Title: The Way of Vengeance  ~*~The Return of Rushford Bramblethorn~*~
Author: Mbradford 	mdoney@mindspring.com

Pairing: Frodo/Sam, Frodo/OC 
Rating: R 

Summary: 15 Chapters - Complete. Sequel to “In Safekeeping” (published 
on Library of Moria in April 2003). Two years after his banishment from 
the Shire for his attack on Frodo, Rushford Bramblethorn is weary of exile 
in Bree and wants to return to the Shire. He intends to kidnap Frodo and 
force him to sign a document recanting his testimony regarding the 
previous incident. 

Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters with the exception of Rushford 
Bramblethorn. He’s my fault. I also invented an Inn in Bywater. All else is 
the creation and property of J.R.R. Tolkien.

Warnings: Violence, non-consensual sexual situations, nasty psychotic 
villain. Poor Frodo…
 

Author’s notes:
If you have not read “In Safekeeping”, this story will still make some 
sense, but you will likely understand it better if you check out the one that 
spawned it. The nasty villain in this story was introduced in that tale, as 
were some, but not all of his motives. 

There are events occurring simultaneously in two different places at some 
points in this tale. I have added the day of the week from the Common 
calendar to clarify the timeline at some points of the story. 

Finally, apologies in advance for any careless destruction of canon (up to 
and including expansion of the powers of the Mayor), warping of the 
fabric of time and space, or other foolish transgressions. Largely based on 
movie canon, although a bit of book canon may sneak in from time to 
time. 






Chapter 1 – From Shadows Returning

THE PAST – Shire Reckoning Autumn 1401

From “In Safekeeping” Chapter 3


~*~ Sam knew then that Frodo was in trouble. A scholarly hobbit who 
treated his books with loving care, Frodo would never leave a book lying 
on the ground. Sam picked the book up carefully, holding it in his hands as 
if it were a tiny, wounded bird. “Mr. Frodo,” he whispered. “Where have 
you gone to?”

Voices! Sam thought he had heard voices! Being careful not to make a 
sound, he moved slowly through the trees in the direction the sound had 
come from. The look on his face changed from fear to horror as he heard 
the exchange between the speakers. 

“Keep begging, Frodo. Not that it will do any good, but I like the sound.” 

Bramblethorn! That – that filthy-minded orc-spawn! Sam could find no 
adequate epithet in the common tongue that was equal to the task of 
describing the hideous blight that was Rushford Bramblethorn. His heart 
nearly stopped to hear Frodo’s voice answering, little more than a broken 
sob.

“P-Please. D-don’t do this.” 

White-hot fury exploded behind Sam’s eyes. He cursed himself for not 
bringing some sort of gardening implement to use as a weapon. It would 
have to be his bare hands that tore that creature limb from limb. ~*~



THE PRESENT – Shire Reckoning Summer 1403

Bree. Noisy, dirty, overcrowded with big folk. Bree was no place for any 
self-respecting hobbit, Rushford Bramblethorn reflected bitterly. Bree 
was, in his case, a punishment – a consequence. He had ended up in this 
vile place as a result of the Mayor’s decree of banishment for what the old 
fool had termed “crimes against nature”. 

It all came down to the fact that desire had overcome sensibility, and he 
had acted upon his impulse. Not that he was sorry – the only thing there 
was to be sorry for, in his opinion, was the unfortunate appearance of that 
meddlesome gardener before he could reach the fulfillment of his desire. 

Blast Samwise Gamgee! And blast Frodo Baggins, for that matter! 
Baggins’ testimony, witnessed by that wretched servant of his, combined 
with rumors of past transgressions of a similar nature, had been enough to 
cause the Mayor to decree Bramblethorn’s banishment from the Shire, and 
he had been marched to the borders by a large group of hobbits with 
flaming torches. Nothing had been proven, really. In the Shire, absolute 
proof wasn’t always needed. If he were deemed a threat by enough of the 
prominent citizens, The Rules allowed for him to be cast out.

Bramblethorn stared bitterly at his tankard, and took another swallow of 
his ale. Frodo Baggins. Blue-eyed, pale, beautiful Frodo, the irresistible 
creature that had doomed him to dwell in this sewer.  He chuckled to 
himself. Not that his amorous tastes had always included lads, but Frodo 
was exceptional. He wasn’t done with that lovely young imp yet, not by a 
long shot. 

He finished his ale and rose from the table, carelessly dropping a few 
coins on the tabletop for the barkeep. He strode out the door and down the 
muddy street, contemplating his plans as he went. Two years in Bree were 
enough. It was time to go home, and he would be allowed to stay – that 
was, as soon as Frodo recanted his testimony. And he would recant, 
Bramblethorn thought, an ugly smirk crossing his face. Oh, he most 
certainly would!


~*~

Bounders! What a ridiculous bunch of self-important fools, thought 
Bramblethorn. The Bounders were, in theory, appointed to watch the 
borders of the Shire for incursions of ill-intentioned big folk, orcs and the 
like. Bramblethorn had not seen a single Bounder as he had skirted the 
borders of Shire, seeking the shortest route to Bywater. Once across the 
borders, it would be a simple matter to travel under cover of darkness to 
the town and prepare for the next phase of his plan. 

He would rest for a day or so once he was safely holed up in Bywater. 
Four days of traveling cross-country from Bree had left him dirty and 
road-weary. Not that he would find many comforts upon reaching his 
objective.  His proposed lodgings were not luxurious by any standard, but 
they would do. There were some old, abandoned smials outside the town 
proper that were all but forgotten, and some were still sound enough to use 
as decent shelter. 

He walked on, moving through the darkness with relative ease. He would 
get to his shelter, clean up and lay aside some necessary provisions, then 
make for Hobbiton the next day. Then, the next phase of his plan could be 
completed. ~ I am coming, Frodo Baggins,~ he thought with malicious 
glee. ~And we shall meet again.~ 

~*~Saturday~*~

“The post is here, Mr. Frodo!” Sam’s chipper voice filled the kitchen as he 
entered the room with two letters in his hand.  Frodo turned and caught 
sight of Merry’s bold script on one of the envelopes as Sam placed them 
on the table. The second was sure to be written in Pippin’s somewhat 
careless scrawl. 

“As I thought, Merry and Pippin are confirming their plans to visit this 
week. They’ll be here in a matter of a couple of days, and I’m nowhere 
near ready for them,” Frodo sighed as he slipped the letters back into their 
envelopes. 

“It does take some preparin’ when Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin are comin’ 
by, I suppose,” Sam agreed. “Especially in the pantry, if you follow me,” 
he added, and Frodo laughed.

“Pippin has the appetite of two hobbits at least, and Merry’s not much 
better,” he conceded. “I need to air out the guest rooms and make sure 
there are fresh linens on the beds. I know the garden is keeping you busy, 
Sam, but could you find time to go to the Market for me?”

“It wouldn’t be no bother at all, Mr. Frodo,” Sam replied readily. Frodo 
didn’t ask him to do much more than keep the garden, but he made 
himself available to assist however he could. Without Bilbo there, Frodo 
was left to take care of Bag End largely on his own. Any help Sam could 
give him was always welcome, but seldom asked for. 

Sam folded the list Frodo gave him and placed it in his vest pocket. It was 
late morning now and he was ahead of schedule with his chores for the 
day. It would be no great effort to slip off to the Market in the afternoon, 
and he would be back by teatime. 

Merry and Pippin were scheduled to stay at Bag End for a few days. No 
special plans had been made, but the idea was to catch up on goings on in 
Buckland and Tuckborough. Frodo had not seen his cousins since the Yule 
celebration at Brandy Hall last winter. It was high summer now, and a 
busy time for both of his cousins. Even so, Merry had been assured by his 
father, the Master of Buckland, that things would not collapse entirely if 
he were absent for a short time. Pippin had received similar assurances 
from his family at the Great Smials, and both had arranged to travel to 
Hobbiton. 

The flurry of preparations at Bag End was well underway, and continued 
for the remainder of the day. Sam returned from the Market with what he 
termed enough to feed a legion or Frodo’s cousins, whichever showed up 
first. Guest rooms were readied and the parlor put in order. 

It was late in the evening when Frodo tumbled gratefully into bed, sinking 
into dreams almost as soon as his eyes fluttered closed. Things were, for 
the most part in order, and all was going as planned. 



Chapter 2 – Let the Games Begin
~*~Saturday~*~


Things were going as planned. Bramblethorn looked around at his 
surroundings with satisfaction. Or at least, he mused, as much satisfaction 
as a musty, abandoned smial could provide. Some worn furnishings had 
been left behind by the previous occupants, and the hearth was mostly 
undamaged. The roof left something to be desired, having cracked in 
many places, allowing dirt to collect in small piles on the floor beneath the 
worst of the cracks. Roots from the grass and shrubbery on the hill above 
hung down between support beams, some tendrils swinging just above 
Bramblethorn’s head. The damaged roof might leak in a rainstorm, but he 
would worry about that should the need arise. 

He had obtained some provisions in Bywater. Firewood was stacked in the 
corner of the room that had once served as a small parlor. He had procured 
a tinderbox and some candles, and some basic food items. A supply of 
fresh water had also been stored. All was in readiness, and only one thing 
remained – Frodo Baggins.  

Bramblethorn paused briefly and studied his reflection in the remnant of a 
broken mirror. Perhaps a dozen years Frodo’s senior, he was neither tall 
nor short as hobbits went, but sturdily built, broad across the chest and 
shoulders. Thick, curly hair of a sandy brown fell not quite to his 
shoulders, framing a face that was both intelligent and intense. He prided 
himself on having a rather authoritative, commanding presence, the effect 
of which was usually that he got what he wanted. 

He smiled. There were indeed things he wanted, and he had plans to deal 
with them in short order. 

What a lonely little place this was, Bramblethorn thought. But he would 
not be alone! Absolutely not. He would have the company of another, 
whether the other was willing or not. Judging by his established track 
record with his proposed companion, he felt certain the issue of 
willingness was already decided and not in his favor. 

No matter. Even if he had failed before to gain Frodo’s companionship on 
one level, he would certainly have it on another. Frodo was stubborn and 
headstrong. It might take a few days together before Bramblethorn could 
persuade him to sign the document recanting his testimony. It would be an 
interesting game, and Bramblethorn was poised to make the first move.

~*~Sunday~*~

At last! Frodo finally felt that all the preparations for his cousins’ visit 
were complete. It had been a long day of checking and re-checking, 
making sure he hadn’t forgotten anything that would make the visit 
pleasant for everyone. Just seeing Merry and Pippin was always good, but 
it happened so seldom that he always took pains to do small extra things. 
Having plenty of mushrooms on hand for Pippin was a good idea, as they 
were his favorite. Merry was especially partial to Blueberry muffins in the 
morning, so plenty of blueberries were needed. 

It was late afternoon, and he had just finished with a last sweep through 
his home, making sure everything was straightened, dusted, pressed and 
polished. Everyone should have a visit from relatives every few months or 
so, he mused. It would certainly cause their homes to be neat and tidy! 

He stepped outside and headed for the garden. It was teatime and Sam was 
still working away, oblivious to the hour. The midsummer sun beat down 
on the ground with a withering force, and Sam’s greatest labor was just 
keeping the plants green. He seemed to be doing well in that department. 
Despite the blazing heat, the flowers and vegetables were green and 
healthy. 

“Sam,” Frodo called. “The tea is ready. Come in out of that sun for a while 
and rest.” 

“I’ll be right in, Mr. Frodo!” Sam answered, wiping his brow with the 
back of his hand. He took the hoe back to the shed and checked to make 
sure he locked it behind him as he left. Not that there was really any need, 
since the theft of garden tools was unheard of in Hobbiton. It was just part 
of his daily ritual, something he always did without really thinking about 
the reason. 

Frodo was pouring the tea as Sam came into the kitchen. It was nice and 
cool inside Bag End – one of the advantages to living in a hole in the side 
of a hill. Sam sank gratefully into a chair and sighed in appreciation. 

“A funny thing about tea, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said, taking a sip from his cup. 
“No matter the weather, hot or cold, it always sits just right with you.”

“I think I know what you mean, Sam.” Frodo regarded his gardener 
fondly. “As hot as the weather is today, you would think a hot beverage 
would be the very last thing you would want, but it always tastes 
wonderful.” 

Sam had a way with words, making simple but wise statements that 
always seemed to fit the occasion. Whatever needed saying, he could 
always find a plain, forthright way to say it. Frodo had grown to 
appreciate Sam all the more for his plainspoken approach to conversation. 
Few words were really needed between them much of the time – they 
could share a companionable silence just as gladly and easily as a long 
conversation. 

“Sam, you must be careful working in the sun all day. Your Gaffer would 
be furious with me if I allowed you to work yourself to collapsing,” Frodo 
said earnestly. “The heat can be dangerous.”

“I know, Mr. Frodo,” Sam replied. “I’ve been takin’ some shade and water 
every so often as need be. Besides, I have a promise to keep.” Sam’s face 
seemed to flush slightly. 

“Sam?” Frodo regarded him quizzically. For once, he wasn’t quite sure 
where Sam was leading him.

Sam wasn’t sure why he had mentioned that himself. Two years earlier he 
had arrived just in time to snatch Frodo from that villain Bramblethorn’s 
clutches, and he had sworn at that time to never be far from his master. If 
anything ever happened to Mr. Frodo –  Sam let the thought go, not 
wanting to follow it to any sort of conclusion. 

“I promised not to leave you, Mr. Frodo,” Sam explained, regarding his 
teacup as he spoke. “I won’t go droppin’ over in the garden, not with 
makin’ you that promise.”

Frodo reached across the table and laid his thin, pale hand over Sam’s 
larger tanned one. “I’m glad, Sam. I don’t know what I would do without 
you.”

Sam smiled back, and the two of them shared a quiet teatime together. It 
was one of those times when few words were needed, and everything was 
right – just a lazy summer afternoon fading into a lovely evening, chores 
all done for the day and everything in place for the day to come. 

~*~Sunday~*~

The sun was going down, and the shadows began to deepen. From the 
concealing cover of the bushes, Bramblethorn watched Sam leave Bag 
End. Very good, he mused. The last two years must have been very 
peaceful. Frodo’s watchdog had relaxed his vigilance as he’d hoped. It 
would be a simple matter of waiting until full darkness and gaining entry. 
When the lights had gone down in the windows of the parlor, he would 
wait a short while longer. If he could get inside quietly, he could keep to 
the shadows and choose his moment. 

He settled back to wait out the short time left before making his move. 
Two long years of exile in Bree, two years of simmering in anger and 
frustration. He was going to enjoy this. 


