FIC: "Shadows of a Nameless Fear," Chpt. 5, PG-15
And ... "Shadows of a Nameless Fear," Chapter Five - Outside of the Inn
Chapter Five - Outside of the Inn
Frodo pushed himself back from the table with a groan. “That was simply wonderful. I couldn’t eat another bite.”
The innkeeper beamed at him and bowed deeply. “I’ll tell my cook you enjoyed his fare, milord. Are you certain I can’t bring you sirs something else?”
“No, no,” the hobbits assured him, Pippin from around a mouthful of pie. “Truly,” Frodo added, “You have been too kind. I can’t think of another thing I could possibly eat.” Mikah bowed again and took himself off to wait on his other customers, pride in his every step. “Well, perhaps if there were some mushrooms...” Frodo continued reflectively as the man moved out of hearing range.
“It’s hard to find fresh food of any sort,” Pippin remarked, laying down his fork with a sated sigh. “Aragorn is repairing the roads, but there aren’t many produce wagons coming into Minas Tirith yet. No hope of mushrooms, I’m afraid.”
“Aragorn searched the city for them,” Merry said, snagging an overlooked ginger biscuit from Pippin’s haul. He licked the sugar off it then bit into it blissfully. “Excellent. You tell that man his wife’s a treasure, Pip.” Swivelling back to Frodo, Merry continued, “He told all the people they were your favourite and asked if anyone had mushrooms for sale. There were none to be had.”
Frodo nodded. “Just as well, I suppose. One more bite and I might pop. I don’t think I’ve ever eaten so much. Not even at Aragorn’s banquets.”
”Peacocks with all their fancy feathers stuck back on,” said Sam disapprovingly. “It’s indecent. Give me a plain roast chicken anytime.”
“No one mention ‘chicken,’ or any other item of food for at least two hours,” Merry said firmly, leaning back and lacing his fingers over his rounded stomach. “Do you think anyone would mind if I took a nap on this bench?”
“I’m going to step outside for a breath of air.” Frodo had barely gained his feet before Merry and Pippin had both snapped upright and leapt to his side. He and Sam gazed at them in astonishment.
“There’s plenty of air in here, Frodo,” Merry said at the same time as Pippin said, “We promised Faramir we’d wait for him right here.”
Frodo turned to Sam, but Sam could only shrug, his eyes round as he stared at the two young hobbits. “I’ll only be a moment,” Frodo told them in puzzlement.
Frodo stood a step towards the door and found himself flanked by cousins, one on either side. “We’ll go with you,” Merry said flatly. Sam shook his head and meandered after them, deciding it was advisable to ‘stand up and let things settle’ himself.
“How many ales have you had, lads?” Frodo asked over his shoulder. Neither rose to his gentle baiting. Deciding to ignore them, Frodo paused in the doorway, taking a deep breath of the afternoon air. His hopes that the crowd has grown weary with the lengthy wait and dispersed were only partially fulfilled. The circle of faces had been greatly reduced, but still over a score of townsfolk waited to greet him. At his appearance a murmur ran through them and they bowed as he stepped outside. Forewarned and fortified by a luncheon of astonishing size, Frodo bowed graciously in return. The people bowed again, lower. Frodo reciprocated, wishing he had perhaps not eaten quite so heartily.
“Ring-bearer! Ring-bearer!” A man pushed his way to the front of the crowd, an older man with a florid face and intent expression. Frodo smiled at him, determined to be polite. The man started towards him, holding something large and flat covered by a cloth between his hands.
“Look out!”
“You there! Stop!”
Two hobbit-shaped blurs shot past Frodo, tugging their swords from their sheaths. The approaching man halted, his face startled and frightened. Seeing the sword-waving hobbits bearing down on him, he turned to run, the covered thing he was holding flying from his grasp.
“Pippin!”
In a heartbeat Merry had whirled, Pippin with him, and were racing back towards Frodo. The sound of something shattering against the paving stones was drowned out by Merry’s shout of “Frodo, get down! Get down!” A strong hand clamped on his shoulder and Frodo was dimly aware of Sam dragging him backward before two large hobbit-bodies slammed into him and bore him to the ground.
