Well, I feel like a horrible person.

TWO MONTHS! Over TWO MONTHS without a single update! I am so very sorry. :(

Alright, list of reasons why I haven't updated:

1. School. Honestly, I don't get a lot of homework, I just get a lot of very big tests I need to study for. And those are the worst.

2. Theater. My high school's putting on a production of Beauty and the Beast, and after school rehearsals PLUS Saturday rehearsals are taking all of my time and energy. ONLY TWO MORE WEEKS UNTIL OPENING NIGHT! AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!

3. General lack of inspiration. I haven't watched The Lord of the Rings in a long time, and I kinda slipped out of the fandom for a moment. Shocking, I know.

Anyways, I forgot to wish this fic a happy 1st birthday (March 3)! WOO! I also forgot to wish Aragorn happy birthday (March 1) and say Happy Fall of Sauron Day (March 25)! So, yeah, I kind of missed a lot of important dates. Oh well.

Anyways, I only own my OCs.

Chapter 28: Foul and Fouler

Fern sat upon a boulder, keeping watch as the others slept beneath the shelter of a cliff. A foul stench filled the air around the camp, no doubt from the bog that was nearby. The stars were blotted out by dark clouds, and the pale moon was slowly sinking. If it were not for her Elven eyes, Fern would have been able to see anything but darkness.

Suddenly, a shadow slinking along the top of the ridge caught her eye. Gently, she nudged Frodo awake. "Look," she said, pointing discreetly to the shadow. "What do you think it is?"

Frodo blinked a few times, adjusting to the darkness. "Gollum," he whispered, a grim look upon his face. "Lay still and act as if you are asleep. If he approaches, we shall catch him."

Fern nodded and leaned back against the rock, closing her eyes. Beside her, she could feel Frodo do the same. For a brief moment, all was quiet save for the snores of their companions, and then, a raspy voice hissed from the rocks above. "The thieves…the thieves…Nasty, filthy hobbitses…they go with boyses and Elveses, fierce Elveses with bright eyes. Ach, we hates them! Curse them!"

The hissing grew closer, and Fern could hear the almost inaudible sound of clammy hands scaling down rock. "Where is it, Precious? Where are they with my Precious? It's ours, and we wants it! WE WANTS IT!"

Fern's eyes snapped open to see a pale hand reaching towards Frodo's neck. With surprising agility (Fern later could never tell how she moved that fast), the elleth seized Gollum's wrist, flinging him to the ground. Gollum, however, recovered much quicker than she expected and leapt at her, pinning her down. His bony fists pounded into her chest, all the while screaming curses at the Elves. Frodo launched at the gangrel creature, knocking him off of Fern.

The racket, of course, had woken the others. With an outraged cry, Sam charged at Gollum. But he found Gollum to be swifter than he had reckoned, and within seconds, Gollum was atop the poor hobbit, his cold, clammy fingers wrapped around his neck. Philip wrapped an arm around Gollum's scrawny form and pulled, but Gollum's grip on Sam was too strong. Finally, with one last furious tug, Philip wrenched Gollum away from Sam, flinging him into the dirt. Frodo was swiftly above Gollum, his sword drawn and aimed at the creature's neck.

"This is Sting," he murmured threateningly. "You've seen it before, haven't you, Gollum?"

It was only now that Fern was able to see fully what Gollum looked like. He was smaller than the hobbits, pale and thin. Stringy pieces of hair clung to his scalp, and his blue, bloodshot eyes were wide with fear. He wore only a single scrap of cloth around its waist.

"Don't hurt us," Gollum whimpered, cowering pitifully on the dirt. "Don't let them hurt us, Precious! Gollum, gollum!"

"Well, what shall we do with him?" asked Philip. "I mean, we can't just let him go."

"Tie him up," said Sam, "so he can't come sneaking after us."

Gollum shook his head frantically. "That would kill us! Kill us! Cruel hobbitses, wanting to kill us!"

"It's no more than you deserve," growled Sam.

"We cannot kill him," said Fern. "He has done us no real harm."

"Done us no real harm?" Philip stared incredulously at Fern. "Fern, he tried to kill us in our sleep! If that's not harm enough, I don't know what is."

Frodo was silent, deep in thought. He paid no heed to the sniveling pleas of the creature before him, nor the urgent cries from those behind him. Finally, he spoke. "I will not harm him," he said, "for now that I see him, I do pity him."

Philip's mind wandered back to when Hope recounted the hunt for Gollum several months ago. She said that she could see similarities between our situation and Gollum's, he thought, but I cannot see them. All I see is a wretched creature who deserves no more than death.

Gollum grinned, displaying rows of pointed yellow teeth. "Yes, precious, nice hobbitses won't kill us!"

"We won't kill you," said Frodo, "but we won't let you go free either." He turned to Sam. "Bring out you rope, Sam. We may have use for it yet."

