The Fellowship of the Novel Characters: Chapter Six
Hey everyone. So sorry I didn’t post last week, but I was so tired and had zero inspiration. But now I’m back with the story. Please enjoy!
Warning: Lord of the Rings is rated PG-13, and while my writing will not be excessively gory, it will reflect the darkness and death that the Fellowship had to face. Also, spoilers.
Summary: Last time, the hobbits had noticed Strider watching them in Bree, and before they knew it he’d whisked Frodo away.
Table of Contents:
We raced up the stairs, Luke attempting to keep up. “Ow!” A man with an eyepatch and a grizzled remain of a beard growled at me as I slammed into him. “Watch it!”
“Sorry!” I darted around him and up the last few steps to the landing where the hobbits and Candace were examining the door. “Which one is he in?”
“Don’t know,” panted Candace. Merry was squinting at the doors, then Sam pointed to the bottom of one.
“Look!” he whispered. “There’s movin’ shadows!”
“That could be anyone,” said Candace.
“It’s our only hope,” said Sam, testing the door and finding it unlocked. He barged through the door and held up his fists. “Let ‘im go or I’ll have you, Longshanks!” Merry and Pippin brandished their makeshift weapons, and Luke yapped.
The man talking to Frodo had pulled out his sword and for a moment my stomach churned, but he sheathed it. “You have a stout heart, young hobbit, but that will not save you.” He turned to Frodo. “You can no longer wait for the wizard, Frodo. They’re coming for you.”
“Who’s they?” asked Candace, scooping Luke up and wrapping her hand around his snout to quiet him.
The man looked at her grimly, sizing her up, then turning to me. “You’re out of place among four hobbits.”
“We’re friends,” said Candace. “Anyways, you kidnapped Frodo, so I’d say you’re more out of place. We don’t even know your name.”
“Strider,” he said. “Make yourselves at home. There’s enough beds if four of you share two beds.”
I pulled Candace to the bed closest to the door and we shed our packs, kicking them under the bed. “Can we trust him?” I whispered, pulling off my shoes and rubbing my ankles.
“Do we have a choice?” Candace set Luke on the bed and plopped down, taking off her shoes. Luke hopped off the bed, and before Candace could grab him, moseyed right over to Strider and leapt up, placing his stubby paws on the man’s leather boots and scrabbling desperately on the slick surface. Strider knelt, balancing on the balls of his feet, and ruffled Luke affectionately between the ears. Sitting, Luke offered one paw in a handshake of friendship. Strider smiled and shook Luke’s paw.
“Luke!” called Candace. “Food!” Luke turned away from Strider, running towards us. Candace poured some of the pet food Gandalf had cobbled together (it was just a jar full of shredded chicken) onto the floor and Luke began to eat.
“Get some rest,” said Strider, switching from cute-puppy phase back to scary-not-trustworthy-guy phase. “We leave early tomorrow.”
***
I shot awake at an unknown sound coming from a room across the hall. Horses whinnied outside the window and I sat up, trying not to wake Candace in my fear. Strider sat at the window and the other hobbits were sitting up. Luke, luckily, was sleeping soundly. After a moment there was a loud crash and high shrieking. I plugged my ears.
“What are they?” asked Frodo.
“What are what?” asked Candace groggily, sitting up.
“They were once great kings of Men.” Strider thoughtfully tapped his pipe against his teeth. “Then Sauron the Deceiver gave to them nine rings of power. Blinded by their greed, they took them without question, one by one falling into darkness. Now they are slaves to his will.”
I sat, picking at a loose thread on the hem of my tunic as I turned over his words. I knew we were in another world, but every odd occurrence, every one of Strider’s words pounded that point firmer into my mind. I watched as he turned away from us, still chewing on his unlit pipe as he watched our pursuers gallop off. “They are the Nazgûl. Ringwraiths. Neither living nor dead. At all times they feel and are drawn to the presence of the One Ring. They will never stop hunting you.”
