Others in the Shire besides Merry learned of the reward for Frodo’s head. Ted Sandyman overheard the gossip a couple of weeks earlier from his Bree cousins who were visiting the Shire. It seemed the answer to all his problems. The perfect way to get rid of the bothersome Frodo Baggins and improve Ted’s fortunes. Ted thought up a plan to take Frodo captive and turn him over to some Men free warriors in Bree. They would pay handsomely for the Ringbearer. One cousin agreed to be the intermediary between Ted and the Men. The meeting was arranged. Everything was set. After work Ted and Dibble retired to their usual table at the Little Fishies Inn.

“Look, Dibble,” Ted whispered over his beer to his friend, “I don’t want to kill Frodo. Just, you know, rough him up a bit. Then turn him over to the Big Folk I know. I’ve already arranged fer them to be awaiting fer us outside the Shire borders tomorrow. They’ll take that stinkin’ Baggins off my hands once and fer all. And we’ll get some gold out of it ta boot!”

“Teddy,” Dibble whispered back, “I won’t do it! Not this time. And don’t you do it neither! You’re in over yer head on this one, you is. You can’t trust Big Folk. They’re a shifty lot. It ain’t right neither. I don’t care how bad you hate him. You jest don’t do that to another hobbit! It’s like you’re killin’ him yerself, even if you don’t do tha actual dirty work. And don’t be thinkin’ Mister Baggins is some sort o’ softie, neither. Remember, he’s been ta war down South an all.”

”Been ta war down South? Well, I hear tell he didn’t do no actual fightin. Not like the Brandybuck and the Took.” Ted grumbled. “And even if he did see some fightin, he couldn’t stand up to me or you. But what sort of a pal are you when ya won’t come with me and take the ole sissy-britches on?”

“The sort that don’t want no part in this, that’s what sort I is,” Dibble shook his head.

“Look, Dibble, it’ll be real easy,” Ted continued. “He’s come back ta Shire all wounded-like, so he won’t be no problem fer the likes of us strong lads what work for a livin’. He fair crumpled up when I hit ‘im in the shoulder that time at the Green Dragon. I been watching Frodo’s movements for weeks now. Each Friday that righteous bastard goes to Hobbiton to meet with the doc. Sometimes they stay there. Sometimes they go on long walks in the countryside. But he always goes alone from Bag End down to Hobbiton at the same time every Friday. Every frickin’ Friday. Just like clockwork, he is.” Ted snickered. “And he don’t never carry no weapons neither. Tomorrow’s the day. I got it all worked out. The Big Folk are already to take him off my hands.”

“I don’t wanna hear ‘bout it,” Dibble crossly said. “I done told ya I don’t want no part in this, Teddy. Now leave me be. This is one time when I’m not gonna help ya out.” Dibble stood up and stiffly walked away.

“But … but Dibble,” Ted whined, “I was countin’ on ya.”

“Well, count me out!” Dibble growled as he went out and slammed the door behind him.

“Stupid chicken pansy,” Ted grumbled into his beer. “He can’t tell a good deal from bad. Well, that’ll leave all the gold ta me! I mean, how hard could it be to hobbitnap an old soft hurt bookworm like Baggins? Show him the cool glint of steel and he’ll be all mine.” Ted patted the hard hilt of his work knife, drained his beer and headed out into the chill night air.

Ted waited for an hour in the winter’s frost the next day. Awaiting the moment when Frodo would walk by himself down the lonely road to Hobbiton. And sure as clockwork, shortly after 2:30, Ted’s target appeared rounding the corner. Frodo was paying little attention to his surroundings, lost in thought and softly humming to himself. He strode down the frozen roadway, using his walking stick to steady himself against the occasional icy patch. His travel-worn Elvin cloak fluttered slightly in fitful gusts of wind out of the lead-grey skies.

Ted hid in the rusty-brown dead bracken lining the crossroads from Bywater; his heart pounding in anticipation. He no longer noticed the cold. He could feel little beads of sweat trickle through his thick chestnut hair and down his back. The frozen mud began to melt and puddle from the warmth of his feet. Ted concentrated on controlling his breathing. Couldn’t let the stinkin’ Baggins hear him. Just a little closer. A little closer …

‘Perfect,’ Ted thought, cautiously looking around one last time to make sure they were alone. ‘Just me and him.’ Ted drew his knife. Its chilled metal felt slightly slick as he gripped it in his sweating palm. Ted stepped out of the heather as Frodo passed through the intersection. In an instant Ted closed in behind his prey, clasping one hand over Frodo’s mouth and sliding the knife up against Frodo’s right side. Frodo skidded to a stop, stiffening in surprise.

