Title: Once Upon A Time: The Fellowship of the Ring  
Author: Arctapus, Helmboy, ]:> 
Codes: LOTR, Many, P-R, very long term story. 
Post: Sure. 
Archive: Okay. 
Disclaimer: I don't own them. I borrow them for  
entertaining and no copyright should be implied as  
infringed. 
Summary: A cold rainy day. 
PLEASE BEWARE: This is not a word-for-word. It is a tale  
told again in the setting of another time. License with  
the movie is given and all errors caused are my own. 
Feedback, criticism, comments and suggestions are sought  
and welcomed. Replies will be given in timely fashion if  
the ElfSLutsAnonymous list ever slows down. ;) 
***************************************************** 
 
Mid-afternoon, October 10 ... 
 
Droplets of water slid down the thick panes of glass as  
she sat at her table. It was cold outside and her  
daughter was ill. She had read every fairy tale known,  
including the ones written about her but Alice was still  
in need of entertaining. When she woke up, she would be  
ready for more stories and it was up to her to satisfy  
her lovely daughter's need for diversion. Sighing, she  
rose and walked to the stairs that led to the attic. 
 
Opening the door at the top, she walked to several  
trunks and opened on, pulling out a thick document that  
was bound in leather, silvery letters of some unknown  
type glittering among the dust motes and age wrinkles.  
There were three and she took them, carrying them down  
the stairs and into the sitting room, putting them on  
the divan next to the roaring fire. 
 
Settling herself, allowing for her bustle, she opened  
the first one, a treasured book from her childhood.  
Opening it, she smiled. She read to herself, the  
pleasure of another time filling her with deep  
contentment... 
 
"When Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag End announced that he  
would be shortly celebrating his eleventy-first  
birthday with a party of special magnificence, there  
was much talk and excitement in Hobbiton ..." 
 
Book One ... 
 
Chapter One ... The Beginning of things ... 
 
Frodo Baggins sat on the fence, watching as the people  
of his town went about the mad business of getting  
ready for a party unlike any other. His uncle, Bilbo  
Baggins, was having a party for his one hundred and  
eleventh birthday and everyone for miles around was  
invited. There was talk of surprises and the  
acknowledgement of what everyone believed to be true,  
that in the deep corridors and hallways of Bag End  
dragon treasure existed. 
 
Frodo didn't believe it of course. He was aware of  
other treasure, the memories and adventures of his  
unique relative that had filled his growing up and  
colored his perceptions of the world. He wanted to  
go and have his own, the bucolic atmosphere of the  
Shire much to slow for his own tastes. The only  
adventures he ever seemed to have were when he spent  
time with his cousins, a mixed bag of young and  
younger hobbits that never seemed to stay out of  
trouble. 
 
He stepped down from the fence and nodded to people  
passing as he walked through the village where the  
festivities were to be held. It was all too frantic  
for him and he walked to the hillside, book in hand  
for a little quiet reflection among the writings of  
his favorite novelist. He would escape the simplicity  
of the Shire through the words and deeds of a  
fictional character because he knew that would be the  
only way he would ever find such things. 
 
Into the woodlands he went, crossing fields and hillocks  
until he found a tree that beckoned him. Sitting down  
and pulling a grass stem to chew upon, he sat down and  
began an adventure of pirates raiding the faraway seas. 
 
*** 
 
She sighed and got up, pulling together a light tea  
and walked back, setting the tray on the small table  
before her. She poured a cup, a lemon slice and milk  
added and picked up her book, immersing herself once  
more ... 
 
***  
 
He rode along, singing to himself as he entered a  
realm blessed to him. The Shire was an enclave of  
peace for him, filled with interesting and child  
like individuals for whom an endless fascination  
had begun years and years before. The hobbits of  
Bag End were even more than usually wondrous for  
him. They were renegades to their own mores, people  
who stepped outside of their own limitations and  
found adventures and dangers to be worthwhile after  
a little prodding he considered. 
 
Bilbo had been magnificent in his battles with Smaug  
and he had changed greatly in his outlook. Contacting  
Gandalf to come, he had told him of his plans to  
leave the Shire and live among the Elves. Gandalf  
considered this practical, if a bit unusual because  
Bilbo would be frail with age.  
 
Trundling down the  
road, his cart filled with amusements for the night's 
entertaining, he was filled with good feeling for the  
night to come. Bilbo never did things by half, his  
peculiarly elusive spirit railing against convention.  
He could only imagine what the old fellow had in mind.  
He smiled. He could hardly wait.  
 
As he did, as he smiled to himself, he heard a voice  
calling to him. Pausing his cart, looking up with  
little expression, he gazed upon his second favorite  
hobbit in all creation, Frodo Baggins. He was  
standing with arms crossed and cross expression,  
accusation stamped all over his lovely features.  
 
"You're late," he said, his expression stern and  
accusing. 
 
Gandalf gathered his amusement tightly together and  
pulled his pipe from his mouth.  
 
"I am neither late nor early. A wizard arrives precisely  
when he wishes to," he said equally sternly, the glee  
inside working itself outward. He snorted and chuckled,  
breaking into laughter as the dark-haired hobbit before  
him did likewise.  
 
Frodo launched himself from the embankment, landing on  
Gandalf's cart as he flung himself into his arms.  
Gandalf hugged him and they exchanged glad tidings.  
Sitting down, Frodo smiled as Gandalf drove the small  
horse forward. They sat together for a moment and then  
Frodo exclaimed excitedly.  
 
"What news of the world? Tell me everything?" 
 
Gandalf chuckled. "What a most unusual thing for a  
hobbit to enquire about. The whole wide world? It is 
continuing today as it did yesterday and will tomorrow.  
Men are doing the things of men and the elves? Who can  
know their heart?" 
 
They continued on, crossing the bridge and moving  
through the settlement, children's cries of joy and  
glee echoing across the fields toward them. Frodo  
looked at him and grinned, that knowing you-are-a- 
bad-influence-but-I-love-you-dearly-old-friend  
expression that gave him a gravity and bemusement  
that actual years didn't afford. 
 
He glanced at Gandalf, waiting for him as behind them  
he could hear the children crying. He had been one of  
those once, back when he had a different life and he  
waited, knowing that the core of Gandalf's gentleness  
would be open to their pleas.  
 
For a moment there was only the dying cries of delight  
and then sparks flew and lights skittered all over, the  
child joining the chorus of cheers even as they drove  
away, the sound fading with each patient footfall of  
Gandalf's horse. They continued on, chatting about this  
and he discovered he had been officially designated a  
disturber of the peace, a realization that filled him  
with an odd mix of pride and horror. Then Frodo stood,  
staring at Gandalf with a terrible fondness. 
 
"I'm glad you came, Gandalf." 
 
"I am too, Frodo," Gandalf replied, watching as the  
youngster jumped off with a wave and disappeared into  
the trees. He turned and drove on, sighing as he gazed  
around the lovely serenity of the Shire. "I am too,"  
he whispered as the cart disappeared over a hill. 
 
*** 
 
She rose and walked to the door, opening it with a  
smile. It was mid afternoon and people were arriving,  
leaving their calling cards and exchanging pleasantries.  
For several minutes there were guests in the foyer and  
then they left, much to her secret delight. Staring at  
the cards, all carefully drawn, lying in the silver dish  
on her small table, she mentally sized up their social  
obligation over the weekend. Sighing, she turned and  
walked back, settling herself on the divan. Ignoring  
her tea, she picked up her book and began again ... 
 
*** 
 
Three knocks were heard and a shout within rumbled  
out. "GO AWAY! I WON'T SPEAK WITH ANY MORE PEOPLE  
TODAY!" 
 
"What say you to a very old friend?" Gandalf called  
out, waiting.  
 
For a second there was nothing and then the great  
round door opened and a small gray-haired figure  
emerged. He smiled, a sight bright as the day and  
he rushed forward, stepping into the arms of his  
friend, who knelt to hold him tightly. 
 
"Gandalf! You came!" 
 
"You could hardly expect me to miss this moment, your  
one hundred and eleventh birthday," Gandalf said,  
taking his first good look at the small figure before  
him. His smile dimmed slightly. "You've hardly aged  
a day." 
 
"I feel it," Bilbo said, his grin broad and deeply  
sincere. 
"Come in! Come in!" 
 
Gandalf rose and walked in, bending as he did. Bilbo,  
prattling on in his lovely manner, took Gandalf's  
staff and hat, putting them aside before disappearing  
down a side corridor. Gandalf looked around, delighted  
to see such homely familiarity in the world still  
existing. He stepped back and bumped the chandelier,  
a common occurrence when he visited such a small and  
cozy habitation. Turning, he bumped his head,  
groaning as he held it.  
 
Bilbo bustled, a steady stream of words issuing as  
he hustled to be the host all hobbits were famed to  
be. If they liked you. Notoriously stingy to those  
they tolerated and downright miserly to those they  
hated, Bilbo hurried to spread hobbit love the old  
fashioned way, with a bounty for Gandalf fit for  
a king. 
 
Gandalf walked to his study, the array of documents  
and papers on the table ample testimony to Bilbo's  
desire to write of his life and adventures. It  
didn't surprise Gandalf. Nothing about the  
diminutive creature gave him pause. They were just  
simply delightful in their ways and he was soothed  
to be among them. 
 
"I can fix you some eggs," Bilbo burbled as he walked  
out, cheese plate in hand. A sonorous voice behind 
him drew his attention. 
 
"No thank you. Just tea," Gandalf replied, his tall  
form filling the doorway.  
 
Bilbo stuffed cheese in his mouth, his hobbit love  
of food overwhelming in the warmth of welcomed  
company. "Do you mind if I ...?" He gestured to his  
full mouth and Gandalf smiled. 
 
"Not at all." 
 
Bilbo smiled, a child like quality shining in its  
fulsome joy and he turned, moving to make tea as  
Gandalf sat down on a small stood. He poured water  
into a kettle, Gandalf assisting and they began to  
talk in earnest. 
 
"So, you are going to do what you planned?" 
 
"I am," Bilbo replied. "All the plans are made." 
 
"Have you told Frodo? He loves you, Bilbo," Gandalf  
chided, aware of Bilbo's penchant to do and then  
think later. 
 
"I will. I am leaving him Bag End," Bilbo said,  
assuaging the guilt that he felt in relation to the  
one person in the world besides those of another time  
and place that he loved with a full heart. "He would  
go with me if I asked him to. But I'm afraid he still  
is in love with the Shire, with the rivers, fields  
and trees." 
 
Gandalf nodded, more than aware of the allure of this  
fine place. Bilbo turned, a measured smile on his face.  
"Gandalf, old friend, tonight is going to be a night  
to remember." 
 
***  
 
She sighed, considering the events to come and leaned  
back, draped over the love seat that allowed for her  
bustle. Her husband would be home for dinner and they 
would both spend time with their daughter and the  
other children. Maybe, she thought, rising and putting  
her books on a shelf nearby, she could lose herself in  
the romantic adventures that filled her heart when she  
was her daughter's age.  
 
Maybe, she thought, as she turned and walked to the  
kitchen to supervise her staff in the coming meal.


************************************************ 
Title: Once Upon A Time: The Fellowship of the  
Ring <2/?> 
Author: Arctapus, Helmboy, ]:> 
Codes: LOTR, Many, P-R, very long term story. 
Post: Sure. Archive: Okay. 
Disclaimer: I don't own them. I borrow them for  
entertaining and no copyright should be implied  
as infringed. 
PLEASE BEWARE: This is not a word-for-word. It is  
a tale told again in the setting of another time.  
License with the movie is given and all errors  
caused are my own. 
Feedback, criticism, comments and suggestions are  
sought and welcomed. Replies will be given. 
************************************************ 
 
Later that evening ... 
 
They walked into the parlor and sat, dinner and  
children behind them. She reclining most decorously  
on the divan and he in his chair. Sherry glasses  
in hand, he smiled at her. 
 
"Our daughter appears to be better. That is good.  
Was your day amusing?" 
 
She grinned. "It was. And how was your club?" 
 
"Most amusing. We had a round of Darwinian futility  
once more. I dare say, for educated and progressive  
men, they can't seem to grasp the basic principles  
of elementary evolutionary thought." 
 
"I am sure that you'll convince them in good time,"  
she replied, sipping her drink. 
 
He smiled and glanced to the side, something silver  
catching his eye. Reaching out, he took a thick and  
very old book into hand, setting his glass down.  
 
"What's this?" he asked, glancing at his wife who  
rose gracefully and took it from him. She turned and  
sat, her fingers touching the shining silvery script  
that adorned the battered and much worn cover. 
 
"This is one of the books Father left me in his will." 
 
He smiled, shaking his head. "It's not one of *those*  
books?" 
 
She blushed in spite of herself. "Perhaps. Perhaps not.  
He just knew that I would love them the most." 
 
"What does this one tell about?" he asked, picking up  
his glass once more. 
 
Her expression became dreamy for a moment. "Love  
and friendship, sacrifice and honor. All the things that  
a woman could want in a man, these characters portray.  
They are wonderful, ancient races and ancient manners. I  
love them dearly. I have been reading this book all  
afternoon and it is all coming back to me just like when  
Papa would read them to me." 
 
"Tell me. Read to me too," he asked, settling back.  
 
She looked at him and then smiled, opening the book  
and removing the peacock feather that marked her place. 
 
""Gandalf, old friend, tonight is going to be a night  
to remember." 
 
*** 
 
It was well underway when Gandalf began to light fireworks.  
He chuckled with pleasure as he sent lovely streaks of light  
into the dark sky. It was warm and hobbits were dancing,  
eating, drinking, socializing, and generally cavorting about  
with abandon. 
 
Samwise Gamgee, son of the amazing Gaffer, sat at a table  
and shot surreptitious glances over his shoulder. His  
employer, Frodo Baggins was dancing and having a right  
good time, his handsome face flushed with happiness as the  
whirl of people around him filled the evening with whoops  
of joy and laughter. 
 
He turned back to his ale, his face morose with futility.  
Rosie was dancing too, a pretty and voluptuous young  
woman and the object of many of his moonstruck fantasies.  
She was outgoing as he was not, socially graceful as he  
was shy and the object of many a young man's fancy. He  
sighed and as he did, Frodo Baggins plopped down  
beside him, spun out from dancing and filled with humor. 
 
"Sam. Go and ask Rosie for a dance." 
 
Sam looked at Frodo like he had grown a spare head.  
"No, no, no. I'll just go get another ale." 
 
He rose but Frodo caught his arms, spinning him to face  
the dancing. With a big shove, he propelled Sam forward,  
straight into the arms of the whirling girl. They spun  
off together, Sam dancing with a growing sense of  
happiness as Frodo watched, satisfied.  
 
He sat and looked around, noting all the familiar faces  
of his world frolicking. Children ran here and there and  
fireworks cast flicking shadows all around them as food  
and drink flowed like water. He was happy, amused and  
entertained but a small part of him suspected something  
and it nagged at him when he was stilled. He decided to  
dance some more when his uncle's voice was heard. 
 