The absolute silence that followed was marred only by the retreating footfalls of the remaining crowd and the panting breaths of hobbits. Frodo could not see; someone had thrown himself across his head. He also could not breathe-someone else was lying across his body. Another hobbit-form was pinning his legs. He was being crushed.
He tried for a breath. “Gah …ugh!”
“What did he say?” asked one of the uniformed mountains pressing him down.
Frodo tried again. “Get ... get off me, lads!”
The hobbit pile stirred. Merry slid off Pippin’s back and pushed himself upright, holding his sword carefully out of the way. Pippin was next, rolling off Frodo to stand in embarrassed silence. He sheathed his sword and became very involved in patting the dust from his uniform. Sam raised himself up on his forearms and rolled to the side, wincing at the weight of the other two.
“Did we squash you flat, sir?”
“Just … about,” Frodo gasped shakily as he struggled to sit up. No bones seemed broken and his lungs were remembering their role. “Now, would someone … please tell me what is going on?”
Merry and Pippin coughed and looked at their feet. “We were protecting you, Cousin,” Pippin said, daring a glance up.
“I did pick up on that,” Frodo said dryly, not making an attempt to stand yet. “May I ask from what?”
“There have been rumours in the city, Frodo. Aragorn told us to guard you,” Merry answered slowly. “That is why Faramir came along.”
“What rumours?”
Pippin had given up on getting the dust off his formerly pristine uniform and was now engaged in pulling on the hem of his surcoat to work out the wrinkles. He shot a glance at Merry then returned to his fierce smoothing of the mussed cloth. Merry was staring into the middle distance, standing stiffly at attention. He looked like he was one the parade ground. Neither of them answered. Frodo frowned at them both and went for the most vulnerable target.
“Peregrin Took! Answer me!”
Pippin jumped, then shot an apologetic look at Merry. “You have to understand, Frodo, that things are still so unsettled. Aragorn heard … well, that there might be a … an attempt on the Ring-bearer. You know the King would do anything to ensure your safety, Cousin. Or would pay anything to get you back, if you were taken.”
“Taken?” Sam’s voice was shrill. “What do you mean, ‘taken’?”
The younger hobbits traded an unhappy glance. “Kidnapped,” Merry said briefly. “For ransom. Aragorn is afraid someone might try to kidnap Frodo and hold him for ransom.”
Silence settled over the hobbits. Frodo drew up his knees and wrapped his arms carefully around them, becoming aware of bruised ribs that were just beginning to make their complaints known.
“So when that man…”
“Aragorn said to guard you,” Merry repeated. “We didn’t know what that stranger’s intentions were. It could have been a knife, anything, under that cloth. When he threw it towards you-”
“Don’t you mean ‘dropped that serving platter’?”
Pippin flushed. “Yes, well, now we know that. But it looked like he was throwing it. Aragorn told us about the black powder Saruman used at Helm’s Deep, how it exploded upon hitting a solid object. Like paving stones. So we did the only thing we could to protect you.” He grinned weakly. “Sam beat us to it, however.”
Sam bent down and carefully lifted the largest piece of shattered crockery away from the mess. It had been a fine platter, its graceful contours outlined in gold. The most mouth-watering smell wafted up from the soggy pile beneath it, of plump mushrooms roasted in some kind of thick, creamy sauce. Even splattered on the ground, it smelled delicious. Frodo looked at it sadly.
“Oh, that poor man,” he said regretfully. “He must think we’ve gone mad.” They looked about but there was no sign of the unfortunate fellow. The rest of the citizenry had wisely withdrawn, though a few apprehensive faces were peering out at them from behind barrels and around corners.
Inquisitive faces were also staring at them from the inn, the shutters thrown open to let the gawkers see what all the shouting was about. Mikah stood wringing his hands in the doorway, obviously not sure what to do when his exalted guest was being assaulted by the honoured Periannath and his friends. Several people took the opportunity to slip out behind him, no doubt exiting ahead of trouble. Frodo averted his face from the curious eyes, his cheeks burning.
“Going back to this ransom thing,” Sam pursued relentlessly.
Merry sighed, seeing Sam was not going to let it pass. “Aragorn has ears in the city, you know. Those Ranger-friends of his, and the Elves, and those seeking to curry royal favour. There is a lot of confusion in the Minas Tirith now. No one feels really safe yet, with Orcs or a lost troll still turning up and attacking people now and then.” Merry turned away from Frodo for a moment, sheathing his sword. When he looked up again, his face had tightened and his mouth thinned. His blue eyes bored into Frodo’s.
