Hobbiton

Saruman of Many Colors was sleeping fitfully. Almost everything (except that insolent Ranger!) had fallen into place.

He suddenly stirred and woke!

"I sense a disturbance..." he muttered to himself. Staring long in the direction of the woods, he contented himself that these powers in the end, he felt, would neutralize one another.

He lay back down, rolled over, and fell again into a light sleep.

-You fool. Xivigg quietly say, smiling. Stop your stupid display of power around me. I don't want to be discover by the power ruling this land yet and believe me you don't want either.

* sorry my mistake *

Sudently the women raise to her feet and smile at him.
The older wizards taks a step back and raise his hands ready to cast a spell if needed.
Xivigg start laughing.
-Nervous he. Well unknow red wizards, know that i'm Lufyla Galadon, minstrel who travel these land in search of stories to make great song with. You obviously take me for someone else. *She smile widely revealing her perfect white teeth*. Would you like to share my fire ??? The night is cold these day. I'll be delighted to have you telling me of your great adventure. And in the same time i'll share with you my food and wine, their is more than enough for both of us.

A few second pass without any of them talking.

-I can see your distaste about my proposal painted in your face. It hurt me deeply that no one trust a single, unarmed, lonely traveler these day. Well if for nothing else you'll be able to watch me and find for yourself that i'm not who you think i am. No ??? To bad well if you change your mind you know were to find me.
After she had finish she sat back and start playing again. Letting the red wizard were he stand without letting him time to add anything.

Rose nodded to Shanamir's question. Grimly, they got up, each feeling that it is better to face this thing together, and support eachother, than facing it alone.
Gathering their stuff and crawling from safety, Shanamir eating his supper on his way out, the Ranger led the way to the nearby fire.
As they neared, they heard voices, Rose cried out and rushed towards Sauganast when she spotted him.
"Dear Wizard of Wizards, I took you for long gone! Dead even!" She stopped before reaching him, noticing for the first time the dark countenace with which he looked at the "minstrel". She turned to study the woman, and her nose wrinkled in distaste. She had never thought too highly of pretty people, thinking them vain and arrogant. But then, one must not judge too quickly. Indeed, Rose had once had a cousin who was certainly not plain looking, and she was actually quite clever and amiable. Downright friendly in fact.

Xivigg look to the hobbit just long enough to make her incomfortable, then she smile and said.

-Greating little one, it's a pleasure to meet you...

She wait a few second for everyone to exit the wood. Looking everyone of them for a few second. Humm thing happen in strange way's these day. So an elf, two dwarves, the ranger Shanamir, the unknown red wizard and the little hobbit. Strange party indeed but a dangerous one.

- and your companion. *She continue as if nothing has happen.* I am Lufyla Galadon humble minstrel and i am honored by your companies. It is not everyday that i have the pleasure to entertain good people such as yourselves. I have met Dwarves only rarely before today and elf but once... Ohhh but i forget my maners, please have a seet... *She look around as if realyzing that no seet were available.* if you can find one. I have food and wine but i'm affraid that it won't be enough for all of you...i wasn't expecting visitor. *She then turn toward the wizard* Unless you change your mind we'll have to continue our's deeply interresting conversation another day.

Thing were wrong. The red wizard was obviously furious that she had take controle of the situation but other small clue make her realyse that she was walking on thin ice. The two dwarves were keeping their hand near their weapons. Obviously eager to use them. Shan as take great care to be behind her. The elf and hobbit were looking at her with disgust. They look like hunters fearfully approching an hurted beast. The comparison make her smile.

-Look i don't know what you may have heard about me but have at least the descence to make your mind yours...

With these last word the orcs attack.

Xivigg look to the hobbit just long enough to make her incomfortable, then she smile and said.

-Greating little one, it's a pleasure to meet you...

She wait a few second for everyone to exit the wood. Looking everyone of them for a few second. Humm thing happen in strange way's these day. So an elf, two dwarves, the ranger Shanamir, the unknown red wizard and the little hobbit. Strange party indeed but a dangerous one.