Glowering, Sam rummaged through his pack, pulling out the silvery coil of rope. "It ought to go around his neck," he muttered, "and in a tight noose too." Sam handed it to Frodo, who gently tied the cord around Gollum's ankle. But as soon as the rope touched Gollum's skin, the wretched creature began to wail, shrieking and screaming like some wild animal.

"Oh, make him stop!" cried Philip, clapping his hands over his ears. "Every orc in Mordor will hear this racket!"

"Cruel rope, it burns us!" whined Gollum. "Nasty Elveses twisted it! Take it off us! We will do whatever you asks of us…We swears!"

At this, Frodo stopped pulling, staring at Gollum with something resembling compassion in his eyes. "I do not trust you," he said. "And there is no oath you can make that would change that."

"We swears…we swears to serve the master of the Precious," whimpered Gollum. "We swears to not touch the Precious, or try to harm nice hobbitses and boyses, and even nasty Elveses…we swears on the Precious!"

"He's trying to trick us!" Sam yelled. "He'll throttle us in his sleep if we let him go!"

Frodo seemed to ignore Sam, regarding Gollum warily for a moment. The creature had stopped struggling and was now staring up at Frodo with hopeful eyes. "The Ring is cruel," Frodo declared, "and it will hold you to your word."

"Yesss…on the Precious!" Gollum nodded his head fiercely. "On the Precious!"

Frodo crouched low, looking straight into Gollum's eyes. "Gollum," he asked, "you know the way to Mordor, correct?"

Gollum nodded. "Yes."

"You've been there before?"

Again, Gollum nodded. "Yes."

Frodo sighed and reached over, untying the knot from around Gollum's ankle. "You will lead us to the Black Gate," he commanded, and Philip was surprised by the sudden severity of the normally gentle hobbit's voice.

Gollum froze for a moment and then grinned. "To the Gate!" he cried, leaping up. "To the Gate, Master says! Yes!"

With a joyful shriek, Gollum bounded off, scampering over the rocks with surprising speed. "Whoa, wait!" Philip cried, racing to gather his stuff and follow Gollum. "Wait for us!"

Gollum peeked up from over a boulder. "Hurry! Hurry!"

Philip shook his head and groaned. "I have a feeling that this won't end well."

~o*o*o*o~

"Blood has been spilt this night."

Both Boromir and Hope turned to stare at Legolas, eyebrows raised. "How do you know?" asked Hope.

"The red sun rises," the Elf explained, gazing towards the east. "It is an old proverb of the Elves and has been found true on many an occasion."

"I do not doubt your words, Legolas," said Boromir, "but I do hope it was only Uruk blood that was shed and not the blood of humans or halfings." Hope merely nodded in agreement.

Further ahead, Aragorn crouched low, examining the turf. Suddenly, his head snapped up, and he motioned for the others to hide behind a large boulder. A low rumbling shook the earth, and Hope could just barely hear the sound of galloping hooves charging across the fields. Like a great wave, a company of horsemen, at least a hundred in number, crested the hill, their helms and spears flashing in the noon sun. Nearly all were clad in silver mail, carrying shields that bore a golden sun and a white horse upon fields of red and green.

Boldly, Aragorn strode out of their hiding spot, leaping atop a boulder. "Hail, Riders of Rohan!" he called. "What news have you?"

"Are you mad?" Boromir hissed, roughly seizing Aragorn's shoulder in a futile attempt to drag the Ranger back behind the boulder. "They will not trust a group of outsiders in a time like this!"

Aragorn did not move. "They are enemies of Saruman and the Uruk-Hai, like us," he replied coolly. "They may be able to aid us on our hunt."

"Or they may spear us through," Gimli muttered, rising up to stand beside them. Legolas and Hope soon joined them, and there the five stood, awaiting the Riders.

With surprising agility, the Riders wheeled around, charging towards the five companions. The horsemen swiftly surrounded them in a tight ring of spears, some no more than an arm's length away. Some of the horsemen had arrows readied on their bows, and many were glaring fiercely down at the Five Hunters. Then one rode forward, built taller and broader than the rest. A golden brown horsetail flowed from his helm, and a thick golden beard covered his chin.

"Who are you, and what business do you have in the lands of Rohan?" the Rider demanded. "Speak quickly!"

Gimli tightened the grip upon the handle of his axe. "Give me your name, horsemaster, and I shall give you mine."

To the Dwarf's surprise, the rider chuckled. "Ah, but shouldn't the stranger declare himself first?" he said. "Nevertheless, I am Erkenbrand of Westfold."

"The Westfold?" Boromir asked. "But that is far from here. Why are you leading a patrol so far from your station?"

Erkenbrand dismounted, gazing solemnly at the ground. "My company and I are no patrol," he replied. He then gazed up at Boromir. "But who are you, and how are you so knowledgeable about the lands of Rohan?"

"I am Boromir, son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor," Boromir declared, a slightly proud note in his voice.

"Ah," said Erkenbrand. He removed his helm, revealing the long flaxen hair common to those of the Rohirrim. "And, pray tell Boromir, who are your companions?"