Turning and sitting, he watched as people stilled, gathering  
as Bilbo climbed up on a chair to be seen by one and all.  
Merry and Pippin, doing kitchen detail for launching a  
rocket without Gandalf's permission, paused in their duties  
to peer out of their tent, Gandalf standing behind them like  
a towering tree over little bushes. 
 
"Speech! Yes! Speech!" Frodo called out along with others,  
clapping his hands as a fond expression informed his fine  
features. He sat and waited for words from his uncle,  
little knowing he would not hear more for many days to  
come. 
 
"My dear people," Bilbo began. A cheer went up and he  
was drowned out for a moment. "My dear Bagginses and  
Boffins, and my dear Tooks and Brandybucks, and Grubbs,  
and Chubbs, and Burrowses, and Proudfoots!" 
 
As each name was mentioned that segment of the family  
would cheer. At the mention of Proudfoot, an elderly  
hobbit called out: "Proudfeet!" 
 
Laughter filled the area and Bilbo laughed as well. Frodo  
smiled and turned, keeping his eyes on the small and  
happy figure of honor. As he did, a feeling of unease  
rose through him. Bilbo waved one hand and the other was  
in his pocket, holding onto something unseen.  
 
"Proudfoots," Bilbo repeated. "Also my good Sackville- 
Bagginses that I welcome back at last to Bag End. Today  
is my one hundred and eleventh birthday: I am eleventy- 
one today!" 
 
The crowd roared and Frodo clapped, happy and glad  
for his uncle.  
 
"I hope you're all enjoying yourself as much as I am!" 
 
The cheers were deafening. Borrowing a child's horn and  
blowing it to get their attention again, he smiled. 
 
"I shall not keep you long. I have called you all together  
for a purpose." 
 
It got quiet again.  
 
"Indeed, for three purposes. First of all, to tell you  
that I am immensely fond of you all, and that eleventy- 
one years is too short to live among such excellent and  
admirable hobbits." 
 
*** 
 
"What is a hobbit?" her husband asked and she smiled,  
looking up from the page. 
 
"Lovely people. Short mostly. They live in holes in the  
ground and stay to themselves." 
 
"Rather like the people in the westlands," he said,  
grinning broadly. 
 
She smirked. "That's beneath you. Shush. I'm reading." 
 
"Pray continue." 
 
*** 
 
"I don't know half of you as well as I should like; and  
I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve." 
 
This was met with confusion and Frodo felt the vibration  
of anxiety rising inside of him. The smile on his face  
began to fade. 
 
"Secondly, to celebrate my birthday, I should say, OUR  
birthday. For it is, of course, also the birthday of my  
heir and nephew, Frodo. He comes of age and into his  
inheritance today." 
 
The discussion of what this meant was interspersed with  
cheers for Frodo and he nodded, surprise on his face.  
 
"Thirdly, and finally," he said, "I wish to make an  
ANNOUNCEMENT." He shouted the last word and the  
crowd drew silent. "I regret to announce that-- though,  
as I said, eleventy-one years is far too short a time  
to spend among you-- this is the END. I am going. I am  
leaving NOW. GOOD-BYE!" 
 
With that, he stepped down and vanished. 
 
*** 
 
"How?" 
 
"That is the heart of the story, my darling. He slipped on  
his magical ring and became invisible." She looked at her  
husband, noting his thoughtful look. He was thoroughly  
hooked and she suppressed her glee.  
 
"Read on," he gently prompted, lighting up his after  
dinner cigar. 
 
*** 
 
He walked to his hole, opening the door after a pause to  
look back and entered. Pulling off his ring, Bilbo picked  
up things to pack and walked to the table where his bag  
sat, a chuckle accompanying him as he did.  
 
"I suppose you thought that was funny." 
 
"Come on, Gandalf. Did you see their faces?" he asked  
snickering as he packed his bag. 
 
"I had to fix things. You have offended or angered most  
of your relatives. They will spend the next ninety-nine  
years talking about the day Bilbo Baggins disappeared.  
There are a great many magic rings in this world, Bilbo,  
and none of them are to be trifled with." 
 
"There, there," he said, turning. "I am leaving it for  
Frodo." 
 
"Where is it?" Gandalf asked, still uneasy. 
 
"On the mantle." 
 
Gandalf turned and began to search when Bilbo paused,  
demurring. "No. It's not there," he whispered, musing on 
the confusion in his head. "It's here. In my pocket." 
 
Gandalf turned. "Give it to me then." 
 
Bilbo felt the pull, the emotional tug that had plagued him  
since he found the ring in the cave of the creature Gollum.  
He paused and looked away, the ring turning over and  
over in his hands. 
 
"Bilbo? You must leave the ring. Is that so hard?" 
 
Bilbo paused. "No. And yes." 
 
He stepped away, his expression changing. "I don't think  
that I want to give it up. It's mine. I don't have to if I  
don't want to." He turned, an angry expression on his face.  
"Why do you want me to?" 
 
He moved sideways, his body tight with tension as Gandalf  
watched him, a growing disquiet in his own mind. 
 
"You are always badgering me about my ring but never  
said a word about the other things I got on my journey." 
 
"I am curious, Bilbo, where you got it, what it is. Magical  
rings are rare and I don't think you need it now." 
 
"Why not! What business is it of yours what I do with my  
own things?" 
 
"You don't have to get angry," Gandalf replied gently.  
 
"If I am, it's all your fault! It's mine, my own, my  
precious!" 
 
Gandalf flinched internally, his alarm great, and his eyes  
narrowed suspiciously. "That has been called that before,  
but not by you." 
 
"I shall not give it up! It is mine!" 
 
"BILBO BAGGINS!" 
 
The room darkened and Gandalf seemed to grow, his  
aspect turning malevolent as Bilbo stood before him. He  
shrank back, suddenly afraid. The storm passed and  
Gandalf stood before him, old, gray and troubled.  
"Trust me as you used to. I am not trying to steal from  
you. I am trying to help you." 
 
Bilbo broke into tears and rushed forward, wrapping his  
arms around Gandalf. Gandalf patted him and smiled.  
"Trust me, Bilbo."  
 
For a moment it was silent and then Bilbo pulled back,  
walking to the table for his things. He turned and walked  
to the door, opening it. 
 
"Bilbo? The ring. It's still in your pocket." 
 
Bilbo paused and pulled it out, the allure of it almost  
sexual in its intensity. 
 
*** 
 
"Sexual?" 
 
She smiled. "This is a book about good and evil. It's a  
book for adults. Shall I not read to you?" 
 
He chuckled. "I do believe you just insulted me." 
 
She grinned and waited.  
 
"Do read on, darling." 
 
She grinned and began again... 
 
*** 
 
Bilbo stared at the ring and then with great reluctance,  
dropped it to the floor where it clanged with a deeply  
solid sound. He stared at it and turned, walking out in  
the night air. He stared at the party below and felt  
suddenly free and easy. It was a strange sensation, like  
a terrible burden had been lifted. He turned and looked  
at his house and the figure of the wizard behind him. 
 
"Take care of Frodo." 
 
"I will watch him with both eyes, as often as I can  
spare them." 
 
Bilbo nodded, a slight smile on his kindly features. "I  
thought of an ending for my book. 'And he lived happily  
ever after to the end of his days'." 
 
Gandalf stepped forward and knelt. "And you shall, old  
friend." 
 
They embraced and Bilbo nodded, emotions filling his heart,  
reflecting on his face. Then he turned and walked down the  
steps and out into the night air with a brisk step. His  
voice lingered long after his image faded as he sang along  
the way to Rivendell. 
 
Gandalf stood a long time, listening. "Farewell, my friend.  
Until our next meeting." 
 
He turned and stepped inside, staring at the glittering ring  
lying on the floor. It was simple and beautiful but he could  
feel its power. It was a dangerous and unpredictable  
device and he considered what he should do as he stared  
at it. 
 
*** 
 
"Why are you closing the book?" 
 
"Time for bed, husband," she said, rising.  
"You must get up early, you know. Grandmama  
is expecting you to visit before luncheon." 
 
"Oh, right." He rose and stretched. "What do  
you suppose the ring means?" 
 
She slipped her hand into his, the book lying  
on the table before her. They stared at it.  
"We'll have to find out tomorrow." 
 
He sighed, resignedly. "Tomorrow. That is far  
away, darling." 
 
They turned and walked for the stairs. Climbing  
them, they disappeared into their room as the  
stars grew ever brighter in the sky overhead.  
Elbereth shed her magic in the velvety darkness  
as she had since before the beginning of memory. 
An ancient being smiled as she listened to the  
faint voices, whispers of the chorus that once  
sang to her, of the tale of the one ring and  
the Firstborn people she loved.


************************************************ 
Title: Once Upon A Time: The Fellowship of the  
Ring <3/?> 
Author: Arctapus, Helmboy, ]:> 
Codes: LOTR, Many, P-R, very long term story. 
Post: Sure. 
Archive: Okay. 
Disclaimer: I don't own them. I borrow them for  
entertaining and no copyright should be implied  
as infringed. 
PLEASE BEWARE: This is not a word-for-word. It is a  
tale told again in the setting of another time.  
License with the movie is given and all errors  
caused are my own. 
Feedback, criticism, comments and suggestions are  
sought and welcomed. Replies will be given. 
 
************************************************ 
 
"How is Grandmama?" 
 
"She's fine," he replied, moving into the parlor.  
The children came to him and they hugged,  
exchanging the news of the day. They smiled and  
turned, rushing out to the lawn beyond and the  
business of being children. He smiled and turned  
to his wife. "Dinner is not for a while. How  
about reading to me?" 
 
She put down her needlepoint, smiling at him.  
Rising, she took the book and returned to her seat,  
arranging the long folds of her gown as he sat in  
his chair. It became quiet as she opened the book  
and began to read... 
 
*** 
 
"Bilbo!" 
 
The door opened and Frodo Baggins rushed in,  
pausing as if reined in as he glanced at the floor.  
Something drew his eye and he spotted it, Bilbo's  
ring. He picked it up, staring at it in his hand.  
It seemed to change, growing smaller and he turned,  
looking around the room. Beyond the door, sitting  
before the fire, Gandalf smoked his pipe, his  
voice softly murmuring. 
 
Frodo moved to stand beside him, the ring lying  
in his open hand. "Has he gone?" 
 
Gandalf nodded. "Yes." 
 
"I wish -- I mean, I hoped until this evening it  
was only a joke but I knew in my heart that he  
really meant to go. He always used to joke about  
 
serious things. I wish I had come back sooner, to  
see him off." 
 
"I think he really preferred to slipping away  
quietly in the end. He'll be all right. He's gone  
to stay with the elves. He left you everything,  
including Bag End." 
 
"This is Bilbo's ring," Frodo said, holding it  
out toward Gandalf.  
 
The wizard moved slightly back, turning and holding  
out an envelope. Frodo dropped it in and Gandalf  
sealed it with wax, turning and handing it to Frodo.  
"Here. It is yours. Keep it safe." 
 
Gandalf rose and walked to where his staff and hat  
lay. He picked them up and turned, Frodo looking  
at him with growing dismay. 
 
"Where are you going?" 
 
"I have to find answers to questions." 
 
"But you just *got* here." 
 
"I will be back, Frodo," he said, turning and fixing  
an eye on the young hobbit. "Keep the ring safe.  
Don't let anyone know about it. I will return shortly." 
 
With that, the tall figure left, disappearing into  
the night by himself. Frodo stood and stared at him,  
dismayed deeply by the events of the evening. As he  
did, he felt compelled to stare at the object in his  
hand and he raised the envelope, looking at it with  
a confused expression. 
 
*** 
 
"I would have one too. After all, it is a magical  
ring," he said, crossing his feet at the ankle. 
 
She smiled. "A very unique magical ring." 
 
"Gandalf ... he's going where?" 
 
"We shall find out." 
 
*** 
 
For years Frodo gave a party at Bilbo's birthday  
and finally people began to accept it. He might  
not be dead after all. Frodo himself wandered the  
Shire, the talk being that he communicated with  
the elves. Things were changing. Elves seldom  
seen in the Shire were seen more often, taking  
the East-West Road to the Grey Havens. They were  
leaving and not returning. Dwarves were seen on  
the roads in great numbers. Most hobbits didn't  
speak to them but Frodo did, learning of a  
growing danger in the east and whispers of the  
Enemy and the Land of Mordor.  
 
It was then that Gandalf returned, appearing one  
night after Bilbo left the pub. Bidding Samwise  
a good night, he entered his home, suddenly  
uneasy at the darkness he encountered. Walking  
inside, peering into the darkness, he cried out  
as a hand landed on his shoulder. Turning, he  
stared into the wary eyes of Gandalf. 
 
"Where is it? Is it safe!" 
 
"What?" Frodo exhaled, his startled heart beating  
even faster. 
 
"The ring! Bring me the ring!" 
 
Frodo turned and hurried to a chest, removing  
objects until he found the envelope. Gandalf  
snatched it from his hand and turned, hurtling it  
into the fire.  
 
"What are you doing?" Frodo exclaimed. 
 
Gandalf didn't answer but he picked up tongs and  
fished the ring out of the embers of the fire.  
"Hold out your hand, Frodo."  
 
The hobbit hesitated and Gandalf replied, "It's  
quite cool." 
 
He dropped the ring into Frodo's hand and the  
hobbit turned the ring over and over with his  
fingers. It was cool, heavy and unchanged.  
Gandalf rose.  
 
"What do you see?" 
 
It was quiet a moment and then Frodo replied.  
"I see nothing." 
 
The moment of relief Gandalf felt was short  
lived when Frodo turned, a frown forming on  
his face. 
 
"Wait. I see writing. Some form of Elvish but  
I can't read it." 
 
A chill ran through Gandalf, all encompassing  
and complete. He turned and looked at Frodo,  
his face a mask of fear and loathing.  
 
"It is as I feared." 
 
"What does it mean?" Frodo asked. 
 
"It is the language of Mordor and I will not  
speak it here. Suffice it to say it reads,  
"One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to bind  
them, One Ring to find them all and in the  
darkness bind them." 
 
An old verse ran through Frodo's mind unbidden.  
 
Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky, 
Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of  
stone, Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die, One  
for the Dark Lord on his dark throne. In the  
land of Mordor ... rule them all, rule them ... 
It ran through his mind over and over and the  
expression on his face changed to fear. 
 
Moments later, tea cups in hand, Frodo and  
Gandalf sat.  
 
"What does it mean, Gandalf?" 
 
"It means that darkness is coming, that the  
enemy is coming back." 
 
"Enemy?" Frodo asked, fear creeping up his  
spine. 
 
"Sauron." 
 
"But Sauron's dead. He was killed. He was killed  
wasn't he?" 
 
"In the body but his spirit exists and is rising.  
He is gathering together an army and is seeking  
the Ring. He wishes to rise once again." 
 
Gandalf sighed, the memories of the past filling  
him. A great army gathered in long ago times, an  
army of Men, Elves and Dwarves. It fought, led  
by Elendil and Gil-galad, their lieutenants by  
their sides. Elendil died and his son, using his  
father's broken sword, cut the ring from Sauron's  
hand. He took it for his own, unmindful of the  
entreaties of his peers and for that he was  
slain, the Ring slipping away into a river where  
it lay for two thousand and more years, until a  
strange creature found it.  
 
