Disclaimer: I do not own LOTR or any of C.S Lewis's books

Escapade

By Avaunt

He stood in front of the wraiths, his stance unwavering. The air around the black kings seemed to be drenched with evil as they continued their way over to the creatures standing behind them. A crisp sound of metal rang through the air as Peter drew his sword and pointed it at the dark riders. His bright blue eyes iced over and then the High King spoke, his voice rang with immense authority; the power of Aslan rippling and rushing outward.

"Leave them."

The riders stopped their decent, caught off guard by the untold power that flowed outward from the boy like ripples in a pond.

Peter could not see their eyes, and inwardly shiver at the sudden stab of fear. Aslan help me! Pushing any doubt to the back of his mind, he forced himself to relax as he shifted his weight the way he was taught to.

Then suddenly with an unearthly shriek, they attacked.

One flew right past him, but Peter could not turn to intercept for several more were upon him, their swords drawn. He distantly wondered what they could possible want before he raised his sword and stopped thinking at all. He acted on instinct, his mind and body connecting as one. The fight was a blur of metal as attack after attack was blocked and then countered.

Turning swiftly, Peter ducked then raised his sword to block a swing aimed for his head. His confidence in his blade did not falter as he circled around, darting in and out, and his blade gleaming. Three circled him, wary now as they sensed no fear from the mere mortal.

Blue eyes grew staid as a stabbing shriek pierced the dark sky. Swing his opponent's sword away from him; he barely managed to block another blow that forced him to retreat, loose valuable ground.

The dark riders shrieked in triumph, as they closed in.

But then Peter's face grew hard and the anger that had been quietly building up unleashed. Strength flow back and High King straightened. Blue ice narrowed, and the mask of a mere boy shattered, a regal might blazing though. With a cry, he went on the offensive, determined to force the shadow creatures to face the real threat... him.

Suddenly a figure dressed in browns and greens jumped out of the trees, carrying a torch. He ran at the dead kings, whirling the flames around him like a club. With another unearthly shriek, the riders of Sauron backed away, fleeing from the burning heat that threatened to harm them. And then it was over.

Peter finally came to a halt breathing heavily. The power of Aslan seemed to leave him, and his now sore muscles screamed for attention. That however did not sweep away years of hard won lessons and Peter did not lower his guard as he surveyed the area, suddenly wishing for his brother Ed to be at his side.

The man bearing the torch, and a four other small odd creatures with large hairy feet huddled together. Peter watched them cautiously. As he continued to observe them he could see that one of the child-like creatures had been stabbed, his big blue eyes were glazed over with pain.

The gravel cracked beneath his as he shifted his weight. Seconds later he was pushed back into a tree, a blade was at his throat and Peter found himself staring into intense hazel eyes.

"Who are you?" The man asked, his voice as strong and inflexible as steel. "Speak now!"

Peter stared into the stranger's eyes steadily, keeping his face firm despite the pounding of his heart. He raised an eyebrow and casually shrugged, "I believe that you should remove your blade sir." His eyes traveled downward to his unsheathed dagger that was pressed up against the mans gut.

"What are you doing here?" The man asked sharply paying no need to the dagger. An air of nobility surrounded the man, causing Peter a brief hesitation.

"Lending a hand to those in need." Peter's voice was steady and rang true. Then he shrugged, "I was just in the right place at the right time."

Suspicion still clouded the man gaze and his eyes narrowed. "Not many travel this path, this late at night. What do you gain?"

The High King narrowed his eyes in response "I gain nothing but the chance to uphold my honor, and those who came before me."

"Strider!" One of the child-like creatures cried. "Its alright, he helped us, he fought them and everything, like a knight from one of Bilbo's stories!"

"Frodo needs help" Another added pleadingly, worry and fear apparent in his voice.

Strider stepped back and looked Peter up and down. He nodded; he could feel no taint within the boy before him. "Are you hurt?" His voice was softer this time, and Peter shook his head, as the last of his adrenaline faded away. Wherever the wraiths were; they were nowhere near here, the sickly shadows fading from Peter's senses.

"Alright, come with us, I may need your help."