"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn," said Aragorn, "and this is Gimli, son of Glóin, Legolas of Mirkwood, and Hope of the North. We are friends of Rohan, and of your king."

Erkenbrand frowned. "You cannot both be a friend of Rohan and of Théoden King. I said before that we are no patrol, are that is because we have been banished for our loyalty to our land. Théoden King no longer knows friend from foe."

"But surely he knows who is the enemy?" Boromir asked.

"I do not believe so," said Erkenbrand. "Rumor has said that the king's mind is poisoned, and it is his advisor Gríma Wormtongue who is in charge now." He shook his head. "But now that I have finished my prattle, tell me: what is your business in these lands?"

"We track a pack of Uruk-Hai westward across the plains," said Legolas. "They have taken three of our companions captive."

Hope nodded. "Two were hobbits, only children in your eyes. The other was a young girl of my age, one of your people."

"We encountered Uruks in the night," said Erkenbrand, "but we did not see any captives."

"Do you know where they might have gone?" Boromir asked earnestly.

"They will not have gone anywhere," Erkenbrand answered, "for they are all dead. I saw none alive after the battle."

The color drained from Boromir's face. "They're…dead? All of them?"

Erkenbrand nodded. "We piled the carcasses and burned them," he said, pointing to a pillar of white smoke in the distance. The Rider's eyes softened as he saw the despair upon their faces. "There is a chance that your companions may have escaped during the battle, however. Though darkness may have overtaken the land, there is hope still." The five numbly nodded, only half-listening.

Erkenbrand mounted his horse before beckoning to the riders behind him. "Hasufel, Arod, Fréowine!" he called. Three horses, one dark-grey, one white, and one chestnut-colored trotted forward. "May these steeds bear you to better fates than their former masters." Erkenbrand fastened his helm about his head. "Search for your friends, and hold fast to hope. We ride north! Farewell!"

The five companions watched silently as the Riders of Rohan galloped away, thundering across the dry plains. After a moment, Aragorn turned towards the others. "Come," he said, swinging up into Hasufel's saddle. "Let us go."

Legolas mounted Arod, helping Gimli into the saddle behind him. The poor Dwarf looked about as comfortable as Samwise Gamgee in a boat. Hope rode together with Boromir astride Fréowine. The horses of Rohan were swift, and within moments, the five found themselves nearing the smoldering pile of carcasses. The stench of death mingled with the smoke in the air. A single Uruk head was rammed onto a pike in the ground, a sign of the Rohirrim's victory and a warning to any other orcs or Uruk-Hai to pass through the land. Aragorn swiftly dismounted Hasufel, gingerly beginning to search through the blackened pile for any sign of their friends. Boromir and Gimli joined his search, but it was Gimli who found the belt.

He would have passed it off as yet another ordinary charred lump of metal were if not for the intricately wrought design still visible despite the ashes, the design that was almost identical to the belt fastened around Boromir's waist.

"It's one of their wee belts," the Dwarf whispered, fat tears forming in the corner of his eyes. Legolas bowed his head, murmuring a hushed prayer in Sindarin. Hope sank to her knees, silently cursing every evil thing she could possibly think of while tears streamed down her face. Boromir let out an anguished cry as he kicked down the pike with the Uruk's head on it.

"This is all my fault," he muttered softly, shaking his head as he began to cry. "I'm sorry…so very sorry…"

Aragorn lashed out at an abandoned Uruk helmet, screaming in rage as he kicked the thing before collapsing onto his knees. Hope gazed dejectedly at the horizon. "We've failed," she whispered. "I failed."

Suddenly, Aragorn straightened. "A hobbit lay here," he murmured, gently brushing the dried grass from the ground. "And the other...Their hands were bound."

Boromir opened his mouth to tell him that there was no point anymore, but Hope shushed him. She quickly stood, running to Aragorn's side. The elder Ranger was now on his feet, following the faintest of tracks in the grass. "They were crawling…" He picked up a ragged piece of rope from the ground. "Their bonds were cut."

Hope, who was only a few feet behind Aragorn, frowned as another set of tracks blurred with the first. "They were followed."

"The tracks lead away from the battle," called Aragorn, running now. Boromir, Legolas, Gimli, and Hope were not far behind him, newfound hope in their eyes. Suddenly, Aragorn stopped, staring deep into a dark, murky forest.

"…and into Fangorn Forest."

Yeah, so no Hunter this time around. It wouldn't fit.

On a completely different note, you all probably noticed Erkenbrand took the place of Éomer in the story. That's because:

1. After thinking about it, I realized that I REALLY, REALLY don't like Éomer. (Yeah, PenFreak, I know, can I join your "Éomer is a WEENIE" Club now?)

2. …that's actually the only reason I can find. I just really don't like Éomer.

So, Erkenbrand is basically my attempt to meld what happened in the books with what happened in the movie while having it all still be logical. I know, it doesn't really make much sense right now, but just trust me on this, okay? I think I know what I'm doing.

Anyways, please review!