Consumed by it, existing in misery and insanity  
for more than five hundred years, Gollum was  
taken by the forces of evil, tortured for the  
Ring and when he broke, he cried out the name  
of Baggins and the Shire.  
 
"This creature, Gollum ... Uncle Bilbo took his  
ring, the one ring." 
 
"Precisely." 
 
Frodo looked at Gandalf in dawning recognition.  
"He told them. He said Baggins and the Shire.  
They know where it is." 
 
Gandalf rose and looked at him. "They do." 
 
"It can't stay here! They can't come here!"  
Frodo cried, rising and staring at Gandalf  
with frightened eyes.  
 
"It must leave here." 
 
"Take it!" Frodo stepped forward, the ring  
held out. "Take it! Go on, take it!" 
 
Gandalf was paralyzed with want and then he  
stepped away, as if frightened of being burned. 
 
"Don't, Frodo! Don't tempt me!" he shouted, the  
moment broken by his emotion.  
 
They stared at each other, the fear in both very  
real. Gandalf sighed and relaxed a tiny bit,  
wanting to make himself clear. 
 
"Don't tempt me, Frodo. I would want to use it  
for good and a terrible peril would be unleashed." 
 
For a moment Frodo just stared at the ring and  
then he looked up at Gandalf. "What must I do?"  
he asked.  
 
A terrible burden eased on Gandalf, the futility  
of his search for Gollum fading slightly. He had  
spent his time finding answers, learning about  
Gollum and looking for him in the company of  
Aragorn, the greatest traveler and huntsman of  
this age of the world. But it was in vain. Now  
there was a chance. They would have to connect  
at another place, moving the danger from this  
beloved place and seeking help from those who  
could provide it. 
 
"You must leave. Travel light and head for  
Bree. I will meet you there." 
 
"You aren't coming?" Frodo asked plaintively,  
scurrying about as he packed a bag and gathered  
his cloak and walking stick. 
 
"I must consult with the head of my order.  
Saruman is both wise and good. Do not use  
Baggins. That name is not safe and do not put  
on the ring, Frodo. Do you understand." 
 
Frodo nodded and Gandalf smiled, shaking his  
head slightly. "You can learn everything you  
have to know about hobbits in a month and in a  
hundred years they can still surprise you." 
 
At that moment a sound outside the window drew  
them and Gandalf hissed, "Get down." 
 
Taking his staff, he stalked to the window and  
leaned out, pounding something with the end of  
it hard. He reached out and yanked the culprit  
through the window and slammed him on the table.  
The frightened figure of Samwise Gamgee looked  
at him, shivering with fear. 
 
"Samwise Gamgee! What were you doing eavesdropping!" 
 
Sam shivered and raised his hands in supplication.  
"I wasn't dropping no eaves, sir. I was cutting  
the grass-border under the window, if you follow  
me." 
 
"I don't," Gandalf growled. "What have you heard?" 
 
"I heard a lot about a ring and a dark lord and  
the end of the world ... and elves. I do love  
tales of that sort. Please, Mr. Gandalf, don't  
turn me into anything unnatural." 
 
Frodo could hardly contain the mirth inside as  
he watched Gandalf relax. With a devilish look  
on his own face, Gandalf grinned slightly. 
 
"I have something better in mind for you, Sam  
Gamgee." 
 
*** 
 
"What sort of wizard is this Gandalf?" 
 
"He's a good wizard, an Istari, a Mithrandir. He  
is a servant of the secret fire, a servant of  
Iluvitar, the father of all. Think of lesser  
angels when you think of him. He was sent to help  
the people of Middle Earth when things became  
dangerous. He is a force for good and a friend  
of many." 
 
"Ah. Continue." 
 
*** 
 
They walked in the darkness, Gandalf leading his  
horse and the two hobbits following. It was dark  
and they moved as swiftly as they could. Finally,  
Gandalf paused and turned to them. Bending down,  
he spoke clearly to Frodo.  
 
"Make for Bree. Go to the Prancing Pony and I  
will meet you there." 
 
Frodo nodded. "I will." 
 
"I am going to see Saruman at Isengard. I will  
hurry back as fast as I can." 
 
"We will cut across the Shire."  
 
Gandalf smiled and nodded. "Remember, Frodo. The  
Ring wants to be found. It feels its master's call.  
Do not put it on and keep it safe." 
 
Frodo nodded and watched as Gandalf mounted his  
horse and rode off into the night. An owl hooted  
and the hobbits turned, frightened at the sound.  
They were unaccustomed to being out in the wild  
at night and every sound was fearful. Gazing at  
each other, Frodo stepped out, Samwise following  
behind. 
 
*** 
 
She shut the book, smiling at Cook as she  
announced dinner. 
 
"I'll get the children ready," she said, rising.  
 
He nodded and rose, taking the book from her  
hands. He stared at the lovely script wrought  
in silver on the cover. This tale intrigued him  
and he was loathe to stop at this point. With a  
grin, he put it on the table carefully. 
 
/... maybe there is something to magical rings  
after all .../ he thought as he walked to the  
dining room beyond. 
 
The book sat quietly, its pages filled with  
adventure. It sat patiently, waiting for its  
master's return. 
 
************************************************ 
c2002 1/6 ]:> TBC 
************************************************


************************************************ 
Title: Once Upon A Time: The Fellowship of the  
Ring <4/?> 
Author: Arctapus, Helmboy, ]:> 
Codes: LOTR, Many, P-R, very long term story. 
Post: Sure. 
Archive: Okay. 
Disclaimer: I don't own them. I borrow them for  
entertaining and no copyright should be implied  
as infringed. 
PLEASE BEWARE: This is not a word-for-word. It is  
a tale told again in the setting of another time.  
License with the movie is given and all errors  
caused are my own. 
Feedback, criticism, comments and suggestions are  
sought and welcomed. Replies will be given. 
************************************************ 
 
He hurried home, his short time at the club a  
show of form rather than desire. He entered his  
house and put his coat, umbrella, hat, and case 
away, moving into the sitting room where the  
book lie. He sat on the couch in front of it,  
the pages calling to him.  
 
Tracing the silver script on the cover with his  
finger, he considered the people that filled his  
mind, figures from a story that his wife half- 
believed was true. He wondered what the letters  
spelled, the lovely lines and dots reminding him  
of Arabic.  
 
Footsteps behind him drew his attention and he  
rose, a sheepish smile on his face. 
 
"You're home early," his wife said, kissing him  
on the cheek.  
 
He shrugged slightly. "I was curious about our  
story. We did leave it at a pregnant pause." 
 
She chuckled delicately, moving to pick it up.  
He stared at the writing and turned to her. 
 
"What does it say? The writing, I mean." 
 
"It is Elvish. It says, "A History of the People  
of Middle Earth: The Lord of the Rings." 
 
"You can read that?" he asked incredulously. 
 
"Yes," she replied, sitting and opening it to  
the place they paused. "Papa taught it to me." 
 
He looked at her, at the surprises she dazzled  
him with so continually and then sat, waiting  
for her soft voice to speak. She looked at the  
text and began. 
 
***Book Two ... 
 
Chapter Two: Leaving the Shire ... 
 
They walked on through the night, the sounds  
of night birds adding a chill to their journey.  
It was becoming light when they crested a hill,  
the rolling grassland before them the boundary  
edges of the Shire. By midmorning they were at  
the edge of a cornfield, the first of many that  
they would navigate. 
 
Frodo, preoccupied by thoughts dark and light,  
walked a ways before an uneasy voice caught him. 
He turned and stared, Sam standing planted  
behind him. 
 
"Sam?" he asked.  
 
Sam's face was a mixture of fear and sorrow. Frodo  
walked to him, staring at him with concern. 
 
"If I take one more step, it will be the farthest  
from home that I've ever been." 
 
Frodo's expression filled with compassion. "Come on,  
Sam." 
 
For a moment Sam didn't move and then he did,  
stepping forward as the two entered the cornfield  
before them. Frodo rested his hand on Sam's shoulder.  
 
"Come on, Sam. You know what Bilbo said.  
 
'The road goes ever on and on, 
Down from the door where it began. 
Now far ahead the Road has gone, 
And I must follow, if I can.'" 
 
"He did that, Mr. Frodo," Sam agreed, feeling only  
slightly better as they moved out into the lush and  
green countryside of unexplored territory. 
 
***  
 
"How big are our hobbits?" he asked, sitting  
absorbed in the tale. 
 
"They can be from under knee size to over waist  
high." 
 
The idea of full grown people that small was almost  
too much to take in and so he nodded, signaling his  
readiness to listen. She smiled and began. 
 
*** 
 
He walked through the marshland, leading his horse.  
He was ahead of schedule for the task at hand. It  
was pouring rain and very dark. He was due at Bree  
shortly and he was to meet Gandalf and someone very  
important from the Shire at the Prancing Pony.  
Considering that the One Ring had been found, he  
was especially anxious to get there.  
 
Rounding a hill, he stood and stared below, the  
twinkling lights of houses and pubs sparkling  
through the darkness of the cold and rainy night.  
Bree was a fortified town, a wooden stockade  
surrounding it. One had to enter through a gate  
that was closed during the day and kept by an old  
man who queried visitors. 
 
Moving down the hillside, tugging on the reins  
of his horse, he disappeared into the rain and  
darkness once more. 
 
*** 
 
"Who is this?"  
 
"This is a pivotal character, husband, and if I  
tell you more before its time you will lose  
some of the excitement of the story." 
 
"Very well," he replied, sighing. "Pray continue." 
 
*** 
 
It was midday when they moved into the cornfield  
of a farm beyond which they knew. It was all  
unfamiliar territory now and they moved together,  
one behind the other. Walking along, nearly  
lulled to sleep by the combination of autumnal  
sunshine and fatigue, Samwise Gamgee stepped  
from the corn and onto a small track that  
separated one stand from the other. He moved on  
and then it occurred to him. He was trudging on  
alone.  
 
He looked around, his alarm growing by leaps  
and bounds. "Mr. Frodo?" There was no sound  
and so he picked up his steps, hurrying  
forward as his heart pounded in his ears.  
"Frodo?" he called, his fear rising. "Frodo!"  
he shouted, nearly breaking into a run. 
 
A figure rounded a corner and stared at him,  
a puzzled look of expectation on his face. 
 
"Sam?" 
 
"Mr. Frodo! I thought I'd lost you!" 
 
"Sam. I'm right here." 
 
"Gandalf told me something and I mean to keep it." 
 
"What did he say?" Frodo asked, curiosity rising. 
 
"He said, 'Don't you lose him, Samwise Gamgee' and  
I don't mean to." He stopped before Frodo, drawing  
a smile from the dark-haired youngster.  
 
"Sam. We're in a cornfield. What can go wrong here?" 
 
As he spoke the corn beside him shivered and a  
figure emerged, crashing into Sam, taking him down  
to the ground. At the same time, another figure  
crashed into Frodo, the two landing in a tangle  
in the corn. For a moment there wasn't a sound  
and then one of the figures rose, staring down  
into the slightly dazed face of his contact. 
 
"Frodo Baggins!" a sprightly voice said, filled  
with pleasure and surprise. "Merry! This is  
Frodo Baggins!" 
 
Sam rose from beneath his attacker and shook off  
his clothing. Reaching over, he yanked the  
youngster off Frodo and hauled the slightly dazed  
hobbit to his feet, swiping the dirt and grass  
of Frodo as he scolded them. 
 
"A Took and a Brandybuck! I should have know!  
You have some nerve." 
 
A curly-headed figure smiling brightly, chuckled. 
 
"What's the harm? No one is hurt." 
 
"What are you doing here?" Sam demanded, his  
anger barely assuaged. 
 
"We're just passing through," Merry replied,  
picking up a pile of mixed vegetables and  
stacking them into Sam's arms. "We just made  
a wee withdrawal from Farmer Clanton's crop." 
 
At that moment, a sound was heard of baying  
dogs and someone moving quickly through the  
cornfield. They turned and looked, the flashing  
of a sickle held up high catching their eyes.  
Pippin turned and shoved the rest of the  
vegetables at Sam before turning and  
disappearing into the cornfield. Merry grabbed  
Frodo and dragging him along, disappeared as  
well. Sam stood, puzzled and confused and then  
with rising clarity, turned and plunged after  
them. 
 
They ran swiftly, Merry and Pippin managing a  
monologue of their thievery and as they did,  
they barely maintained their lead over the forces  
of retribution behind them. They raced onward,  
Merry in the lead, followed by Pippin, Frodo and  
finally, Sam. Running lickety split, they reached  
the edge of the cornfield, emerging on the rim of 
a high sloping grade.  
 
Merry slammed on the brakes, teetering for a moment  
and then the rest caught up, crashing into him. With  
a whoop and a cry, all four pitched over the side,  
rolling over and over down the steep side before  
landing in a heap at the bottom. 
 
It was still for a moment.  
 
"I think I broke something." Pippin reached under  
himself and pulled out a carrot, broken in two by  
the fall. The others rose slowly, Sam's anger  
returning. He glared at the two of them. 
 
"Took!" he hissed. "I should have known." 
 
"What are you talking about?" Merry asked  
congenially. "We're still in one piece."  
 
At that moment, Pippin cried out. "Mushrooms!" 
 
It was a mad scramble among three of them as they  
rose and dashed over to a small clump of white  
mushroom growing nearby. Frodo, getting up slower,  
felt a tugging inside his head. He turned and  
looked down the road, his unease growing but for  
what reason, he didn't know.  
 
"I think we should get off the road." 
 
He turned and watched them digging and then  
looked back, the world around him distorting and  
then fear gripped him as a dark menace reached  
out to him. 
 
"Get off the road! Now!" 
 
The three paused and without a word, scrambled  
with Frodo toward a big tree nearby. They leapt  
over a large root and huddled under it, silence  
enveloping them as they listened to the approach  
of horse's hooves. It was chilling, the air  
around them seeming to grow cold and then they  
held their breath as the sound drew even to them. 
 
It suddenly smelled foul, the air electrical from  
some unseen presence and Frodo felt a heavy weight  
upon him as he felt tendrils of whispers weave  
inside his head. He closed his eyes, the pull of  
the ring rising inside of him. 
 
A footfall was heard and then something evil and  
foul felt close, as if a ghost of darkness had  
stepped into the room unseen. They didn't want  
to see it but the compulsion to look was enormous.  
As they sat shivering in the suddenly cold  
atmosphere of the moment, Sam looked down at  
Pippin's shoulder. A huge spider was creeping out  
along his arm and from the ground they sat upon  
worms and insects and other fell creatures began  
to swarm. 
 
A chill gripped them and they sat silently,  
terrorized, stilled and afraid. As they did,  
Frodo pulled the ring from his pocket, his  
eyes closing as a warmth from his groin  
spread out in all direct-- 
 
*** 
 
"From his groin?" 
 
She looked up, smirking in spite of herself.  
"Yes. From his groin." 
 
Her husband shifted. "That would mean that he  
had a ... a sexual reaction to the ring." 
 
"He does. What is the greatest force animating  
the male of the species that you can name?" 
 