Chapter 3 – Into the Night

~*~Sunday night~*~

Frodo had seen Sam off to his home after supper. He was pleased when 
Sam accepted the invitation to stay. It was the least Frodo could do, with 
all the help Sam had given him in preparing for Merry and Pippin’s visit. 
The last of the supper dishes were cleared away, washed and placed in the 
cupboard. 

Frodo stretched and fought a losing battle with a yawn. It would be a night 
for retiring early, at this rate. He still had some things to take care of in the 
study, so he snuffed the candles in the parlor and kitchen, and let the coals 
in the kitchen fireplace start to die down. 

He settled himself comfortably in the chair at his writing desk, and worked 
for a while at preparing another lesson for Sam. He had been teaching Sam 
to read and write Elvish, Quenya specifically. Sam was learning rapidly, 
and Frodo was thrilled with his progress. The arrangement had originated 
some time ago after Frodo had overheard bits of a conversation between 
Sam and Bilbo regarding elves. Sam was fascinated by anything and 
everything to do with the fair folk, and Frodo thought it would be nice for 
him to know a little of the Elvish languages. They had started with some 
basic Quenya, and would work on Sindarin later. 

Growing weary after a while, Frodo stretched again and rubbed at his 
temples. Leaning back in his chair, he closed his eyes to rest them. Just a 
few minutes of rest, and he would return his attention to the page before 
him for a little while longer. 

~*~ 

All was dark and still outside Bag End as Bramblethorn touched the 
doorknob carefully. If it happened to be locked, it might take some time to 
get it open. One could get through a locked door noisily and all at once, or 
slowly and quietly, with a little patience. 

He turned the knob slowly, noiselessly, meeting no resistance as the door 
opened obediently. The thing wasn’t even locked! The Master of Bag End 
was feeling comfortable and secure indeed, if he didn’t even bother to lock 
his door. Of course, what threat could possibly exist in Hobbiton now? 
Hadn’t Frodo gotten Bramblethorn safely removed from the Shire, never 
to return? A nasty glimmer shone in Bramblethorn’s eyes. Frodo’s 
expression would be a priceless treasure to him. 

He slipped into the parlor silently and closed the door behind him. He 
could see light down the hallway where the study was located. He moved 
slowly down the hallway, making no sound at all. Approaching the door to 
the study with silent steps, he could see that it was only partially open. 
Perhaps he could get a quick glimpse inside without being seen. If he was 
detected, the element of surprise would be gone, but he would still be able 
to subdue the smaller hobbit without too much fuss. 

He looked carefully around the doorjamb and spied Frodo sitting at his 
writing desk, his back to the door. Frodo had leaned back in his chair and 
appeared to be resting. It was too much to hope that he was actually 
asleep, and too great a chance to take. He passed by the study and 
continued walking down the hall. A short distance away, he came across 
the master bedroom. Slipping into the shadows behind the open door, he 
waited. 

~*~

Frodo tidied up his desk and rose from his chair. Yawning for the third 
time in the last few minutes, he decided it was time to call it a day. 
Tomorrow would be busy, and he expected Merry and Pippin by 
luncheon. 

He retrieved the candle from his desk and started for his bedroom, feeling 
a little wearier with each step. Sleep beckoned invitingly, and he was not 
feeling inclined to argue. He opened the door, stepped in and set the 
candle on the dresser. He turned his back to the door and started to move 
in the direction of the bed to turn down the covers. 

Bramblethorn struck swiftly and decisively. Clamping a hand over Frodo’s 
mouth to stifle the expected scream and grabbing the terrified hobbit’s arm 
in a crushing grip, he stepped out of the shadows, pushing Frodo in front 
of him.

“Good evening, Frodo. It’s been a long time, and I’ve missed you,” he 
said, his voice low and menacing. 

Frodo froze solid at the sound of that hated voice he had thought never to 
hear again. This was impossible! Bramblethorn had been banished from 
the Shire two years earlier! He was gone! He – 

“I’ll bet you missed me too,” the voice purred in Frodo’s ear. A finger 
traced lightly from the tip of the ear down to the lobe. 

Frodo panicked. With his free arm, he reflexively jabbed his elbow 
backward into his attacker’s ribs. Bramblethorn let out his breath in a huff 
and released his hold. Frodo bolted toward the door, instinctively fleeing 
through the only exit. He only made it part of the way there before a 
weight fell on his back, knocking him to the floor. 

Bramblethorn had recovered quickly and pounced on Frodo’s back. He 
wrestled with the squirming hobbit, trying to gain a firm hold. Frodo had 
rolled onto his back during the scuffle and struck out in self-defense, 
landing a fairly solid punch on his attacker’s jaw, and shouting desperately 
for help as he did so. 

It was a good effort, but not good enough. The next thing he felt was a 
blow to his temple that left him momentarily stunned. He fought to remain 
conscious, to keep fighting his assailant. Any chance of striking his 
attacker again evaporated as Bramblethorn rolled him over and pulled his 
arms behind his back. Sitting on Frodo’s legs to hold him steady and 
pulling a small coil of rope out of his pack, Bramblethorn bound Frodo’s 
hands securely.

“Still as stubborn as ever, aren’t you?” He said sarcastically. “Don’t make 
me hurt you, Frodo. We have places to go, you and I, and I should hate to 
have to drag you.” 

“What are you doing back in the Shire?!” Frodo cried out. “You were 
banished –“

“Yes, thanks largely to you, my dear. But I missed you so!” Bramblethorn 
punctuated his last sentence by giving Frodo’s arms a vicious yank. Frodo 
bit back a cry. “I’ve returned just to see you,” Bramblethorn continued, 
dragging Frodo to his feet. “We’re going for a walk in the moonlight. It’s 
a fair distance, so I hope you’re not too dizzy to make the trip.”  

“Where are you taking me?” Frodo asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

“No harm in telling you, since you won’t be telling anybody else. We’re 
going to Bywater. But no more questions now, Frodo dear. We’ll get to 
the details of my visit soon enough, I promise.”

With that, Bramlethorn threw his pack over his shoulder and shoved his 
captive out the door and toward the parlor. As they reached the front door, 
he spoke again. “We will not be using the road, obviously. If I hear a 
sound from you intended to give our presence away to anyone, I will gag 
you. Now move!” 

With no way of leaving word to Sam, Merry or Pippin regarding his 
plight, Frodo felt a hopeless feeling wash over him. They would find him 
gone in the morning, with no sign of his whereabouts to lead them. They 
would know something was amiss, certainly, but the fact that he would be 
in Bywater would be completely unknown to them. 

As Frodo hesitated, Bramblethorn grabbed him and slammed him back 
against the wall.  
”Did you not hear me tell you to get moving?” he snarled in Frodo’s face. 
“I will drag you if I must, so I suggest you test me no further.”

Another shove and a few faltering steps, and Frodo was forced from his 
home and into the night. He was scared witless. The last time this beast 
had laid hands on him, it was with unspeakable intentions. Was his motive 
the same now, or was there more to it? Afraid to contemplate the answer 
to his own question, he stumbled forward into the darkness. 



Chapter 4 – To Bywater
~*~Sunday night~*~

Frodo stumbled, nearly falling as the terrain beneath his feet became 
increasingly uneven. From behind him, two hands reached out and gripped 
his shoulders to steady him. “Can’t have you turning an ankle and falling 
down, can we, love?” Bramblethorn said in his ear. “It’s not that I’m not 
keen to have you in my arms, but I’d rather not have to carry you to 
Bywater.” 

~Elbereth! What is he going to do to me?~ Frodo thought fearfully. As 
they had made progress through the darkened woods, Frodo’s muddled 
thinking had begun to clear. He had been too stunned from the blow to his 
head to think clearly earlier, but the fresh air seemed to be helping him 
recover his presence of mind. 

Along with the clarity there came a heightened sense of danger. He found 
himself thinking about Bramblethorn’s possible purpose for abducting 
him, and he wondered about the truth of the statement that they were 
going to Bywater. Bramblethorn had so far declined to tell him the reason 
for their journey to the nearby settlement. 

A horrible image coalesced in Frodo’s mind. He would never reach 
Bywater. That was just a ruse, meant to confuse him. The inevitable was 
upon him, unavoidable and unspeakable. Bramblethorn would force him 
deep into the woods where there would be no one to hear his screams. His 
attacker would violate and break him, glorying in his pain and shame. 
~Will he kill me when he’s finished? Will he just leave me battered and 
bleeding, alone in these dark woods?~ 

Frodo didn’t think his already hammering heart could beat any faster until 
he heard Bramblethorn speak again. 

“How nice. As I said, a walk in the moonlight.” No longer walking 
directly behind Frodo, Bramblethorn moved to his prisoner’s side. 
“Lovely, isn’t it?” As he spoke, he pulled Frodo to a stop, grabbed him by 
the shoulders again, and backed him toward a tree.  “Doesn’t it just put 
you in the mood?” He whispered with a horrifying grin on his face. 

Frodo fought to keep his fear and revulsion from showing in his 
expression, and failed utterly. “No!” He blurted. It was the best reply he 
could come up with and it came out in a strangled squeak. 

“Frodo, I haven’t seen your lovely face in two years,” Bramblethorn said 
in that soft yet menacing tone. “Surely you know you’re irresistible in the 
moonlight,” he continued, pressing close to Frodo.

His back to the tree, Frodo cringed as his terror threatened to overwhelm 
him. “Please, I’m begging you!” he stammered. “Don’t – don’t  – “ He 
couldn’t finish the sentence. The memory of the assault Sam had saved 
him from two years early was suddenly very vivid.

“Oh, Frodo,” Bramblethorn said slowly, feigning a slightly sad tone. “Not 
here. Not yet, my love, impatient as I am to have you for myself.” He 
touched Frodo’s cheek in a travesty of a gentle caress. “I fear the 
experience would be difficult for you. I can’t risk damaging you at this 
stage of the game.” 

Frodo’s already pale face drained of color completely at Bramblethorn’s 
words. “What game?” he heard himself asking, the volume of his voice 
rising along with his panic. “What are you talking about?!”

Bramblethorn clamped a hand over Frodo’s mouth to silence him. “No 
noise, now beloved.” The menace had crept back into his voice as he 
regarded his captive. He pulled Frodo away from the tree and resumed 
herding him along toward their destination. 

“I have plans for you, Frodo,” Bramblethorn continued, punctuating the 
sentence with a shove. “We will discuss them soon. In the meantime, I’m 
contenting myself with the prospect of some time alone together.”

It was too much for Frodo. “NO! Someone help me, please!” he cried out 
into the darkness, not knowing if there was anyone near enough to hear his 
call. He sprang forward, every nerve in his body singing out to him to flee. 
Bramblethorn uttered a curse and followed on his heels. Frodo crashed 
through the underbrush gracelessly and off-balance from being bound, 
running without any thought to direction. 

Bramblethorn caught up with him after a few moments. He grabbed 
Frodo’s arms and whirled him around into another tree, face first. Frodo’s 
chest hit the tree hard and the side of his face scraped against the bark 
painfully. 

“No! Please let me go,” he almost sobbed. The horrifying images came to 
him again as Bramblethorn roughly pulled him away from the tree. 

“I can’t bear to be parted from you, Frodo.” Bramblethorn answered his 
plea. “You wound me so deeply, running from me this way.” He had 
pulled a piece of dark cloth from his pack. “I know how to keep you by 
my side.” He tied the cloth over Frodo’s eyes, and said with satisfaction, 
“If you can’t see where you’re going, you cannot run. At least, it would be 
quite ill advised of you to try.” 

He pulled Frodo away from the tree and the march began again. Frodo 
found himself in the unenviable position of needing the touch of the very 
hands he loathed and feared to guide him and keep him from falling. He 
had no idea where he was or how long he would be forced to stumble, 
terrified, through the darkness to an unknown and surely hidden location 
and an uncertain fate. 

~*~Monday morning, around 3 a.m.~*~

They had circled around the town of Bywater itself, reaching the farthest 
edge of the settlement. A row of empty, unused smials occupied part of a 
hillside covered with grass, trees and bushes. They looked as if they had 
been abandoned long ago, and they were quite overgrown. The door where 
they stood now was partially obscured by the undergrowth, but opened 
under the pressure applied to it. 

Bramblethorn pulled the blindfold from Frodo’s eyes and shoved him 
forward into a dank, musty room, sparsely furnished and dusty from long 
disuse. More of his surroundings came into view as his captor lit a candle 
and the faint light penetrated deeper into the darkness. As his eyes 
adjusted to the new light level, Frodo could make out the fireplace, and he 
could see several round windows that were completely boarded up. It was 
plain that nobody had been there in a long while. 

“Not much, I’ll admit, but it’s cozy, don’t you agree?” Bramblethorn said 
with maddening mock-politeness. He guided Frodo to a dirty, threadbare 
sofa. “Make yourself at home, Frodo dear.” 

Frodo collapsed wearily onto the sofa. Although the distance from 
Hobbiton to Bywater was not especially great on a large scale, and could 
be traversed in one evening, the journey had left him drained. 
Bramblethorn’s advances had stretched his nerves taut, and the blindfold 
had made him feel more helpless than he ever had before in his life. He 
was also beginning to feel frustrated and angry. 

“Why have you brought me here? What do you want, Bramblethorn?” 
Frodo pressed. He had thought he had known the answer, but the journey 
through the woods had caused him to wonder. If forcing himself upon 
Frodo was Bramblethorn’s sole motive for all of this, why march him all 
the way to Bywater? It didn’t add up. What elaborate, depraved plan could 
he possibly be hatching? 

“You are here because I need you to do something for me, Frodo.” 
Bramblethorn pulled a wooden chair close to the sofa and seated himself 
across from his captive. “You see, I’ve been living in Bree these past two 
years. I don’t like it there, and I want to return to the Shire.”

“And how am I able to help you do that?” Frodo said incredulously. “I’m 
not the Mayor. I cannot lift your banishment, nor would I if it were in my 
power!” His voice was uncharacteristically hard as he made that 
statement. The thought of Bramblethorn back in the Shire was abhorrent to 
him.

Bramblethorn leaned back casually in his chair and regarded Frodo 
evenly. “You were responsible for having me expelled from the Shire. 
You and that gardener of yours.” He stood and began pacing to and fro as 
he spoke. “True, rumors had been flying regarding me and certain 
behavior the good folk of Hobbiton considered ‘unnatural’. But it was 
your account of our interlude in the forest and your gardener’s statement 
confirming it that swayed the Mayor and his council.” 

He turned back to Frodo, his voice suddenly taking on a harsh, menacing 
tone. “You will help me by recanting your testimony, Frodo.” He leaned 
down and looked directly into Frodo’s eyes. “You will sign a document 
stating that your accusation against me was falsely made.”

