Out of Place, Out of Time
-0-0-0-
Lord of the Rings belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien and estate;
Sherlock belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and estate, Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat, and the BBC
major spoilers for both
This tale takes place during Return of the King (May 14th) and A Scandal in Belgravia (season 2, ep. 1)
-0-0-0-
Kudos to Chamelaucium for helping me get Britain right. I'm not British.
-0-0-0-
Prologue
We all know that JRR Tolkien's world of Middle-Earth was just a story. It was too filled with magic, and too irrational for it to ever have been true. For a moment though, let us pause. What if the stories, all of them, were true? What if somehow Tolkien found out the true history of Europe, and all of the world? What if, for one moment, we took a step back and discovered that the world that we live in has more magic and wonder in it than we realise? And what if, for a brief moment in the vast history of time, Time curled back and touched itself? What if a bridge was formed, and the realm of what's known suddenly became the realm of the impossible...
-0-0-0-
"O, Sam, you should come and see this!"
There was a nervous pause, and then, "Beggin' your pardon, Mr Frodo, but if'n it's all th' same t' you I'll jus' stay here."
Frodo Baggins smiled at the words. Poor Sam wasn't fond of heights, even if he had done a lot of mountain climbing over the last eight months, and the drop just beyond the five foot wall was at least hundred feet to the cobbles below. His fear was understandable, especially in a three and a half foot tall hobbit.
Frodo, who had a much better head for heights than the average hobbit, was standing on a bench next to the wall in order to see over it, but at these words he turned away from where he was gazing across the vast expanse of the city of Minas Tirith to give his friend a reassuring smile. "It's not bad if you don't look down," he urged, "and the view is marvellous."
"Th' view," Sam muttered, paling a little.
"He is right, Lord Perhael," the tall guard who had brought them to the top of the tower interjected, stepping up behind Sam. "One cannot say that he has truly visited this guard tower until he has seen the city from here."
The little gardener flushed red up to the ears at being called 'lord'. "Then I think I'll jus' be keepin' my visit unofficial as y' might say," he said, crossing his arms and planting his feet more firmly. "Beggin' your pardon, Master Guardsman, sir, but I don't do heights on th' best o' days."
The guardsman looked at him with concern, but Frodo smiled at the familiar words. "Very well, Sam," he agreed, dropping the subject. He gave the wall surrounding the top of the tower a look of interest. "How long has this tower been built, Master Belecthor ?"
"Some five hundred years, my lord."
My lord. Frodo's face, so animated a moment ago, grew white. "Thank you," he said stiffly and turned his gaze back to the view. Behind him he heard shuffling sounds as of feet moving away and then Sam muttering in a low tone, "Y' oughtn't t've called him that, sir. He asked y' t' call him Master Baggins earlier 'cause he didn't want y' callin' him 'lord'."
"Is he not pleased with his title?" The guardsman sounded confused.
"Well, hobbit-folk don't have lords, an' that's about half th' problem right there. Even th' Thain who rules th' Shire in th' king's stead ain't exactly what you'd call a 'lord'—"
Frodo glanced back and then sighed. They stood twenty feet from him and spoke in low tones, yet he could hear every word that they spoke as plainly as if they stood beside him. Curse these blasted ears! he thought, swatting irately at them. With a grumble he slid off the bench and stalked further away. It was a shame, really, for the view had been lovely. The sunlight was at the right position just now to strike all of the white roofs and spires built along and into the seven tiers of the city (although from where he now stood there were two above him) and the light had spilled and splashed its way down the steep incline like a great stone waterfall, beyond which was the green of the Pelennor Fields. It was Thrimidge, that is May amongst the Big Folk, and all the grass was bathed in green. Yes, the city was made of stone, but if one dared to look down he could see green gardens and grass patches beginning to dot the White City. Minas Tirith was beginning to bloom again, and this realisation brought a lift to Frodo's heart like nothing else could, for growing things are in the lifeblood of all hobbits and to see nothing but stone for miles seems to them a very dreary and disheartening sight, but especially to this hobbit who just that winter had thought that he would never again see another spring. Even now he was unwell at times, due to his ordeal, but this morning he'd woken to the song of birds in the air and with a smile on his face and a lightness in his footstep that hadn't been there for several days; since Aragorn's coronation in fact, just thirteen days ago.
On the far side of the tower from Sam and the guardsman there was a shallow alcove in the main wall where a bench stood that was just big enough for a hobbit to lie down on comfortably. Frodo peered into the alcove with curiosity. What was the purpose of this little place? It looked unused, as if no one ever came there. He threw a nervous glance at the ceiling, looking for cobwebs, but thankfully saw none.
Inside the alcove it was very dusty, and deeper than it had looked from the outside. Unlike the other recesses that he had seen this one didn't have any tools or weapons in it. There was nothing but dust and the bench, which he climbed onto gratefully.
It certainly felt good to be off his feet. He and Sam had been exploring the fifth circle since just after second-breakfast, which they had finished near half-past nine, and now it was nearly one o'clock and high time for luncheon. He took a drink from his water-skin as he mused on this rather important subject. Sam was intending to make his Shire-famous fish stew for supper, and Frodo was both looking forward to the event because he had always enjoyed Sam's fish stew, and dreading it because lately his stomach didn't remember that he enjoyed fish of any sort. For elevenses they had enjoyed a picnic of beef pasties that his cousins, Merry and Pippin, had made the night before (to the detriment of the kitchen), cheese wedges, snap-peas and carrots, strawberries, and some wonderful biscuits flavoured with that lemon fruit that grew here. Frodo's stomach growled at the mere thought of them.
Beef for elevenses, fish for supper, tea will likely be more pasties... perhaps chicken for luncheon? Merry and Pippin had been raving about an inn that they'd found on the fourth circle that sold as toothsome a chicken pie as any you could expect to find in the Shire. It even had mushrooms in it, they claimed. Not as many as a Shire pie would have, of course, but enough to give the pie a decent flavour.
Frodo sighed. It would be a walk to get there yet, though, and they didn't know where the inn was. Perhaps it would be better to return to the house in the sixth circle. They could have some bread and jam while they cooked some of that lamb in the cellar... He shook his head. It was almost too late to be cooking anything now. By the time the food was ready it would be time to start preparing for tea.
Perhaps Sam has some ideas, he mused as he hopped off of the bench, closing his eyes and shivering a little as a chill breeze swept by. Instinctively he drew his Lórien cloak closer about him
...and found himself standing in the open air; a narrow river running past to his left.
He stared for a moment in bewilderment. What was this?
Men and women, all in the most outlandish garb that he had ever seen, were walking past him and around him, talking and laughing and acting as if they had every right to be there. Smells of food and spices and dirty water filled his nostrils and the clamour of a busy market assailed his ears. Was this a vision? Was he dreaming?
"Sam?" he called in a shaky voice.
He felt as if he couldn't breathe. Where was the tower, the walls, the view of Minas Tirith? There was blue sky above him and dirty reddish-grey brick had replaced the stone of the floor beneath, and a fair or market of some sort stood to his right.
This...this couldn't be.
"Sam?" His call was louder this time, slightly more desperate and rising in pitch as his bewilderment increased. A few people paused and looked at him in concern, but the hobbit was so flustered that he didn't notice.
"Are you okay?"