He looked at her, agreement on his face even if  
it wasn't in his words. "*I* would hope it would  
be ... decency or loyalty or love." 
 
"Those are wonderful human traits, my darling,  
but you know and I that a lot of the world's  
ills are based on men charging themselves  
against each other based on their opinions of  
their own manhood, truth or not." 
 
He sighed and nodded. "Continue please." 
 
She grinned and did. 
 
*** 
 
He felt the warmth fill him, the way it did when  
he found himself climbing a rope or waking from  
one of 'those' dreams that his uncle had so  
blushingly explained were normal for a boy like  
him. He sighed and moved his finger closer, the  
compulsion to put on the ring and complete the  
pleasure that he felt raging through him,  
overcoming Gandalf's warning not to use it ever.  
 
As he moved ever closer so did the shadow, the  
smell of his decay nauseating. Sam glanced at  
Frodo, immediately slapping at his hand and  
the young hobbit jolted to awareness. As they  
sat a sound began to reach them, the silvery  
sounds of music from beautiful voices filling  
the tension all around them. 
 
The fell figure froze and then rose, moving  
backward, mounting his horse with a single  
bound. Then it was gone and the voices were  
closer, voices like angels from heaven. They  
turned and peered out, watching in the silvery  
moonlight as figures appeared on the road.  
 
They were walking together, dressed in cloaks  
that merged with the moonlight and their voices  
were raised in a song of joy. They came closer,  
either not noticing the hobbits or ignoring them  
and began to pass by, singing their song of  
joy as they went. 
 
Sam watched them entranced and then he looked at  
Frodo, his eyes filled with wonder. "Elves! Those  
are Elves, Mr. Frodo!" 
 
Frodo stared at him and then the passing figures,  
dazed and filled with an unfulfilled sense of  
desire that tore at his control. Sighing deeply,  
the ring tucked into his waistcoat, he watched  
as the tall and beautiful figures appeared in  
the night. 
 
Pippin glanced around and sighed. "What are Elves  
doing on this road?" 
 
"Gandalf said they're leaving Middle Earth for  
the Undying Lands. Those are trooping Elves,"  
Sam said, wonderment filling his voice. 
 
"Troopin' Elves. Will the world never cease,"  
Pippin said, his child-like voice filled with  
amazement. 
 
"What did that black rider want?" Merry asked,  
his face filled with a serious expression. "He  
was looking for something ... or someone." 
 
At that moment an Elf turned and looked at them,  
his beautiful face almost glowing from a light  
that appeared to be from within. "Hello, Frodo. 
What brings you out into the night." 
 
"You know my name?" Frodo asked, startled.  
 
"I have seen you with your Uncle Bilbo at times 
although you haven't seen us in return." 
 
"Your name, sir?" he asked, formal despite himself. 
 
"I am Gildor, Gildor Inglorion of the House of  
Finrod." 
 
"There was a black rider," Frodo said. "What do  
you know of them?" 
 
"Did not Gandalf tell you of them?" he asked, his 
face suddenly serious. 
 
"No."  
 
"The I dare not. Suffice it to say that you must 
not tarry. You must hurry away on the task before 
you and stop for no one." He paused. "Elves seldom 
give unguarded advice for advice is a dangerous  
gift, even from the wise to the wise, and all  
courses may run ill." 
 
Frodo smiled inspite of himself. "Go not to the  
Elves for counsel, for they will say both no and 
yes." 
 
Gildor smiled. "I will give you advice this night. 
Go and don't stop. Don't speak to anyone." 
 
"And courage? Where shall I find that?" Frodo asked,  
a chill running up his spine.  
 
Gildor stared at him a moment. "Courage is found  
in unlikely places. Be of good hope! In the morning 
we shall send our messages through the land. The  
Wandering Companions shall know of your journey; 
and those that have power for good shall be on the  
watch. I name you Elf-friend; and may the stars 
shine upon the end of your road." 
 
They moved on, leaving them alone and Sam sighed. 
Frodo glanced at him, a curious expression on his 
face. "What do you think now of Elves, Sam?" 
 
Sam thought a moment. "They're a bit above my likes 
and dislikes, so to speak. It don't seem to matter 
what I think about them. They are quite different 
from what I expected-- so old and young, so gay and 
sad, as it were." 
 
Frodo looked at Sam, at the change in him that had 
transpired and he sighed. "You look different to  
me, Sam, somehow." 
 
Sam looked at him, his eyes searching Frodo's face. 
"They told me not to leave you." He snorted, a  
determined expression forming on his face. "Leave  
you? I'm going with you, even if you climb to the  
moon; and if any of those Black Riders try to  
stop you, they'll have Sam Gamgee to reckon with." 
 
Frodo smiled and squeezed Sam's arm, turning to  
his companions. Merry looked at him with a serious 
expression, Pippin looking from one to the other, 
his youth painfully evident. 
 
"Sam and I have to leave the Shire. We have to get  
to Bree," Frodo said, his will returning to him as  
he shifted to look into the darkness beyond them. 
 
For a moment Merry thought and then decision arrived  
on his face. "The Bucklebury Ferry. Follow me." 
 
He rose and hurried on, followed by Pippin, Frodo and  
then Sam, who reluctantly turned from the rapidly  
fading music of the Elves. With a sigh, he turned and  
followed his companions as they were swallowed by the  
night around them. 
 
*** 
 
"Why were the Elves leaving?" he asked, a sense of  
loss informing his question. 
 
"They have grown weary of the world and it was  
becoming the Age of Man. They were going away to  
the Undying Lands to live with their creators in  
bliss." 
 
"It sounds wonderful," he sighed, the idea of  
living in heaven with God not an unhappy thought.  
"It must be nice to chose to go and get there." 
 
"They are not fallen, our Elves. They are not  
burdened by the Sin of Man." 
 
He nodded and she closed the book, rising. Frowning,  
he stared at her. 
 
"Why stop?" 
 
"We have dinner obligations this night." 
 
He groaned and rose. "Tell me more when we get  
back." 
 
"Delighted to," she said with a smile.  
 
Setting the book on the table, they turned and  
walked to the stairs. Silently settled, the  
travails of generations scripted across the  
thick parchment pages folded inside it, the  
book waited patiently for them to come back. 
 
************************************************ 
c2002 1/9 ]:> TBC 
************************************************

************************************************ 
Title: Once Upon A Time: The Fellowship of the  
Ring <5/?> 
Author: Arctapus, Helmboy, ]:> 
Codes: LOTR, Many, P-R, very long term story. 
Post: Sure. 
Archive: Okay. 
Disclaimer: I don’t own them. I borrow them for  
entertaining and no copyright should be implied  
as infringed. 
PLEASE BEWARE: This is not a word-for-word. It  
is a tale told again in the setting of another  
time. License with the movie is given and all  
errors caused are my own. 
Feedback, criticism, comments and suggestions  
are sought and welcomed. Replies will be given. 
************************************************ 
 
It was an hour later, after coming home from the 
noontime repast out. Social obligations he  
considered. They were the glue that bound his 
class together but now he was vexed by them, by  
their vacuous content and the time they diverted 
from other, more important things. 
 
He paced, his impatience surprising even to  
himself. The luncheon was supper with friends,  
entertaining and full of sparkling conversation.  
There was good food, good wine and cigars in  
the parlor. The men talked of great ideas and  
the women gossiped. That is the way it was and  
he lived for the social whirl that made their  
life full of color and warmth.  
 
That is until now. Now there were other things 
crowding his mind. Heroes and villians. People 
were pushed to do things beyond their mere mortal  
everyday capacities. There was romance and war, 
hope and despair and desperation. Fell things  
bumped through the night and the smallest of 
figures set out to save the world. It filled him 
with an emotional state that had eluded him for 
many years. 
 
He found in this tale a soaring spirit and a  
heroism that he had not seen in many a day. There 
was something bigger in the spirit among these 
characters and they called to him as he went about 
his day. He could barely contain his excitement  
as he came home to listen to the soft and lovely 
voice of his wife. 
 
Turning, he smiled as she entered and sat, picking 
up the book, smoothing its cover lovingly with  
her hands. She smiled and opened it, putting the  
peacock feather to one side. In a clear voice, 
she began to recount the tale as he sat, elbows 
propped on knees and hands folded, completely  
absorbed in her words. 
 
*** 
 
Book Two ... 
 
Chapter Two: Nearing The Ferry ... 
 
It was dark and they moved from tree to tree,  
listening to the night sounds as they made  
their way to the river. It was very dark in the  
woods, every breaking branch and whisper  
terrifyingly magnified. Frodo felt his heart  
pounding in his ears and as they moved, he  
heard Merry call out.  
 
"Down!" 
 
He ducked, the feel of the others behind him  
small comfort and they peered up the hill, a  
figure drawing their eye. It was a Black  
Rider, a shivering terrifying vision, elegant  
and deadly, its malevolent aspect palpable to  
them. 
 
Frodo sighed raggedly, watching as the figure  
turned his horse and with a vision nearly  
slowed in its beauty, moved off into the  
darkness. He swallowed, his fear pulsing in his  
veins and as they rode, Merry looked at him with  
a serious expression. 
 
"Frodo ... what do they want?" 
 
"I have to leave. I told you ... I have to get  
to Bree." 
 
"So do I," Sam added firmly, his expression one  
of grim determination. 
 
"The ferry is close. Let's run for it now,"  
Merry said, turning and heading into the thicket  
and the dirt road beyond. They followed and as  
they ran, they could feel before they heard the  
figure galloping toward them from behind. 
 
Frodo felt his heart burst as he ran forward,  
the others breaking up and scattering. A horse  
flashed past him, whirling almost impossibly as  
its rider spurred it around. He could see a  
metal-gloved hand reach out and he dodged it,  
the cries of horse and hobbits around him almost  
more noise than he could bear. 
 
They turned and ran, each of them fleeing the evil  
behind them, the ferry beyond in sight at last.  
They jumped the fence and raced to the ferry,  
grateful that other boats were not tied up along  
side of it. Bounding aboard, Merry cried out to  
Sam. 
 
"Get the ropes." 
 
Sam and Pippin hustled, pulling ropes as Merry 
grabbed the propelling pole. It was then that  
they realized that Frodo wasn't with them. Sam  
turned, his face contorted with fear and in the  
halo of light from the moon and stars, they  
could see Frodo running toward them, the Rider  
pursuing him like a hound from the very heart  
of hell. 
 
"Frodo! Run, Frodo!" Sam cried out, barely  
restraining his urge to run forward. He held out  
his arms, willing Frodo to come and when he  
finally reached the edge and leaped, Sam caught  
him, the two falling to the deck in a heap. 
 
They shoved off, their eyes fixed on the figure of  
the Rider skidding to a halt before them. A cry  
issued from him, shrill and furious and he turned,  
spurring his horse onward, joining two others who  
galloped past, their robes flowing in the wind  
like ghastly sails. Then they were gone and it was  
silent but for the sound of water as Merry poled.  
 
"How far to the nearest crossing?" Frodo asked,  
his chest tight with fear and effort. 
 
"It's twenty miles," Merry replied, the look on his  
face reflecting the seriousness of their situation.  
It was clear to him now, the danger they were in and  
he resolved to get them all to Bree come what may. 
 
*****At Bree ... 
 
He walked into the Prancing Pony, the hood of his  
cloak pulled up over his head. He was covered with  
the mud and grime of travel in rough country and  
all around him rougher people avoided eye contact.  
He was a Ranger, a man who traveled in the wild  
lands, surviving in places that spelt doom for most  
others.  
 
He was well-known in an anonymous sort of way. He  
was seldom seen unless he wanted to be and of the  
rumors told, someone to be avoided at all costs.  
Elf-man, they said but never to him. He was touched  
by the Elves and everyone knew how dangerous those  
people could be. 
 
He checked in with Butterbur, the proprietor almost  
obsequious in his commentary. A single room with a  
large single bed, it would do. He didn't ask of  
Gandalf, seeing nothing of him around including the  
mark he always made as a sign to those who might be  
able to read it. 
 
Walking downstairs, he sat in a darkened corner,  
dinner and a pint before him and he watched. It  
would be a while before he saw what he came for,  
four drenched figures walking in from the raging  
night. He watched them, considering them as they  
talked to Butterbur and checked into a room.  
 
He had seen Hobbits before, the tiny people of the  
Shire more myth than reality for most. Bilbo Baggins  
had been the most familiar Hobbit to his knowledge,  
the man who had found a ring of power in a journey  
made long ago. Gandalf was sure it was the One Ring  
and he was here to assist. 
 
Watching the Hobbits as they bumbled around, he knew  
he had his work cut out for him. He lit his pipe and  
settled back, his eyes never leaving the dark-haired  
slender Hobbit that was so obviously Frodo Baggins,  
Ring Bearer. 
 
*** 
 
"That man over there... he hasn't stopped staring at  
you all night," Sam said, gesturing to the dangerous  
looking figure in the corner.  
 
Frodo glanced his way, a frown informing his face.  
Butterbur stepped into view and he halted him. 
 
"Excuse me," he said, nodding toward the corner. "Who  
is that man over there?" 
 
Butterbur looked that way, tempering his response  
slightly. "I don't rightly know. He is one of the  
wandering folk- Rangers we call them. He seldom  
talks; not but what he can tell a rare tale when he  
has a mind. He disappears for a month or a year and  
then he springs up again. He was in and out pretty  
often last spring; but I haven't seen him about  
lately. What his right name is I've never heard; but  
he's known round here as Strider." 
 
Butterbur moved on and Frodo considered his words,  
turning the ring over and over in his hands absently.  
For a moment there was nothing but his thoughts about  
what to do next and then the thing began to call to  
him, a subtle and sensual whispering that emanated  
somewhere from the farthest back reaches of his mind. 
 
He closed his eyes slowly, his dark lashes feather- 
like against his pale skin and in his mind visions  
of tenderness and soft touches filled him. They were  
warm and disembodied, soft and sweet. Honey gold  
light washed through him and then he felt fingers on  
his skin, soft caressing fingers ... Sam's fingers ...  
Baggins ... Baggins ... the whispering continued. 
 
"Baggins. Frodo Baggins. He's sitting over there." 
 
Frodo jolted back, turning to glance over to the bar  
at Pippin, who was gabbing brightly with the rough  
characters around him. Frodo felt panic assault him  
like a tidal wave and he rose, hurrying through the  
crowd of taller people, desperate to silence the  
voice that in all clueless innocence was painting a  
target on their backs. 
 
"Pippin! What are you doing?" he called out, grabbing  
at the youngster.  
 
Pippin turned, surprised. "Frodo! What are you doing?" 
 
Frodo felt a foot and slipped on a boot, falling to  
the ground. It all merged then, a slow motion  
catastrophe that cascaded down upon him as the ring  
shut into the air, out of his hand and free. 
 
He watched rather than felt himself fall as he strained  
to grab his ring and as it fell, it hunted him,  
desperate to call for its master. It found his finger  
and then the world melted away, replaced by a dank and  
windy world of dark shapes and even darker enmity. 
 
Strider sat tensely, drawn by the obviously oblivious  
commentary by the small hobbit at the bar. He watched  
Frodo rise and he watched Frodo fall. The ring shot  
up, the aura of it clear to him and Strider sat up, a  
chill of such cold terror flashing through him as he  
had not felt in a long time. 
 