- and your companion. *She continue as if nothing has happen.* I am Lufyla Galadon humble minstrel and i am honored by your companies. It is not everyday that i have the pleasure to entertain good people such as yourselves. I have met Dwarves only rarely before today and elf but once... Ohhh but i forget my maners, please have a seet... *She look around as if realyzing that no seet were available.* if you can find one. I have food and wine but i'm affraid that it won't be enough for all of you...i wasn't expecting visitor. *She then turn toward the wizard* Unless you change your mind we'll have to continue our's deeply interresting conversation another day.

Thing were wrong. The red wizard was obviously furious that she had take controle of the situation but other small clue make her realyse that she was walking on thin ice. The two dwarves were keeping their hand near their weapons. Obviously eager to use them. Shan as take great care to be behind her. The elf and hobbit were looking at her with disgust. They look like hunters fearfully approching an hurted beast. The comparison make her smile.

-Look i don't know what you may have heard about me but have at least the descence to make your mind yours...

With these last word the orcs attack.

-Orcs !!! here ?????

"Shades" Anga shouted as he drew his axe and quickly swung at the closest knot of orcs, there were so many they couldn't possibily defeat them all. He quickly checked on his comrades, Shanamir was warding off a rush of half a dozen orcs to his right, Rose was behind a rock with her knife drawn, the blasted wizard who always seemed to leave during the times he was needed most was no where to be seen. Anga looked around for Convar and Caran he couldn't find them anywhere he noticed Shanamir's shouting and went to aid his comrade.

Convar was bent on destroying that women he was now convinced was a sorceress summoning these evil beings. His eyes swept left to right looking for her, he saw her finally nearly invisible just outside the light of the fire. Dodging attacks from the orcs all around him he went straight for her, his black hair flying. He reached her and braced himself to bring his axe to bear, but he couldn't. Somehting inside him stopped him she was... so beautiful he couldnt he just couldnt. The cry of his comrades broke him out of his trance and with a renewed sense of purpose he prepared to swing.

But then she spoke her voice as charming as ever "No.. no please it wasn't me I don't know how these monsters found us no please don't hurt me protect me please." He was about to comply and turn to face those who were going to harm this innocent minstrel when something hammered in his mind Lies you fool, lies! he stopped stung for a second, then saw Anga bleeding badly fighting off more then he could ever hope to beat, but what he saw in Anga's eyes convinced him further Anga was counting on him, he had to.

In a whirl of motion Convar spinned around and struck with the axe screaming some unintelligble thing in his ancesteral tongue as the axe was about to make contact the minstrel shimmered and faded away nothing but air in her place, Convar fell from the force of his missed swing.

Anga gasped with effort as he tried to reach Rose she would be slaughtered if he didn't reach her in time, it was bad enough leaving the Ranger with no one watching his back but Rose wasn't a warrior and he had to help her first. He slammed his axe into one orc and brought the full weight of his soldier to bear on another. Then he felt the sting of cold metal ripping through his flesh he screamed in pain and jabbed his hunting knife into the attackers ribs, where it remained lodged. He started to get dizzy and fought to keep control blood flowing from his wound freely now. He spun around almost crawling looking for Rose, he saw Convar by the fire seemelingly protecting the minstrel. Why isn't he attacking, whats going on. Anga and his companion locked eyes for a second some unspoken need passed between them. He spun hard on his heels and ran to where he last saw Rose. She was still there lying scared half to death underneath a dead orc a bloody knife in her hands. Anga heard the yell of Convar and turned back once again towards the fire he saw Shanamir in the distance still figthing, even in his weakened state still alive, amazing. He still didnt know where the young elf was or what happened to their wizard companion. Another group of orcs spotted him and started towards him he took two down swiftly but was struck by a third and then everything started to become a large blur the last thing he remebered is an unearthly scream and blood, so much blood.

Shanamir was still fighting his back to a large mound of dirt he screamed as he swung his blade and felt his energy begginning to ebb. The scar on his face was throbbing madly and he surely thought it would split anew. The ranger fought on determined to fight until he could do no more. Thoughts flowed through his pain stricken body, Will I die here? Where are my companions? What happened to Rose, did Anga find her? Where did these orcs come from? Who is that minstrel? There are too many, to die like this after so many close calls. Then with renewed determination he screamed NO! He shocked even himself not expecting to speak the words and fought on...

