Pippin stifled a cry as his father’s fist connected with his cheekbone, sending him reeling in pain, and searching for a free hand to apply pressure with. Paladin grabbed one of his son’s blood covered hands, twisting it behind his back. Pippin didn’t even bother to hold back the tears – he hadn’t before. They fell freely. As Paladin delivered another blow, smearing blood across Pippin’s forehead, Pippin was forced to wonder ‘Why?’

Bilbo had long since left. He wanted to stay, absolutely outraged at the $*#%pieness of the Thain. It would be so easy, he said, to come along..or hide in the woods and follow..

"How would you stay unseen?" Pippin had asked, looking confused.

"I…eh.." Bilbo stuttered. "I’ll hide in the woods, and follow."

"But what if you’re caught? Please, Mr. Bilbo, just go for help. Get Frodo, and Merry, and Samwise."

Frodo and Sam had left as well. Pippin heard them pass by, whispering concernedly to each other. Neither of them realized that the hobbit they were worrying about was only ten feet away..

My friends, Pippin thought to himself. He went numb, not feeling his body being pushed back into a tree. He did not see his father withdraw a cuff from his pocket, the kind the Mayor used to lose up people who did something wrong (which rarely happened). He did not feel a cuff snap around his wrist, and the other one around a sturdy tree branch. He did, however, feel as Paladin grabbed his free hand and twisted it.

~~

Sam and Frodo walked down the Hobbiton street silently, side by side. They had conversations earlier, the topics ranging from "I’m worried about Pippin" to "Sam, I’m very worried about Pippin". They had other reasons for not talking, too. Their subject of conversation had attracted the attention of passer-by hobbits, who often doubled back to pass-by seven or eight times more to catch what they were saying. Apparently, the thought of a powerful hobbit beating his children was high-rated gossip that day.

"Soooo," said a voice behind them. They turned simultaneously to find Ted Sandyman strolling towards them. "I hear the Thain tried to kill his boy – What’s his name? P-something."

"His name is Peregrin," Frodo replied hotly. "And-"

"He is absolutely none of your business," Sam finished for him. "You can’t believe everything you hear, Sandyman." He said, resting a hand on his Master’s shoulder. "Now, why don’t you get along now, and we’ll pretend this meeting never took place."

Ted grinned wryly, a cool expression spreading over his face. He leaned against a nearby picket fence, crossing his feet. An angry, and yet, at the same time, calm feeling seemed to radiate from him.

"I also hear," he said slowly and clearly, as if he wanted to make sure he they heard, "That Bilbo Baggins is going to depart on the eve of his birthday and never come back. Can I believe that?"

Frodo’s mouth fell open, and he drew back. "How dare you say that?!" he cried. "Bilbo wouldn’t leave!" He turned to Sam – "Would he?"

Spasms of pure fear crossed Frodo’s face. Sam smiled weakly, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze and looking his straight in the eye. "If Mr. Bilbo were to leave, Frodo, he would tell you. No worries. We can’t believe anything Ted Sandyman tells us."

"That’ll be Sir Ted Sandyman to you!" The older hobbit said smugly, over hearing them. "I’m assisting the Mayor know. He says I can set peoples’ priorities straight."

"Ah..I’m curious, Sandyman," said Sam as he brushed past him, leading a nearly frozen Frodo in front of him, "When were you promoted from ‘Scoundrel’ to ‘Sir’?"

Had either of them turned back, they would have seen the outraged look on Sir Ted Sandyman’s face. But they didn’t. And they didn’t see him run down the street, shoving people out of his way to get to the Mayor’s Smial.

"Sam, is Bilbo going to leave?"

"No, Mr. Frodo."

"You’re sure?"

"Yes, Mr. Frodo."

"So he is leaving?"

"No, Mr. Frodo."

~~

Pippin awoke not long after he fell asleep. He was dangling, half standing and half sitting. His hand tingled, and was otherwise numb. He wondered if there was any blood left in his hand – Or in his body, for that matter. He wrapped his free arm around the tree, planning to pull himself up. He was instead rewarded with extensive pain from his snapped wrist. He groaned, slowly resting his hand in his lap.

A giggle alerted his attention. His head snapped up, making a creaking noise like a rusty hinge on a door that hadn’t been opened in years.

"Who’s there?" he called timidly. If it was a little (younger than him, anyway) hobbit child, he would not understand, instead insisting on playing a rough-and-tumble game.

No one stepping out. No one came to free him. No one told him everything would be okay..Because he was not wanted. An unwanted piece of luggage, as Merry said many times before. Good old Merry...At least he knew something about what he was going through.