*** 
 
"This is exciting. The Ring wants to be found." 
 
"Yes," she agreed, smiling at his engagement. "It  
wants to be found, as Gandalf said." 
 
"Gandalf is a wise man. Wizard means 'wise man'. I  
have been consulting books in my spare moments. I  
find this Gandalf a fine fellow. Continue, darling." 
 
She smiled and did. 
 
*** 
 
He rose and slipped through the crowd, all of them  
abuzz because the moment the ring slipped onto Frodo's  
finger, he disappeared from sight. People milled,  
their voices high with amazement. He searched the crowd,  
waiting for the moment when the ring would come off and  
the little fellow would once again appear.  
 
The knowledge of this, the certainty of this was long  
discussed between him and Gandalf on their long trails  
together across the land. He waited, more than aware  
that others, fell beasts and possibly wraiths, would  
be waiting to find the bearer as well. 
 
After a moment he materialized and Strider stepped  
forward, hauling him to his feet. The crowd melted back, 
unwilling to be near to him and together, Strider and  
Frodo clambered up the stairs to the second floor. 
 
Pippin, transfixed by the event, glanced as Merry  
grabbed him, the pint he sought forgotten. He dragged  
Pippin over to where Sam stood rooted and they turned  
and stared at the stairway. Sam sighed, broken from  
his surprise and then he looked at the other two. 
 
"He took Mr. Frodo. We have to save him. Come with me." 
 
Sam started across the room, Pippin and Merry in tow.  
Up the stairs they went, the comments of the room  
becoming louder with the disappearance of all the major  
players. 
 
*** 
 
"What now? The ring has signaled its keepers. They  
must be coming." 
 
"They are. They're riding toward Bree like wind gusts  
from Hell." 
 
"More. Please." 
 
***  
 
They came in the night, hooves pounding and when the  
door keeper of Bree heard them, he came to the gate,  
opening the window to peer out. He couldn't even jump  
aside, the horses breaking down the door and beneath  
it, dying immediately, he lay in the mud as they  
galloped over him toward the inn. 
 
They moved through the streets, their fell danger raging  
before them and one by one, the lights going out as people  
rushed to extinguish them. They thundered to the inn,  
stopping and dismounting, their malevolence filling all  
spaces around them as they moved to the door. They opened  
it and walked in, smooth and elegant, deadly and determined, 
Butterbur hid behind his desk, praying that they would go 
quickly. They disappeared up the stairs from view. 
 
Meanwhile, Strider entered his room and tossed the little  
Hobbit in, Frodo landing on his knees and rising,  
indignant but frightened. He felt small, the tall figure  
before him towering over him and he stood, as bravely as  
he could muster under the circumstances. 
 
"What do you want?" he asked with more courage than he  
felt. 
 
"That was a nice trick, Mr. Hobbit," he said, moving to  
the window and extinguishing his candles. He turned and  
looked at the fellow before him, a small figure with a  
monumental responsibility. "I can make myself disappear  
for stretches of time but disappearing like you did?  
That is a neat trick." 
 
Frodo stared at him. "What do you want?" 
 
The tall man ignored him again. "Are you frightened?"  
he asked, his voice silky and soft. 
 
Frodo stared at him, his weariness and fear coagulating  
in his gut. "Yes." 
 
"Not near enough," Strider replied, "for I know what's  
hunting you." 
 
At that moment the door opened and three figures  
appeared, one holding a stool over his head and one with  
fists clenched. The one in front, fists clenched and rage  
on his face, barked at the tall man before him. 
 
"Let go of him, Longshanks, or you'll have Sam Gamgee  
to contend with!" 
 
Strider paused and slipped his sword back in its scabbard, 
relaxing slightly. "You have a stout heart, little hobbit,  
but that will not save you from what is coming." 
 
For a moment no one moved and then Merry lowered the  
stool. 
 
"Frodo, are you all right?" he asked as they entered the  
room and closed the door. 
 
Frodo looked at them, his chest squeezed tight in fear  
and weariness. "I'm fine, Merry," he lied. "I'm fine." 
 
*** 
 
She closed the book and they both sat together, images  
of dark deeds, romantic men and the stuff of legends  
played through their minds. 
 
"I love this book. I love these people. Tell me they  
don't get hurt too badly," he asked, gazing at his wife  
with emotion. 
 
"I cannot tell the tale before its time," she said,  
sighing. "Even as much as I wish to." 
 
"This story ... it has unusual romantic notions." 
 
She nodded. "What are you feelings about this?" 
 
He thought about it for a long time and sighed. "I'm  
not sure. I'm not a sheltered man. I have lived a lot  
of trials and tribulations but this is different." 
 
"These are manly men," she replied dreamily. "Men who  
do things for the right. I find them wonderful." 
 
"I do too, oddly enough," he said, rising. "I suppose  
we must have dinner now." 
 
She rose and took his hand. "Cook has been calling for  
ten minutes. I think it's wise." 
 
They turned and walked to the door, her husband  
pausing. "We *will* read more later?" 
 
"But of course," she said, pulling him into the dining  
room with her. 
 
It was quiet in the room as the book sat on the table,  
the wraiths and heroes and lonely landscapes of Middle  
Earth waiting for their return. 
 
************************************************ 
c2002 1/9 ]:> TBC 
************************************************


************************************************ 
Title: Once Upon A Time: The Fellowship of the  
Ring <6/?> 
Author: Arctapus, Helmboy, ]:> 
Codes: LOTR, Many, P-R, very long term story. 
See part one for the header, feedback notes and 
disclaimer. This is not a movie verbatim, but a  
joining of book and movie. 
************************************************ 
 
Dinner was concluded, family time accounted for  
and with much kissing and hugs, nanny took the  
children up the stairs to bed. He smiled at his  
offspring, the much longed for progeny dear to  
his heart. Turning, ignoring the smirking smile  
on his wife's face, he led the way to the parlor  
and another segment of the travails of the good 
people of Middle Earth. Sitting, they stared at  
the book. 
 
"You must teach me to speak this language," he  
said, the lovely script tantalizingly out of  
reach of his mind. 
 
"Consider it done," she said, her mind filled  
with endearments she longed to utter in the lovely  
lost languages of the Elves. With that, she opened  
the book and began once more ... 
 
*** 
 
He sat on a chair in the corner by the window,  
the weak light of the stars and houses nearby  
adding shadows to the good lines of his face.  
He was of indeterminate age, perhaps a younger  
man than he looked. Maybe there was something to  
Butterbur's remark about him being an Elf man,  
Frodo considered. 
 
He sat with his cloak around him, a silent and  
still figure, his sword cradled against his chest.  
The hobbits sat on the bed, three against the  
headboard and a restless Frodo sitting near the  
foot. They heard it outside, the terrible cries  
and the sounds of horse hooves pounding through  
the rainy mud on the street. A feeling of dread  
suffused them and Frodo stared at Strider as he  
glanced out the window. 
 
"What are they?" he asked. 
 
Strider turned his head, dark eyes gazing at the  
young hobbit. It felt like they pierced him and  
Frodo felt naked, like there was nothing between  
him and the intense man before him. He stared at  
him with wary eyes. 
 
"They were once great kings of men," Strider  
began, his soft voice barely a whisper, so filled  
with regret and sadness was it. "They were nine  
kings who received rings of power from Sauron.  
They were blinded by their greed and fell away  
into shadow. They are the Nazgul, the ring  
wraithes, neither living nor dead." 
 
It was silent a moment and then a soft knock came  
to the door. Strider rose and sword in hand,  
walked to the door and jerked it open. Butterbur  
fairly fell into the room, apologizing as he did.  
In his hand was a letter, sealed in red wax. He  
looked at the hobbits and then at the dark and  
fierce-looking man before him, sword ready at the  
use.  
 
He swallowed hard and glanced at Frodo. "Sorry to  
bother you, little master, but I have this letter  
for you. It's from Mr. Gandalf. I forgot in the  
excitement of the evening to give it to you." 
 
Strider frowned and took the letter from Butterbur,  
the pub owner fleeing when he did. He shut and  
locked the door, turning and staring at the envelope.  
It had Gandalf's mark, the Elvish sign that he used  
and stepping forward, he handed it to Frodo.  
 
Frodo stared at it and then opened it, reading it  
silently before speaking the words out loud. 
 
"The Prancing Pony, Bree. Midyear's Day, Shire Year,  
1418. 
 
"Dear Frodo, 
Bad news has reached me here. I must go off at  
once. You will follow the plan that I have set into  
play. It will find you here at this inn. I will  
return as soon as I can; and I will follow you, if  
I find that you are gone. Leave a message for me  
here, if you pass through Bree. You can trust the  
landlord (Butterbur). You may meet a friend of mine  
on the Road: a Man, lean, dark, tall, called by  
some Strider. He knows our business and will help  
you. Make for Rivendell. There I hope we may meet  
again. If I do not come, Elrond will advise you. 
Yours in haste, 
Gandalf 
 
P.S. Do NOT use it again, not for any reason  
whatsoever! Do not travel by night. 
 
P.S.S. Make sure that it is the real Strider. There  
are many men on the roads. His true name is Aragorn. 
 
All that is gold does not glitter, 
Not all those who wander are lost; 
The old that is strong does not wither, 
Deep roots are not reached by the frost. 
From the ashes a fire shall be woken, 
A light from the shadows shall spring; 
Renewed shall be blade that was broken, 
The crownless again shall be king. 
 
P.P.P.S. I hope Butterbur sends this promptly. A  
worthy man, but his memory is like a lumber-room:  
thing wanted always buried. If he forgets, I shall  
roast him. Fare well! 
 
"Butterbur deserves to be roasted," Pippin said. 
"We could have been in Rivendell by now." 
 
"Why didn't you tell us you were Gandalf's friend?"  
Merry asked. 
 
"Would you have believed me?" Strider asked. 
 
"I would have. I wanted to. I think if there had  
been anyone different, it would have been someone  
more ... fair, if you know what I mean." 
 
Strider chuckled. "More foul and less fair, is  
that what I am?" 
 
Frodo smiled and shrugged. "It just seemed to be  
that to me, that's all." 
 
Sam stared at him suspiciously. "How do we know you  
are the real Strider? You might have done in the real  
Strider and taken his clothes. You could be a play- 
actin' spy!" 
 
"You are a stout fellow," Strider agreed, "But I'm 
afraid that my only answer is this. If I had killed  
the real Strider, I would have killed you too  
without so much talk. If I wanted the Ring, I could  
have it -- NOW!" 
 
He rose and seemed to suddenly grow taller, in his  
eyes gleamed a light, keen and commanding. They  
stared at him, at the sword that he caressed with  
his hand. Then he relaxed, a slight smile gracing  
a handsome face. "I am the real Strider." 
 
Frodo let out a breath and nodded. "What do we do?" 
 
"Get some sleep. I'll be right back." 
 
With that, the enigma turned and walked to the door,  
slipping out soundlessly. Frodo watched him, the  
turmoil in his gut churning. Sam stood and looked  
around, noting the one bed for five. Without a word,  
all four hobbits climbed into bed and lay quietly,  
each falling into sleep one by one, Sam's arm  
around Frodo protectively. 
 
*** 
 
"The wraithes? Where are they?" he asked. 
 
"They are there. Butterbur turned one away." 
 
"They won't stay away, surely," he asked, concern  
in his voice. 
 
"No, more are coming. There will be four this  
night," she said with a sigh. 
 
*** 
 
The door burst open and Butterbur felt them before  
he saw them. He had shooed one away, the noise of  
other people in the inn causing hesitation and for  
a moment it appeared it would fail before the tall  
dark figure turned back to his horse, an evil  
apparition standing nearby, stamping his devil feet  
in the mud. 
 
More had come however and he cringed behind his  
counter, the room empty of customers as the night  
waned. They floated past him, their footfalls  
reverberating in his head and he closed his eyes  
tightly as the foul creatures passed. They climbed  
his stairs and were gone from sight as he peered  
over the top, terror gripping him tightly. 
 
Up the stairs they walked and into the room where  
four small beds stood occupied. Each crept closer,  
sword in hand and when they were even to a bed,  
they raised their swords and plunged them down,  
stabbing over and over the occupant. Cries of horror  
and squeals inhuman filled the air and when they  
were through, they tore at the refuse, searching for  
the Ring that had called to them. 
 
Nearby, looking out a window, Strider watched them,  
the cries of horror far enough away to be within the  
margin of safety that he sought. They would not find  
the hobbits, over his broken dead body, and tonight  
would be no exception.  
 
Frodo and the others jolted awake, drawn by the wails  
and cries of rage and frustration that were emanating  
from a room nearby. They listened and then it subsided,  
the figures leaving and striking onward. Frodo lay  
back, comforted by Sam's presence and they settled  
again, Sam spooned behind him, his arm around his  
master protectively. 
 
Strider sat at his post, his eyes searching for danger  
and they passed the night this way. No one would  
disturb them again and in the morning, before anyone  
arose, they would slip out and head into the  
wilderness once more. 
 
*** 
 
It was midmorning when they reached the lowland hills,  
the sun warm upon them even as they left fairer land  
behind. It was going to be colder the higher they got  
and the terrain was tougher. At least Strider's horse  
would carry their gear and Sam fussed with it, his  
instinctual regard for farms, farming and animals  
coming to the fore. Frodo walked behind Strider, the  
tall man's pace almost too much but he strove to keep  
up. They moved quickly, breakfast a hurried affair.  
Finally, midmorning, they paused, Frodo looking back  
as Pippin began to pull out food. Strider, walking  
ahead, paused and turned to them, a frown on his face. 
 
"Gentlemen. What are you doing?" he asked, puzzled. 
 
"It's time for breakfast," Pippin replied cheerily. 
 
"But we already had breakfast," Strider replied,  
bemused as memories of hobbit appetites came back  
to him.  
 
"That was first breakfast. This is second breakfast,"  
Pippin replied, grinning with the pleasure of more  
hot food. 
 
Strider looked at him, quashing a grin. Then he  
turned and began to walk. Merry looked at him and  
then the surprised look on Pippin's face. 
 
"Maybe he doesn't know about second breakfast, Pip,"  
he replied, placatingly. 
 
Pippin looked at him with horror. "Doesn't know  
about second breakfast?" he asked, a slight tone  
of incredulity in his voice. "What about  
elevensies?" 
 
Merry began to follow Strider as Pippin jogged 
alongside of him. He looked at Pippin and shrugged. 
 
"What about luncheon? What about tea? And supper  
and dinner? What about those?" 
 
"I don't think so," Merry replied, catching an apple  
that flew out of the air from the general direction  
of Strider's disappearing back. He handed it to  
Pippin and continued, the others following as well. 
 
Pippin stared in disbelief and confusion as another  
apple flew in his direction, hitting him on the head.  
It fell to the ground and he looked around in the  
air, as if apples flew from the sky to bombard  
unsuspecting hobbits on the ground. As the horse  
and Sam passed him, he sighed and picked up the  
apples, hurrying to catch up with the others. 
 
*** 
 
"He's a child, isn't he? Pippin?"  
 