“Now, don’t make no noise, Frodo,” Ted whispered in his ear. “Jest come wid me, and I’ll not tickle yer ribs with me steel. Come on. We’re goin’ ta take a nice little walk to see some Big Folk friends ‘o mine.”

Frodo stunned his assailant by forcefully throwing all his weight backwards into Ted’s stomach. Ted released his hold, allowing Frodo to spin around, cloak whipping in fury. Frodo instantly shifted his walking stick into both hands in a defensive gesture.

“Ted! What are you doing?” Frodo was confused at seeing that it was a fellow hobbit who had accosted him.

“If ya don’t come quietly wid me, Baggins, I might have ta make a little side trip in ta Hobbiton and take it out on yer pretty little bit of strumpet,” Ted sneered, waving the knife at Frodo’s face. “And ya wouldn’t want ta be the cause o’ somethin’ nasty happenin’ ta the Doc, now would ya? Come on. Drop yer stick and we’ll take our nice little Friday walk, eh?”

Frodo feinted with the staff as Ted lunged at him with the knife. Ted quickly realized he had chosen a terrible place for his ambush. The icy roadway was on an incline and only partially frozen. It instantly turned into slippery mud. Ted could not find good footing for his attack. However, neither could Frodo mount a secure defense. They both ended up loosing their footing in the slippery mire and ice, landing hard on the roadway. Frodo maintained his grip on the walking stick and attempted to incapacitate his assailant with a punch to the gut. But Ted grabbed the stick in one hand and used it to pull himself closer to his prey. They ended up in a tangle of grappling limbs, muddy flailing cloaks, and one terribly sharp knife.

“You leave Iris out of this,” Frodo hissed through clenched teeth.

Frodo was forced to drop his staff in an attempt to wrest the deadly knife out of Ted’s right hand. Sandyman made another lunge with the knife, stabbing Frodo directly in the stomach. But mysteriously, the knife slid off something metallic under Frodo’s clothes, slicing Frodo’s left forearm instead. Frodo desperately reached over for his discarded walking stick, and whacked Ted’s head with it, causing the knife to skitter away into a patch of semi-frozen muck.

The two combatants simultaneously leapt into the mud, reaching for the loose weapon. Ted fingered it first, but Frodo scrambled on top of him, mud spattering everywhere. Ted could hear the chink of metal links under Frodo’s now-filthy clothes. Frodo’s grip on Ted’s wrist slipped in the mud, and Ted seized his opportunity. He stabbed blindly and with grim satisfaction, felt his knife sink into Frodo’s flesh.

Frodo’s eyes widened in pain, then took on a maniacal glint. He spat directly into Ted’s face. Surprised, Ted sputtered and let go of the knife in order to claw the filth out of his eyes. That was all it took. With his left hand, Frodo grabbed Ted by the hair, pulled his head back, and then with his right hand ripped the knife out of his own thigh and jabbed the bloody point up under Ted’s throat. Ted squeaked in panic, legs flailing wildly against his enraged former prey.

Frodo was no longer battling an incredibly frightened and filthy fellow hobbit. Frodo looked upon a more familiar face. A too-familiar face from his recent past. A face with two enormous pale glowing eyes. Gollum’s face. Frodo was back at Emyn Muil again, struggling for his life with Gollum.

Unfortunately, Ted did not know this. The knife point pricked through his skin, causing a small trickle of warm blood to run down his exposed throat.

“If you move any more I’ll slit your worthless throat,” Frodo growled, the deadly intent of his words crystal clear with each frosty breath. Ted stopped, his hands frozen in an instinctive gesture of surrender.

“This is Sting. You have seen it before once upon a time. I will not hesitate to kill you, Gollum, if you do not do exactly as I say.”

“Who’s? Who’s Gollum?” Ted managed to squeak out through labored gasps. He had never seen Frodo like this. What had happened to the pacifist bookworm he knew? Ted couldn’t control his body and wet himself in his terror. “Please, Frodo, please don’t hurt me no more. Please don’t kill me! Oh, stars, please don’t kill me! I promise to leave you alone from now on! Oh, please Frodo. Don’t!”