How easy it would be, to cut his ankle on that rock, and let it bleed..or to scrape his broken wrist, and have it infected – and bleed..Blood. Blood was something he craved. He needed to see in. An intense desire came over him to watch blood drip off his skin, contrasting dark and light. He needed blood.

He slowly flexed his fingers, waking them from their numb slumber and checking to make sure they still worked. He bent his middle finger, digging into his palm with the nail. After a moment, he felt the wet liquid begin to seep out of the break and pool in the cup of his hand. It nearly gushed out – much faster than he expected it too. It began to run in tiny streams down his arm, reforming at the crook of his elbow and dripping to the ground. The pain in his hand was blinding..but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. He was clearly not wanted on this earth, and pain was no longer something that bothered him. Or blood.

"Hey," said a soft voice.

Pippin jumped in surprise. His nail dug deeper, and he left it, afraid to pull it out. He was comfortable the way he was. He was, however, uncomfortable. A newcomer had entered the scene. Tall, she was, and definitely not a hobbit. She brushed her auburn-blond hair behind her ear..She was an elf. She wore a long, flowing sky blue dress, the shadows of it glowing red when she moved.

"Carad Alu.." she whispered softly. Pippin supposed she was speaking Elvish – Highly likely. She kneeled next to him, and whispered ‘Amin naa Laitathraiel. Kaima, holbylta.’ In his ear. Pippin let out a soft sigh, closing his eyes. He fell asleep immediately.

Llie, ai holbylta, lirillndu, vithel kaima

Esta sii’, tan’ rath luume’ neved

Kaimel sii’, holbylta, karn ilanir’ lamya

Ten’ tul cael lisse’ kaimel lle dol luume’..

Now, holbylta, now hat’ lle elea,

Yamen’ lle lema, mellon lle karnasen

Kaimel, holbylta, yeste’ lastuva amin

Amin bel il sinome iire lle cuivde..

~~

~~

A/N: ~sigh~ This is taking *forever*...Note: The elvish in the last chapter translates as following:

Carad Alu = Red Water (I think)..A.K.A. Blood.

Amin naa Laitathraiel. Kaima, holbylta = I am Laitathraiel. Sleep, hole- dweller.

Llie, ai holbylta, lirillndu, vithel kaima

Esta sii’, tan’ rath luume’ neved

Kaimel sii’, holbylta, karn ilanir’ lamya

Ten’ tul cael lisse’ kaimel lle dol luume’..

Now, holbylta, now hat’ lle elea,

Yamen’ lle lema, mellon lle karnasen

Kaimel, holbylta, yeste’ lastuva amin

Amin bel il sinome iire lle cuivde.. = It roughly translates into the Hobbit Lullaby that I wrote, that will (hopefully) be used later in this chapter..

Llie, and Cuivde = Come, and Wake-up.

Note#2: It has come to my attention that some people were confused about where Paladin went when Pippin woke up. He left him. It was sort of explained in a paragraph, but I accidently left that paragraph out..It said about how hobbits sometimes leave their children in the wilderness, if they do not want them, or perhaps they were born wrong..And sometimes those hobbits are discovered by Elves and brought up. ~grins happily at the random tidbit of history she made up~ Me so *happy*..And: Laitathraiel is an elf I made up. I got her name from barrowdowns.com, by putting..ah..whatsit..D’Agostino, which is..eh..someone’s last name. And I got Vorthon from Adrienne, which is..eh..someone’s first name. (You might know who it is now..Dang. >.< ~steals all the stalker-notebooks) And I got Firuialion (Lait’s father) from John (something, I forget what one of the R’s stood for) Tolkien. But I did get all those from barrowdowns.com, so NO SUEING, PEOPLE!

Note#4Or3: When Merry and Frodo and Sam are talking, F+S have already reached Bag End. You’re just supposed to assume that. Okies? Okies.

OtherNote: It has come to my intention that some of you have *very* violent intentions, negative or positive..O.O

~~

Laitathraiel gently dabbed at the hobbit’s wounds. She lifted a delicate finger, slowly pulling loose the holbylta’s nail from his skin. Excess blood spilled out, and she wiped it off. ‘What has driven the halfling to do this?’ she thought. ‘Why has he been tortured so?’ Even from across the forest she heard his screams. Not real screams, but mental pleas for help. The sound nearly over-whelmed her. She was sure it had been an animal, wounded in hunt. She was going to heal it, until she found out that it was a halfling in trouble.