***
An hour before the orcs jumped the camp, this is what had happened:

While Saruman slept, Wormtongue was busy.

He took the stained bag and put it on a stout stick, and carried it, heavy as it was, over his shoulder, so that it did not touch his clothes. He laughed a strange laugh at his delicacy.

He found his way deep into the forest, by the moonlight. There, hidden in the hills, was the band of orcs. They smelled him, and what he had in the bag, before he found them. They were small, for orcs, more like goblins really, and Saruman had brought them more for their knowledge of machinery than as fighters. Still, there were many of them, and Grima was ill at ease. Not that he would let them see it.

Some of them capered and fought around him as he walked into the camp. He threw the bag down near the fire, and then the fighting began in earnest, but settled out with surprising speed. Like wolves in a pack, or like chickens in a barnyard, their pecking order was already well established. Soon the biggest and the fastest had the choicest parts, but there was enough left for all to have at least a taste. When they had settled down to eating their grisly snack, Grima Wormtongue began to speak.

"Sharkey is as Sharkey was. He provides today as he did yesterday. Be patient a while longer. Tonight, we move into the factory. Tomorrow night, we will begin constructing the machinery. You will not go out of doors at night without Sharkey's permission. We will make sure you have treats like this frequently enough. Don't you worry! Now, follow me."

The goblins and orcs liked this well enough, to be sure. Wormtongue smiled to himself, beginning to feel a strange camraderie with the beastly folk. But just then, before he could dwell on this wicked sensation, a goblin came running into camp from the depths of the forest.

He snuffed and smelled the air, and looked at his fellows picking their teeth, and one or two still gnawing a bone, and he gnashed his teeth and cursed them until one of the bigger orcs, who had a rather large bone in his grasp, hit the bitterly complaining goblin with it, knocking him to the ground and leaving a nasty knot on his skull, but also with the bone itself for him to gnaw on. The other orcs and goblins laughed cruelly, and the little one happily enough, picked up the bone and began gnawing it himself.

Urkthai, the large one, who really liked the little snuffler, said gruffly, "Well, business before pleasure. What did you see out there?"

Thlak, the small one, who admired the big orc greatly, almost dropped his bone, remembering his urgent news, "We saw a witchwoman, at least she smelled like a witch! And there's more. Dwarves!"

The big orcs growled deep in their throats and the smaller ones stamped their feet and cried out in sudden anger. "Aye, and a Ranger with them, too."

Their clamour began to alarm Wormtongue who hissed them to silence.

"How many of each?" Wormtongue asked.

"One Ranger. One witch. Two dwarves. An elf, I think. And they guard one of the tender little ones!" Thlak finished.

Urkthai jumped to his feet. "Come on lads! Looks like a little action tonight!"

Immediately, two dozen of the largest leapt up to follow Urkthai and Thlak to surprise the little party. They did not heed Wormtongue cursing them and telling them to leave it alone and to come with him.

And so it was that now the blood-maddened orcs had nearly finished what they had come to do...


***
Now, quite a few of them lay dead or dying from the axe blows of the mighty dwarves, but at last they looked about to fall, soon they would indeed bleed to death, if nothing else. The remaining orcs stayed just out of range of the staggering dwarves, still wielding death in great sweeps of their hated axes, but each failing fast.

The Ranger was surrounded and as fast as his sword darted to and fro, there were too many around him and his blade could not be in all places at once.

Or so the orcs thought.

But Shanamir, Ranger of Eriador, had a wrist of steel, and eyes fast enough even to see, glinting in the moonlight, the wicked runes graved on the eager wicked blades that surrounded him. The mound of dirt guarded his back, and his sword flashed bright in his darting hand.

Still, they were many, and the ranger was weak with hunger, and his limbs were not as supple as they might be, after long confinement. The hidden scar ached upon his face and he cried out with pain and then with rage. If he was to die here, then he would take as many with them as he could!

His sword wove a net of steel around him, meeting blades singly and in pairs, beating back the hacking and slashing assault, parrying blow after blow from one side, and then, unable to reposte, parrying a blow from yet another direction.