Frodo could not believe what he was hearing. His accusation had been 
anything but false! Bramblethorn had sought him out with no other intent 
but to harm and humiliate him, to defile and break him. It was only the 
swift and sure actions of Sam that had saved him from this horror. 

Two years had passed since the incident, but Frodo found that he still felt 
the urge to look over his shoulder whenever he was alone outside of his 
home. He still woke in the night on some occasions, trembling and striking 
out at thin air as the dreams lingered. In the last few months the dreams 
had diminished in number and his agitated state had calmed somewhat. 
Now, here Bramblethorn was again, staring down at him and demanding 
that he do this!

“I will do nothing of the kind!” Frodo cried, his defiance rising in spite of 
his fear.
 
Bramblethorn straightened and sighed. “I thought you would say as 
much.” He turned away for a brief moment, then swung back around and 
backhanded his stubborn prisoner. Frodo gasped and fought back tears at 
the pain. 

Bramblethorn grabbed Frodo by the front of his shirt and shook him. “I 
intend to persuade you to change your mind, Master Baggins. I can be 
very persuasive when I wish to be.” He hauled Frodo up from the sofa and 
dragged him, twisting and squirming, to the far corner of the room near 
the hearth.

Frodo kicked with all his might as Bramblethorn wrestled him to the 
ground. Anger infused him with new strength. If this were to be his fate, 
he would try to face it bravely, fighting with all he had left. At a 
disadvantage without the use of his hands, he relied upon other resources. 
His feet found their mark upon his tormentor, forcefully enough to leave 
bruises behind. It also enraged Bramblethorn considerably.

“You have kicked me before, Frodo,” Bramblethorn growled.  “Have you 
forgotten the result?” He gripped Frodo’s throat and squeezed. “Allow me 
to remind you!” With that, he struck Frodo with considerable force. 

“There’s your warning. You won’t get another one!” Bramblethorn 
released his hold on Frodo’s throat, but still gripped him tightly by one 
arm as he rummaged in his pack for something. 

Frodo gasped as air flooded his lungs again. His fury helped him to 
recover himself somewhat and he planted a heel in Bramblethorn’s side. 
“How dare you!” Frodo shouted back at him. “You’re utterly mad! 
Release me!” 

The fear that had paralyzed him at Bag End seemed, for the moment, to 
evaporate in the face of Frodo’s anger and indignation. Bramblethorn had 
no right to make demands of him and threaten him like this! 

Bramblethorn had recovered from the impact of Frodo’s last strike against 
him. “If you want to do this the hard way, I don’t mind!” Bramblethorn 
shouted as he delivered a hard slap to Frodo’s face. He repeated the action 
until Frodo stopped kicking. 

“I’m disappointed in you, Frodo,” he said mockingly. “We were getting 
along so well up until now. Tell me, were you too frightened earlier this 
evening to behave badly?” Frodo did not respond. “Have you overcome 
your fear of me, by some chance?” 

He drew another coil of rope from his pack and began to bind Frodo’s 
ankles while his captive was semi-conscious. “You shall fear me again, 
Frodo Baggins. That I promise you!”

Frodo fought to clear the fog from his mind. As his eyes began to focus 
again, he found himself staring into Bramblethorn’s face. What he saw 
there made his enemy’s words begin to ring true. The nasty leer Frodo 
remembered and saw in his dreams was back again, boring into him, 
chilling his soul. Bramblethorn placed a bruising kiss on his lips as Frodo 
writhed in revulsion. 

“You’ll regret your actions, Bramblethorn,” Frodo said, trying to catch his 
breath. “You’re only adding to your troubles. Word of this will get out and 
you’ll never be allowed within the borders of the Shire again!”

“When I need your advice, Baggins, I’ll ask for it,” Bramblethorn said 
with a nasty smile. “Meanwhile, you’ll keep it to yourself.” He shoved a 
cloth into Frodo’s mouth and tied it behind his head, gagging him. 
Bramblethorn turned and strode from the room, leaving Frodo alone with 
his thoughts.

Frodo closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing. This was 
unbelievable. Bramblethorn had been correct in stating that Frodo had 
been both stunned and frightened when he was abducted. Frodo silently 
cursed himself for not having his wits about him to a greater degree. 
Would Bramblethorn have succeeded if he had fought harder? He had 
attempted to cry out for help, but his voice hadn’t the volume needed to 
reach beyond Bag End’s garden. Terror had robbed him of his sensibilities 
when he had been in the greatest need of them. 

No use worrying about that now, he reminded himself bitterly. Hindsight 
wouldn’t reveal his future.  His panicked flight from his captor in the 
woods had brought him only further humiliation, and his cry for help had 
gone unheard. So what was he to do now? 

He would have to keep himself focused and look for any mistakes 
Bramblethorn might make that would allow him an opportunity for 
escape. And surely he would have to resist his captor with all his strength. 
He mustn’t give in to Bramblethorn’s ridiculous demands!

His thoughts wandered to Sam, his beloved friend above all friends, for 
whom he cared so deeply. Why was it so hard for him to express to Sam 
how much he meant to him? He’d never really told Sam how much he 
truly cared for him and needed him. The words just didn’t exist, or were 
somehow always just beyond his reach. 

And now Sam was going to find him missing. Frodo’s heart stung bitterly 
at the thought of the anguish Sam would surely feel over this. He will 
blame himself, Frodo thought morosely. 

Darker thoughts were beginning to creep in around the edges of the anger 
that had been holding them at bay. What did Bramblethorn intend to do 
with him? Would he even see Sam again? Frodo made a promise to 
himself. If he should make it out of this in one piece, he would find a way 
to tell Sam how he felt. He would tell him how important it was to have 
his friendship and cheerful, loyal presence. 

Weariness and his aching head began to overcome him, and Frodo sank 
into an uneasy sleep in the corner of the shabby parlor. 


Chapter 5 - Arrivals and Discoveries
~*~ Monday~*~


Merry and Pippin rode together, each astride a sturdy Shire pony. They 
were nearly to Hobbiton and Bag End, and just in time for elevenses. 
Frodo wasn’t expecting them until luncheon, but he never minded when 
they arrived a little early. 

Pippin looked over at Merry with an expression that said something had 
just occurred to him. “Merry, why do you suppose cousin Frodo has never 
gotten himself a pony?” Pippin’s seemingly endless supply of curiosity 
was bubbling to the surface again as he prompted the hobbit who rode 
beside him.

“Well, Pip,” Merry began, as he considered the question. “I would 
suppose that he likes to walk, just like Bilbo always did.” This seemed 
plausible, since Bilbo had been known for taking long walks through the 
Shire, some of which took him away from Bag End for several days. He 
would often take Frodo with him on those excursions, and the younger 
Baggins seemed to enjoy the trips as much as his uncle. 

“Maybe so,” Pippin conceded. “But it’s a very long walk between Bag 
End and Buckland, Merry.” 

“And that’s why I have a pony,” Merry said, smiling. Not that he minded a 
good walk either, but it was nice to arrive at his cousin’s home without 
being too weary from the journey to enjoy himself. 

The round green door of Bag End came into view, and the rest of Bagshot 
Row besides. All was green and peaceful this lazy summer morning, with 
a light breeze carrying the scent of roses and fresh grass trimmings. Pippin 
and Merry dismounted and met Sam as he came walking up from the 
garden. 

“Hello, Sam!” Pippin’s voice lilted across the garden as Sam walked to the 
front gate. 

“Hullo, Mr. Pippin, Mr. Merry.” Sam nodded and smiled. “Pleasant 
journey?” 

“None better, Sam,” Merry answered, grinning. He had always liked Sam, 
finding him to be a refreshing change from some of the stuffy hobbits at 
Brandy Hall. With Sam, you knew where you stood, he mused. No foolish 
airs, no contrivance. No wonder Frodo was so fond of him.

“I’ll take your ponies around back and get them properly stabled,” Sam 
said as he took the reins. The ponies followed him obediently, one of them 
nosing at Sam’s hand slightly in hopes of finding a concealed sugar cube 
or carrot. 

Merry rapped smartly on the door while Pippin rang the bell for good 
measure. It was their established method of letting Frodo know that they 
had both arrived. In the past, Frodo had teased them about arriving amidst 
a clatter fit to rouse all of the Westfarthing. A few moments went by 
without Frodo appearing at the door to greet them. 

Merry frowned slightly and pulled on the bell again while Pippin gave him 
an odd look. “You don’t suppose Frodo is ill, do you Merry? He’s usually 
awake in time for elevenses, even if he does sometimes sleep through first 
and second breakfast.”

“I don’t know, Pip,” Merry responded. “I certainly hope he isn’t.”

Sam had finished with the ponies and returned to the front steps to find 
Merry and Pippin still waiting with perplexed looks on their faces. “Is 
something wrong?” he asked cautiously. 

“We’ve rung the bell twice and Frodo hasn’t answered,” Merry replied, 
looking perplexed. “Is he still asleep by any chance?”

It was Sam’s turn to frown. “I wouldn’t think so, Mr. Merry. It just ain’t 
Mr. Frodo’s way to be abed quite so late in the day, not with company 
comin’.” Come to think of it, Sam realized he hadn’t seen Frodo yet that 
morning either. Usually Frodo would call to him and wave good morning 
from the window. Sam tried the doorknob, and the door swung open 
easily. They all glanced at each other, and Merry took a hesitant step 
forward. The parlor was neat and tidy, with no visible sign of anything 
amiss. 

“Frodo?” He called. “It’s Merry! Pip and I have arrived, cousin!” Only 
silence answered him. 

“Mr. Frodo?” Sam called apprehensively as he walked further down the 
hallway to check in the study. Perhaps Frodo was absorbed in a book or 
manuscript and just wasn’t paying attention. The study was empty. This 
was extremely odd! Mr. Frodo knew Merry and Pippin were to arrive that 
day, and he was prepared for them. Why would he not be ready at hand 
when his cousins rang the bell? 

Sam walked toward the bedroom with a growing knot of apprehension 
forming in his stomach. Was his master not feeling well? What if he were 
ill and had fallen, and Sam had been whistling away blithely in the garden 
the entire time? ~Ninnyhammer!~ Sam thought to himself. He should have 
checked on Mr. Frodo himself that morning, just for good measure. 

He stepped into the bedroom, half expecting to see Frodo nestled against 
the pillows, a feverish blush blooming in his cheeks. His eyes widened in 
shock as he noted that the bed appeared to have not been slept in. 
Something on the dresser caught his eye. A candle in a small silver 
candleholder had been allowed to burn all the way down to a mere puddle 
of melted wax. 

Merry and Pippin joined Sam in the doorway. Looks of confusion and 
concern passed from one hobbit to the next for a moment. Nobody spoke. 
Feeling a sense of dread he couldn’t easily explain, Sam suddenly bolted 
from the room and through the front door, into the bright morning 
sunshine. 

“Mr. Frodo!” He called out, his voice edged with a combination of fear 
and worry. The only thing he heard in answer were the birds in the trees 
and the bees buzzing in the flowers by the gate. There had to be an 
explanation for Frodo’s absence, but for the life of him, Sam couldn’t 
think of what it might be. 

“Sam?” Merry had come to stand by his side and Pippin was right behind. 
Merry looked at his cousin’s gardener and waited for him to answer.

“I don’t know what’s goin’ on, Mr. Merry,“ he said, looking up the road 
with a strange expression on his face. “But I don’t like it, and that’s a 
fact.” He continued to gaze up the road, a memory playing itself over and 
over again in his mind. 

His thoughts returned to another sunny day when he couldn’t find Frodo. 
At that time, Sam had good reason for his worry, what with that beast 
Bramblethorn about, and Mr. Frodo’s nervous behavior. All that was over 
now, and life at Bag End had long since returned to normal. 

When he broke away from his reverie, Sam realized it was the same 
hollow feeling he felt now, like something had knocked the wind out of 
him. He could feel his heart pounding and his hands were sweating. He 
had involuntarily clenched them into fists, his knuckles whitening. 

Something was wrong. Very wrong. Sam could feel it in his bones, the 
way the old-timers claimed to feel an approaching rainstorm. He could 
sense it in the sudden emptiness around him, the way the sun on the back 
of his neck suddenly didn’t feel warm anymore and every sound around 
him was magnified as if to fill a silence that should not exist. 

~*~

Sam, Merry and Pippin had decided to spread out and start searching 
Hobbiton and the surrounding area. They started with the places Frodo 
was known to frequent, which were mainly parts of the countryside, rather 
than the town itself. Frodo had a quiet, somewhat solitary way about him, 
and was prone to wandering in the countryside or slipping away 
somewhere quiet with a good book. 

It was possible that Frodo had taken a morning walk and met with some 
accident along his route. If so, perhaps they would find him by walking 
and calling for him. 

Sam started with the place that came to mind immediately, the secluded 
wood by the little stream near Bag End. It was the place where he had 
found Frodo that day two years before, and just in time by the look of 
things. 

As he walked down the dusty road, Sam prayed that he was not too late 
this time. Two years ago, he had noticed Frodo’s absence in a timely 
manner, and had acted immediately. This time he feared a great deal more 
time had passed. The last he had seen of Frodo was at supper the previous 
evening. 

Sam considered all the pieces of the puzzle so far. There was the candle in 
the bedroom, burned down to nothing, and the neat, unrumpled state of the 
bedclothes. If there was a candle burning on the dresser, that meant Frodo 
had at least been in the bedroom, even if he hadn’t gone to sleep. But 
Frodo simply wasn’t careless enough to leave a candle burning unattended 
in a room. Sam shook his head. It all meant something, he was certain, but 
too many pieces were still missing from the puzzle. 

And Frodo was missing as well, Sam thought as he searched along the 
wooded path. All Sam could think of was that he had failed. He had sworn 
to watch over his master and friend, but had obviously been caught 
napping. Kicking himself wouldn’t cause Frodo to miraculously appear 
before him safe and whole, he admonished himself. Best to keep his mind 
focused upon the task at hand.

Calling Frodo’s name as he went, Sam listened closely for an answer or 
any sound that might indicate someone in distress, but all that met his ears 
were the calls of birds and the sound of a light breeze rustling the leaves 
overhead. 

The wood was empty. This time, there was no leather-bound book lying in 
fallen leaves, no voices rising from the thickets to lead him. There was 
nothing but trees and rocks, streams and sunlight. Only the things that 
belonged there, plus one fear driven hobbit searching desperately for 
someone he loved. 

And what he felt for Frodo was most certainly love. Sam could find no 
other word to express it. Frodo’s absence left him bereft of light, without 
enough air to breathe. He felt as if a part of him had suddenly disappeared. 
Was that what it meant to love someone? To be unable see, or think, or 
breathe without them nearby? 