“You have to swear to me before I will release you,” Frodo panted. Sweat rolled off his face, mingling with Ted’s and his own blood on the knife. But he did not release Ted’s hair, nor waver in pressing the knife slightly deeper into Ted’s throat. “Swear. Swear by the Precious.” Frodo’s leg bled profusely, staining the icy mud crimson and spattering onto Ted’s own breeches to become a stain diluted with Ted’s steaming urine.

“The Precious?” Ted was sobbing. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. Swear what?”

“Swear!” Frodo screamed, pressing the knife even deeper into Ted’s skin. “Swear by the Precious that you won’t harm It or me or anyone in the Fellowship! Swear!”

“I swear! I swear!” Ted cried out, weeping in his panic. “By the Precious, by whatever you want. I swear I won’t try to do ya no more harm. Nor harm the whatever-it-is, nor anyone in your Fellowship. I swear! Please don’t kill me, Frodo. Please? Oh, stars! Please don’t kill me, Frodo! Don’t kill me, Frodo! I swear!”

Frodo narrowed his eyes and stared intently at Ted for a moment, then slowly removed the knife from Ted’s throat. Frodo was panting heavily. Why was his leg hurting him so much? He released his grip from Ted’s hair and rocked backwards from sitting on Ted’s chest. Ah! His leg! He looked down to see a river of blood pooling atop the icy muck.

Ted seized the moment of Frodo’s confusion and pain. He shoved Frodo hard in the chest, sending the wounded hobbit spiraling into the mud still clutching the knife. In a moment Ted was running down the shortcut path. Running for his life.

Frodo was panic-stricken, angry and confused all at the same time. ‘Gollum!’ he thought. ‘Gollum’s tried to take the Ring!’ He dropped the knife and frantically searched for the familiar silver chain around his neck. There was a silver chain, but it did not contain the Precious. Some useless gemstone hung there instead. ‘It’s not there!’ He searched the mud of the roadway. Where was It? Where WAS It? Precious could not be found!

“Lost!” Frodo wailed into the cold air. “Lost it is! That filthy Gollum has pinched it! I cannot let It fall into his hands again!”

Frodo grabbed the knife and attempted to stand and follow Ted down the pathway. But there was something wrong with his left leg. Frodo stood and started down the barren trail, only to collapse in a heap as his leg gave way. He sat in the icy mud crying in despair, lost in faint wisps of memories, trying to piece together what was happening. “Lost!” he cried to the cruel wind.

Ted ran as he had never run in his life. After a few minutes of blind panic he slowed down to catch his ragged breath. Blood from the wound to his throat stained his shirt collar. He turned wildly to look back up the trail. No one was following him. But he had to get out! He had to find a safe place! Now! Whom could he turn to?

“Dibble!” Ted almost cried with relief. “Dibble will hide me. Dibble will help!” Ted ran and ran.

After a few minutes Frodo attempted to stand again, this time using his discarded walking stick as a crutch. He finally managed to stand upright and remain on his feet, but his leg hurt terribly. And his left arm was burning in pain. What was going on? His mind was as grey and foggy as the sky. He looked down and saw blood oozing from a deep wound in his thigh. How did that happen? Blood also dripped down the fingers of his hand from a slash on his left arm.

Frodo suddenly realized he was holding a knife. Did he have an accident? Did he fall in the road and hurt himself with the knife? But if so, why was he cut in two places? But he didn’t recognize the knife. It was not Sting. It wasn’t his. Whose knife was this? He was supposed to be somewhere right now. Where? Why was he standing in an icy crossroad covered in mud?

‘Iris’s place. That’s where I’m supposed to be right now.’ The thought popped unannounced into his skull. Frodo tried to shake the cobwebs from his muddled brain, but it was no use. His mind felt like it was made of light and fluffy cotton balls. ‘Guess I better get going then,’ he rationalized. The sudden pain in his left leg brought him back to reality. Clenching his teeth, he cut a strip off his cloak and bound his leg in a make-shift pressure bandage. Stars! He was wet and chilled and covered in mud. His teeth started chattering in the bitter cold.

Should he turn back and go to Bag End? No. That was uphill, and he was already more than half way to Hobbiton. Frodo grimaced and began limping on. After a few minutes he reached the outskirts of Bywater near the crossroads from Overhill. Theo Tuggle was driving his pony cart back to Hobbiton from a visit to his girlfriend when he saw Frodo collapse in a heap at the crossroads. Theo helped Frodo into his cart, covered him with a blanket, and transported him to the doctor’s offices in Hobbiton.