It is said that sometimes in the fury of mortal combat, a man's senses come alive in a way that is keenly sharp against the peril of death. The swiftness of the Ranger's sword was a blur even to the night-eyed orcs, whose eyes were indeed dazzled by the moon, shining coldly on his true and honest blade.

The sound was steel on iron and the forest rang long and the metallic clash might have fooled the ears of passersby into thinking that many men fought with swords in the glenn.

Imagine the surprise of Galdor and his company when they saw that a band of orcs were taunting but two dying dwarves and had surrounded a single ranger in a ring of death. The rest were jeering and leering and menacing and encircling a minstrel and an elf lad, in fact a young kinsman of Galdor's from Rivendell.

"Elbereth Gilthoniel!" cried the fair deep voice of the Elven Lord. A half-dozen arrows fired and each one found its mark.

Six orcs fell, each from a slender elven shaft unerringly aimed.

And then six more!

A handful of remaining orcs yammered in fear, turned, and ran like hares into the dark woods. Galdor and his small company came swiftly into the minstrel's camp and wordlessly began tending the wounded dwarves and ranger.

They bound their wounds, and gave them each a dose of miruvoir and made them sleep. As they slept, the elves sang over the wounds songs of healing as their hands moved over the bandages and bruises.

The ranger wanted to speak, but had collapsed into Galdor's arms as the tall elf approached. The High Elf told the big man that it could wait until morning. But Shanamir was unconscious.

When dwarves, man, and hobbit had been cared for, the elf lad told Galdor all that had happened. Galdor sent two of his elves to carry word away and he stayed with the other three to guard the camp.

It was then that they noticed that the minstrel, if minstrel she was, was no longer with them and her things were gone as well...


***
The surviving orcs returned and told their story, cursing the elves and the luck and skill of the ranger!

"Sharkey will not be pleased!" said Wormtongue.

Urkthai growled and retorted, "No one said nothing about lots of bright-eyed Elves with bows! We weren't called here for that!"

"What do you expect, you imbecile!" hissed Wormtongue. "You knew that there might be an elf among them, and yet you charge out, knowing where there's one, there may be more nearby! You were not brought here for that, no! So why did you go? Because you are beasts, good for killing and making things that kill! Leave the thinking to Sharkey from now on!"

With that, he turned and stalked off into the night. The worker goblins, and the few remaining warrior orcs followed Grima Wormtongue to the factory in the dead of night, while curfew kept the hobbits inside, and windows shut. In the morning, he would give Saruman a full report...

***All the trouble with the orcs were finally over... All of a sudden, there were no more coming to attack them. Shan soon realized his companions were ok and he was relieved from seeing that.He then saw a shadow coming slowly toward them. The shadow had a high prestance. He realized quickly it was his friend Strider. In fact, it was the one who was once known as strider, only he was crowned and looking much more beautiful. Shanamir bowed down, keeping his head low. "My Lord, what may I do for you?". "Shanamir, son of Reagan Duntak, keeper of the knowledge of the wises, I have a quest that you and only you can successfully achieve. You'll have to set things right here in the Shire while I'm away. You and your friends will have to be wise and use all the means at your disposition for the good to prevail. I put all my trust in you Shanamir" The shadow vanished while Shanamir heard his name echoing... "Shanamir.... namir...mir..."***

"...Shanamir........ Shanamir?...."

"Shanamir! Wake up!" Rose was shaking Shanamir Frantically... "Is he dead?"

"No he's not. Don't worry, your friend took many wounds but he is strong, in heart and body."

"Thanks Galdor...I'm awake Rose..."

"If I'm not mistaken, we have a lot of work to do now... "

And with that Shanamir started to explain the situation to Galdor...

Xivigg was furiouswhat were those orcs doing their ??? They couldn't have come at a worst moment, ruining everything she had try to achieve. And this Dwarf if she ever put her hand on him she...

-Calm down, she told herself, this situation might help you.