~Mr. Frodo, I swear if I find you I will tell you,~ Sam thought. ~I will tell 
you that you’re my sun and stars and that there is no light without you.~ 

Sam walked on through the woods, his desperate search turning up 
nothing. He wondered how Merry and Pippin were faring. 

~*~

“Frodo!” Merry called as he walked along a lonely road between two 
small farms. He got no answer, but kept walking and calling anyway. 
Surely Frodo must be somewhere nearby! This road led to, among other 
places, a hillside that afforded a wonderful view of much of the 
surrounding area. It was a favorite haunt of Frodo’s. 

Merry was hoping Frodo had gone for a walk and paused to rest upon the 
hill. It would be easy for one to be lulled into sleep by the warm sunshine 
on such a morning, and his cousin might very well have lain down in the 
grass for a moment and fallen asleep instead. 

Reaching the top of the hill, Merry surveyed the countryside around him. 
Frodo was nowhere to be seen. The day was passing swiftly, Merry 
thought apprehensively. In a little while, he would have to head back to 
Bag End to see if Sam or Pippin had brought any news. If their search of 
the countryside failed to turn up any clues, they would start checking in 
town. If any of the folk there had seen Frodo in the last 24 hours, they 
might at least have some place to begin. Right now, he felt like he was 
searching for a single pebble among all the pebbles at the bottom of the 
Brandywine. 

~*~

Pippin followed the stream as it wandered along its narrow rocky course, 
wending its way through the trees. His objective was a pond a short 
distance away. He, Sam and Merry had tried to think of all of the peaceful 
places Frodo liked most, and the pond was a good bet. He and Frodo had 
spent some hot summer afternoons swimming in the cool, shallow waters 
when Pippin had been a younger lad. 

Upon reaching the little pond, Pippin called again for Frodo and listened. 
No answer. So far, there was no sign of his cousin. Pippin wasn’t given to 
worrying a great deal about things, but he was beginning to feel worried 
about Frodo. His cousin was so responsible! Never before had he failed to 
be present to greet them on a visit, and he was never unduly late in 
arriving at the Great Smials or Brandy Hall when it was his turn to journey 
forth. 

Pippin sighed, feeling defeated. He hoped the others had found more than 
he had. A thought came to him and his expression brightened again. 
Maybe Frodo was already back at Bag End waiting for them with some 
interesting tale to tell of the day’s events, and wondering where they had 
been. Holding to that hope, he started back toward Bagshot Row. 


Chapter 6 – Meanwhile
~*~Monday, mid morning~*~

“Wake up, Frodo, love. It’s morning.” That voice again. Frodo groaned 
and stirred slightly. Morning? How could one tell in this hole with the 
windows boarded up? He blinked several times as his vision cleared 
slightly. He could see small shafts of light pushing their way in through 
thin spaces between the boards over the windows, but no other indication 
that the sun had risen.  

Bramblethorn reached behind Frodo’s head and removed the gag from his 
mouth. “The dawn has come, Frodo. Tell me, did you sleep well?” He 
leaned over Frodo’s bound form and continued, “Pleasant dreams I hope?”

Frodo remained silent. His dreams were none of Bramblethorn’s business. 
He closed his eyes again. 

Bramblethorn grabbed him and propped him up in a sitting position. “No 
more dreaming for now, my love. We must greet the day.” He held a 
teacup to Frodo’s lips. Frodo looked at it, but did not move to take a sip.

“Come now, Frodo. It’s tea, nothing more. Do you think I’m trying to 
poison you?” Bramblethorn asked. “I’m hurt, my dearest. I thought we’d 
have tea together and chat.” Bramblethorn raised the cup again, and Frodo 
reluctantly took a couple of swallows. It wouldn’t be wise to add 
dehydration to his problems, and he decided it was safe enough. 
Bramblethorn would have nothing to gain by killing him now, with that 
document as yet unsigned.  

“Have you considered my proposition, Frodo?” Bramblethorn asked, as if 
he had offered to sell Frodo a prized Shire pony and was merely waiting to 
close the deal. 

“What you propose,” Frodo said slowly but clearly, “is preposterous. To 
allow you back in the Shire would be no better than allowing wolves 
among the farmers’ flocks!”

Bramblethorn laughed at the analogy. “In your opinion, at least,” he said, 
“but really, Frodo. What crime have I committed, other than to fall victim 
to your charms?” He touched Frodo’s face, lightly tracing over his 
cheekbone. Scratches remained there from when he had thrown Frodo 
against the tree on their trek from Hobbiton. Frodo pulled away sharply.

Trying to replace fear with resolve, Frodo looked at Bramblethorn as 
steadily as he could manage. “Please spare me your claims of innocence. 
I’ve heard the tales –“ he began, but Bramblethorn cut him off. 

“You have? I’ve heard many tales as well. You, as a Baggins, should be 
accustomed to tales. After all, a great many are told in Hobbiton regarding 
your, shall we say, ‘interesting’ family.” Bramblethorn raised his own 
teacup and his eyebrows as he spoke.

Frodo had heard it all before. It was no news to him that the name of 
Baggins was thought to go hand in hand with rather odd behavior, or at 
least behavior that was deemed odd by his fellow hobbits. Keeping 
company with elves and dwarves was unusual, as was journeying far from 
the Shire for a long period of time. Bilbo had done all those things, and 
come back to the Shire again with stories of magnificent adventures. 
Others had called Bilbo mad or cracked, or a number of other descriptive 
terms. Frodo had never allowed it to bother him, since he admired Bilbo 
for standing out. 

“Many things have been said, both flattering and otherwise,” Frodo stated 
quietly. “In any case, the name of Baggins has been connected with 
merely odd behavior, not behavior of a cruel or depraved sort.”

“Depraved? Cruel? You think these things of me.” He considered. “And 
perhaps I have given you good reason. Perhaps I will continue to do so.” 
He smiled and Frodo felt as though the temperature in the room had 
dropped several degrees. “That is really up to you, Frodo. We must reach 
an understanding of the situation.”

“I understand the situation,” Frodo answered, knowing he was on 
dangerous ground but wholly unwilling to tread the other path that was 
offered. “I understand that you do not feel there is anything wrong with 
harming someone else as long as it suits your need.”
 
“Have I truly harmed you, Frodo?” Bramblethorn was looking at his 
prisoner searchingly. “No, Frodo Baggins, I have not harmed you.” He 
leaned closer until he was staring directly into Frodo’s deep blue eyes. 
“Not yet.” Those words came out in a low hiss that set Frodo’s nerves on 
end. 

Bramblethorn rose and paced for a moment. “So I take it,” he said slowly, 
“you have not changed your mind and decided to cooperate?”

Frodo steeled himself. “I have not changed my mind in the slightest.” 

Bramblethorn looked at him sharply and strode back across the room to 
kneel at Frodo’s side. Frodo expected another stinging slap to the face for 
his insolence. He did not expect the almost gentle caress behind his ear, 
trailing down across his neck to the base of his throat. Bramblethorn 
gripped the front of Frodo’s shirt and tore it, sending several buttons 
flying across the room. 

Frodo could not hold back an inarticulate cry of rage, frustration and 
loathing. He twisted futilely against the bonds that restrained him, trying 
to break away from the hand that was now tracing small circles upon his 
exposed chest. 

“I haven’t forgotten you yet, Frodo. I still want you. I haven’t changed my 
mind about that.” 

Bramblethorn stuffed the gag back in Frodo’s mouth and left him 
trembling in the corner of the room. 

~*~

Bramblethorn gazed down at Frodo pensively. The morning had worn 
away into afternoon, and his prisoner had passed the time mostly in 
slumber. Not much else for him to do, really, Bramblethorn reflected.

As if feeling his captor’s stare as a physical force, Frodo suddenly woke. 
He looked up at Bramblethorn and frowned. 

Such spirit! Bramblethorn chuckled as he knelt down, eye to eye with 
Frodo. “Dreaming again, love?” He pulled the gag off. “I have dreams too, 
Frodo dear. Sometimes you’re in them, you know.” 

“Not by any choice of my own,” Frodo answered him, the frown 
deepening. “What do you think you have to gain by all of this, 
Bramblethorn?” Frodo asked, meeting his enemy’s gaze steadily. “What 
could possibly make you think that I will lend my signature to the bold – 
faced lie you’ve concocted?”

“Such a scornful tone, Frodo! Really, I don’t know whether to be offended 
or merely amused,” Bramblethorn said , standing upright again. Pulling 
his pipe from a pocket and lighting it casually, he continued, “I think I’ll 
opt for amused, given your present dignified position.” 

Frodo’s eyes remained fixed on Bramblethorn’s despite the latter’s 
taunting words. “Amused, offended, I care not,” Frodo said in a biting 
tone. “And as to dignity – “

“I should have left that rag in your mouth,” Bramblethorn cut him off. “To 
answer your question as to your eventual cooperation, let me just say this.” 
He knelt down again. “Have you ever been hungry, Frodo? I mean really 
hungry, not just aware that you’ve missed luncheon?” He gestured with 
the pipe, pointing the stem in Frodo’s direction as he spoke. “Have you 
been so thirsty as to make that musical voice of yours naught but a rasp in 
your throat?”

So that was his game, Frodo thought. Not very inventive, but predictably 
sadistic. He might have expected as much. 

Bramblethorn stood and paced as he spoke. “In case you’ve failed to 
notice, Frodo, you have few options to speak of.” He stopped pacing and 
pointed the pipe stem at Frodo again. “You would spare yourself a great 
deal of discomfort if you would only be reasonable.” He loomed over his 
captive, threat implicit in his gaze. “Besides which, I will not accept no for 
an answer.”

“You never have, as I recall,” Frodo said sharply. “Had you the decency to 
do so two years ago, you would not be in exile!”

“Such harsh words from your sweet lips, my love,” Bramblethorn said 
sarcastically. “I can think of a variety of ways to silence those lips for a 
while,” he continued, his gaze narrowing. “I can think of ways to achieve 
the opposite, too. Would you care to test those methods?”

Frodo shot a look of pure loathing at Bramblethorn. “You are a beast,” he 
said flatly. 

Bramblethorn knelt beside his prisoner again, and fixed him with an icy 
glare. “You have no idea,” he said coldly, allowing a slow smile to spread 
across his face. 

Frodo searched for some stinging reply, some sharp riposte to bring to 
bear against the creature leering at him, but found none. Instead he fell 
silent as Bramblethorn declared the conversation at an end by tying the 
gag back in place. 


~*~

Night had fallen, dark and still. Bramblethorn had fallen asleep on the sofa 
across the room, and was snoring slightly. Frodo was awake, leaning back 
against the hearthstones and staring into the gloom. He sighed and shifted 
slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position, if any such thing 
existed. His hand scraped against one of the stones and he winced at the 
stinging sensation where the edge had cut him slightly. 

He blinked. The edge of one of the stones had cut him! It was sharp, and 
within his reach! Cautiously he felt along the stones behind him, letting 
his fingers probe lightly over them. There! A slight edge where one of the 
stones had broken and the mortar had fallen away around it. 

Frodo shifted again, trying to position himself so that he could rub the 
rope binding his hands against the broken stone. It might take a while to 
sever his bonds that way, but it seemed the best option he had. He was 
careful to make as little sound as possible as he worked. 

Bramblethorn stopped snoring and shifted on the sofa. Frodo froze 
instantly, beads of sweat standing out on his brow. It seemed an eternity 
that he sat motionless, waiting for the worst, but Bramblethorn began to 
snore again after a few minutes. Frodo didn’t realize he had been holding 
his breath until he felt himself exhale rather sharply. 

He continued to rub the ropes around his hands against the edge of the 
hearthstone. Giving a slight tug against them, he was sure he felt them 
beginning to loosen. A few more minutes were all he would need. 

Scrape, scrape, scrape. The sound was very soft, but it sounded like 
thunder to Frodo’s heightened sense of hearing. He felt the rope slacken 
and give way all at once. He ripped the gag off and dropped it on the floor. 
Almost unable to believe his hands were finally free, he rubbed his palms 
together and flexed his fingers to restore circulation to them. Now he had 
to get to work on the rope at his ankles. 

The knots were tight, but not unmanageable. Frodo’s heart pounded as his 
nimble fingers worked away in silence. He frowned in consternation as he 
tried to loosen the knots. That was it, he thought to himself. The nail biting 
habit had to go. He kept working at it. A pull here, a tug there, and finally, 
success! He got to his feet slowly, grimacing at the needle-like prickling 
sensation coursing up his legs. 

Slowly and silently, he took a few steps forward, working his way toward 
the door and freedom. He had not seen Bramblethorn lock it, and 
suspected the lock was broken anyway. There seemed to be nothing 
nearby to use as a weapon, so disabling his enemy was out of the question. 
He would have to make a run for it. His heart was in his throat as he 
stepped carefully past the sofa and his sleeping captor. Clearing that 
obstacle, he reached out and carefully pulled on the doorknob. 

Rust and dirt had accumulated in the hinges. Frodo was horrified at the 
squeak the hinge produced, a cruel, strident squeal of betrayal. He turned 
and threw a panicky look at the sofa and Bramblethorn. To his horror, 
Bramblethorn’s eyes were open, and a sneer was creeping across his face.

Wasting no more time, Frodo pulled the door open and bolted through it, 
running as fast as he could toward the road and the forest beyond. Better 
to risk getting lost in the woods at night than to remain in Bramblethorn’s 
clutches, he decided. 

“Blast you, Baggins!” Bramblethorn was on his feet, shouting threats and 
following at a rapid pace. “You will suffer for this, I assure you!”

Frodo risked a glance behind him. Bramblethorn was quicker on his feet 
than Frodo had thought by the look of him. He had a murderous gleam in 
his eye and was gaining on his escaped charge by the moment. 

Crossing the road, Frodo scrambled for the dense trees and underbrush in 
the surrounding woods. This was unfamiliar territory to him, and he had 
no idea what to expect as he dove into the bushes. He wasn’t even sure in 
which direction the town of Bywater lay, since he had been blindfolded 
upon his arrival. 

He could still hear Bramblethorn’s shouting behind him, and another 
quick glance backward revealed his angry captor racing across the road in 
his direction. ~No time!~ Frodo thought. ~If only that door hinge hadn’t 
squeaked!~

Frodo turned his gaze back to the terrain before him, but saw the fallen 
tree limb in the same instant that his foot struck it – too late. A pained cry 
escaped him as he tumbled forward into the undergrowth, rolling down a 
slight incline. He tried to regain his feet, but a stab of pain in his left ankle 
prevented him from standing on it. He didn’t think it was broken, but it 
seemed certain he had sprained it badly. 