Laitathraiel was an elf, daughter of Firuialion and sister to Vorthon. She last dwelled in Rivendell, but she was fleeing, as many also were. Dark forces were growing. Sauron was regaining strength. Soon, an evil would rise. An evil so powerful that no place could protect you. Even Lothlorien might be lost to it. Nowhere was safe...except the Grey Havens. Many elves had gone in the last few years. They were alive during the reign of Sauron, and did not want to witness something like it again.

Laitathraiel reached out, stroking the holbylta’s cheek. He looked no older than six..But he was not man, as she had forgotten. On the ‘hobbit scale of maturity’, he was already eleven years old. Suddenly, the halfling began to stir. A whimper sounded in Laitathraiel’s brain. A heartbeat, then silence. Without warning, blood curling screams began to echo in her mind. She reeled, covering her ears as if trying to block out the sound. She rose to her feet, trying to run away. The sound deafened her and she fell to her knees.

"Kaima, holbylta," she choked out, reaching and placing a hand on his forehead. His screams rang out like bells, struck with iron mallets. She quickly lowered her other hand, fishing through her medicine pouch. She pulled out kaimellasse, a plant used to clear your mind of any thought. She crumbled the dry leaf in her hand, prying open the halfling’s mouth. She sprinkled the leaves on his tongue, then pressed his lips together. She ran a finger down his throat, urging him to swallow. After a moment, the screams turned back to whimpers, then to sighs, and then to nothing.

Laitathraiel looked up sharply. She could sense another elf walking nearby.

"Vorthon, I know you’re there," She said softly. "Come out, for you are no good at hiding."

A pale skinned elf with long, dark hair drawn into a half ponytail stepped from behind a tree. His bow was cocked, an arrow fitted, pointing ahead. He paused, lowering it.

"I was sure you didn’t hear me," Vorthon said. "You were far too engrossed with the holbylta."

Laitathraiel gave her brother a reprimanding look. "Just because you cannot hear him doesn’t mean you cannot see him. Pity him, Vorthon, even if he is a halfling. He is hurt."

Vorthon kneeled next to her. "What wounded him?"

The feminine elf reached up, swiftly snapping the branch that the Halfling was bound to. His hand fell limp in his lap, but the other end was still around his wrist. "He did. As far as I can tell, it was all him."

"He did?" Vorthon repeated. He reached into a hidden breast pocket, and pulled out a thin vial. He handed it to her silently.

Laitathraiel balanced the vial under the cuff, pulling out the crystal stopper. A red mist floated out, and surrounded the wood. The cuff burst into flame and disintegrated within seconds.

She focused her attention on his other wrist. It was clearly sprained, if not broken, and horribly bloody. She pulled out a strip of silky cloth from her pouch, and another vial. She pulled out the stopper, and tipped the vial horizontally. A clear liquid dripped onto the halfling’s wrist. It made a sizzling noise, bubbling and hissing. After a moment, it soaked into his skin. It turned from peach-tan to a clear, blue-ish ice color. Laitathraiel wrapped the cloth around his wrist, looping it around his palm and tying it.

"Come now," Vorthon said finally, taking a-hold of his sister’s arm and pulling her up to her feet. "He is no longer our concern. We must rejoin with the clan."

"Can’t I stay a little longer, just until he wakes up?" Laitathraiel begged, looking forlornly at the figure slumped against the tree.

"No!" Vorthon cried. He paused. "No," he repeated quietly. "He cannot know we were here, or that we did this. Holbylta’s and Elves seldom interact or make friends, and now is a poor time to start."

Laitathraiel bent over. "Cuivde," she whispered in the halfling’s ear. His eyes fluttered, and he groaned.

"Come!" Vorthon commanded hurriedly. "He’s waking up. Llie!"

As her brother pulled her deeper into the woods, Laitathraiel saw the halfling sit up. She waved meekly, watching him.

The holbylta looked at his surroundings, and then at her.

And he started to cry.

~~

"How long have you been here, Merry?"

"Hm? Oh, I’m not sure..A while, I’m guessing. I was asleep before ye came."

Frodo set down three plates at their respective spots on the table. Merry took a swig of (slightly diluted, though Sam decided not to tell him that) wine, pulling the plate closer to him.

"Was Pippin here when you came?" Sam asked.

"Bacon or Sausage?" interuppted Frodo, flipping a flatcake that lay in the griddle.

"Bacon," Merry said to Frodo, and then to Sam: "Yes, he was. But he went for a walk. He was in a hurry, though."

Frodo paused, turning back. "In a hurry? Do you know why?"

Merry shook his head, taking another sip of watered wine, as if it would help him remember. "Nay," he said, shaking his head. "He was edgy, and jumpy, though..Scared, or worried, in a way." A pause. "Oh!" Merry said suddenly. "And he gave me a letter."