“The King fears a certain kind of Men-enemy deserters and layabouts and ne’er-do-wells-might seek to profit off all the unrest. There’s been some looting and stealing of valuable things.” Merry looked at his seated cousin keenly. “Do you know of anything more valuable to the people of Gondor-to all of Middle-earth-than the Ring-bearer?”
Frodo’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. He looked up at Pippin, who nodded at him solemnly. “Aragorn would do anything, or pay anything, to keep you safe, Frodo,” the young hobbit murmured.
Frodo had no answer to that. He held out an arm and Sam clasped his hand, pulling his master gently to his feet. Frodo staggered and sagged against Sam, his face suddenly pale. Sam put a concerned arm around him and looked over his head at the others, worry on his face. Swaying dizzily, Frodo tried to straighten. Suddenly he hunched over, one hand flying to his mouth while the other pressed hard against his stomach.
“Oh! Oh no…” He stumbled against Sam, sweat breaking from his brow. “Privy,” Frodo said succinctly.
“What?” Pippin asked, staring at him.
“Privy!” Wordlessly, Sam pointed a finger towards the rear of the building. Frodo took off at a lurching run.
“Did you have to hit him so hard?” Merry growled at Pippin as they trailed after their unfortunate cousin. “Look what you did.”
“I think it was Sam’s elbow that caught him in the stomach,” Pippin growled back.
“I didn’t know what you two were about,” Sam defended himself. “You ran past us waving your swords, shouting at him to ‘get down,’ so I was pulled him down. It was you two sirs who piled on top of my poor master and near flattened him.”
The privy door slammed. There was a second of silence. Then all three hobbits winced at the sounds of retching emanating from the outhouse. “Oh dear,” Sam said quietly.
“All that lovely food coming up isn’t going to taste as good as it did going down,” Pippin said reflectively. “You realise he is going to be in a foul mood after this, don’t you.”
A loud groan issued from behind the wooden door. With a grimace at the other two, Sam sidled up to the door and called, “You all right, sir?”
“No! Stay out!” The hobbits looked at the ground and shuffled their feet. A particularly loud thump sounded from inside, followed by several thuds. The hobbits winced, Pippin rubbing his stomach in sympathy. They waited.
After several minutes of mortified silence, Merry glanced at the others and dared to try the door again. “Are you all right in there, Cousin? You’re not upset with us, are you? Though I would understand if you were.” Silence.
Pippin looked at Merry miserably. “Look, it was a misunderstanding.” He cupped his hands around his mouth and whispered loudly at the door, “Frodo, we’ll find that man and apologise, all right? Someone here will know who he is. We’ll buy him a new platter.” At the continuing silence, Pippin added, “Two platters. All right? We’ll buy him a whole new set.”
“It’s coming out of your wages,” Merry muttered.
“Why mine? I didn’t-”
“Mr. Frodo?” Sam’s voice was worried. “Master?”
Silence. The hobbits looked at each apprehensively. Pippin inched up against the door and laid an ear against it, drawing back to shake his head when the heavy wood yielded no sound. “You don’t suppose he fainted, do you?”
Merry’s face grew grim. “I’m going in. He can bite my head off if he wants, but I’m going to make sure he’s all right.”
Pippin stepped out of the way. “It was nice knowing you, Merry. I’ll tell your mum you died bravely.”
“Frodo, I’m opening this door if you don’t say something right now!” Merry pulled the door open and stuck his head into the small, three-seat privy. All of the doors on the stalls hung open, and it only took him a glance to see all three were completely empty.
* * *
“Calm down, Merry. Take a breath.”
“Faramir, there’s no time!” Merry stared helplessly into the Man’s eyes, his hands clenched into fists. The Prince knelt on the paving stones and tried to calm the trembling hobbit. He had come upon the three darting wildly about the inn where he had left them, calling, ”Frodo! Frodo!” He had managed to capture Merry, letting the other two race frantically past him.
“How long ago?” Merry looked at him blankly and he gave the hobbit a shake. “Merry! How long ago!”