He heard the bushes rustling and looked around him in a panic. He had to 
hide immediately, but where? He began to crawl toward a clump of bushes 
nearby. If he could hide and remain quiet, there was a slight chance that 
Bramblethorn would overlook him in the darkness of the woods. 

Frodo tucked himself into the clump of greenery as completely as he 
could, hardly daring to breathe, and watched the approach of his enemy. 
Bramblethorn had paused and was looking around him, trying to discern 
the direction Frodo had taken. He began to walk away from the bushes. 

~Please, keep going!~ Frodo thought at him. ~Please don’t turn around!~

Bramblethorn stopped. He was looking at the ground, thoughtfully. His 
eyes traveled the length of a mark in the dirt, a small furrow in the dust 
that led – 

With a lunge not unlike that of a wild beast on the hunt, Bramblethorn 
plunged into the bushes up to his shoulders. His hand closed tightly 
around Frodo’s injured ankle. Frodo’s agonized scream reverberated 
through the otherwise silent woods as Bramblethorn dragged him from the 
sheltering bushes. 

“NO!” Frodo shouted in desperation as Bramblethorn pinned him down on 
his back. The anger that had sustained him so far was overpowered by 
terror and pain. Bramblethorn in a calm, calculating frame of mind was 
bad enough, but the seething, clearly enraged enemy that bore down on 
him now was worse by far. 

“That was foolish, Frodo,” Bramblethorn growled “Foolish, and 
discourteous,” His tone was dripping sarcasm. “Your rejection of my 
hospitality cuts me deeply. I’m rapidly losing patience with you!” 
Bramblethorn glowered down at the terrified hobbit.
 
Overtaken by the fear of what he saw in those eyes, Frodo struggled 
madly. Bramblethorn caught Frodo’s wrists and held them pressed against 
the ground on either side of his head. “I’ll take care of you and your 
defiance,” He said, his tone no longer mockingly seductive, but merely 
vicious. 

Bramblethorn struck his captive sharply across the face. “Run, will you?” 
he sneered at Frodo, striking him again. “If you thought me cruel before – 
“ Another slap. – “You will learn the meaning of the word anew!”  

Frodo brought the hand Bramblethorn had released up to ward off the 
blows, but only succeeded in fueling his attacker’s frenzy. 

“Tell me, Frodo,” Bramblethorn said harshly, backhanding the injured 
hobbit again. “Tell me to stop!” Frodo gasped as another blow landed. 
“Plead with me!” Slap!

“P-please – “ Frodo was just short of losing consciousness and the word 
came out in a tortured whisper.

“What was that, Frodo?” Bramblethorn asked. Frodo had never heard a 
voice so filled with menace before. “I can’t hear you!” Bramblethorn 
pulled back to strike again. 

“S-stop – “ The word was barely audible, and if he heard it, Bramblethorn 
gave no sign. The last thing Frodo saw before darkness overwhelmed him 
was the horrifically satisfied look on Bramblethorn’s face as he struck one 
last blow, leaving Frodo limp and unresponsive. 

“Not so defiant now, are you?” Bramblethorn said, looking down at his 
unconscious prisoner. Climbing to his feet, Bramblethorn grabbed Frodo’s 
arms and began dragging the unconscious hobbit back to captivity in the 
dark, musty old smial. 

~*~

He awakened slowly, and with a terrible headache from the blows 
Bramblethorn had rained upon him. He was bound and gagged again, 
lying on the shabby sofa in the parlor. When he opened his eyes his captor 
was there, staring intently at him. 

“Frodo,” Bramblethorn sighed. “What am I going to do with you?” He 
spoke softly, stroking Frodo’s hair back out of his eyes. “You mustn’t 
leave me again, I couldn’t bear it.”

At the sound of that voice, Frodo flinched and turned away. He didn’t 
want to see the look that went with that tone. He’d seen it too many times 
already. It would be a lustful, greedy look, devoid of compassion. A wave 
of dizziness washed over him, and Frodo closed his eyes and lay still.

“You must realize that your actions have consequences, my love.” 
Bramblethorn lifted Frodo in his arms and began to carry him down the 
dark hallway to the rooms beyond the parlor. 

Through Frodo’s haze, dark thoughts assailed him. This was it, then. Here, 
in the dark, not in the woods in the moonlight. Would Bramblethorn 
remove the gag just to be able to listen to him scream? Would it hurt as 
much as he thought it would? Even the mercy of death would be denied 
him, he was certain. He would be allowed to survive the assault, and 
perhaps others to follow. 

His eyes swam with tears as he was carried into a small, windowless room 
and placed on the floor again. Bramblethorn knelt beside him and brushed 
a tear away from Frodo’s face with false tenderness. 

“Your clever trick earlier has caused me to rethink your accommodations. 
I can’t allow a repeat performance.” With that, he kissed Frodo lightly on 
the forehead and stood. “You’ll be quite secure here, I assure you, “ he 
told Frodo. “I won’t be far away, dear. I’ll be watching you more closely 
now, which I’ll admit will not be an unpleasant task in the least.”

He left a single candle in the far corner of the room, stepped into the 
hallway and closed the door. Pulling a wooden chair from the kitchen, he 
propped it under the doorknob to secure the exit from outside. That would 
certainly prevent any further incidents during the remainder of the night. 

Frodo didn’t know whether to be relieved or not when the things he had 
expected failed to come to pass. If not now, it would all happen later. 
More time to imagine the horror, the pain, the humiliation. As his 
consciousness faded, Frodo prayed that tonight, at least, Eru would grant 
him sleep without dreams. 


Chapter 7 – Progress
~*~Tuesday afternoon~*~


Bramblethorn looked down at Frodo thoughtfully from the doorway. How 
long would the stubborn hobbit hold out against signing the document? So 
far Frodo was putting up considerable resistance, but Bramblethorn could 
tell his prisoner was frightened. He had seen it in Frodo’s eyes. Those blue 
orbs widened in undisguised terror every time Bramblethorn touched him. 

There had to be a limit, some point at which Frodo’s resolve would fail 
him. Bramblethorn had robbed him of his freedom, had rendered him 
completely helpless. Surely physical discomfort would wear him down as 
well. There was only one thing to do, and that was to keep at his prisoner, 
to be relentless. Perhaps it was time for them to chat once again. 

He watched Frodo turn from him as he reached down to stroke his hair. 
Good. He was making progress then. Once he had wanted Frodo to accept 
him, to be willingly in his company, but for now Bramblethorn found that 
it was enough that Frodo fear him. He had resolved to keep the promise he 
had made to strike fear into Frodo’s defiant heart. It would be satisfying to 
see proud Frodo Baggins, who had scorned him so utterly, cowering 
before him. 

He paused for a moment, thinking. How hard would Frodo fight him when 
the time was at hand? He hoped to meet with at least a small amount of 
resistance. It would make it more interesting, more exciting. It was 
difficult to resist the temptation to have him now. The thought of that pale 
skin by the candlelight, that voice pleading with him between cries of – 
what? Pain, pleasure? Perhaps both? Those eyes – he pushed the thoughts 
away reluctantly. There was yet more to accomplish before then, and it 
must be seen to. 

Removing the gag so Frodo could speak, Bramblethorn smiled. “It’s so 
hard for me to stay away from you, Frodo,” he began. “I’m immensely 
glad of your company.” He knelt on the floor beside his prisoner. 

Frodo had recovered somewhat from the beating Bramblethorn had given 
him and was glaring at his captor, a look that scarcely needed to be 
explained verbally. Bramblethorn smiled. “Just think, we’ve got the time 
and the privacy to get to know each other better,” he said with a wink.

“I know you as well as I care to,” Frodo shot back. He turned away and 
lay on his side with his back to Bramblethorn, letting his gaze bore into 
the wall. The very sight of Bramblethorn sickened and infuriated him. 

“Such irresistible charm you have,” he taunted his captive. “Certainly one 
of the endearing qualities that drew me so inexorably to you.” He ran one 
hand lightly down Frodo’s side, lingering over his ribs. Frodo twisted 
away from his touch. 

“Go ahead, Frodo. Struggle while you have the strength, for you won’t 
always,” Bramblethorn told him. “You can already feel your hunger and 
thirst, can’t you? They will grow, Frodo. They will fill your mind and 
overwhelm all other thoughts until they are your constant companions.”

Frodo could feel Bramblethorn’s breath on the back of his neck and he felt 
a chill wash over him. Was there no end to his cruelty? Anger flared again 
as the hand moved once more, tracing along the waistband of his breeches. 

“You are horrid beyond description,” Frodo said fervently. He refused to 
look at Bramblethorn. “You deserved your exile and you deserve it still.”

“How ironic it is that the one who sent me away shall be the one who 
brings me back.” Bramblethorn nuzzled the back of Frodo’s neck 
mockingly as he spoke. “I have been anticipating the day of my return, 
Frodo. I’ve waited so long for you.” He grasped Frodo and rolled him onto 
his back. “But then again, I have you here with me now, do I not? There 
you are, only inches away and completely irresistible.” He planted a kiss 
on Frodo’s neck, which brought on a fit of writhing and twisting. 

“You disgust me!” Frodo cried, his voice breaking. He felt violated and 
helpless, with no control over anything that happened to him. Resistance, 
though very probably futile, was his only refuge. If a cruel fate were all 
that awaited him, he would not go to meet it quietly.

 ~I may not be able to prevent this from happening, but I swear I shall 
fight you!~ Frodo clutched at the thought, using it to anchor himself as 
firmly as possible against the storm breaking within him. 

“What did you say, Frodo? Did I hear you beg for more?” Bramblethorn 
asked nastily and continued kissing Frodo’s neck roughly while reaching a 
hand inside his torn shirt. 

“Stop! You have no right to do this to me!” Frodo shouted in fear and 
horror, as Bramblethorn’s hands caressed him in a way that had little to do 
with gentleness and nothing to do with love.  

“I care not if I have the right. I have the desire, and I have you, Frodo.” 
Bramblethorn released him with a rough shove. “The more you defy me 
the more attention I shall lavish upon you, beloved.”

Finding the remnants of his voice, Frodo retorted, “Why must you do this? 
Surely someone who returns your affections –“

“I suppose I simply enjoy a challenge, Frodo,” Bramblethorn interrupted 
in a sarcastic tone. “You, my love, are most certainly a challenge.” His 
tone changed again, to the icy, heart-piercing promise of approaching 
doom. “And I shall certainly enjoy you.”

Frodo tried to pull away, his face turned from his tormentor. He hated 
himself for crumbling to pieces every time Bramblethorn touched him. He 
could be brave until those hands roved over his body, threatening to take 
by force what would never be freely given. He wanted to fling back a 
stinging reply, but he could find no words. 

“Frodo, make it easier on yourself. Sign the document.” Bramblethorn 
urged him. “The longer you play this stubborn game, the more you will 
suffer.”

“I will not comply with your wishes,” Frodo answered, his voice 
trembling slightly. “Not any of them.”

Bramblethorn stuffed the gag back in Frodo’s mouth and paused to make 
sure his bonds were still secure. Satisfied with his work, he placed his 
hands on Frodo’s shaking shoulders and told him, “Save your strength 
then, my lovely one, for you shall need it!” 

He rose and left the room again, pondering as he went. Frodo would 
definitely break down eventually. What else could he do, a helpless 
prisoner with his choices limited to having only terror and misery to keep 
him company, or his captor with his taunting and his invasive, searching 
hands. 

~*~Wednesday~*~

Two days with no news! Sam was almost beside himself with anxiety. He, 
Merry and Pippin had spent an entire day searching the countryside and 
had found no trace of Frodo. The next day they had gone into town and 
begun to ask the residents of Hobbiton if they had any information 
regarding his whereabouts. Nobody had seen or heard anything, but there 
were many offers of help. 

News traveled fast, and it seemed everyone was talking about the mystery. 
There had been volunteers who had been quick to assist with extended 
searches of the area surrounding Hobbiton, but none of them had found 
anything that pointed to an answer. There were also the few who were of 
the opinion that wherever old Bilbo had gone, Frodo had likely followed. 
After all, Frodo was the nephew of Old Mad Baggins, and had lived with 
him for a number of years. Perhaps Bilbo’s eccentricities had passed to the 
young Master of Bag End, along with the property itself.

Taking a break from walking the length and breadth of the town, Merry 
and Pippin had stopped into the Green Dragon. Maybe there they might be 
able to spread the word to hobbits traveling from other settlements. 

Merry felt almost like he was committing an evil, or at least disrespectful 
deed himself as he ordered a half-pint of ale. This was no time for 
indulging in such things. He consoled himself with the thought that he 
really didn’t want it all that much. It would just look a little more natural if 
he were having an ale like the other hobbits gathered there, rather than 
merely walking around asking strange questions or listening to 
conversations.

He and Pippin hoped they might catch some snippet of an exchange that 
would lead them in the right direction or that they would meet with 
someone who had some knowledge of where Frodo might be. Sam had 
chosen to remain at home. Neighbors and friends had been stopping by the 
Gamgees’ residence in a steady stream since the alarm had been raised, 
and Sam didn’t want to leave his Gaffer to handle all of them. Pippin was 
waiting for Merry at their table, keeping his ears open for anything 
unusual. Merry paid for the ale and went back to join his younger cousin. 

“Anything, Pip?” He asked, resuming his seat. 

“Not yet, Merry.” Pippin looked at his tankard thoughtfully. Everyone he 
had spoken with so far had not seen Frodo for days, and in some cases, 
weeks. It didn’t help that Frodo spent a lot of time alone. As a result, many 
of the Hobbiton residents wouldn’t see him often on general principles. 
They wouldn’t know if he had disappeared or was just buried in a book in 
his study. 

The day Frodo’s disappearance was discovered, Pippin had arrived back at 
Bag End after searching all afternoon only to find Sam and Merry waiting 
for him with nothing new to report. All three of them had passed that day 
in a fruitless search. Which was better? Bad news or no news at all, Pippin 
wondered to himself. 

Merry sighed and sipped his ale. Voices swirled and drifted around the 
two hobbits. A part of a song or tale over here, a joke and a burst of 
laughter over there. Merry and Pippin were sitting near the bar, and they 
could hear parts of the conversations as patrons ordered ales and food. A 
group of three hobbits had just walked up and placed their order, and were 
talking amongst themselves as they waited for their ales. 

“I tell you, I heard it in Bywater,” one of them said. “Might be just 
jabbering and foolishness, but I heard he’s been seen there a few days 
ago.” 

Merry’s ears perked up a little and he listened more closely. News from 
Bywater? Who had been seen there? Were they talking about Frodo?