Peter nodded, secretly not wanting to wander around these unfamiliar woods alone. Squatting down next to the small patient, he took a small look at the wound. It was not deep, but black poison seemed to spread outward from the wound like a spider's web. Wincing, he quickly looked up at Strider, a sympathetic look on his young face. "That doesn't look so good."

"It's not. Frodo must get help quickly."

Peter caught the older mans eyes, his blues eyes shinning with royal intensity. "What can I do to help?"

"Have you ever cleaned a wound before?" Peter nodded. Strider handed him a leather poach, "Alright, I need to go get some more herbs. I will only be gone a moment."

Peter quickly unsheathed his sword, and placed it on the ground beside him within easy reached. Then he got to work, cleaning the sword wound. As he worked he was began to sing softly, trying to bring the little Halfling some measure of peace. Strider watched the boy with interest, before turning and melting into the forest.

A day had passed and much had changed within the little traveling group. Frodo was gone, whisked away by a friend of Striders. An elf to be exact. Peter smiled softly as he remembered what the feeling of awe that sprung within him when he first saw the beautiful elf maiden. He wished Lucy could have seen her; she would have loved it… Suddenly his good mood faded as he thought of his siblings. He wondered if they were still in England, safe and sound, or if they too were transported into this reality.

He had no doubt that Aslan had a hand in him coming to Middle Earth. After all, when he had come to in the middle of the forest, the first thing he had noticed was that he had his sword back. Peter's frown deepened as he thought of how prepared he was for this strange land. It was not that he was ungrateful for his possession from Narina, but what did it all mean?

He also could not help but feel guilty. When it was known, that Frodo was going to be taken ahead, Peter could not help but feel a rush of relief. Being around Frodo made his skin crawl, something just didn't feel right about the hobbit.

Suddenly a voice dragged him out of his deep thoughts. He looked up and could not help but smile as he saw Pippin. He had joined their traveling group long, but he could not help but like the little hobbits, Pippin especially. He reminded him so much of Lucy, it was scary.

"I am sorry Pippin; I was too lost in my thoughts. What did you say?"

Pippin rolled his eyes. "I asked where you were from." A hint of impatience colored his words.

Up a head Strider perked up, he too had been wondering that question. It was not as if he perceived the young boy, Peter, a threat. For if he had, his body would be laying in the woods somewhere. But that did not mean he was not curious. His young human companion held him self with a confidence and grace that was well beyond his years.

Peter thought about the question for awhile, not quite sure what to say. It was obvious he could not say anything about England, they would never believe him. He smirked slightly to himself, recognizing the irony that now England seemed more unbelievable then Narnia.

"Well I grew up on a farm, not far from here actually." He started out slowly, not wanting to stubble and be caught in his lie. "That's why I'm traveling, the harvest didn't bring enough in to feed my siblings and so I'm looking for some work."

Strider thought about it and then asked another question. "Where did you learn your skill with a blade?"

"My father's a retired solider." Peter answered, secretly pleased that he did not technically lie, nor did he voice waver. Quickly he changed the topic. "What about you, Pippin? Where do you come from?"

A dreamy expression came over the hobbit's face and he sighed. "I come from the Shire, the best place in the whole world!" And then he was off, painting a picture of rolling green hills and merry hobbit folk. Occasionally, Merry and Sam would pitch in, telling a different view or story. Soon everyone's problems were forgotten, at least for a moment.

Except Strider that is. He narrowed his green hazel eyes at Peter, who was laughing at the antics of Pippin and Merry. He did not miss Peter's blatant change of topic, and now wondered what the blond haired boy was trying to hide.

The time flew by without incident, and it was not long before Strider announced that they had passed into the realm of Rivendell. The House of Rivendell rose up from the forest as if it too had been grown from Mother Earth. The workmanship of the elves blended perfectly with the forest. It was hard to identify where one stopped and the other began.

As they rode up to the gates of Rivendell the sight filled Peter with awe, and suddenly the longing for Narnia dimmed somewhat, as if his subconscious sensed he was on his way home.

He wasn't sure why he was here, or if indeed he would be here for long. But the High King knew that he was not alone. For naught can overcome the love and protection of Aslan.

But in the mean time, Peter decided to enjoy the new adventure set before him.

The End

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