“Not more than ten minutes,” Merry reported with an effort. “If I’d know you were nearly back-”
“Then he can’t have been taken far.” Faramir would not allow Merry to wallow in self-recrimination, especially over something he could not have known. Pippin and Sam were still searching, their faint calls of “Frodo!” drifting back through the winding streets. ”You were here long enough for them to formulate a plan… Kidnappers would not carry an unconscious or bound hobbit through the streets - too many would see and would intervene. Merry, ask the people if they have seen anyone carrying a rolled-up rug, or a large carry-basket, or someone driving a small cart with the back covered.”
Merry gaped at him. “Of course! What was I thinking? Pippin! Sam!” Faramir rocked back on his heels; the young hobbit’s shout nearly deafening him.
His ears still ringing, Faramir motioned the leader of the sedan chair to him. “Go back to the palace,” he instructed the man tersely. “Tell the King what has happened here. We need the Guard, every man, on duty or off. All leaves are cancelled, and the reserves are to be called up. Tell the King the city gates must be closed, all of them.”
“Yes, my lord,” the man whispered, his face white as parchment. “My men will stay and help you search, by your leave.”
“Their help is welcome,” Faramir replied grimly as the three other bearers bowed and scattered. “Are they armed?”
The man shook his head. “No, my lord.”
Pippin dashed up to Faramir as the sedan leader took off at a run. He had the innkeeper by the hand, tugging him up to the prince. Mikah bowed, his face pallid. “My lord, three men left my common room in a hurry, without finishing their meals or paying their bill. They must have snuck out behind me. I didn’t know them, lord-and I know most all the folk living ‘round here. But I noticed them staring at the halflings, sir, and hardest at the Ring-bearer.”
Faramir found his hand clamped on the hilt of his sword, and calmed himself deliberately. “They must have been hiding in the privy, knowing the halflings would go there eventually. But how did they get out?”
Mikah coughed apologetically. “Milord, there’s several loose boards on the far side wall. I’ve been meaning to fix them-”
“So they were either lying in wait, or went him in after him, hidden from your eyes by the corner. If these are the men we want, at all. Can you describe them to me?”
“Mr. Faramir!” Sam was herding a little girl up to them, the same one who had curtsied to Frodo upon their arrival. She looked very frightened, but also determined.
“My lords,” she whispered hesitantly, obviously in awe of the Prince. Faramir smiled at her and she relaxed slightly.
“It’s all right, lass,” Sam reassured her. “Tell them what you told me.”
“I saw them, my lords. Three men, strangers. I saw them go into the inn when Mikah let people in for luncheon. I saw them leave, and-my lord, the biggest was carrying something over his shoulder. He had his cloak thrown over it. It was something about my size, that dangled. Like a body, sir. It wasn’t moving.”
“Which way?” Faramir asked her evenly.
The child pivoted and pointed unerringly down one of the narrow streets. Faramir thanked her with a pat on the head while he addressed the innkeeper. “You-Mikah, is it? You and this young lady give this man their descriptions.” A wave of his hand returned the bearers to his side. “You men come with me.” The other two men looked angry. Somewhere in their searching one had acquired a sword, and the other a thick wooden club.
“We’re coming too,” announced Merry.
Faramir hesitated. “We’re armed,” Merry pointed out reasonably. “And Frodo would answer us, whereas he might not an unknown voice. If he can answer us, he will.”
“All right. Master Samwise, you-”
“Sam’s staying here,” Merry declared to both Sam and Pippin’s shock. Merry stuck a finger in their friend’s chest, staring into the spluttering hobbit’s eyes. “You’ve done enough running about, Mr. Gamgee. Did you think I wouldn’t see you limping? You will stay here and help Mikah and be ready to take care of Frodo when we bring him back.”
Sam’s face began to turn red. “Mr. Merry-”
“No, Sam. You’re not so long out of the Houses of Healing yourself. Frodo-and Aragorn and Gandalf and Elrond-would have my head if I let you hurt yourself.”
Merry turned and raced towards the indicated lane, effectively concluding the argument. Pippin dashed after him. With an apologetic glance at Sam, Faramir led his two men in pursuit. Sam stared after them, his mouth still open and tears streaming down his face.