The conversation at the bar continued. “That fellow as was banished by 
the Mayor a while back? That’s a cart load, I reckon,” The second hobbit 
said to the first speaker. “He was marched across the borders by a torch 
wavin’ crowd, sure as I’m breathin’”.

The third hobbit laughed and gave his input. “Don’t know what you lot are 
goin’ on about anyhow, since you wouldn’t know ‘im from your pony’s 
arse if he was standin’ on your doorstep.”

Banished? Merry turned this over in his mind a few times. They weren’t 
talking about Frodo then. The last time he could remember anyone being 
banished from the Shire was two years ago, and – 

He stopped in the middle of raising his tankard to his lips and his hand, 
tankard and all, hovered a few inches above the table. The last hobbit to be 
banished from the Shire, indeed the first in a very long while, was 
Rushford Bramblethorn. And he had been banished for attacking Frodo! 
Merry nearly spilled his ale. 

The three hobbits had moved away from the bar after that, and Merry 
didn’t dare follow and ask them for details. That would be an admission 
that he had been listening in on their conversation, which might cause 
more trouble than it was worth. Besides, it didn’t sound like they knew 
anything specific regarding Bramblethorn’s exact whereabouts.  

Pippin looked at him in alarm as Merry thumped his tankard back against 
the table and stood up abruptly. “Merry? What is it?” the younger hobbit 
asked, looking up at his cousin.

“Pip, we’re going to Bywater. Let’s go find Sam and tell him.” 

Normally, Pippin would have been sorely averse to the idea of leaving a 
half-finished tankard of ale in his wake, but there wasn’t much that was 
normal about this day. His cousin Frodo was nowhere to be found, and 
judging by Sam’s reaction, something bad was afoot. Clearly, there was 
more to this than he or Merry had first suspected. He stood and followed 
Merry out the door and back to Bagshot Row. 

~*~

Sam was sitting outside smoking his pipe and staring off into the distance. 
He looked up and stood when he saw Merry and Pippin coming up the 
path. 

“Sam!” Merry called, a touch of excitement in his voice. “We overheard 
something at the Green Dragon that might be of some value.”

Sam seemed to recover a little of his energy when he heard Merry’s 
statement. “What did you hear, Mr. Merry? Has someone seen Mr. 
Frodo?” He asked, a little breathlessly. 

Merry told Sam what he and Pippin had overheard of the conversation at 
the bar. “I didn’t hear any names mentioned, but Sam, how often does 
someone get banished from the Shire? It’s a rare occurrence!”

Sam’s face drained of color and he sat down and let his head fall forward 
into his hands. If Rushford Bramblethorn had indeed come back to the 
Shire, they would have to find Frodo, and quickly. The thought of that 
creature laying a hand on Frodo again was unbearable. 

“This shouldn’t have happened!” Sam said miserably. “I should have been 
there, Mr. Merry! I should have – “

“Sam, you take wonderful care of Frodo,” Merry consoled him. “You 
can’t be everywhere at once. Not even Gandalf could do that, and he’s a 
wizard!”

“Part of me knows that, Mr. Merry,” Sam replied, scrubbing a hand across 
his face wearily. “But there’s another part that says I’ve failed him, and 
I’ll be failing him until he’s home where he belongs.” 

Merry’s heart swelled with pity for the hobbit sitting beside him. If Frodo 
so much as cut his finger in the kitchen, Sam would fret terribly in 
response. ~Thank the Valar that Frodo has someone like you, Sam,~ he 
thought. ~We should all have such good fortune.~

Pippin sat down on Sam’s opposite side and twisted a blade of grass 
between his fingers. “We’ll find him, Sam. You’ll see,” Pippin said, 
giving Sam a small, hopeful smile. “Merry and I are going to Bywater,” 
Pippin announced. “Are you coming too, Sam?”

Sam weighed the options. He thought going to Bywater was a good idea, 
but he was also in favor of alerting Mayor Whitfoot. If Bramblethorn was 
indeed back in the Shire, the Mayor had better know about it. Merry and 
Pippin could get to Bywater quickly on their ponies. Michel Delving was a 
longer journey, and Sam was on foot. He made a decision.

“I’d like to come along, if I could, Mr. Pippin,” he answered. “I know I 
don’t have a pony to ride, but I promise not to slow you down,” he stated 
firmly. He could alert Mayor Whitfoot to the Bramblethorn rumor by post 
and would get a message out to him immediately. 

“Two ponies, and three hobbits,” Merry mused. “We’ll just take turns 
riding. It’s not a great distance anyhow,” he said thoughtfully. “I would 
leave the ponies here and suggest we all go on foot, but I think they might 
be useful.” 

It was agreed. Immediately after supper they would depart for Bywater 
and continue to search for information there. Finally, a place to begin! The 
information wasn’t much, but it was the only thing they had to work with. 

Sam wrote a brief message to Mayor Whitfoot explaining what Merry and 
Pippin had overheard and the fact that Frodo had gone missing. He asked 
the Mayor to contact him by post as soon as possible at the Eagle Feather 
Inn in Bywater. He was sure that Mayor Whitfoot would remember both 
Frodo and the incident two years ago. The rarity of such events in the 
Shire made it memorable to begin with. 

Merry had suggested that Sam hire a courier to take the message to Michel 
Delving immediately, rather than trusting it to the post. Merry paid the 
courier himself, and the message was sent with urgency. 

A grim expression lingered on Sam’s face during supper. When Merry had 
mentioned the possibility that Bramblethorn was back within the borders 
of the Shire, it was all Sam could do to construct a coherent thought. If 
Bramblethorn did anything to Mr. Frodo resembling what Sam had 
prevented him from doing two years ago, Sam was determined he would 
do more than just hit the beast with a rock. 

~*~ Wednesday~*~

Day passed into night and night into another day with Frodo largely 
unaware. He slept when he could, but if Bramblethorn wandered in and 
caught him napping, he would be awakened by a sharp kick, usually 
followed by a nasty laugh or suggestive comment. 

If Bramblethorn himself was sleeping, Frodo would have a little bit of 
peace, but his discomfort interfered with his ability to take advantage of it. 
His captor had been right about his hunger and thirst becoming more 
noticeable. His appetite was not quite up to the legendary standard of most 
hobbits on general principles, but he was accustomed to good, square 
meals at regular intervals. He felt weak and light headed. 

He tried not to focus on the fact that he was sleep deprived, hungry and 
thirsty, frightened and in pain. If he thought about those things, they 
would most certainly overwhelm him. He tried to think of something else. 

He closed his eyes and remembered how he had cried in Sam’s arms that 
day in the woods two years ago, and Sam had just held him and whispered 
quiet assurances. Much of his fear had drained away then, leaving peace in 
its wake. He tried to remember how it had felt, to have protective arms 
around him and gentle words whispered into his ear, and tried to live in 
that moment somewhere in his mind.

He felt a sharp pain in his leg. “You sleep when I let you,” he heard 
Bramblethorn say. “It’s my game, and my rules,” a whisper in his ear 
informed him. “I can remind you, if you like,” Bramblethorn said 
ominously, and Frodo shrank back as the hands laid hold of him again, 
raising him.

His captor pulled the gag away and held something to Frodo’s lips. “Just a 
taste, Frodo, to remind you of what you’ve been missing,” Bramblethorn 
said as he tipped the flask of water. “You’ve shown considerable resolve 
thus far, and I’m impressed.” He gave his captive just enough water to 
take the edge off his thirst and allow for his survival. “That’s enough, 
love. Just enough to keep you with me.”

Sitting against the wall, Frodo allowed his head to fall back and rest 
against the rough earthen surface. The walls were bare, not paneled with 
fine wood like the walls of Bag End. The floor was bare earth as well, 
uncomfortably hard, and he ached abominably from lying upon it. The 
water revived him a little, but he desperately wanted more. 

“You’re looking a little pale, Frodo dear,” Bramblethorn observed. “I 
think you’re losing strength. Would you like more water?”

Frodo knew where this was leading. Bramblethorn wanted him to ask for 
more, but would refuse as long as Frodo held out against signing the 
document. Frodo ignored him.

“You know you want more, Frodo. I can see that you do,” Bramblethorn 
continued. “You will get it when you agree to my terms.” He capped the 
flask and set it aside. “What, nothing to say? But you were so talkative 
earlier.”

Frodo raised his head and looked wearily at Bramblethorn. “What shall I 
say then? I shall not say yes, so what does it matter?” 

Bramblethorn chuckled. “What, indeed.” He ran the fingers of one hand 
through Frodo’s hair, continuing to speak in calm measured tones. “I can 
wait as long as you can, love. I have the time, Frodo. You do not. How 
long can you go without a good meal or proper rest?” The hand in Frodo’s 
hair began to tighten, pulling painfully. “How much can you truly 
endure?”

Frodo opened his eyes with difficulty. “I suppose you aim to find out,” he 
said softly, each word an effort. The lack of rest and nourishment were 
indeed beginning to tell on him. 

“You are both charming and insightful,” Bramblethorn said, releasing him. 
As Frodo slumped back wearily, Bramblethorn retrieved the water flask 
and rose to his feet. “I suppose we shall know soon enough the limits of 
your endurance.”

As Bramblethorn turned and stepped toward the door, Frodo spoke once 
more. “I’ll never help you,” Frodo breathed. “I’ll die first, and you can add 
murder to the list of your crimes.”

Frodo’s captor turned and looked at him coldly. “Oh, no, Frodo. I’m afraid 
you will not die. I won’t let you.” Bramblethorn’s gaze narrowed. “I will 
keep you alive, if barely. I will make certain that you are aware of every 
ache in your bones, and every touch or strike of my hand.” As if to 
illustrate the point, Bramblethorn strode toward Frodo again and grabbed 
him roughly, causing him to cry out. 

“Did I hurt you, Frodo?” he asked with a nasty sneer. “Can you feel this?” 
He held Frodo by his collar and struck him solidly. “Ahh, I see that you 
can. More?”

Frodo hung in Bramblethorn’s grasp, completely unable to defend himself 
against the brutal attack. As Bramblethorn raised his hand to strike again, 
Frodo forced himself to speak. “No,” he said between heaving breaths. 
“No more – “ 

“That’s better.” Bramblethorn dropped his abused prisoner and let him 
crumple to the floor. “In case you’ve missed the point, when I ask you a 
question, I expect an answer.” He stood over his captive and said, “If you 
think for one moment that my desire for you will stay my hand, you 
should think again. If you continue to defy me, you will pay for it.”

Bramblethorn left the room, dark thoughts flooding his mind. What hadn’t 
he tried? He had beaten Frodo senseless and terrified him with lustful 
advances, all to no avail. Or was it? Frodo had pleaded not to be struck 
again, hadn’t he? That was something, at least. Perhaps it was working 
after all. 


Chapter 8 – Persuasion
~*~Wednesday night~*~

Frodo shifted his position slightly. His face ached dully where 
Bramblethorn had struck him earlier. He had long since given up trying to 
get comfortable. It was more a matter of 
deciding which part of his body was the numbest and shifting his weight 
elsewhere. 

Bramblethorn had visited him at intervals during the day. Their last 
conversation had been brief, with Bramblethorn doing most of the talking 
and Frodo speaking only when necessary to avoid further violence. 
Bramblethorn had looked into the room once or twice since then, not to 
see if Frodo was in need of anything, but just to satisfy himself that his 
prisoner was still awake, afraid and painfully aware of being directly in 
harm’s way.

The pattern was always the same. Frodo would doze off and be awakened 
by a kick, followed by some threat or undesired advance he had no 
defense against. If he struggled he met only with further abuse. As 
promised, there had been no food, no more water. When was the last time 
he had eaten, Frodo wondered? He pushed the thought from his mind. At 
least the gag had been dispensed with for the time being. Maybe 
Bramblethorn was tired of untying and replacing it every few hours.

Frodo’s thoughts turned to the signature Bramblethorn wanted from him. 
The one thing he could do to hopefully end this waking nightmare was 
also the one thing he must not do, for the safety of the Shire. If he signed a 
retraction of his statement against Bramblethorn, the villain would most 
likely be allowed to return to the Shire and go back to his old ways. For 
that matter, what was to stop him from assaulting Frodo again? If Frodo 
recanted his testimony, nobody would believe any further complaints he 
might make.

Frodo’s musings were cut short as the door creaked open and 
Bramblethorn entered the room. As the other hobbit approached him, 
Frodo did his best to withdraw into himself. It was impossible to guess 
what was coming. More conversation? More physical abuse? He wasn’t 
looking forward to either.
 
“Poor dear. You must be very uncomfortable, Frodo,” Bramblethorn said 
in a calm voice. “I could help you with that if only you would do the one 
thing I ask.” Frodo had endured about as much of the false compassion as 
he was willing or able. 

“I will not! I cannot!” Frodo cried with what strength he could find. “You 
know as well as I that my statement was the truth,” Frodo breathed. “If I 
do as you ask, you would commit the same act again, against me or 
someone else.” The weight of that responsibility would be too great to 
bear. That he, Frodo Baggins should be the one to release this monster 
back into the Shire to torment the good people there – no! He reminded 
himself again that it was better that he suffer than the whole of the Shire. 

“You are as stubborn as you are beautiful, Frodo,” Bramblethorn replied, 
and gave Frodo his most wolfish grin. “I’ve asked you politely, more than 
once, and yet you still refuse.” His tone became icy and his gaze 
poisonous. “I am sorely tempted to abandon politeness altogether.” 

Bramblethorn seized Frodo by his shirt again, managing to rip it further in 
the process. Hauling him up to a sitting position, he pushed his captive 
back against the wall, placing a hand on each of Frodo’s shoulders. 
Bramblethorn leaned forward and leered into Frodo’s frightened face. 

“You cannot refuse me forever, Frodo,” he growled. Frodo had turned his 
face away from his tormentor, trying to block out the vision the only way 
he could. Bramblethorn forced Frodo’s gaze back to his own. “Politeness 
has not persuaded you, but there are other ways.” 

He gave Frodo his cruelest stare while pinning him against the wall. “You 
WILL sign that document, Frodo,” Bramblethorn said coldly.

“NO!” Frodo cried, refusing almost by habit alone. 

“Wretch!” Bramblethorn spat, and slapped him. Frodo gritted his teeth and 
locked his gaze with Bramblethorn’s. “You will do as I say, if not now, 
eventually,” Bramblethorn snarled. “I am not giving you a choice, Frodo.” 

“I am not asking you to give me a choice,” Frodo said, summoning his 
remaining courage. “I am making one nonetheless.” He took a deep breath 
and continued. “I choose to deny you victory.” With each word he spoke, 
Frodo’s voice strengthened. The water he had drunk earlier, though not 
nearly enough, had restored a small amount of strength to him. He felt 
time suspended as his words broke the stillness of the room. “You may 
take what you will from me, but I will give you nothing.”