Alway's take advantage of the situation was one of the basis of her survival among those power hungry wizard.
She sat down and lets her mind travel in the wood up to were the battle had taken place. Now that is interresting four elves were now tending the wound of the less than trusting party of Shanamir. She quickly retreat her presence when the elves seem to notice her. For a few minute she lets her mind float in the forest thinking of a way to fix thing up. Then he appear, small hugly seamingly furiousshe follow him efw second then goes toward were he came from. Haaa the Orchish camp now that is interresting, if she could only find the chief...wouldn't this little traveler, going back to make report ??? She smile she put all her attention to find him... their he was.

Grima Wormtongue halt his progression. Something was wrong in this forest, all the night sound had stop moment ago. Then in the blink of an eye he was held up in the air, his back hit a tree hard and to deep blue eyes were staring at into his own, glimpsing deep in his soul.

What Xivigg saw make her shiver. This little wretch has done thing far worst than she had. More important he was the key toward her success. She will let him go unhurted but without memory of her and with a lovely little gift to his master, a deadly gift. She laugh softly his hatred of his master will serve her well. At first it will be only a little tough but as the abuse became more numerous the tough will evolve until he surpass all the fear he have inside him. It will take time but one day he will kill his master or die trying. And the more beautifull thing in all this scheme, his hatred will hide the spell, Sharkey will never suspect he had been enchanted. Unless he look to find it.Now time to take care of the Orcs.

She appears at the side of the forest next to her former campement. And she freeze. She can sence two arrow pointed toward her and a few second later a blade between her shoulder. She slowly extand her arm showing she was armsless.

-I surender myself to your good will, good people. I hope you are not cold blooded butcherer like few people i dare not name.

*feal free to continue. She will defend herself agains't accusation pointing that she had done nothing agains't this fair country. She'll explain she had been captured by the orcs but had escape when a little man *wormtongue i think* distract them *isuing order*. She know of the emplacement of their campement and can take them their if they want. She will help them casting subtle spell no blast'em all fireball*

Rose sat back, relived beyond belief that Shanamir was alright. She didn't bother listening to his present conversation, after all, she wouldn't be rude.
She quickly tended to Anga's and Convar's wounds, before enven looking at her own.

Right into Hobbiton came an old man, whering ragged clothes and face covered with a hood, riding on a cart pulled by a beautiful horse and in the cart was visible a horde of gold. Sparkling in the sun that everyone who saw it looked in awe and wondered what such a cart is doing in Hobbiton during these troubled times. But the old man drove the cart right up to bagshot row, stopped, and looked around....

Rose had just finished tending the Dwarves wounds when she swooned. Convar leaped forward and lowered her slowly to the ground. Then he noticed the blood spreading out from her side.
Lifting her shirt up a few inches he saw a nastly wound in her side and blood slowly seeping from it. Something caught his eye and he touched the blood and raising it to his nose sniffed cautiously. "Orc poison!" he exclaimed. "Bring the ranger, Anga!"

Tater stumbled through the streets of Hobbiton. His men were all passed out, but he could down a bit more ale then they could. He walked towards a small hobbit hole and collapsed in the flower bed.

This is becoming increasingly difficult. I am attempting on my part to end with the Scouring of the Shire, which can't be too far away. This means, that I will be working to reconcile events to that ends.

In so doing, I am attempting to remain true to each character, Tolkien's and Your's! So do not be surprised at my unusual turns and twists, in response to your unusual turns and twists!

--Gilthalion
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Rosie Cotton
Convar ran to where Galdor was tending Shanamir. The elves who were not sent with swift messages to the Wandering Comapnies were instead dispersed to watch the paths in and out of the glenn.

Shanamir had suffered no serious wounds, but was utterly exhausted, he had fought to his last reserves of strength and had long been going on sheer will. But his body could simply not bear any more, and his mind drifted in dreams, as the songs of the High Elf lifted his spirit to the high ethereal expanses where dwelt the thought and healing power of his close kinsman, the King, Elessar Telcontar, Aragorn son of Arathorn, Strider, the Chieftan of the Rangers.

He would awaken feeling like a new man with the bright dawn of the new day but Galdor would insist he rest in the guarded glen until at least the sun had set.