* TBC *
*Whew* Chapter Six will be a day or two, but I promise not to forget to post it here!
Thank you for reminding me, friends!
Chapter Five - Outside of the Inn
Frodo pushed himself back from the table with a groan. “That was simply wonderful. I couldn’t eat another bite.”
The innkeeper beamed at him and bowed deeply. “I’ll tell my cook you enjoyed his fare, milord. Are you certain I can’t bring you sirs something else?”
“No, no,” the hobbits assured him, Pippin from around a mouthful of pie. “Truly,” Frodo added, “You have been too kind. I can’t think of another thing I could possibly eat.” Mikah bowed again and took himself off to wait on his other customers, pride in his every step. “Well, perhaps if there were some mushrooms...” Frodo continued reflectively as the man moved out of hearing range.
“It’s hard to find fresh food of any sort,” Pippin remarked, laying down his fork with a sated sigh. “Aragorn is repairing the roads, but there aren’t many produce wagons coming into Minas Tirith yet. No hope of mushrooms, I’m afraid.”
“Aragorn searched the city for them,” Merry said, snagging an overlooked ginger biscuit from Pippin’s haul. He licked the sugar off it then bit into it blissfully. “Excellent. You tell that man his wife’s a treasure, Pip.” Swivelling back to Frodo, Merry continued, “He told all the people they were your favourite and asked if anyone had mushrooms for sale. There were none to be had.”
Frodo nodded. “Just as well, I suppose. One more bite and I might pop. I don’t think I’ve ever eaten so much. Not even at Aragorn’s banquets.”
”Peacocks with all their fancy feathers stuck back on,” said Sam disapprovingly. “It’s indecent. Give me a plain roast chicken anytime.”
“No one mention ‘chicken,’ or any other item of food for at least two hours,” Merry said firmly, leaning back and lacing his fingers over his rounded stomach. “Do you think anyone would mind if I took a nap on this bench?”
“I’m going to step outside for a breath of air.” Frodo had barely gained his feet before Merry and Pippin had both snapped upright and leapt to his side. He and Sam gazed at them in astonishment.
“There’s plenty of air in here, Frodo,” Merry said at the same time as Pippin said, “We promised Faramir we’d wait for him right here.”
Frodo turned to Sam, but Sam could only shrug, his eyes round as he stared at the two young hobbits. “I’ll only be a moment,” Frodo told them in puzzlement.
Frodo stood a step towards the door and found himself flanked by cousins, one on either side. “We’ll go with you,” Merry said flatly. Sam shook his head and meandered after them, deciding it was advisable to ‘stand up and let things settle’ himself.
“How many ales have you had, lads?” Frodo asked over his shoulder. Neither rose to his gentle baiting. Deciding to ignore them, Frodo paused in the doorway, taking a deep breath of the afternoon air. His hopes that the crowd has grown weary with the lengthy wait and dispersed were only partially fulfilled. The circle of faces had been greatly reduced, but still over a score of townsfolk waited to greet him. At his appearance a murmur ran through them and they bowed as he stepped outside. Forewarned and fortified by a luncheon of astonishing size, Frodo bowed graciously in return. The people bowed again, lower. Frodo reciprocated, wishing he had perhaps not eaten quite so heartily.
“Ring-bearer! Ring-bearer!” A man pushed his way to the front of the crowd, an older man with a florid face and intent expression. Frodo smiled at him, determined to be polite. The man started towards him, holding something large and flat covered by a cloth between his hands.
“Look out!”
“You there! Stop!”
Two hobbit-shaped blurs shot past Frodo, tugging their swords from their sheaths. The approaching man halted, his face startled and frightened. Seeing the sword-waving hobbits bearing down on him, he turned to run, the covered thing he was holding flying from his grasp.
“Pippin!”
In a heartbeat Merry had whirled, Pippin with him, and were racing back towards Frodo. The sound of something shattering against the paving stones was drowned out by Merry’s shout of “Frodo, get down! Get down!” A strong hand clamped on his shoulder and Frodo was dimly aware of Sam dragging him backward before two large hobbit-bodies slammed into him and bore him to the ground.
The absolute silence that followed was marred only by the retreating footfalls of the remaining crowd and the panting breaths of hobbits. Frodo could not see; someone had thrown himself across his head. He also could not breathe-someone else was lying across his body. Another hobbit-form was pinning his legs. He was being crushed.