"A letter?" Sam repeated instantaneously. "Let me see it," he commanded sharply.

"Well, you’re nosy, Sam! Been here only nine minutes and you’re already snooping through Mr. Bilbo’s letters. I’m impressed."

"For Shire’s sake, Merry, just give the envelope to me. It may be important."

"Oh fine," Merry huffed, digging the envelope out of his pocket and handing it to the demanding gardener. "I don’t see what could possibly be important about it."

Frodo walked around the table, drying his hands on a rag. Sam ripped the seal, pulling the letter out and unfolding it. "It’s Pippin’s handwriting," he confirmed after a moment. "But the letter itself makes no sense." He paused here, looking curiously and suspiciously at Merry. "It says he went to your house."

Merry blinked, grabbing the letter and looking it over. "To my house? That’s impossible – I was right here, there was no reason to go to my house.."

Frodo grabbed the letter from Merry, and looked it over. Yes, it was confusing.

"Wait!" Merry cried. "Wait, he told me something else..Bold! Yes, he told me to tell you bold."

Sam grabbed the letter from Frodo, scanning it again. "Yes! Yes, it makes sense now."

Merry and Frodo leaned over, watching Sam as he pointed to several words on the paper.

"See? Merry.."

"What?"

"Not you, that’s what it says..Merry, help me.." A concerned look stretched Sam’s features as he read the letter further. "Injured..taken..me home..Paladin."

"How do you get that?" Merry asked.

"The bold letters," Sam said, pointing to the letter. "Merry – Was Pippin alone when you first came?"

Merry nodded. "Yes, and then I..I left for a moment, and when I came back, he was all edgy."

Sam handed the letter to Frodo. "How long were you gone?"

"Five minutes, tops," Merry said softly. "Not that long.."

"So Paladin must’ve come when you were gone..And then he hid when you came back.."

"The back door was open, after he left..I felt a draft, and I went and found it open.."

"He left that way, I’m guessing." Sighed Sam. He paused (it was contagious that day). "Merry, how long was he gone?" Sam asked urgently.

"Eh..Maybe..an hour, possibly? Maybe longer?"

"An hour?" said Frodo in distress. He scurried around the table, pulling the griddle out of the fire and onto the counter. "We’ve got to find him! And Bilbo.." he added as an after thought.

"Bilbo?" said Merry. "Has he been kidnapped too?"

"We lagged on our way back from town..We lost him. But he should’ve been back by now.."

"Sam," Frodo said, pulling off his apron. "You come with me, and we’ll find Pippin. Merry, you will stay here in case he..comes back. Or if Bilbo comes back. Just give me a second."

Frodo turned, jogging down an adjacent hall. Once he disappeared from site, Sam groaned and sat at the table. "I knew that Thain was no good..Abusing his son.."

Merry showed no surprise at this, and made no remark. He bowed his head, mumbling something inaudible.

"What was that, Merry?"

"I said..I said, Sam," Merry drew back his collar, turning his back slightly towards Sam. The hobbit gardener could see a prominent scar on his lower neck that curved towards his front. "That the Thain does not care much for relatives either."

~~

Bilbo grimaced, waiting impatiently in the waiting hall of a Smial. He sat on a furnished, padded bench, waiting to see the Mayor of the Hobbiton.

"Mr. Baggins," a servant said, poking her head in from a hallway. "The Mayor will see you now, sir."

Bilbo stood up quickly, crossing to the door. The maid held it open, and he passed into the dimly lit room.

"Now, Sandyman," whispered a voice. "The Thain has enough on his hands. Just give him a bit of a break, will you? I have no evidence that he did anything wrong and I can’t just march in there and demand he stop..whatever he’s doing."

The Mayor did not seem to notice he had entered. "Now, *Mr.* Mayor," Bilbo heard the voice of Ted Sandyman say. "The Thain may be a very powerful hobbit, but he has no right to hurt his family like that. He-"

Bilbo cleared his throat pointedly, and Bilbo could hear Ted slap a hand over his own mouth. A lamp flickered on, revealing the worried face of the Mayor. Sandyman stood over him, glowering.

"Well, Mr. Baggins. ‘Tis a pleasant surprise to see you here."

"Pleasant," scowled Ted. He paused, "Indeed."

~~

A/N: DunDunDun! More Plot! ~collective gasp from audience~ Oh, stop it. Next Chapter: I’m not sure. I’ll tell you when I think of it..^.^ Please, review and tell me all the mistakes I made, because I know I overused about 239,392.8 words and that nothing makes sense..>.<