Now, Galdor was concerned indeed. He had thought the worst problem was behind him, for the dwarves wounds were serious, but of an ordinary kind. They would heal and be fit again in a matter of days, with elven care and enchanted victuals.

But orc-poison was a difficult matter. Galdor was not the healer that Elrond was, and could not call upon Aragorn from afar for the hobbit lass he had never known. But still, he was a High Elf of great age and knew much of orcish poisons and curses.

She was fevered. While Convar cleaned and bound her wounds, Galdor sniffed the blood on the knife.

"It is poisoned. Alas! And this is a fiendishly clever brew!"

He bent down and he chanted low in olden elvish over her:

Let heart beat slow
and fires burn low
and through her mind
let breezes blow.

Send mind afar
by moon and star
to where her heart
and true love are.

"Will she be alright?" asked the elf lad.

"It is not even within my power to guess. We have done all that we can. This poison has not been used in this region for ages, if ever at all. It comes from the East, and was no doubt part of the traffic of these foul folk. Well, the War has stopped that. But it may be a trouble here for some time. In his gardens in Rivendell, Elrond grows the herbs from which an antidote can be made. Nowhere else west of the Misty Mountains does it grow. She would be dead by the time she was brought there, or by the time the swiftest courier could ride there and back again."

"Then she will die," Convar said sadly.

"We do not know. They are curiously strong and resiliant, these hobbits. If her will to live is strong, if we can keep her fevers subdued, she may live. But she is weak and it is not certain she would live even if we had the herbs at hand."


Xivigg
Sorceress though she was, Xivigg suddenly had misgivings about her plan. The elves guarding the camp, were none too gentle as they bound her hands, hobbled her feet, and gagged her mouth. They did not treat her cruelly, her bonds were tight, but not painfully so.

She could not run, she could only manage a short step at a time. She was as helpless as she had ever been. One of them picked up her belongings and led her by a rope back into the camp.

Fear began to grow inside. These elves were serious folk, far more so than she had conceived. Where she was from, what was known was largely from the lies and deceits of the Enemy. She had underestimated them.

And why?

That was the burning question in her mind as she hobbled along, a prisoner, when she might have stayed free to ensure the success of her mission. She had set the wheels in motion, and it was only a matter of time before Grima Wormtongue would seek opportunity to kill his master, and the target of her mission, Saruman of Many Colours. Why, why, why, was she putting herself in the power of these folk? The elaborate justifications, the plan she had boldly embarked upon was revealed in her mind for the folly it was. Her master in the east would have her killed even if she survived, when her foolishness was revealed if she returned. Mistakes of this sort were not repeated at the level of game she played. You did not live to repeat them.

Why had she done this? She could have simply left them and watched her plan unfold and see Saruman die and rise high in the ranks of the servants of her master. Why?

As she hobbled into the camp, behind the elf, she saw why.

Lying near the fire, his noble face warmed by the living glow of the blaze, was the Ranger of Eriador, Shanamir Duntak. She realized now what her heart had known from the start.

She loved him.

How her heart had leapt, watching him fight such impossible odds, how she had sorrowed when she fled, not knowing if he were alive or dead. How she had savagely beat down her feelings until her mission were accomplished. How they had betrayed her now that she had done her deed.

She gazed at him with glistening eyes as he lay sleeping. She was suddenly pulled to her feet by the elf and turned around.

Before her stood Galdor, a High Elf who had seen the light of the Two Trees in Valinor and searched her heart and mind now with eyes that penetrated all her disguises and defenses. The spells of shadow that gripped her mind were cast aside in tatters and shreds before his piercing inner vision. How could she have known? Her Easterling master had never prepared her to face such keen vision.

Nor could they have. Nor would they have faired any better, bound and helpless before an elf lord intent on seeing the truth.

Even the memory of the Light, cast through her mind by the eyes of the Elf, was mightier than the spells that bound her to her master's will. Galdor saw the conflicts within her and the darkness fled as before lightning at his glance and did not return.

She collapsed to the ground and wept and did not care.

Galdor released her bonds and ungagged her, speaking in comforting tones, and pressing her to drink a swallow of the miruvor he offered.