"I believe so," she replied.  
 
"It was wrong to bring a child along," the man said,  
a note of disapproval in his voice. 
 
"Perhaps, but these are not common times. Even the  
smallest person can change the world," she said,  
the echo of another in her voice.  
 
He sighed and nodded. "I want to be there, to  
protect them from the dangers." 
 
"Strider is there. He's a very good man," she said,  
staring at an illustration in the book. A tall man,  
rugged and handsome, the youth of ages shining  
from his eyes. She touched it with her fingers,  
tracing the picture gently. "More?" 
 
He nodded. 
 
*** 
 
Chapter Six: Amon Sul ... 
 
They moved on, spending days getting through rough  
country. Sleeping out, eating mostly cold food, it  
was hard on everyone but the stoic man. He was the  
first man that the four had ever really seen and  
certainly the first one they had talked to. They  
watched him curiously as he watched them, his dark  
gaze ever level and piercing.  
 
Frodo sat on a log and stared into the distance,  
the setting sun bringing colors and chill to the  
landscape around them. Strider sat nearby, staring  
at the sky beyond them.  
 
"This is hard country," Frodo said, making  
conversation.  
 
"It is. We're heading for the great watch tower of  
Amon Sul." 
 
"You have been through these hills many times,"  
Frodo queried, moving closer to the big man.  
 
"More times than I care to remember," Strider said,  
sighing. He looked down at Frodo. "Are you cold?" 
 
"A little," Frodo admitted. 
 
Strider opened his cape and Frodo slid close, the  
folds of it covering him, the warmth almost  
immediate. He sighed, the warmth of the man, the  
smell of his leather soothing and he leaned against  
him, the simple sweetness of his trust bringing  
a smile to Strider. "Better?" 
 
"Much," Frodo replied with a sigh. "I have little  
experience with men." 
 
Strider quashed the too obvious reply and smiled.  
"And do I pass the test?" 
 
"You do." It was silent a moment. "Tell me about  
yourself. I don't know anything of the ways of  
men." 
 
Strider considered his request and the years of  
anonymity that he had cultivated. This would be  
a hard habit to break. He sighed. 
 
"There isn't much to know. There isn't much to  
say. I have been here and there, I have done  
this and that. I am what you see." 
 
"That is probably untrue," Frodo ventured, his  
hand idly resting on the butt of Strider's  
sword grip.  
 
Strider grinned. "What about you, Frodo? What  
about your life?" 
 
He shrugged, sleepiness coming over him as he sat  
warmed at last. The ring in his pocket felt heavy  
and he sighed, rubbing his cheek against Strider's  
chest, the man staring down at him with bemusement. 
 
"Not much to say. My parents drowned and I came  
to live with my Uncle Bilbo. End of story." 
 
"So it would seem," Strider said, slipping his  
arm around the drowsy hobbit. "If I believed that  
was all there was as well." 
 
Frodo smiled, looking up at him, his child-like  
beauty touching to the tall man. He pulled Frodo  
closer, offering more warmth and turned his gaze  
to the plains once more. 
 
Nearby, watching with an odd sense of jealousy,  
Sam Gamgee stared. He sat on his log, his blanket  
around him, ignoring the conversation between  
Merry and Pippin. Frodo was sitting too close to  
the man and it bothered Sam in a deeply visceral  
way. He didn't know why in the end. He just knew  
it did.  
 
They were going to Amon Sul and would camp there,  
this moment just a respite in the journey. It  
glimmering in the settling darkness beyond, the  
great watch tower long abandoned to the night and  
its creatures. Soon they would get up and go once  
more and he would stay close to Frodo and protect  
him. He was precious to Sam, he considered, very,  
very precious. 
 
*** 
 
"It's late." 
 
"I know. I want to know what happens," he said,  
sighing. 
 
"I will read to you tomorrow. We have no engagements  
after church and we can sit in the garden and read  
while the children play on the lawn." 
 
Reluctantly, he rose, nodding his head. She rose as  
well, putting the book carefully down on the table.  
He leaned down, kissing her on the lips. "You are  
surprising and beautiful to me," he said with a  
heartfelt sigh. 
 
"I love you too." 
 
Together, they turned and walked to the stairs as  
the night settled on their home and onto the weary  
travelers of the lonely plains of Middle Earth. 
 
************************************************ 
c2002 1/11 ]:> TBC 
************************************************

************************************************ 
Title: Once Upon A Time: The Fellowship of the  
Ring <7/?> 
Author: Arctapus, Helmboy, ]:> 
Codes: LOTR, Many, P-R, very long term story. 
See part one for details and such. Note that  
this is a merging of book and movie.  
************************************************ 
 
After church and before luncheon ... 
 
They settled on the porch, the warm light of mid  
morning warm upon them. Delighted shrieks from  
their children at play was a cozy counterpoint to  
the wrenching danger faced by their heroes. He sat,  
watching as his wife began to translate the lovely  
script into intelligible speech.  
 
They had talked of Luthien and her Beloved and for  
a moment he was transported into another time of  
shining hopes and Ardan springs. The world of the  
Ring and the people therein reached out to him and  
he embraced it through the lovely voice of his  
wife. 
 
*** 
 
They climbed the steep slopes of Amon Sul just as  
night was descending. Strider felt better about  
things, knowing that they had a more even chance  
to survive out of sight of man and demon. They sat  
down, weary beyond anything known to them before  
and lay back against the side of a broken wall. 
 
Strider pulled a bundle from his horse and turned  
to them, kneeling down as he did. He opened it and  
revealed four long daggers, tossing them one to  
the next. 
 
"These are for you. Keep them near." 
 
Frodo pulled his partly out, staring dully at the  
blade as Strider rose and turned. He moved away,  
looking over his shoulder. 
 
"I'm going to look around. Stay here. Stay together." 
 
With that, he was gone. 
 
Frodo sighed and put his dagger back into the dark  
sheath that held it. Moving to his bedroll, he  
pulled his blanket around him and fell into a weary  
sleep on a small hummock of grass. 
 
*** 
 
The darkness surrounded him and he moved through it,  
searching for telltale signs of intruders. The  
hobbits were on the outcropping, hidden in the  
contours of the old tower that had once been a  
sentinel to the people who ruled here. Those days  
were long gone, as were his own hopes of ever making  
things the way they were. 
 
He was a foundling almost, a boy taken in by the  
Elves and raised by them, different name, different  
languages, excellent education. The Elves, one in  
particular, kept the faith with the past even as he  
hoped and schemed for the future. 
 
Elrond, Lord of Imladris, the son of a mythical  
figure and brother of an ancestor of Strider's own  
line, he kept things alive even as he secreted them  
away. Strider knew that Elrond dreamed of a heir to  
the throne of Gondor that would rise to the occasion  
and he kept the family safe against that one future  
day. 
 
He himself had few illusions beyond the bare embers  
of a dream his father had died for. He was the last  
and the weight of it when he considered it was  
crushing. He didn't think on it often. 
 
There were signs about, evil sounds and the odd  
sight of a night animal wandering. He felt the  
chill around him and as he walked, his torch held  
down against the ground, he considered what he  
would face with his four mostly helpless charges. 
 
Sam was brave, his regard for Frodo making him so  
and Frodo was doing his best. The small figure  
was as a child to him in some ways, fearful and  
quiet, strong but adult as well. He was a strange  
mix, this hobbit and he found himself liking him,  
admiring his fearful but determined drive and the  
friendship and loyalty he inspired in the others.  
 
He could understand that high principle and he  
admired the ability of others to inspire it. He  
himself was loyal to many, to Gandalf and to the  
Elves, to Elrond and to one other, someone who  
had been his friend all his life. He quashed  
that thought and considered instead the beautiful  
figure of Arwen, daughter of Elrond. 
 
Their friendship, their ... growing friendship  
was a sore spot in the mind and heart of Lord  
Elrond. He didn't approve but not for the usual  
reasons. He didn't approve because it would put  
the choice of Elf or Man that faced his daughter  
into a different most terrible place for his own  
heart. He had been through that with his beloved  
brother and it loomed for his daughter and twin  
sons someday. He also didn't approve of the fact  
that Strider had never reconciled to his past  
and the responsibilities that entailed. No  
kingdom, no marriage. 
 
He sighed. Marriage. That too was a problem. He  
felt a number of things in the company of the  
lovely woman but marriage filled him with  
trepidation. Was he good enough for her? Was he  
in love with her? Was he selfish enough to make  
her choose to give up the immortality guaranteed  
in Valinor for a life of struggle, hardship and  
eventual death?  
 
That was a burden as well and as he searched for  
trouble he felt every pound of every expectation  
ever demanded of him. Then he rose and saw it, a  
small spark of light on the tower and his heart  
seized. Turning, running as fast as he could, he  
raced through the night to the plateau beyond.  
As he did, he felt the wraithes riding past him,  
homing in on the beacon as well. 
 
*** 
 
He sighed, his eyes opening slowly. Something  
wonderful assaulted his senses, the smell of food  
cooking and the emotional mirage of home. For a  
moment Frodo floated in the comforting lie of his  
mental image and then he jolted awake. He turned  
and called out, the three companions of his  
journey looking up with a smile. They were  
huddled around a tiny fire, food cooking in front  
of them. Sam smiled. 
 
"Dinner, Frodo. We saved some for you." 
 
He jumped up, a searing white panic sweeping  
through him. He ran over and began to kick the  
flames out. 
 
"What are you doing! Put it out! Put it out!"  
he shouted.  
 
They all began to argue, the babble rising and  
then they heard it, the siren call of evil.  
Turning, they ran to the edge of the tower and  
peered down, the floating image of five Black  
Riders heading toward them like ghostly clouds. 
 
Frodo turned and ran to his kit, grabbing his  
dagger. The others took theirs and Frodo  
shouted. 
 
"Go! Go!"  
 
They turned and ran up the steps, heading for the  
next level where they found themselves trapped,  
turning and milling together in terror and  
helplessness. Sounds issued and footsteps echoed  
as they turned this way and that, bracing for an  
attack that they knew was coming but couldn't see.  
 
Frodo turned and then he saw one, a tall elegant  
figure walking up the side of the hill, entering  
through a break in the wall. He drew his sword,  
the hollow rasp echoing and the others turned,  
noticing him for the first time. 
 
A terrible anxiety swept over Frodo, a paralyzing  
fear and he stood, his face contorted as if blinded  
by a light and he watched as the figure was joined  
with more. Three of them came, four of them  
advanced and as they held out their swords,  
pointing the deadly blades at the hobbits, the  
spell was broken. 
 
"Get away, you devils!" Sam cried, rushing forward.  
 
The dark demon swept him aside, casting him against  
the wall with a numbing jolt. Another moved forward  
and Merry and Pippin formed in front of Frodo,  
their terror overwhelming them. They were swept  
aside as well with almost no effort. 
 
Frodo stood rooted to the spot, his dagger  
forgotten in his hand. The figures turned and  
moved toward him, swords raised and hand  
outstretched. Frodo stumbled back, dropping the  
dagger and as he did, he fell, scrambling back  
until the wall blocked him. He felt desperation  
to a degree he had never felt before and as he  
felt his end coming, the Ring called to him. 
 
He dug it out and slipped it on, the world  
disappearing around him as the wild and desolate  
sorrowfulness of the wraith world enveloped him. 
He started and stared, the figures before him  
desiccated and terrible, their aspect now white  
and their age indeterminate. They looked like  
dried corpses, their eyes hollow black spots in  
their terrible faces and Frodo stared at them  
with sheer and unmitigated terror.  
 
One king, tall and frightful, reaching down,  
seeking the ring. His hand moved forward, the  
Ring seeking his touch and Frodo fought the  
sensation with all his strength. For a moment  
it was even and then Frodo pulled his hand back,  
the enraged Wraith stabbing him with his sword. 
 
He screamed, a hollow echo of terror and pain as  
the acid hurt of the wound crept out over him.  
Spider tendrils of pain, wire-like and terrible  
hurtled through him and he cried over and over. 
He pulled the ring off, the world returning and  
his scream fattened, gathering volume on this  
plane of reality. 
 
Sam gathered his wits and turned toward it, crying  
out as he did. "FRODO!" 
 
He scrambled to his feet, determined to fight his  
way through when a force flashed past and the  
Wraithes began to scream. Strider hurtled in,  
waving a fire brand in all directions. The Wraithes  
fell back, their swords in arms and as they did, he  
lit one like a torch, the flames of his dark robes  
bursting into fire. He screamed and turned, writhing  
like a dying beast and ran forward, jumping off the  
ledge.  
 
As he did, Strider attacked two others, fending  
one off and lighting another. He twisted and cried,  
falling away into the darkness as the other drove  
at Strider, their swords clanging in the night. He  
screamed and turned, jumping away from the tall man  
and disappeared, the arena falling silent but for  
the cries of Frodo and the imploring calls of the  
three hobbits who were kneeling by him, helplessly  
comforting Frodo as they could. 
 
He started toward them then slowed, a slight knowing  
look appearing on his handsome face. A Wraith was  
behind him, coming closer and as it did, Strider  
whirled, throwing his torch with deadly accuracy. It  
impaled the figure in the head, burning all around  
the hood and spreading, and he shrieked with unholy  
volume as he staggered toward the lip of the tower.  
He fell off, his cries echoing for a moment and  
then there were none, even as Strider turned this  
way and that, searching for danger.  
 
"Strider! Come quick!" Sam shouted and Strider  
turned, hurrying and kneeling beside Frodo, his  
hands pulling the shirt he wore back. 
 
A black wound festered, stringing tiny rivulets of  
black poison in all directions in the fair skin and  
he bit his lip in worry. Reaching out, he picked up  
a Wraith sword, staring at its malevolence with  
growing concern. 
 
"He's been stabbed by a Mordor sword."  
 
The blade disintegrated and he dropped it, the heat  
of its handle too hot to hold. He turned to Frodo  
and studied the wound and the sucking sickly sounds  
of strangulation Frodo was making.  
 
His eyes were changing, dark lines forming there as  
well and his cries began to take on an ominous tone.  
Answering them in the darkness, the Wraithes  
exhorted him to join them and Strider knew he needed  
more than what he could offer. 
 
"He's beyond my skill," Strider said, picking the  
small limp figure up and turning to go. "He is in  
need of Elvish medicine." 
 
They all rose and joined him, quickly putting things  
on the horse and with grim determination, followed  
Strider off into the night. 
 
***  
 
"Gandalf said not to travel at night." 
 
"They have no choice," she replied. "They need to  
get to Rivendell. Only the master of that great  
house can save this little one." 
 
"This Elrond, he is great among his kind?" 
 
"He is a pillar of Middle Earth. He is one of the  
oldest of the Fair Folk and wise among even the  
wise." 
 
"Strider, he loves this man's daughter?" 
 
"He thinks so," she replied, noting the reflective  
look on her husband's face. "He isn't clear. He has  
many things to consider and the burdens of kingship  
are very heavy." 
 
He snorted. "Our king doesn't seem to think so.  
Bertie never has any trouble finding good table  
or bed companions." 
 
She snickered. "That's hardly a good way to  
speak of one's sovereign." 
 
