r-do-wells and his band of rebels was growing day by day.

Freddy, alone in his tiny den at night, would whisper lovingly to the orb, "It's coming, I promise, I am doing it. I am building you an army worthy of Mordor!"

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