He tried for a breath. “Gah …ugh!”
“What did he say?” asked one of the uniformed mountains pressing him down.
Frodo tried again. “Get ... get off me, lads!”
The hobbit pile stirred. Merry slid off Pippin’s back and pushed himself upright, holding his sword carefully out of the way. Pippin was next, rolling off Frodo to stand in embarrassed silence. He sheathed his sword and became very involved in patting the dust from his uniform. Sam raised himself up on his forearms and rolled to the side, wincing at the weight of the other two.
“Did we squash you flat, sir?”
“Just … about,” Frodo gasped shakily as he struggled to sit up. No bones seemed broken and his lungs were remembering their role. “Now, would someone … please tell me what is going on?”
Merry and Pippin coughed and looked at their feet. “We were protecting you, Cousin,” Pippin said, daring a glance up.
“I did pick up on that,” Frodo said dryly, not making an attempt to stand yet. “May I ask from what?”
“There have been rumours in the city, Frodo. Aragorn told us to guard you,” Merry answered slowly. “That is why Faramir came along.”
“What rumours?”
Pippin had given up on getting the dust off his formerly pristine uniform and was now engaged in pulling on the hem of his surcoat to work out the wrinkles. He shot a glance at Merry then returned to his fierce smoothing of the mussed cloth. Merry was staring into the middle distance, standing stiffly at attention. He looked like he was one the parade ground. Neither of them answered. Frodo frowned at them both and went for the most vulnerable target.
“Peregrin Took! Answer me!”
Pippin jumped, then shot an apologetic look at Merry. “You have to understand, Frodo, that things are still so unsettled. Aragorn heard … well, that there might be a … an attempt on the Ring-bearer. You know the King would do anything to ensure your safety, Cousin. Or would pay anything to get you back, if you were taken.”
“Taken?” Sam’s voice was shrill. “What do you mean, ‘taken’?”
The younger hobbits traded an unhappy glance. “Kidnapped,” Merry said briefly. “For ransom. Aragorn is afraid someone might try to kidnap Frodo and hold him for ransom.”
Silence settled over the hobbits. Frodo drew up his knees and wrapped his arms carefully around them, becoming aware of bruised ribs that were just beginning to make their complaints known.
“So when that man…”
“Aragorn said to guard you,” Merry repeated. “We didn’t know what that stranger’s intentions were. It could have been a knife, anything, under that cloth. When he threw it towards you-”
“Don’t you mean ‘dropped that serving platter’?”
Pippin flushed. “Yes, well, now we know that. But it looked like he was throwing it. Aragorn told us about the black powder Saruman used at Helm’s Deep, how it exploded upon hitting a solid object. Like paving stones. So we did the only thing we could to protect you.” He grinned weakly. “Sam beat us to it, however.”
Sam bent down and carefully lifted the largest piece of shattered crockery away from the mess. It had been a fine platter, its graceful contours outlined in gold. The most mouth-watering smell wafted up from the soggy pile beneath it, of plump mushrooms roasted in some kind of thick, creamy sauce. Even splattered on the ground, it smelled delicious. Frodo looked at it sadly.
“Oh, that poor man,” he said regretfully. “He must think we’ve gone mad.” They looked about but there was no sign of the unfortunate fellow. The rest of the citizenry had wisely withdrawn, though a few apprehensive faces were peering out at them from behind barrels and around corners.
Inquisitive faces were also staring at them from the inn, the shutters thrown open to let the gawkers see what all the shouting was about. Mikah stood wringing his hands in the doorway, obviously not sure what to do when his exalted guest was being assaulted by the honoured Periannath and his friends. Several people took the opportunity to slip out behind him, no doubt exiting ahead of trouble. Frodo averted his face from the curious eyes, his cheeks burning.
“Going back to this ransom thing,” Sam pursued relentlessly.
Merry sighed, seeing Sam was not going to let it pass. “Aragorn has ears in the city, you know. Those Ranger-friends of his, and the Elves, and those seeking to curry royal favour. There is a lot of confusion in the Minas Tirith now. No one feels really safe yet, with Orcs or a lost troll still turning up and attacking people now and then.” Merry turned away from Frodo for a moment, sheathing his sword. When he looked up again, his face had tightened and his mouth thinned. His blue eyes bored into Frodo’s.