For the first time during his captivity, Frodo thought he could see 
Bramblethorn’s façade beginning to crack. The swaggering self – 
assurance seemed to fade slightly for an instant as impotent rage swelled 
to the surface.

“Insolent fool!” Bramblethorn shook Frodo hard. “You are at my mercy, 
and I will show you none!” He punctuated the statement with another 
brutal slam against the wall. “I could take you now, as I would have that 
day in the woods, if your servant had not come to your aid!” He cupped 
Frodo’s bruised face in his hands and sneered, “I could make you scream 
in agony and shame as I use you for my own pleasure!” 

Frodo blanched at the horrible threat, knowing that Bramblethorn spoke 
the truth. The combination of lust and fury in his tormentor’s face left no 
doubt in Frodo’s mind that Bramblethorn was serious. 

“Your time will come, my proud, defiant one,” Bramblethorn continued in 
the quiet, menacing tone that Frodo had come to associate with his captor 
at his worst. “But not now. I’m not in the mood!” He straightened and 
walked out in a rage. 

~*~

Frodo slumped over as Bramblethorn left the room. He was so tired! He 
had put every ounce of his spirit into his defiant statement to his captor, 
risking grim retribution in response. He had nothing to lose or to gain by 
it, he decided. It seemed certain that Brambethorn would come for him 
sooner or later, to claim his body and shatter his soul. Frodo’s vicious 
enemy was merely biding his time, choosing his moment. 

When would Bramblethorn tire of merely threatening him? When would 
one of the intimidating sessions of taunting, striking and touching fail to 
end there? The thought was too abhorrent to entertain, but rose unbidden 
to Frodo’s mind nonetheless.  

It was impossible to tell whether it was night or day in the little room, and 
Frodo had lost all track of time. He decided to try to sleep again. If he was 
fortunate, it would be nighttime and no one would be hovering nearby to 
kick him back to consciousness. 

After a while, sleep finally overtook him. Exhaustion triumphed over fear 
and pain, and for a while at least, Frodo was lost to all but dreams. 

~*~

Bramblethorn’s hands were shaking with rage as he lit his pipe.  Frodo had 
looked him in the face and defied him more openly than ever before! 
Whence came such courage? It was absurd that a bound prisoner, aching 
with hunger and burning with thirst, brutalized and without rest, should be 
able to invoke such a spirit of willfulness. 

“Impossible creature!” Bramblethorn found himself saying aloud to no 
one but himself. “I shall strip you of your spirit,” he growled. “I shall 
shatter you from within even as I do so from without!” 

As soon as the matter of his return to the Shire was resolved to his 
satisfaction, Bramblethorn vowed, he would show Frodo the true meaning 
of pain and suffering. He would rend that lovely creature’s flesh and soul, 
savoring each moment, each desperate cry for non – existent mercy. 

~*~

 Frodo slept fitfully, his head tossing from side to side and inarticulate 
sounds escaped him as he dreamed.  He saw trees and sunlight, and heard 
the sound of a small stream flowing nearby. He could almost feel the late 
afternoon sun on his face as it slanted through the trees. 

Somehow, something just wasn’t right about the scene. It should have a 
peaceful feeling about it, not this gnawing dread and fear that he felt. A 
shadow blocked the rays of the sun. Someone was standing over him, but 
the face of the person was indistinct and hazy. 

Suddenly, he could see another figure bursting thorough the undergrowth, 
rage evident in his features. It was Sam! His eyes were filled with anger, 
indignation and fear, though not for his own safety.  He seemed to be 
shining from within somehow, as if the light of the sun that had tanned his 
skin had been absorbed even deeper still, to become a part of him. 
Glowing. 

Frodo saw Sam attack his tormentor, driving the evil presence away from 
his fallen form. He felt a surge of hope, filling him with brightness and 
warmth. And then it happened. As Sam engaged the evil shadow in furious 
combat, the malevolent presence overwhelmed the golden light, slowly 
snuffing it out to a flicker, then nothing. 

He heard himself screaming, a scream of agony, shame and complete 
bereavement. “SAAAAMMMMMM!”

Awake. He was awake and breathing hard, his throat burning from the 
force of the desperate shriek. His face was wet with tears, and his eyes 
were squeezed tightly shut, as if to block out the image that had been so 
real a moment before. 

Could darkness truly overwhelm light and snuff it out as in his dream? It 
mustn’t be so! For if that were true, what good was defying the darkness? 

But he could see light even now, through the distortion of his tears. There, 
coming closer. A single, bright flame – a candle? A dark form stood over 
him with a candle in its grasp. The darkness, controlling the light, holding 
it. 

~No! Please, no!~

Bramblethorn set the candle down on the floor and again was kneeling by 
Frodo’s side. “You called out a name just now, Frodo,” he said. “Your 
gardener, your brave servant who saved you. You called for him.” It was 
not a question, but a statement of fact. 

Frodo’s captor held something in his hand. A scroll and a quill pen. He 
bent over Frodo and looked into the tormented face before him. “You will 
not do this to save yourself, will you, Frodo? You would suffer terribly 
rather than submit for your own sake.” His voice sounded oddly 
triumphant as he spoke again. “But for the sake of another, my love? What 
then?” 

He reached out and stroked a wayward curl away from Frodo’s forehead. 
“For the sake of another, would you do as I ask?” He whispered directly 
into Frodo’s ear, and his voice hardened. “You called his name, Frodo. I 
know where to find him. He is dear to you, is he not? If you will not 
submit for your own sake, what about his?”

No! It couldn’t be. Frodo’s resolve fled from him in a rush as the 
malignant words lingered in his ears. ~Elbereth! What have I done?~ he 
thought in horror.

~Sam! I will not lose you! I will not allow him to harm you!~

“I will seek him out, Frodo.”

~I will not be the cause of your sorrow and pain!~

“I will visit upon him every torment I have given you and more.”

~Sam! Forgive me! He has found my heart and holds the blade that will 
pierce it. You are too dear to me. You are my only light in this darkness. I 
will sacrifice all else, but not you, Sam. Not you.~

“Answer me, Frodo. Will you give me what I ask?” Bramblethorn held the 
scroll out before Frodo’s face. 

Heartbroken, Frodo raised his eyes slowly to look at the evil face above 
him. “Yes. I will do as you wish,” he said simply, his voice a mere 
whisper. 

Bramblethorn propped him up in the corner and untied the bonds around 
his hands. Frodo’s fingers tingled painfully as circulation was restored to 
them at last. When he was able to coax life back into his hands, he took 
the pen and the document from Bramblethorn’s hand.

Slowly, haltingly, he signed his name at the bottom. And in the midst of 
his shame and dread, there came an inspiration. One last thing he could 
attempt in order to salvage the situation. Beneath his name in his graceful 
hand, he inscribed a very short phrase in Quenya.

“What is that?” Bramblethorn asked, scorn dripping from his voice as he 
eyed Frodo suspiciously. “What are you up to?” Snarling, he grasped 
Frodo’s shoulders and gave him a rough shake. 

“It’s Elvish. Another Baggins oddity,” Frodo said quietly, not looking at 
Bramblethorn. “I sign my name in both Common and Elvish on any 
document of importance.”

Bramblethorn grinned. At last, he had discovered the one weakness he 
could exploit in order to break his prisoner. Why hadn’t he seen it before? 
That gardener must be quite dear to Frodo, perhaps more so than was 
proper, he thought with amusement. He rolled the scroll up tightly and 
placed it and the pen on the floor beside him. 

“Thank you, Frodo,” Bramblethorn said and enfolded him in a mockery of 
a tender embrace. Frodo tried to shove him away, hanging his head in 
grief. Bramblethorn grabbed Frodo’s wrists and bound them again, but in 
front this time. 

“Leave me be!” Frodo sobbed. “You have what you wanted. What further 
use is it to you to torment me?”

“My sincerest apologies, beloved,” Bramblethorn replied in a tone that 
implied that he was anything but apologetic, “but I must keep you with me 
a while yet. This document must reach the Mayor, if I am to be granted re-
entry to the Shire. Only then will this matter be resolved.”

“And what then? Will you let me go?” Frodo asked, fearing the response.

“Hmmm. Now there’s a good question, Frodo.” Bramblethorn made a 
show of pondering his position on the matter. “To be bereft of your 
company would be very difficult for me. You see, I’ve grown quite 
attached to you.” 

Ahh, yes. Blue eyes, wide with fear. “And I’ve been too busy with other 
matters to pay you the attention you truly deserve.” He brushed his fingers 
lightly over Frodo’s cheek again, looking into his eyes. Lovely. “But do 
not fear, dear one. I shall make up for lost time, I promise you.”

“I loathe you,” Frodo answered him softly, eyes downcast. 

Bramblethorn laughed. It was not a light – hearted, contented sound, but 
something cruel and ugly. 

“Do you, dear Frodo? I must speak with the Mayor first, and then we shall 
celebrate.” Bramblethorn toyed with a lock of hair behind Frodo’s ear. 
“Together,” he whispered. 



Chapter 9 – Revelations 
~*~Wednesday night~*~

Sam, Merry and Pippin arrived in Bywater in the night. The Eagle Feather 
Inn was not impressive, but it wasn’t shabby either. The innkeeper was 
pleasant and efficient, having the hobbits checked into their room and the 
ponies stabled in a matter of a few minutes. 

The trio spent a short while in the common room of the inn, listening for 
more clues as to Bramblethorn’s appearance in the area. The crowd was 
thinning out by that time, and it was plain that nothing more was to be 
learned that night. 

Instructions were left with the innkeeper to the effect that any messages 
from Michel Delving were to be brought to their attention immediately. 
Sam hoped fervently that the Mayor would take his message to heart. 
Writing to the Mayor was not an action commonly taken by a gardener, 
but Mayor Whitfoot seemed to be a solid fellow, and had a reputation for 
taking an interest in the concerns of all of the good citizens of the Shire. If 
the presence of Rushford Bramblethorn in the Shire didn’t qualify as a 
concern of the citizens, Sam couldn’t think of what would. 

Merry, Pippin and Sam retired for the night, planning to start looking for 
clues regarding Bramblethorn’s presence and Frodo’s whereabouts the 
following morning. 


~*~Thursday afternoon~*~


Bramblethorn was going to town. It was time to meet his courier for an 
update. No sooner had the ink of Frodo’s signature dried than the 
document was placed in the hands of the courier and sent on its way to 
Michel Delving. The courier had ridden through the remainder of the 
previous night to deliver the message early this morning. Bramblethorn 
had arranged to meet the courier to verify that the Mayor had received the 
parcel, and to set a new time to meet for an update. 

He reluctantly conceded that he must make some provision for his 
prisoner as well. Frodo was looking decidedly unwell, and it would 
seriously endanger him to let him go without food for much longer. He 
had kept his word, giving Frodo only water so far, and only just enough. 

Bramblethorn wanted Frodo to be coherent and aware when he fulfilled 
his promise to take him. He wanted him to be strong enough to remain 
conscious, to struggle at least enough to make it exciting. It wouldn’t do to 
have Frodo pass out due to hunger and thirst in the middle of it all. 

He finished his preparations and paused briefly on his way out, standing in 
the doorway to gaze at his sleeping prisoner.  He realized he found Frodo 
to be even more remarkable than he had guessed. More headstrong, more 
noble, more resilient. It almost seemed a shame to break such a spirit. 
Almost. 

~*~

Frodo stirred groggily and opened his eyes. He could see little in the dim 
candlelight, but he could make out something resting on the floor near 
him. It was then that he smelled the food. By the light of the candle he saw 
a tray with some bread and cheese, some fruit and a flask of water. He 
wondered if he was dreaming again. Perhaps now that he had given in, 
Bramblethorn wouldn’t starve him anymore. As it was, he felt barely 
strong enough to force himself to sit upright. 

It was a bit tricky at first, but Frodo was able to reach the food with his 
hands bound in front. No feast had ever tasted as good as this modest 
repast. He had lost track of how long it had been since he had eaten, and 
his thirst was nearly maddening. The relief of water, as much as he wanted 
this time, finally coursing down his parched throat was nearly enough to 
make him weep. 

How long was Bramblethorn planning to keep him there? Surely it would 
take little time to get the signed document to the Mayor in Michel 
Delving. What might take longer was for the Mayor to act upon it. And 
once that had been achieved, what next? Bramblethorn had made no 
promises as to Frodo’s future, at least none that Frodo cared to 
contemplate. 

Feeling a little better for a full stomach, Frodo lay down and closed his 
eyes again. Being asleep was far better than being awake, and since he had 
signed the document, Bramblethorn wasn’t kicking him back to alertness 
anymore. His feelings of guilt for having betrayed all the Shire – for he 
believed he had done just that – combined with his fears for Sam were 
burdens that lay heavily upon him in his waking hours. 

When he slept, sometimes he dreamed. The dreams weren’t always a 
refuge, and he would wake in a cold sweat, each breath coming rapidly 
and painfully. Upon his signing of the document retracting his testimony, 
he had effectively signed away any protection he might have had against 
Bramblethorn’s taking his crude advances to the next level. Prior to that, 
Bramblethorn had been holding back in order to leave him with strength 
and wits enough to write his name legibly. 

Bramblethorn had no reason now to refrain from cruelly using him as was 
his original intent. Frodo knew he could expect no mercy from 
Bramblethorn when the time came. He had angered his captor with his 
constant defiance of him, and Bramblethorn would be sure to take that 
anger out on him, body and soul. 

He prayed that Bramblethorn would not harm Sam now that he had what 
he wanted. Or rather, Bramblethorn thought he had what he wanted.  
Frodo almost smiled to himself as he thought about the words he had 
inscribed in Quenya under his name. It was a long shot. He rather doubted 
that anyone in the Mayor’s office had bothered to learn any Elvish. 

Perhaps years from now, someone with some knowledge of Quenya would 
look at the document and realize what had happened. It would be too late 
to stop Bramblethorn from achieving his aims, but at least, eventually, 
someone would know the truth.  

~*~Thursday morning~*~

After a good breakfast that even satisfied Pippin’s prodigious appetite, the 
trio from Hobbiton set out to see what they could learn about 
Bramblethorn. The hobbits Merry had heard speaking at the Green Dragon 
said the rumor of his presence was being heard in Bywater. If that were 
true, somebody somewhere should have something to say about it. 

In addition, Sam had brought with him a portrait of Frodo he had seen 
many times at Bag End. It was fairly recent, and had been commissioned 
by Bilbo and drawn by a local artist with great skill. The plan was to ask if 
anyone had seen a hobbit resembling Frodo, or knew of Rushford 
Bramblethorn. It could be a long day, Sam surmised. 