"One must have a sovereign to be proud of, to  
follow unto the ends of the earth. This Strider,  
even Elrond, I would follow. Bertie? I don't  
think so. Tell me more of this despairing turn  
of events." 
 
She sat back, the words coming freely now as she  
continued to translate the Sindar of Middle Earth  
into English. 
 
*** 
 
They were on the fourth day of their desperate  
flight when it became clear that they would not  
arrive in time to save Frodo. Running almost non  
stop, the small figure slung over his shoulder,  
Strider pressed on, passing superhuman feats of  
effort as he did.  
 
The hobbits hurried, never complaining even as  
they grieved aloud for their brother. Frodo was 
beyond them, half in the shadow world that  
called to him incessantly. He was fading, a  
black tinge to his skin covering nearly his  
whole body. Green slime issued from his eyes  
and mouth, desiccation that refused to be  
healed no matter what Strider would do. 
 
They had stopped, Sam's suspicions rising once  
more. The tall man stared at him and then at  
the suffering youngster lying beside a small  
fire. 
 
"The Wraithes are near, waiting for Frodo to  
pass over from what they believe is a deadly  
wound. A short wait and it will be theirs, I  
believe," Strider said. 
 
Sam choked with tears and Strider squeezed his  
shoulder. "Don't despair! You must trust me  
now. Your Frodo is made of sterner stuff than  
I had guessed, though Gandalf hinted it might  
prove so. He is not slain and I think he will  
resist the evil power of the ring longer than  
his enemies suspect. I will do all I can to  
help and heal him. Guard him well, while I  
am away!" With that, he turned and walked  
into the night.  
 
For a while they were alone and then Strider  
returned, leaves in his hand. He knelt and  
began to chew them, putting them into the  
festering wound that oozed black liquid.  
 
Sam swallowed hard. "That plant looks familiar." 
 
"Its the Athelas plant. The Men of the West brought  
it to Middle Earth long ago and even though it is  
rare in these parts, it can help slow the spread  
of the poison. It won't heal it and it won't stop  
it but it will in some small way slow it down." 
 
They moved on, Frodo only slightly comforted by  
Strider's ministrations and when they reached  
the road that unknown to the hobbits Bilbo and  
Gandalf had taken long before on another  
adventure, they cast about for a camping spot. As  
they did, they froze, the sounds of a light horse  
footstep catching their attention. 
 
Strider paused and stooped to the ground, his ear  
focused on the sound of tinkling bells as well.  
Suddenly into view a white horse came, its  
headstall gleaming as if studded by stars. The  
rider's cloak streamed behind him, his hood thrown  
back and his golden hair flowed shimmering in the  
wind behind him.  
 
Frodo glanced at the soft sound and saw a bright  
light approaching, the rider and horse enclosed  
in it as if shrouded by a veil. Strider jumped up,  
crying out and the rider stopped, already aware  
of their presence.  
 
The white shrouded figure dismounted and ran to  
meet Strider, calling out "Ai na vedui Dunadan! 
Mae govannen!" 
 
The speech was ringing and beautiful, and it left  
no doubt that he was Elven-folk. No one in the  
world dwelling had a voice so fair as they but a  
note of concern, even fear laced the sweet sound.  
He stood talking urgently and quickly to Strider. 
 
Strider turned and beckoned to the hobbits, who 
came to him. He said, "This is Glorfindel, who  
dwells in the house of Elrond." 
 
They all nodded, the strain of the past few days  
on their faces.  
 
"Hail and well met!" he said, nodding to them. "I  
was sent from Rivendell to look for you. We feared  
that you were in danger on the road." 
 
"We are. We have injuries," Sam said quickly.  
"Frodo is hurt." 
 
Glorfindel frowned, glancing at Strider. "Elrond  
received news that troubled him. Some of my kindred,  
journeying in your land beyond the Baranduin,  
learned that things were amiss and sent messages  
as swiftly as they could. They said that the Nine  
were abroad and that you were astray bearing a  
great burden without guidance, for Gandalf had  
not returned. There are few even in Rivendell that  
can ride openly against the Nine; but such as  
there were, Elrond sent out north, west and south.  
It was thought that you might turn far aside to  
avoid pursuit and become lost in the Wilderness. 
 
"It was my lot to take the road and I left a  
token at the Bridge of Mitheithel seven days ago.  
Three servants of Sauron were upon the bridge but  
they withdrew and turned away southward. For two  
days I trailed you to this moment and I tell you,  
we must hurry on. Five are behind us and four I  
know not. When they find your trail they will ride  
like the wind. I fear the Ford may already be  
held against us." 
 
Frodo felt darkness come, falling over him like  
a shroud. Sam protested against the journey and  
Glorfindel knelt beside him, probing the wound 
reluctantly with his fingers. Frodo sighed, his 
eyes opening as the light became more distinct  
to him, the pain fading along his side. Glorfindel  
rose, a look of disquiet on his face. He turned  
to Strider, a look of determination on his face. 
 
"We must fly," he said simply. 
 
*** 
 
"He must be a great Elf lord of power." 
 
"He is." 
 
"Luncheon calls. We must take of it for Pippin’s  
sake." 
 
She smiled and rose, taking his hand. "I think so.  
For Pippin’s sake." 
 
"Then more story?" he asked, kissing her lightly  
on the lips.  
 
"More story." 
 
"Thank God." 
 
She smiled. "Yes, thank Iluvatar indeed." 
 
************************************************ 
c2002 1/12 ]:> TBC 
************************************************

************************************************ 
Title: Once Upon A Time: The Fellowship of the  
Ring <8/?> 
Author: Arctapus, Helmboy, ]:> 
Codes: LOTR, Many, P-R, very long term story. 
See part one for the disclaimer and notes. 
************************************************ 
 
Following luncheon ... 
 
They walked to the garden and sat down again, the  
book's allure almost palpable. The lunch was very  
good, Cook's pleasure at *their* pleasure almost  
comical. The children were sent with Nanny, their  
afternoon book and nap right on schedule. The time  
they had now was their own. 
 
Sitting back, he watched as she composed herself  
to read... 
 
*** 
 
They hurried on, Frodo mounted on Asfaloth, the  
elf horse bearing him as they journeyed and 
Glorfindel's expertise easing his pain and torment  
when they stopped. He was more aware now, less  
swallowed by darkness and they made progress toward  
the Ford at Rivendell. 
 
The going was downhill but it didn't much help, so  
exhausted were they from the relentless pace set by  
the Elf that even Strider was flagging by the 
sight of the plain before them. 
 
Glorfindel exhorted them on, his warning chilling.  
"Our peril will be greatest just ere we reach the  
river for my heart warns me that the pursuit is now  
swift behind us, and other danger may be waiting by  
the Ford." 
 
Passing under the shade of tall trees they came  
out again, the bottom of a sharp slope laying a 
mile wide and beyond it the Ford of Rivendell. On  
the far side was a steep bank and a winding trail,  
beyond that the tall mountains that sheltered 
their waiting saviors in the fastness beyond. They  
continued, the echo of someone behind them resounding  
and Glorfindel stopped, listening well. He turned and  
called out, the air ringing with his cry. 
 
"Fly!. Fly! The enemy is upon us!" 
 
The white horse leaped forward and they ran down the  
slope, Glorfindel and Strider behind the hobbits,  
guarding them as they flew. They were barely 
halfway across the plain when the sounds of horse  
hooves began to overtake them. A black Rider strode  
out, pausing as others joined him and then they 
moved forward, riding hard to close the gap. 
 
"Ride forward! Ride!" Glorfindel cried out. 
 
Frodo sat for a moment, strangely reluctant and he  
looked back at the tableau behind him. The background  
of the world began to stretch and change and the  
riders loomed forward, silently willing him to wait.  
At once fear and hatred filled his heart and he  
gripped the hilt of his sword. 
 
"Ride on! Ride on!" Glorfindel shouted, and then loud  
and clear he called to his horse in the elf-tongue:  
noro lim, noro lim, Asfaloth! 
 
At once the horse turned and fled, flying along the  
road toward the Ford. The Riders leaped down and began  
to pursue, their furious pace gaining ground. A  
terrible cry went up and was answered, more Riders  
joining until he was pursued by all. Two rode toward  
Frodo, two to cut him off at the Ford and the rest  
chasing as fast as they could. 
 
Even as he looked back, the black horses were fading,  
no match for the elf-horse of Glorfindel. Ahead of him,  
he could see the Riders waiting for him as he approached.  
His fear gripped him and he closed his eyes, clutching 
Asfaloth's mane in desperation. He could feel the  
coldness as he flashed past the first Rider and then  
the splash of water as the white horse ran on. 
 
He felt the horse climbing the far bank and he felt  
the Riders closing in on him too. Asfaloth slowed  
and turned on the far bank, Frodo watching as the 
Riders sat, imploring him to come to them. He felt  
hatred and coldness but he didn't have the strength  
to refuse. All they had to do was cross the water  
and there was nothing he could do about what came  
next. 
 
A Rider spurred his horse, the dark steed stepping  
into the water and Frodo pulled his sword, raising it painfully. 
"Go back! Go back to the Land of Mordor  
and follow me no more!" 
 
He sounded shrill and thin and the Riders halted,  
laughing at him with their own harsh voices. "Come  
back! Come back! To Mordor we will take you!" They 
whispered to him and he felt his illness rising. 
 
"The Ring!" they cried, moving further into the  
water. "The Ring!" 
 
Frodo, rousing one last time, lifted up his sword.  
"By Elbereth and Luthien the Fair, you shall have  
neither the Ring nor me!" 
 
The leader raised up his hand and Frodo felt his  
tongue cleave to the roof of his mouth. They moved  
closer and as one horse prepared to step onto the 
shore, a roaring noise filled the air, a rushing  
sound like water swiftly moving over rocks. Through  
veiled eyes, Frodo saw the river rise, plumes of 
white foam racing along the bank. White flames  
appeared on the tips of the foaming waves and Frodo  
imagined he saw White Riders galloping on White 
Steeds. The three Riders in the river were overcome,  
disappearing into the water with a crashing sound.  
The others pulled back, watching with dismay. 
 
As his senses began to fail, Frodo felt he saw a  
shining figure of white light and behind it ran  
small shadowy forms waving flames. The black horses, 
filled with madness, jumped into the raging river  
and were swept away as Frodo himself slipped into  
darkness, falling to the ground as he did. Then 
there was nothing more. 
 
*** 
 
"Glorfindel." 
 
"Yes," she replied with a smile. "An Elf lord revealed  
in majesty is a luminous wonderment." 
 
"I should say," he replied, his mind filled with  
incredible imagery. "What a person he must be, what  
things he must know, to make a river bend to his 
will." 
 
"I believe, husband, that they live connected to the  
world, to the environment and the ways of things that  
are. We might call it magic but they think of it as  
'what is'." 
 
"I think I like their ways. What happens now? Poor Frodo  
must be in a very bad way." 
 
"He is at the best place for his condition. He is at  
the House of Elrond." 
 
"Ah, our great lord of the mountains," he said with a  
smile. 
 
"Yes," she said. 
 
"I like this man. Read on please." 
 
*** 
 
Frodo awoke, staring at richly carved beams in a  
ceiling unlike any he had ever seen. Stirring, he  
licked dry lips and spoke to them. "Where am I and  
what time is it?" 
 
"In the House of Elrond and it is ten o'clock in  
the morning. It is the morning of October the  
twenty-fourth if you must know." 
 
Frodo turned his head, sitting up with effort.  
"Gandalf!" 
 
"Yes, I am here and you are lucky to be here too. A  
couple of more hours away and you would have been  
beyond even Elvish medicine. As it is, you are 
lucky to be here after all the absurd things you've  
done since leaving home." 
 
He lay back, too comfortable to be put off. "Where's  
Sam and are the others all right?" 
 
"They are fine. Frodo, when I said absurd, I did not  
mean it badly. I am very fond of you and the others." 
 
Frodo nodded. "We could not have done it without  
Strider. But we needed you. I didn't know what to do  
without you." 
 
"I was delayed." 
 
"I wish you would tell me what happened." 
 
"You must not strain yourself or worry, by Lord  
Elrond's orders." 
 
"Why were you delayed?" 
 
"You will hear it all at the Council. I will only say  
that I was held captive." 
 
"You?" Frodo asked incredulously. 
 
"Yes, I, Gandalf the Gray. There are many forces in  
the world and I have not been tested by all of them.  
Had I known the Riders were about I would have fled  
with you straight away. For the moment you were  
saved by Aragorn." 
 
"Yes, it was Strider that saved us. I have become  
very fond of Strider. Well, fond is not the right  
word. I mean he is dear to me, though he is strange  
and grim at times." 
 
"Aragorn is one of the few of his kind left. The Race  
of Kings from over the Sea may be nearly over and this  
War of the Rings may be their last adventure." 
 
"I thought he was only a Ranger. Is he from among  
the Kings?" 
 
"Only a ranger!" Gandalf scoffed gently. "My dear Frodo,  
that is what the Rangers are! They are the last remnant  
in the North of the great people, the Men of the West.  
They have helped me before and I will have need of them 
again. Our struggle for the Ring is not over." For a  
moment they just sat together. "How is the shoulder?"  
Gandalf asked, noting the silence in his friend. 
 
"It is better. It is not cold." 
 
"Good. Elrond has cured you. He has tended you for  
days and days on end. Elrond is a master of healing and  
the weapons of the enemy are deadly. I had little hope  
but last night Elrond removed a splinter of the blade  
that was working its way inside. The forces of the Dark  
Lord are many and not all of them ride in the shadows." 
 
"What about Rivendell? Is it safe?" 
 
"Yes, at present, until all else is conquered. The Elves  
may fear the Dark Lord and they may fly before him but  
no more will they listen to or serve him. And here in  
Rivendell still live some of his chief foes, the Elven- 
wise, lords of the Eldar from beyond the farthest seas.  
They do not fear the Wraithes, for those that have dwelt  
in the Blessed Realm live at once in both worlds and  
against both the Seen and Unseen have great power." 
 
"I thought that I saw a white figure that shown and  
did not grown dim like the others. Was that Glorfindel?" 
 
"Yes, you saw him for a moment as he is upon the other  
side, one of the mighty of the Firstborn. He is an  
Elf-Lord of a house of princes. Indeed, there is a power  
in Rivendell to withstand the power of Mordor for a while 
and elsewhere other powers still dwell. But all such  
places become islands of siege if things continue as  
they are. The Dark Lord is rising." 
 
"Tell me what happened." 
 
For a moment Gandalf hesitated and then he sighed. "A  
short tale, in spite of Lord Elrond's wishes. Your  
companions jumped off the road and the Riders passed.  
There was naught to save you if the white horse  
couldn't. On foot, even Aragorn and Glorfindel  
together could not withstand the Nine at once. 
 
"They ran up behind and kindled a fire because  
Glorfindel knew a flood was coming and he had to  
turn back any that would flee. The moment the flood 
appeared, he raced out with brands in hand and  
with the others, maddened the Rider's horses. Caught  
between a raging river and an Elf-lord revealed in 
his rage, they panicked and fell into the water." 
 
"Are they dead?" 
 
