DISCLAIMER: I only own here the cringe-worthy idea of mixing celebrities and their fictional characters in with a SERIOUS story. Apart from that, all characters and places, I disclaim.

A/N: This is more-or-less revised because I've added a little more in and merged chapters and so on. I seem to not find myself happy with the nickname I have given one of the real people that have made themselves well known in this story, so I have been changing 'snippets' here and there, just to make the story not so… 'Eurgh. A FANGIRL'. You know what I mean. Anyway, I'll let you read on. And we start at the prologue, or a 'sneak peek' ^_^...

PROLOGUE:

Frodo did not know why he was so reluctant to leave Lorien; how he had grown to love it, there was no real answer. It was understandable that the place was indeed enchanting, even if it did carry a strange vibe, so that you constantly looked over your shoulder. Perhaps it was the knowing of seeking refuge there, after the terrible happenings of Moria. Perhaps it was the elves, or the Lady Galadriel. Frodo did not know what it was, but he had left Lorien, and he knew that he was reluctant in doing so.

In such a manner of deep thought, Frodo had not realised that he had wandered away from the rest of the Fellowship as they settled on the Eastern Shore. He struggled through the greenery of the forest, unaware of his situation. He had a distant feeling that somewhere in his head, that something was not right.

It was not until then that the sharp bite of reality came suddenly back to him when a cloak was thrown fiercely over his head.

Read on...

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"Frodo…"

It's the Ring... don't destroy it... let it be spared...

"Frodo… it wants it… yes it does… precioussssssss..."

It was calling softly, lulling... then the word got louder, and louder. And louder…

"PRECIOUSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS…"

It began to shriek… shriek until it felt like Frodo's brain was going to blow. It SCREAMED… until he could bear it no long-

"NO…!"

Frodo awoke with a start and sat up stiffly, raising a hand at the sudden light in his eyes. Several figures were around him; he could see their faces twisted in concern: Pippin, Merry, Sam, Legolas, Gimli... he just wanted to be left alone.

"What is it, halfling?" Legolas asked quietly. He ushered the others away and sat down beside Frodo. Frodo hesitated to show the Elf that he was in trouble, but Legolas' expression was of genuine concern. He began.

"I... heard it again... the ring... What did I do? Why was everyone standing over me like that?" Frodo realised he was still in Lorien.

"You were shouting in your sleep. Started shaking… like leaves… in Autumn…" Legolas' voice, as comforting as it was, did not have any effect on Frodo; it sounding almost as if he were in his own dream; he never usually spoke like that. He discovered that indeed, he was still shaking, and clutching the Ring tightly in his right hand and could not unclasp it.

"Maybe you should try and get some more rest. You'll feel better in the morning," Legolas suggested.

"I can't," Frodo replied blankly, "I am very tired, but it… hurts… to sleep"; his own words puzzled him.

"Well then, think of The Shire, and of Bilbo, I know you are fond of him, and sleep will do you some good, Master Frodo."

"Yes, but still?" Legolas did not understand the damage of the Ring. He did not know that sleep would not do Frodo any good.

"Master Frodo, if my heart were not so troubled of grief, then I would attempt to comfort you more than I already have done. But we are all weary with fatigue and sorrow." Legolas looked down at this point, and Frodo felt guilty for expecting more from the wisdom of Legolas, especially after the passing of Gandalf. He spoke up.

"I'm sorry, Legolas: thank you. I should not have expected any more wisdom from you than already has been said. You can leave me in peace now, and come to terms with what you need," and then stopped inn wonderment as the elf's beset eyes started to brim with tears. He laid a hand on his shoulder, unable to think of anything to say.

"Thank you, Frodo" Legolas gave half a smile to him in the hope that Frodo would believe that all was right, and looked into his eyes, but Frodo only would tear his away; the anguish would also fall upon him as it did upon Legolas. Legolas blinked and arose with a sigh, and settled back down to his own slumber.

"Why..." Frodo asked himself, and once again wished that the Ring had never come to him.

He could not prise his own hand off of the Ring, and so, defeated by his own will, he sank back against the tree roots that he was resting against. He looked up towards the sky and shuddered, falling once again, into troubled sleep.

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*Four Days Later*

Frodo did not know why he was so reluctant to leave Lorien; how he had grown to love it, there was no real answer. It was understandable that the place was indeed enchanting, even if it did carry a strange vibe, so that you constantly looked over your shoulder. Perhaps it was the knowing of seeking refuge there, after the terrible happenings of Moria. Perhaps it was the elves, or the Lady Galadriel. Frodo did not know what it was, but he had left Lorien, and he knew that he was reluctant in doing so.

In such a manner of deep thought, Frodo had not realised that he had wandered away from the rest of the Fellowship as they settled on the Eastern Shore. He struggled through the greenery of the forest, unaware of his situation. He had a distant feeling that somewhere in his head, that something was not right.

It was not until then that the sharp bite of reality came suddenly back to him when a cloak was thrown fiercely over his head.

The response from his muffled cry was one of the most terrifying answers he had ever received in his life yet.

"Quiet you, or those lovely blue eyes won't be the only thing I gouge," a smooth but dangerously calm, English voice sneered in reply.

"What- what are you doing!" Frodo cried as he managed to duck, and turned to face him.

He was tall and olive skinned, dressed respectfully but for a travel-stained cloak, his hazel coloured eyes stared in anger and hatred for the hobbit. Frodo's hand flew to the hilt of his sword as the man advanced, towering above the 3"10 hobbit. The man drew a smaller thinner blade; it was grey, purple and rusted at the hilt, but with a poisonous black blade that Frodo knew only too well.

"Eru... a Morgul-" He stammered to himself, backing away slightly.

"Just the one." The man smiled flagitiously to himself and jabbed the Morgul Blade forward mockingly, as though to scare the halfling. Frodo raised his Elven sword, Sting, in defence and his free hand flew to his left shoulder.

"What do you want?" Frodo raised his head and tried to look the man in the eye, but the powerful stare met him and his eyes faltered.

"Look, let's be straight" the man began, tauntingly casual, "you're a 'pretty boy'". Frodo remained confused. The man imitated a young girl's voice, "Ooh look it's Frodo Baggins! Isn't he sooo cute?" He returned to his normal chilling voice, "I. Don't. Like. People. Like. You. I have a career to uphold, and YOU! You are standing in the way. Fucking hobbits. ALWAYS HAVE TO BE THE ONE STEP CLOSER. And look… oblivious… so I am going to get rid of you." He stepped forward, once again towering over Frodo, sneering at him. Frodo stepped back and stifled a cry of terror. Still, he managed to recover his senses.

"Wh- Who are you?" He stammered, petrified.

"Who am I… WHO AM I?! The man yelled once again, but realised that he was flying off the handle for no reason, and stepped back. Once again, in his sneering voice, he replied:

"Just call me Orli."

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A/N: More coming soon!