“The King fears a certain kind of Men-enemy deserters and layabouts and ne’er-do-wells-might seek to profit off all the unrest. There’s been some looting and stealing of valuable things.” Merry looked at his seated cousin keenly. “Do you know of anything more valuable to the people of Gondor-to all of Middle-earth-than the Ring-bearer?”
Frodo’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. He looked up at Pippin, who nodded at him solemnly. “Aragorn would do anything, or pay anything, to keep you safe, Frodo,” the young hobbit murmured.
Frodo had no answer to that. He held out an arm and Sam clasped his hand, pulling his master gently to his feet. Frodo staggered and sagged against Sam, his face suddenly pale. Sam put a concerned arm around him and looked over his head at the others, worry on his face. Swaying dizzily, Frodo tried to straighten. Suddenly he hunched over, one hand flying to his mouth while the other pressed hard against his stomach.
“Oh! Oh no…” He stumbled against Sam, sweat breaking from his brow. “Privy,” Frodo said succinctly.
“What?” Pippin asked, staring at him.
“Privy!” Wordlessly, Sam pointed a finger towards the rear of the building. Frodo took off at a lurching run.
“Did you have to hit him so hard?” Merry growled at Pippin as they trailed after their unfortunate cousin. “Look what you did.”
“I think it was Sam’s elbow that caught him in the stomach,” Pippin growled back.
“I didn’t know what you two were about,” Sam defended himself. “You ran past us waving your swords, shouting at him to ‘get down,’ so I was pulled him down. It was you two sirs who piled on top of my poor master and near flattened him.”
The privy door slammed. There was a second of silence. Then all three hobbits winced at the sounds of retching emanating from the outhouse. “Oh dear,” Sam said quietly.
“All that lovely food coming up isn’t going to taste as good as it did going down,” Pippin said reflectively. “You realise he is going to be in a foul mood after this, don’t you.”
A loud groan issued from behind the wooden door. With a grimace at the other two, Sam sidled up to the door and called, “You all right, sir?”
“No! Stay out!” The hobbits looked at the ground and shuffled their feet. A particularly loud thump sounded from inside, followed by several thuds. The hobbits winced, Pippin rubbing his stomach in sympathy. They waited.
After several minutes of mortified silence, Merry glanced at the others and dared to try the door again. “Are you all right in there, Cousin? You’re not upset with us, are you? Though I would understand if you were.” Silence.
Pippin looked at Merry miserably. “Look, it was a misunderstanding.” He cupped his hands around his mouth and whispered loudly at the door, “Frodo, we’ll find that man and apologise, all right? Someone here will know who he is. We’ll buy him a new platter.” At the continuing silence, Pippin added, “Two platters. All right? We’ll buy him a whole new set.”
“It’s coming out of your wages,” Merry muttered.
“Why mine? I didn’t-”
“Mr. Frodo?” Sam’s voice was worried. “Master?”
Silence. The hobbits looked at each apprehensively. Pippin inched up against the door and laid an ear against it, drawing back to shake his head when the heavy wood yielded no sound. “You don’t suppose he fainted, do you?”
Merry’s face grew grim. “I’m going in. He can bite my head off if he wants, but I’m going to make sure he’s all right.”
Pippin stepped out of the way. “It was nice knowing you, Merry. I’ll tell your mum you died bravely.”
“Frodo, I’m opening this door if you don’t say something right now!” Merry pulled the door open and stuck his head into the small, three-seat privy. All of the doors on the stalls hung open, and it only took him a glance to see all three were completely empty.
* * *
“Calm down, Merry. Take a breath.”
“Faramir, there’s no time!” Merry stared helplessly into the Man’s eyes, his hands clenched into fists. The Prince knelt on the paving stones and tried to calm the trembling hobbit. He had come upon the three darting wildly about the inn where he had left them, calling, ”Frodo! Frodo!” He had managed to capture Merry, letting the other two race frantically past him.
“How long ago?” Merry looked at him blankly and he gave the hobbit a shake. “Merry! How long ago!”