She did, and though she remembered the years of evil domination, and would never forget them all the long years of her life, her heart grew light and free and her tears became the tears of joy.

She told the noble elf, who listened patiently, and the elf lad, who was fully absorbed by the tale, about the terrible life she had led, a child of slavery, purchased by an evil mage who sensed her magical talent, enslaved in mind as well as body, by spells of darkness and long conditioning.

Now her mind was free, and she remembered what she had not for many years, her parents who had been slaughtered when she was only four, their farm and their friends, and the good life they had led.

She looked at the peacefully sleeping ranger and wondered if she might ever have such a life again?

At that moment, Rosie cried out in her sleep, and Galdor hastened to her side. As he sang gently over her, trying to keep her fever down, Xivigg saw plainly that the hobbit lass was suffering from an orcish poison she was familiar with.

Xivig excitedly told Galdor that she had the antidote in her bags. He nodded for her to bring it, and it was a mark of how completely he trusted her transformation that he did not watch the sorceress as she picked through her pack and produced a small vial, sealed with a wax stopper.

She came back and Galdor raised the unconcious hobbit girl and allowed Xivigg to drop a few drops in the girl's mouth. Galdor lay her back down.

"How well will your potion work?" he asked.

"It should break her fever within minutes. She will soon be conscious, but weak. Very weak. And she may remember little of what has taken place for the last few days. But she will well remember the visions of her fever. Orc poisons can produce terrible hallucinations," Xivigg explained.

"Perhaps, but I have set her mind to other things, and it may be that she will remember that instead. Or maybe some of both," Galdor observed. "Now, I want to know why you have been sent here from far Eastern lands..."


Tater
The big man staggered and swayed down the path. He could not have told you which path it was. He saw a likely enough hole, and pushed his way inside.

An old hobbit couple were startled, and looked up at him from their bed in their tiny one-room hole.

"M'reckonzishning these quarters for th'night," Tater said, and promptly tumbled to the floor and was snoring within moments. The old gammer was about to put a blanket over him, but the old gaffer was angry and wouldn't have it.

A small but growing puddle of drool escaped from Tater's face, grinding into the dirt floor. His breath reeked of alcohol, tobacco, and a lifetime without any thought of dental hygene. The old hobbit openned the windows and the door, so that they could catch a cross breeze and keep the hole aired out. The couple could not go back to sleep, and so they just watched him, and talked softly until dawn about what was happening to the Shire.

Tater slept through their first breakfast, but woke in time to join them for their second, though it is only a courtesy to say so. Actually, he messily ate their entire second breakfast himself and then called loudly for drink.

The old gammer gave him a cup of cool water, and he slapped it out of her hands and sent it smashing to shards against their little hearth.

"I said I wanted some DRINK!" Tater growled threateningly. His voice was course and his throat was sore from the night air. His knuckles were s****ed and bruised. He wondered which of the lads he had pummeled.

The old gaffer pulled a jug off the shelf and handed it to the big man. Tater pulled the cork with his teeth, spat it on the floor, and made his way out into the too bright sunlight.

He emptied the little jug as he walked back into Hobbiton, having guessed correctly which way it lay. It eased his aching head and made him feel almost ready for the day's work. Whatever that was.

He walked over to the factory the men had built to Sharkey's pattern. It was made of ugly bricks and had a huge furnace with a great chimney. This was now pouring a noxious fume and smoke into the air. A pipe poured an oily sludge intermittantly into the stream. Tater knew enough to recognize one of Sharkey's schemes. He grinned because that would mean bloodshed soon. And lots of it.

Warmed by the sadistic thoughts in his head, Tater hardly listened as Wormtongue excoriated him for being late and for work being behind schedule. He only started listening when Grima got to the interesting parts.

"A new contingent of men arrived this morning. You will find them at the bunkhouse. Take them with you to Buckland, along with a few of these little sheriffs. It's time to extend our power."

Tater understood this very well. With a rowdy bunch of boys, ready to knock heads and plunder the fat little people, and a handful of the sheriffs along to make it seem legal, this was going to be fun!