My eyes widened. At home I’d always been afraid of zombies when I was little. I’d hide under the blankets at night, ears straining for unearthly moans and eyes scanning the shadows outside my window. When I got older I’d outgrown it, but zombies still creeped me out. Now they were here. “They’re like zombies?”
Strider glanced over his shoulder at me. “I don’t know what that is.”
“Rotting, undead people.”
“Ah. They’re undead, but they’re certainly not rotting.” He set his pipe down. “They’re phantoms, not corpses.”
“Oh.” Ghosts had always fascinated me.
The next morning we woke at the crack of dawn and packed our things, setting out. The journey went well, but we were still uncertain about Strider. “Where are you taking us?” Frodo asked.
“Into the wild,” said Strider dismissively. He turned to observe the moss on a tree before continuing without so much as a glance at us.
Merry sidled up to Frodo. “How do we know this Strider is really a friend of Gandalf’s?” His voice was a whisper.
Frodo matched his tone to Merry’s. “I’d think a servant of the Enemy would look fairer and feel fouler.”
“He’s foul enough,” muttered Merry. I personally didn’t think he was too foul, but kept out of their personal dispute.
“We have no choice but to trust him.”
“But where’s he leading us?” whispered Sam.
Strider spoke from ahead. “To Rivendell, Master Gamgee. To the House of Elrond.”
Sam’s face lit up, and he turned to Frodo. “Did you hear that, Mr. Frodo? We’re going to the land of the Elves!” I smiled, instantly thinking of Christmas.
As we continued it began to snow. We walked for a while longer before Sam stopped us. “Time to eat,” he said, holding our pony Bill by the reins. “Help me get everything out.” We began helping unload Bill and my stomach growled as I remembered the slab of bacon we’d brought with us.
“We do not stop until nightfall,” said Strider, turning to face us.
“What about breakfast?” Pippin asked indignantly.
“You’ve already had it,” said Strider, looking as puzzled as I felt.
“We’ve had one, yes, but what about second breakfast?” I was personally up for second breakfast, but Strider just turned and kept walking.
Merry sighed. “Don’t think he knows about second breakfast, Pip.” Merry patted his friend on the shoulder, and I sighed as I slid the paper-wrapped bacon back into the saddlebag, tying it shut.
“Doesn’t know about second breakfast?” Pippin caught up with his friend, who had slung his pack over his shoulder and was walking ahead. “What about elevenses? Luncheon? Afternoon tea? Dinner? Supper?”
Merry shrugged. “I wouldn’t count on it.”
“He has to eat something other than breakfast,” said Candace. “I mean, it’s not healthy otherwise.” I opened my mouth to add my two bits but was cut off as an apple came sailing through the trees. Merry caught and patted Pippin on the shoulder, continuing forward. Another apple flew right over Candace and whacked Pippin in the head.
***
The sun was setting when we reached our destination. A stone ruin perched on top of a mound. “The great watchtower of Amon Sûl,” Strider said somewhat wistfully. “We shall rest here tonight.”
“Yes, we shall,” mocked Candace, smirking as she shifted a groggy Luke in her arms. Strider shot her a disapproving look, and she tilted her head to the side and gave him an innocent smile. We climbed to the top of the hill and sat, exhausted. Strider pulled a bundle out and undid the string around it, pulling out swords and tossing them to us.
“These are for you. Keep them close.” He stood. “I’m going to have a look around. Stay here.”
“What about sleep?” I asked, watching as Luke paced a circle on the stained stone before curling up.
“Take turns,” he said. “Someone needs to be on watch at all times.” With that, he disappeared.
“I’m going to sleep,” said Candace.
“Me too,” I said.
Frodo had already wrapped himself in his cloak and was halfway to dreamland. “Night,” I said, lying down and pillowing my head on Luke.
***
“Put it out, you fools! Put it out!” I woke to Frodo screaming and flecks of ash drifting into my eyes.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, sitting up and rubbing my eyes. It was dark but I could see Frodo stamping on the last embers of the fire.
“Ash on my tomatoes, that’s what’s wrong!” said Pippin. “I–” he didn’t finish as a shriek cut through the night.
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