“Not more than ten minutes,” Merry reported with an effort. “If I’d know you were nearly back-”
“Then he can’t have been taken far.” Faramir would not allow Merry to wallow in self-recrimination, especially over something he could not have known. Pippin and Sam were still searching, their faint calls of “Frodo!” drifting back through the winding streets. ”You were here long enough for them to formulate a plan… Kidnappers would not carry an unconscious or bound hobbit through the streets - too many would see and would intervene. Merry, ask the people if they have seen anyone carrying a rolled-up rug, or a large carry-basket, or someone driving a small cart with the back covered.”
Merry gaped at him. “Of course! What was I thinking? Pippin! Sam!” Faramir rocked back on his heels; the young hobbit’s shout nearly deafening him.
His ears still ringing, Faramir motioned the leader of the sedan chair to him. “Go back to the palace,” he instructed the man tersely. “Tell the King what has happened here. We need the Guard, every man, on duty or off. All leaves are cancelled, and the reserves are to be called up. Tell the King the city gates must be closed, all of them.”
“Yes, my lord,” the man whispered, his face white as parchment. “My men will stay and help you search, by your leave.”
“Their help is welcome,” Faramir replied grimly as the three other bearers bowed and scattered. “Are they armed?”
The man shook his head. “No, my lord.”
Pippin dashed up to Faramir as the sedan leader took off at a run. He had the innkeeper by the hand, tugging him up to the prince. Mikah bowed, his face pallid. “My lord, three men left my common room in a hurry, without finishing their meals or paying their bill. They must have snuck out behind me. I didn’t know them, lord-and I know most all the folk living ‘round here. But I noticed them staring at the halflings, sir, and hardest at the Ring-bearer.”
Faramir found his hand clamped on the hilt of his sword, and calmed himself deliberately. “They must have been hiding in the privy, knowing the halflings would go there eventually. But how did they get out?”
Mikah coughed apologetically. “Milord, there’s several loose boards on the far side wall. I’ve been meaning to fix them-”
“So they were either lying in wait, or went him in after him, hidden from your eyes by the corner. If these are the men we want, at all. Can you describe them to me?”
“Mr. Faramir!” Sam was herding a little girl up to them, the same one who had curtsied to Frodo upon their arrival. She looked very frightened, but also determined.
“My lords,” she whispered hesitantly, obviously in awe of the Prince. Faramir smiled at her and she relaxed slightly.
“It’s all right, lass,” Sam reassured her. “Tell them what you told me.”
“I saw them, my lords. Three men, strangers. I saw them go into the inn when Mikah let people in for luncheon. I saw them leave, and-my lord, the biggest was carrying something over his shoulder. He had his cloak thrown over it. It was something about my size, that dangled. Like a body, sir. It wasn’t moving.”
“Which way?” Faramir asked her evenly.
The child pivoted and pointed unerringly down one of the narrow streets. Faramir thanked her with a pat on the head while he addressed the innkeeper. “You-Mikah, is it? You and this young lady give this man their descriptions.” A wave of his hand returned the bearers to his side. “You men come with me.” The other two men looked angry. Somewhere in their searching one had acquired a sword, and the other a thick wooden club.
“We’re coming too,” announced Merry.
Faramir hesitated. “We’re armed,” Merry pointed out reasonably. “And Frodo would answer us, whereas he might not an unknown voice. If he can answer us, he will.”
“All right. Master Samwise, you-”
“Sam’s staying here,” Merry declared to both Sam and Pippin’s shock. Merry stuck a finger in their friend’s chest, staring into the spluttering hobbit’s eyes. “You’ve done enough running about, Mr. Gamgee. Did you think I wouldn’t see you limping? You will stay here and help Mikah and be ready to take care of Frodo when we bring him back.”
Sam’s face began to turn red. “Mr. Merry-”
“No, Sam. You’re not so long out of the Houses of Healing yourself. Frodo-and Aragorn and Gandalf and Elrond-would have my head if I let you hurt yourself.”
Merry turned and raced towards the indicated lane, effectively concluding the argument. Pippin dashed after him. With an apologetic glance at Sam, Faramir led his two men in pursuit. Sam stared after them, his mouth still open and tears streaming down his face.
* TBC *
*Whew* Chapter Six will be a day or two, but I promise not to forget to post it here!
Thank you for reminding me, friends!