He was just stepping out of the building, when his eyes were dazzled by the gleam of gold. A great pile of it was heaped in a wagon driven by a frail old man. A crowd of hobbits and men were gathering around. Tater called Grima, whose hooded eyes narrowed and he hissed like a snake.

"You, run alert Saruman. Tell him what you have seen. Now!" Something in Wormtongue's voice made him feel the urgency of getting old Sharkey to the scene. He hot-footed it up to Bag End.

Meanwhile, Grima had about half of the men, gather up the hobbits and lead them away to the Lockholes, on the pretense of breaking curfew. With another dozen men, he confronted the old man on his wagon.

"You men, do not get too close to him. If that cart were really loaded with so much gold it would collapse in the street! That old horse would have to be a mumakil to pull it. It is a deceit! You there! You are fooling no one! Sauganast the Red! Pah!" he spat.

"Did you think that this would accomplish anything? Did you think to lure us into an ambush? Perhaps some other simpleton's scheme? We are in the Shire legally, by the will of the inhabitants, all of the paperwork is made out properly and you have no jurisdiction or business here! The petty trickery of a minor wizard is nothing to Saruman of Many Colours. Begone, ere he comes and finds you here, or you will know his wrath!"

Grima licked his lips expectantly and waited, sneering, for this lesser wizard to decide what he might do...

*Bravo, good post Gil.*

Rose tossed her head a little as the antidote for the orc poison was given to her. An element in it put her into a fast sleep...

"Sam, must you go?"
"You know I do, Rosie, Master Frodo needs me."
"Well, I've never held with adventures, as much as I like Mr. Bilbo and Mr. Frodo, I simply cannot understand this wild notion of adventuring. Dwarves and dragons were enough, and now off again? It all seems mighty secretive to me."
"Everything will turn out Rosie, you have my word on that. I'll come back."
"Easy enough for you to say, you'll be out there on your 'adventure', while there's oddly strange things going on around here lately. All those Big People moving in...

Rose dreamt on, replaying the last few months in her mind. There were, however, a few changes.

Orcs attacked from seemingly everywhere at once, Rose had barely enough time to draw her small knife and hide behind a rock. She saw Shanamir out of the corner of her eye, in the midst of a knot of orcs and their weapons. She saw one of the dwarves near that 'minstrel', and then she was gone.
A burning pain shot through her side, one of the dwarves...she could see his face now, Convar, was leaning over her. She forced the pain down, she didn't need this now, she must look after the others.
She couldn't get up, something was holding her down. She turned her head slightly...
Hands, rising from the ground, holding her down.
As she watched Convar fell from an arrow-wound, Shanamir was torn into pieces by the hands of a mob of orcs. She could see one of his hands, still holding his sword...
She tried to close her eyes, she didn't want to see this...
It couldn't be true, she'd just seen Shanamir, the dwarves, and Caran a few moments ago...
They were fine...
Her eyes wouldn't close, faces of the dead surrounded her, laughing....

Rose woke, her fever broken, to find herself by a crackling campfire. They were all there, some asleep, some talking quietly. She was vaguely aware of someone at her side calling out...
"She's awake. The fever's gone."

What will we do now... we gotta get rid of "Sharkey" and all those orcs...

*The sun is rising slowly in the camp of our heroes and making everything look likes it is a dream*

*Shanamir stands high in the flowing light of the rising sun, wondering what to do now...*

*He saw Sauganast... not with his eyes, but with his mind. What was he doing... hummmm... that gave Shanamir an idea...*

"Grima!" the wizard then removed his old ragged cloak and stood up, unleashed in his full might, his red cloak flowing around hi,, "You! of all people should not speak to me that way! You know not where I come from, you know nothing of me other than the deceits of Saruman,But I know that inside you hate him! You would love to kill him and rid yourself of his voice!!"

Grima coward back at the wrath of the wizard and so did the men around him.

"Saruman has held his grip on these people for long enough! He has never treated them right and they have more hidden strenght then you know! They will revolt and win back there land in good time!"

Guys, sorry I haven't posted. Gil, I'm so short on time I can't keep this character going. I haven't even been able to read your thing over at Camelot! Sorry, Tater had too much to drink and wandered off, never to be heard from again