"Their horses are for they are normal, beyond being 
raised and trained at Mordor. The Wraithes are merely  
crippled and of no consequence for a while. 
 
"Who made the flood?" Frodo asked. 
 
"Elrond commanded it," Gandalf said. "The river of  
this valley is under his power and it will rise in  
anger when he has great need to bar the Ford. I 
added a few touches of my own. You might have noticed  
the white horses and riders?" 
 
Frodo nodded and smiled as a figure rushed in,  
hurrying over and clasping his hand. Sam Gamgee, his  
face filled with relief, beamed with affection and 
happiness. 
 
"Mr. Frodo! You're awake! We were that worried about  
you, we're we, Mr. Gandalf?" 
 
Gandalf smiled. "I couldn't pry him loose from your  
side." 
 
Frodo smiled and watched as Gandalf stepped out,  
walking away from view. He turned to Sam and they  
hugged, Sam lingering as he did. When he sat beside 
Frodo, the hobbit's hand in his own, tears were in  
his eyes. 
 
"I thought you were dead," he said. 
 
Frodo felt his own tears and leaned forward, kissing  
Sam on the cheek. "I'm fine, Sam. I truly am." 
 
The softness of Frodo's lips were a balm on Sam's  
trouble heart and as the afternoon slipped by, they  
sat talking, their hands clasped until it was time  
for dinner. 
 
*** 
 
"Sweet." 
 
"It is," she agreed. 
 
"More." 
 
*** 
 
They walked out, passing beautiful things and  
beautiful rooms full of people, most of them elves.  
Many were like kings, terrible and splendid, and 
many were as merry as children. 
 
They entered a big room and at the far end was the  
master of the house. Lord Elrond as was his custom,  
sat in a great chair at the end of the long table 
upon a dais and next to him on the one side sat  
Glorfindel and on the other, Gandalf. 
 
*** 
 
"Is there any passages in the book that tell of  
this man? I am filled with an image that is only  
half filled in." 
 
She turned to the back and found what she wanted. 
"Here ... the face of Elrond was ageless, neither  
old nor young, though in it was written the memory  
of many things both glad and sorrowful. His hair  
was dark as the shadows of twilight, and upon it  
was set a circlet of silver; his eyes were gray as  
a clear evening and in them was a light like the  
light of stars. Venerable he seemed as a king  
crowned with many winters and yet hale as a tried  
warrior in the fullness of his strength. He was the  
Lord of Rivendell and mighty among both Elves and  
Men." 
 
It was silent for a moment and then he sighed. 
"Where are men like that these days? What happened  
to greatness?" 
 
She sat quietly, her own feelings clear on her face. 
 
"This man has stood for good all his life. He must be  
very ancient." 
 
"Yes, he is," she replied. "He is wise among the wise." 
 
"The others? What does it say of Glorfindel?" 
 
She looked and read: "He was tall and straight, his  
hair was of shining gold, his face fair and young  
and fearless and full of joy. His eyes were bright  
and keen, his voice like music, on his brow sat  
wisdom and in his hand was strength." 
 
"So impressive," he said, sighing wistfully. "Such men  
as these our kind will never see again." 
 
"Their like are gone and remembered only in song and  
myth. More is the pity that they left for the world  
is not the better for their passing." 
 
He nodded and sighed. "I would wish more, darling.  
I have to draft a letter. Can you hold your place  
while I do?" 
 
"Yes," she said, accepting his light kiss. 
 
He turned and walked away, moving reluctantly into  
the house and she sat on the wicker chair, her  
thoughts turned toward Valinor and the haven of all 
the Fair folk, the fairest that had ever lived in  
Middle Earth. 
 
************************************************ 
c2002 1/12 ]:> 
************************************************

************************************************ 
Title: Once Upon A Time: The Fellowship of the  
Ring <9/?> 
Author: Arctapus, Helmboy, ]:> 
Codes: LOTR, Many, P-R, very long term story. 
See part one for the disclaimer and notes. 
************************************************ 
 
He came back finally and sat down, waiting as  
she gathered her place. Then she began again ... 
 
*** 
 
The sun was setting on the tips of the mountains,  
the beautiful colors shifting and changing in the  
clear sky overhead. He stood at the edge of a  
balcony, his eyes on a figure below. He had  
ridden in earlier, one man in a group of several.  
Apparently, he had joined traveling Elves from  
Lothlorien and had ridden with them here. 
 
Dinner had been had, the hobbits joining others  
at the table. He had taken a light repast earlier,  
preferring to be alone for a while. He knew the  
other was coming and the tension that created  
inside of him was something he had to sort out.  
It had to be dealt with before they met once  
more. 
 
He sighed as the lithe figure turning toward  
the building. He walked forward and soon was  
lost from view, his beauty lingering in the  
mind of the watcher. Aragorn turned and leaned  
against the railing, his mind going over the  
past once  
more. 
 
*** 
 
“Who is this figure that he longs for?” he  
asked, surprising his wife with his  
nonjudgmental tone. She considered his  
question. 
 
“A friend, a very dear friend,” she said. “A  
lover from other and better times.” 
 
“This man, this figure? Is he an Elf?” 
 
She nodded, waiting. 
 
“Continue, please,” he said. 
 
*** 
 
He walked for hours, pacing around the paths  
and walkways of Rivendell. It was lovely,  
the stars were out and the night air was soft,  
laden with the sounds of song and laughter.  
He didn’t hear it, so complete was his  
contemplation and when he heard a familiar  
voice speak his name. He paused, instantly  
knowing the speaker and gathered himself,  
turning to face someone he had not seen in  
years. 
 
“You are here.” 
 
The figure nodded, stepping out of the  
shadows. He paused before Aragorn, his face  
haloed by the light from an open door  
behind them. 
 
“I am,” he said. “I am here for my father  
and my people.” 
 
Aragorn nodded, sighing deeply in spite of  
himself. He had not changed, not a day of  
their parting figuring on his features.  
Aragorn stared at him, at his beautiful face  
and all of the familiar emotions and desires  
flooded him. 
 
*** 
 
“Who is this figure?” he asked. 
 
“He is the son of a great Elf king, Thranduil  
of the Green Wood. He is Legolas. His name  
means green leaf.” 
 
“They ... know each other.” 
 
She smiled. “You are afraid of heroic love?” 
 
“I ... I am not aware of it, nor what it  
means between men. I am not a fool. I am  
aware of the ... the ...” 
 
“The ’love that dare not speak its name’?”  
she prompted gently. 
 
He blushed. “I am aware of much. However, you  
speak of this ... love they share ... I am  
unused to such notions between men, that is ... 
I am unused to such notions being open and  
common place.” 
 
“A lot has changed over the centuries. What  
was noble and fair is now persecuted and  
despised. I am troubled by this. I find that  
there in nowhere near the love in this world  
that we need to survive that we should  
persecute others because we feel they are  
somehow less than respectable or good.” 
 
He nodded. “Heroic love ... this is a notion  
that I am unfamiliar with.” 
 
“The Greeks championed it. The nobility of  
love between equals, between fair men. It  
is in their tales and legends, it informs  
their history. Alexander wept at the grave  
of the Sacred Band of Thebes, so sorry was  
he to fight them. They died together, side- 
by-side, lovers bound together even unto  
death. It’s so romantic and so tragic.” 
 
He nodded, digesting this information.  
“Please. Continue.” 
 
She sighed and began again ... 
 
***  
 
“I see.” 
 
Legolas sighed and shook his head. “Do you?” 
 
Aragorn turned and stared out at the waterfalls  
that lined the canyon where Rivendell sat, a  
jewel of uncountable beauty among the jagged  
cliffs and dark trees. Above them the lights of  
heaven began to show themselves, the stars that  
marked the day for Elven folks. 
 
“I am ... I am ...” He faltered, tensing slightly  
as strong hands settled on his shoulders. A  
strong body moved close to him, the heat of it  
felt through the clothes he wore. He wavered and  
turned, staring into unfathomable eyes. “I am  
not ...” 
 
“You are mine,” Legolas replied softly. “You must  
decide what you will. But know this, no matter  
what choice you make, you are now and always will  
be mine.” 
 
He leaned in, his lips brushing Aragorn’s with  
the slightest touch. The warmth of it, the  
softness caught his breath and Aragorn’s hands  
moved to Legolas’ waist of their own accord.  
They stood together for a moment, the closeness  
more than enough and then the tall Elf stepped  
back, Aragorn’s hands falling away reluctantly. 
 
“You know where I will sleep tonight. Come to  
me. Tell me with your own heart what you will.  
Come to me, Aragorn.” 
 
With that, the tall golden figure turned and  
walked away, disappearing into the night. Aragorn  
watched him go and felt the ache inside. All of  
the things he felt he had resolved lay in ashes  
before him, the dreams and hopes of many broken.  
He turned and stared at the sky, his heart rent  
in two. What he would do, he didn’t know but at  
this moment, at this second, all he wanted to do  
was follow Legolas into the darkness beyond. 
 
*** 
 
Elsewhere, all were enjoying the beauty and  
hospitality of the great house of Rivendell.  
Dwarves sat together in the Hall of Fire, a huge  
room where singing and conversation could be had.  
A fire was going, one kept there constantly.  
Sometimes the room was empty and people could come  
for solitude and thinking. Tonight it was filled,  
Elrond, Gandalf, Glorfindel and Arwen, the daughter  
of Elrond, sitting together as music was played.  
Sam and Frodo paused at the door, the warmth and  
pleasure of the assembly comforting.  
 
As they stood there, voices called to them from  
behind. Turning, they embraced Merry and Pippin,  
the two hobbits filled with joy at the site of  
their friends. 
 
“How do you fare?” Frodo asked, grinning broadly. 
 
“We fare well,” Pippin said, grinning as well.  
“And you, Frodo ... how are you?” 
 
“I am well, thanks to Lord Elrond,” he said, moving  
along with them as they found a corner to sit and  
talk. For three hours they would and then Frodo 
would be led off to bed by a seriously concerned  
and fussing Sam, where he would be tucked in and  
sleep through the night without waking. Sitting in  
a chair, his eyes never leaving Frodo’s face,  
Samwise Gamgee, son of the Gaffer, would stand  
vigil over him all night long. 
 
*** 
 
It was late when he paused by the door, the empty  
hallway dark with the passing of hours. He reached  
for the door latch and hesitated, the war inside  
himself raging like a wild fire. Just as he wavered  
away, the door opened and a tall golden figure  
emerged into view. He smiled and reached out, taking  
the front of Aragorn’s shirt in hand. Tugging it,  
he waited, watching the emotional turmoil on the  
other man’s face. 
 
Aragorn took Legolas’ hand, releasing his shirt and 
as he did, he stepped through the door. It closed  
silently behind him. 
 
*** 
 
Elrond walked to his chambers, conversations with  
Glorfindel and Gandalf filling his mind. They had  
just saved the ring, the rising of the river key.  
He sighed and entered his rooms, the familiar  
surroundings comforting. He began to disrobe for  
sleep ... 
 
*** 
 
The warmth that had been missing for far too long  
filled him and he reached for the source, pulling  
him close. The intensity of the feelings he had  
caught in his throat and he sighed, pulling the  
pale figure against him. A strong leg moved,  
wrapping around his hips and they moved closer,  
the rapture of contact excruciating. Aragorn  
sighed audibly, the soft sound breaking the  
painful tension of the room. He entwined his  
fingers in the luxuriant gold of the other’s hair,  
the other one who made him complete. His lips  
captured Legolas’, demanding from him what he  
had dreamed of for far too long.  
 
Strong arms encircled him, arms toughened by bow 
and horse, and strong fingers kneaded the tense  
muscles of his back as he felt himself melting  
into the pure emotion that he had denied himself  
for far too long. He moved, lying on top, the  
pleasure of their touching overwhelming. Nothing  
could match this simple moment, no one could  
touch it. Only the one beneath him could make him  
feel this way and even as he gave himself over to  
the pleasures of love that he knew he could only  
find with this one person, the other haunted his  
mind. 
 
*** 
 
Elrond sat on the bed, his sleeping gown lying  
nearby. He felt the pressures of the day and the  
relief that those he had summoned came. It would  
be a hard day tomorrow, the telling of the tale  
and the finding of a way. He remembered the first  
conversation he had with Gandalf when the crisis  
of Frodo’s health had been settled. 
 
“Things are amiss in the world, Gandalf. The Dark  
Lord’s allies are everywhere.” 
 
“That is not all that is so, Elrond,” Gandalf  
said, moving closer. “I have been to Saruman. He  
kept me prisoner.” 
 
“Prisoner?” Elrond asked, startled.  
 
“Yes. He has gone over to the Dark Lord.” 
 
For a moment Elrond stood silently and then he  
turned and walked to the table nearby, pouring a  
glass of wine. He turned and looked at Gandalf.  
“Things are moving, Gandalf. The Dark Lord has  
his eye fixed on Rivendell.” He turned and looked  
at Gandalf, his expression grim. “And now you  
tell me that Saruman has betrayed us. Our list of  
allies grows thin.” 
 
“It is worse than that,” Gandalf said, walking  
toward the tense figure before him. “Saruman used  
a fell ceremony and is breeding orcs crossed with  
goblin men who can travel in the light and cover  
great distances.” 
 
Elrond stared at him, his expression one of shock  
and betrayal. Gandalf turned and walked toward  
the balcony, the expression on Elrond’s face too  
painful to watch.  
 
“Gandalf.” 
 
He paused, quelled by the steel in Elrond’s voice. 
 
“The ring cannot stay here.” 
 
It was silent a moment and Elrond walked toward  
him. “We do not have the strength to fight both  
Mordor and Isengard. My people are leaving  
everyday. When we are gone, who will you turn  
to? The Dwarves?” he asked, scorn in his voice.  
“They live in the ground and care not for the  
affairs of others.” 
 
It was silent a moment, Gandalf watching as the  
figure of the son of the Steward of Gondor rode  
through the gate. He glanced at Elrond. “We must  
put our faith in the world of Men.” 
 
For a moment Elrond didn’t speak and then he  
shook his head, turning. “Men.” He walked to  
the door and out into the corridor beyond.  
Gandalf followed, silent and listening. “I was  
there, Gandalf. I was there three thousand years  
ago when the strength of men failed.” 
 
*** 
 
“What does he speak of?” 
 
“A betrayal so great that he is haunted by it.  
A betrayal of all by a man who is of his own  
bloodline. Elrond is half-elven as was his  
brother and was given the choice of deciding  
which he would be. He chose to remain an Elf  
and his brother chose to become a man. From  
his blood the line of Men sprang and among  
those are Aragorn and his father.” 
 
“Interesting,” he replied, nodding. “It  
explains Elrond’s interest and Aragorn’s  
dignity. Please, continue.” 
 
*** 
 
He stood and watched, hoping against hope that  
the end hadn’t arrived with the death of  
Elendil. A blade flashed and the fell beast  
roared, coming apart in torrents of light and  
fire. Elrond watched, unable to comprehend  
that it could be ended thus and as he watched,  
Isildur reached over and picked up an ember.  
Around it, glowing red hot, the ring could be  
seen and so he ran, his legs finding memory  
and paused ove