They canvassed the area around the town square before luncheon, with no 
important results to speak of. Everyone who looked at Frodo’s portrait 
said they had not remembered seeing anyone who resembled the hobbit in 
the picture. They had not heard any talk about Rushford Bramblethorn 
either. Any description of Bramblethorn was met with a shake of the head. 
Nobody seemed to know about him. 

After luncheon, they began to check the other inns and some local 
businesses. By suppertime, they were tired and hungry, and deeply 
frustrated with not having turned up any clues. A good portion of the town 
remained to be searched, and it looked like another long day lay ahead of 
them. 

As they returned to the inn, the innkeeper met them with a smile. “You 
lads have been expected, you have!” He exclaimed with far more energy 
than Sam, Merry or Pippin felt they could muster after their exertions. “If 
you’ll follow me, your supper is waiting.”

Sam’s eyes must have asked the question before his voice could catch up. 
The innkeeper continued, “As fine a table as I’ve seen in many a day, and 
awaiting the guests of honor.”
The innkeeper led them through the common room to an area toward the 
back. A curtain closed off a small private dining room. 

If Sam was uncomfortably curious, Pippin was positively suffering. 
“Merry, what is all this?” he asked incredulously. 

“Very interesting, to say the least,” Merry answered him, as they were 
guided to the table. 

The feast that had been laid out before them was amazing. Whoever had 
planned this was serious about his cuisine indeed. Sam stared in wonder. 
Where had all this come from, and who had provided it? As they were 
about to sit down, the fattest hobbit any of them had ever seen emerged 
through the curtains. Sam was hard put to conceal his shock.

“Mayor Whitfoot!” he gasped, surprised to see the important hobbit in 
Bywater, and inviting them to supper as well. There must be some 
mistake. His Gaffer would never believe this, Sam reflected. 

“Yes, young fellow, the very same,” said the portly, gray-haired hobbit. 
“Thank you for joining me for supper, lads! Which one of you is Samwise 
Gamgee?”

“Beggin’ your pardon, Mr. Mayor, but that’s me,” Sam stammered. There 
he was, a gardener, face to face with the Mayor himself, and invited to 
supper with him as well! 
Sam recovered from his astonishment enough to introduce Merry and 
Pippin. 

“Saradoc’s young lad, aren’t you?” Mayor Whitfoot greeted Merry. 

“Yes, Sir.” Merry shook the Mayor’s hand. “It’s a pleasure, Mr. Mayor.”

Turning to Pippin, he exclaimed, “And young Peregrin Took! The last 
time I saw you, you were knee-high to a Dwarf! I remember you hiding 
behind your Ma’s skirts while your father and I were chatting at the Free 
Fair.” 

Pippin smiled and shook the Mayor’s hand, blushing furiously. “Pleased to 
make your acquaintance, Sir.”

Mayor Whitfoot addressed Sam again. “I received your letter by courier 
early this morning,” he said. “A second courier came from here in 
Bywater and left a message for me this morning as well. I felt I should 
come to Bywater in person, and right away, because I believe you may be 
quite interested in the contents of that second message.” 

Mayor Whitfoot had the attention of all three hobbits at his table 
immediately with that statement. As they sat down to supper, the Mayor 
gave them the details. 

“Samwise, to start with, I was very concerned when I got your letter. A 
disappearance in the Shire is a serious thing. Of course, this is not the first 
time a Baggins has disappeared from the Shire as I recall.” 

Sam found himself opening his mouth to speak defensively, before he 
remembered it was the Mayor he was about to chastise for criticizing Mr. 
Frodo’s family. He bit back his comments and listened.

“What stirred me about it and made me feel that it wasn’t just more 
eccentric foolishness was your mention of that Bramblethorn scoundrel.” 
The Mayor’s eyebrows went up as he spoke the name. “If he truly is 
abroad in the Shire again, he must be dealt with expediently.”

“Now, as to the second document I received this morning.” Mayor 
Whitfoot drew a small scroll out of his vest and laid it on the table. “I 
found it to be an interesting coincidence that you should mention 
Bramblethorn in your letter, and that I should receive on the same morning 
a message from that very individual.” A collective gasp went up from the 
other three hobbits gathered around the table. ”What I have here is a 
signed statement by Frodo Baggins, retracting his testimony regarding the 
Bramblethorn affair.”

Shocked looks passed from one hobbit to the next. Merry gaped in open 
astonishment, and Pippin looked as if he’d just seen a herd of oliphaunts 
walk through the room. 

“That’s impossible, Mr. Mayor, Sir!” Sam exclaimed, his face ashen. 
There was no chance that Mr. Frodo would sign such a document. It had to 
be a forgery!

“I agree with Sam, Mr. Mayor,” Merry said evenly as Pippin nodded in 
affirmation beside him. “That incident was very upsetting for Frodo, and it 
has taken him the better part of two years to come to peace with it. Why 
would he ever retract his testimony?”

“I am wondering the same thing, my lad.” The Mayor opened the scroll 
and laid it flat on the table for all to see. “But here it is, signed and 
sealed.” Sam leaned over it and examined the signature. It was definitely 
in Frodo’s hand. But underneath it was something that caused him to gasp 
involuntarily. 

“Mr. Mayor, Mr. Frodo did sign this document, it’s certain.” Merry and 
Pippin gaped at Sam, unable to believe what they were hearing. Sam 
spoke again, his voice betraying his emotion as he did. “Look under his 
name for a moment, please, Sir.” Sam pointed to the delicate characters 
inscribed beneath Frodo’s signature. “Mr. Frodo has been teaching me to 
read and write some Elvish, Sir. I’m no scholar like Mr. Frodo, but I can 
read that.”

Pippin piped up from across the table. “What does it say, Sam? What was 
cousin Frodo trying to tell us?”

Sam’s voice began to tremble as he looked around the table at the Mayor 
and Frodo’s cousins. “It says, ‘Captive in Bywater.’” Nobody spoke. They 
were staring at the page, amazed at their incredible luck, and Frodo’s 
quick thinking under pressure. Frodo had indeed signed the document, but 
added the line in Elvish to let them know he had been forced to do so. It 
was just pure luck that Sam had been given access to the document and 
seen the message written there. 

“Mr. Frodo is here, somewhere in Bywater!” Sam had forgotten entirely
about his supper. 

~*~Thursday, early evening~*~

Bramblethorn returned to the smial with a sense of satisfaction. His 
courier had confirmed delivery of the signed document to the Mayor that 
morning, and all that remained now was to await the reply. Undoubtedly 
the Mayor would want to meet with him as soon as possible. He would 
meet with the courier again the following afternoon in hopes that the 
Mayor’s reply had been delivered. 

He stopped by the door of the room where his captive lay sleeping. He 
opened it and gazed into the gloom, his eyes lingering on Frodo’s bound 
form in the corner. A cursory inspection revealed a pale, fragile – looking 
creature, sleeping fitfully on the dirt floor. 

Frodo’s head tossed from side to side, and words escaped his lips as he 
writhed in the grip of a dream. “Amin delotha lle!” He breathed. “Amin 
feuya ten’ lle!” 

Bramblethorn frowned to himself. It was naught but gibberish! Frodo was 
a mystery, to be sure. A fascinating, infuriating, alluring mystery indeed. 
He closed the door and propped the chair up under the knob again, then 
paused in the hallway to light his pipe. 

“Pleasant dreams, Frodo,” he said to the emptiness. As he walked away 
from the door, his eyes narrowed somewhat and a slight smirk spread 
across his face.  

~*~
A/N – Translation of Frodo’s Elvish 

Amin delotha lle – I hate you

Amin feuya ten’ lle – You disgust me

Source – www.grey-company.org



Chapter 10 – Following 
~*~Thursday evening~*~


Pippin spoke up. “But Sam, we don’t know where in Bywater 
Bramblethorn may be hiding Frodo. How are we going to find him?”

Sam had been pondering the same question. It looked as though 
Bramblethorn hadn’t taken any chances on being seen with Frodo in his 
custody. “Nobody we talked to today had seen Mr. Frodo. He’s got to be 
somewhere out of the way.”

“And if Frodo was taken from Bag End in the night,” Merry added, 
“Bramblethorn could have brought him to Bywater under cover of 
darkness and hidden him someplace without being seen.” He could be 
anywhere, Merry thought silently. 

Someone had to have seen Bramblethorn at some time during his stay in 
Bywater! After all, the villain had ventured forth to send a message by 
courier to the Mayor. Sam blinked and looked up as the meaning of that 
thought struck him. “Mr. Mayor, who delivered the scroll to you?”

“A representative of Bywater Couriers,” the Mayor answered.

Merry’s eyes lit up. “I think I see where you’re going with this, Sam,” he 
said. “Someone at Bywater Couriers knows where and when to deliver any 
reply from the Mayor to Bramblethorn. They must have made an 
arrangement regarding when and where to meet. If Mayor Whitfoot were 
to write a message in answer and we give it to the same courier, we could 
follow the courier and find Bramblethorn.”

“Find Bramblethorn and we find Frodo,” Pippin finished. 

“I expect that Bramblethorn will probably not meet the courier in the same 
place where he is holding Frodo,” Mayor Whitfoot cautioned. “You would 
then have to rely on Bramblethorn to lead you to Master Baggins. “It 
could be dangerous.”

Sam shook his head slowly. “I can’t think of no other way. We have no 
way of knowin’ where that devil has hidden Mr. Frodo otherwise.” The 
others nodded in agreement.

Mayor Whitfoot considered for a moment. “I suggest that I respond to 
Master Bramblethorn by offering to meet with him tomorrow evening. 
That will get him out of your way while you search for Master Baggins.” 

“That’s a good idea,” Pippin agreed. “but what will happen to him after 
that?” Pippin had broached the subject that weighed on the minds of all 
three hobbits. 

“He will be detained here,” the Mayor answered gravely. “I will have the 
help of the innkeeper and some sturdy lads. He will be held accountable 
and punished, I assure you.”

 After supper the Mayor composed a short message to Bramblethorn, 
stating that he had come to Bywater and wished to meet with him at the 
Eagle Feather Inn to discuss the document. The message would be taken 
to the courier and the courier followed to the point of delivery. 

Sam, Merry and Pippin thanked the Mayor for supper and retired early in 
preparation for a very busy day ahead. 

~*~Friday~*~

Merry stood outside the small wooden building with the sign that read 
‘Bywater Couriers’, the Mayor’s message in his hand. Pippin and Sam 
would wait outside. They surmised that it might look odd to have all three 
of them bringing a message from the Mayor. It was better to have one of 
them pose as the Mayor’s emissary, and Merry could use that Brandybuck 
charm to good ends when he chose to. 

As he walked in, Merry looked around him. There was a slightly untidy 
desk nearby and a hobbit stood behind it shuffling through a stack of 
items. There was another hobbit at a second desk scratching away with a 
quill pen. Besides the three of them, there was nobody else around. 

“Excuse me, Sirs, but I have an important message from Mayor Will 
Whitfoot that must be delivered to a Mr. Rushford Bramblethorn.” The 
hobbit who had been writing with the 
quill looked up at the mention of the name. 

“I’ll take the parcel, if you please, Sir,” the hobbit said, rising from his 
desk. 

Merry thought of something. “If I may ask, will this be delivered quickly 
today? The Mayor wishes to meet with Mr. Bramblethorn early this 
evening.”

The courier looked at Merry with annoyance. The Mayor’s emissaries 
were a nosy lot! “Yes, you may tell the Mayor that delivery will be 
scheduled for after luncheon.” 

Merry smiled congenially. “Thank you, good Sir, I will tell him.” Merry 
gave the courier a few coins and with another smile and a polite bow of 
his head, he turned and stepped out the door. Sam and Pippin were waiting 
for him just around the corner. 

“All done,” Merry told them with satisfaction. He managed to look a bit 
smug as he made his next statement. “And as a special treat for us, I 
managed to find out that the delivery will be made today after luncheon.” 

“Good, Merry! We won’t have to wait around all day!” Pippin was 
pleased to hear the news. It would be a very long day indeed if all there 
was to do was wait around near a courier’s office. 

“I know which one of the couriers is taking the message,” Merry said. “I’ll 
point him out to you when he comes out of the building. After that, we’ll 
split up and follow at a distance.” 

There were still a couple of hours before luncheon, and they decided to go 
back to the inn for a brief rest and to go over their plans once again, in 
detail. 

~*~

Near time for luncheon, Sam, Merry and Pippin returned to the area of the 
couriers’ offices and settled in to wait until the courier left the building. 
Merry had thought better of wearing the same clothing he had worn that 
morning. Suppose the courier should catch sight of him and recognize 
him? He had switched from the bright yellow weskit he had worn earlier 
into something of a more subdued shade. 

Upon reaching the street where Bywater Couriers was located, they 
lingered within clear sight of the building, but not conspicuously so. A 
short time later, the courier Merry had spoken with emerged from the 
building with a message in his hand. 

“That’s him,” Merry whispered and pointed out the courier. “Let’s see 
where he’s off to.”

Sam crossed to the other side of the street but continued to follow the 
courier as he went. Merry and Pippin stayed on the same side of the street 
as the courier, following at a distance so as not to be noticed. Merry was 
especially careful not to be seen, since the courier knew what he looked 
like. A change of clothing helped, but he couldn’t change his blonde curls 
or facial features. The weather was lovely, so hiding behind the hood of a 
cloak was out of the question. The hobbit carrying the Mayor’s message 
made for his destination at a steady pace, never looking behind him. 

The courier made several turns and continued for a few blocks until he 
reached a small shop that sold pipeweed and accessory items. Signs in the 
window advertised the price per weight for several varieties, including Old 
Toby and Longbottom Leaf. There were several other shops in the area, 
and the Hobbiton trio were able to blend in with the other hobbits milling 
around. Merry and Pippin rejoined Sam and pretended to be inspecting 
apples for sale at a stand across the road from the pipeweed shop. They 
waited. 

Sam watched closely as a stocky hobbit with sandy brown hair and a bit of 
a swagger approached the shop. Sam felt his chest tighten as he watched 
the hobbit enter the small building. He recognized Rushford Bramblethorn 
instantly. He would probably never forget that nasty creature as long as he 
lived. Sam fought the impulse to cross the street, haul Bramblethorn out of 
the shop and take care of him right then and there. 

The courier had waited a few moments, and then walked into the shop 
after Bramblethorn. Sam watched intently, wishing he could overhear the 
conversation between the two. He saw Bramblethorn take the message, a 
satisfied look on his face. The courier accepted a few