She crouched next to the guttering fire, sheltering it with her hands and a few green boughs she had stripped from trees. The rain hushed against the leaves which skirted the edges of limbs, and shadows grinned ghoulishly from every crevice. Light melted shyly away as night began to reign, and she swiped rainwater from her eyes, flinging a dazzling spray of droplets from her bangs as she tried to warm her hands. The feeble yellow flames licked tremblingly around the damp wood, dark gray smoke hissing upwards in deep spirals, heating the chilly skin of her palms and wrists. When she looked up, her silver-green eyes, the color of frosted fir trees, scanned the area. The dark lashes fringing her peculiar eyes blinked once, sleepily, and she rubbed her eyes firmly to stay awake. Her cloak was keeping out most of the rain, and her fine Elvish boots warmed her feet, but the drenching rain was horribly cold and the wind was brisk, chilling her wet hair and cheeks. Her once spiked blonde hair was patted to her scalp, and the bleach was slowly fading out of her now light brown hair. It gave her a speckled, striped look like a lazy calico cat. Her friend and mentor was also kneeling close to the fire, burying his hands in his long overcoat instead of trying to coax the feeble flames into exuding warmth. His eyes, dark as chocolate but hard as flint, stared at the fire, the sputtering flames reflected in his dark eyes. She shifted her weight, and this seemed to get his attention. "I am sorry," he said, his voice crackling slightly, "for bringing you along on this journey. I regret it now. You ought to be following the story with your friends. This quest is mine alone."
Daphne looked at him in the eyes, her round features pink with chill and passion. "No, I want to go," she said stubbornly. "My job is to protect the story, and I'm going to do it with you. You're the Author, and I'm your Apprentice, okay? Now, what's this Manuscript that we need to find?" She asked, rubbing her hands and trying to swallow the warmth of the dying fire. Tolkien cleared his throat and looked up, shaking his head slightly.
"Every Author is the guardian of their story," Tolkien said. "When their story is published, they open a world known only to them. As it gains attention, each reader gets a glimpse into the world they spent so much time creating, so much effort molding into a perfect place. But the Author has the special connection with his story – some Readers do as well, but their connection isn't as powerful. At any rate, most Authors are called into their story when something is amiss, when their world is threatened by Perfect Characters or some other rot. So in each story, the Authors protect it with themselves, or, in my case, an object." He paused, taking a breath, and Daphne waited on tenterhooks until he continued. "The Manuscript is my original copy of The Silmarillion, The Hobbit, and The Lord of the Rings. They are bound together into one book, and it's in the book where the life source, if you will, of Middle Earth is contained. It waxes and wanes along with the story, and with the arrival of Adavis, the Manuscript is at an all time low."
"How do you know?" Daphne asked, her eyes narrowing slightly. Her brows drew together once, creating a crease between her eyes. Tolkien took a breath.
"As an Author, I am tied to my Manuscript. If it is destroyed or harmed, I suffer the same damage, as does the story." He explained. Daphne cocked her head to the side, quick mind trying to understand.
"So, if the Manuscript is destroyed..." Daphne said slowly. "What happens to the story?"
"All entrances into this story are closed," Tolkien said quietly. "People may read it, but they won't be able to immerse themselves in it. They'll find it plain, old, overused, overrated. They'll move onto other stories, completely unaffected and unchanged by the story or the characters. And if there aren't any Authors coming into this world, it will eventually disintegrate."
"So why didn't the Sues go for the Manuscript instead of following the Fellowship?" Daphne asked.
"One, Suethors don't understand how stories work. They've never created stories of their own, so they wouldn't know about the Manuscript. Also, Sues are single minded beings – they must destroy the entire plotline, not the story. If the story is completely about them, then the mission is completed. In a way, Sues are very stupid."
"We need to get the Manuscript and what, protect it?" Daphne asked, confused. "Why isn't it safe where it is now?"
"Not protect it," Tolkien explained patiently. "Activate it. Only Authors have the ability to activate the original story – which would be me. If I can find the Manuscript and wake it up, then the Sues will disappear."
Faint comprehension dawned on Daphne's face. "Almost like running a virus scan on a computer. Okay, so we need to find the Manuscript, and you need to activate it. Then the Sues will disappear? Where's the Manuscript then?"
Tolkien reached in his vest pocket and withdrew the Map. Daphne ran a small finger over the delicate sketches, the silvery runes encircling the outer rim of the paper. In the firelight, the drawings seemed to shimmer and the rivers seemed to move. The fields swayed lushly from an unseen breeze, and the woods stirred imperceptibly. "Under full moonlight, we'll be able to see the path to where the Manuscript lies," Tolkien said. He smiled a little. "If you'll remember, similar writing was presented in the Hobbit. I liked it quite a lot, and I decided to use it for this Map."
"If you put the Manuscript there," Daphne said, "How come you don't know where it is?"
"That would be like asking where your soul is," Tolkien said. "No one can explain what a soul is – in a way, the Manuscript is the heart and soul of Middle Earth. But tomorrow the full moon will be shining at its brightest, and we will be able to tell where our quest will end. For the moment, you should sleep."
Daphne sat back, rubbing her eyes. "I'm not tired," she said with a little pout. "I don't want to sleep. And I'm cold. And hungry. And wet."
Under Tolkien's insistence, she lay down on the driest bit of ground she could find. Tolkien threw his thick black overcoat over her and she snuggled underneath it. It smelled delightfully musky, something like tobacco smoke and vanilla. She opened her mouth to protest, to tell him that he should keep his coat on, but she fell asleep before she could form the words in her head. Tolkien watched her for a while, and then sighed. She hadn't asked the questions he thought she would – she hadn't asked how to activate the Manuscript, or why the Manuscript was asleep in the first place. Tolkien passed a hand over his eyes. He couldn't tell her that it had been his own stupidity, his own selfishness, that caused the Manuscript to be deactivated. He shook his head and watched the slumbering woman.
And he couldn't bear to tell her that by activating the Manuscript, it would cost him his life.
A bright crimson ribbon of blood painted a stripe down Madison's ankle, and ragged sobs scratched her throat. Her lips were stone dry, and her freckled cheeks were streaked with tears. She was ashen pale, her freckles standing out sharply, her smoky blue eyes rimmed with red and the pain building in her leg. It was bitingly sharp, and with each shuddering leap of the massive wolf, a new jolt of pain shook up her ankle and up towards her thigh. Her wrists were chafed harshly from the cruel ropes cutting off the blood supply to her hands, and her ribs ached from the uncomfortable position. She was slung over Zei's broad shoulders, wounded ankle and tied hands bound together under Zei's belly, and her back stung from the cold rain hammering her body. Above her, the skies were coal black, the heavens splitting into jagged pieces with each flash of webbed lightning. A thunderclap shook the earth itself, rattling the skies like a child would shake a doll. Madison's muddied thoughts were replaced by a blinding white sheet of fear – storms terrified her. The pain and the fear twisted together, and with each new roll of thunder, she screamed. It didn't take long for Quilemna to silence her with a strip of soaked tunic, but this couldn't stop the low, guttural groan that tore from Madison's throat. Her eyes closed, and she fainted. Colors swirled together, and her thoughts melted like smoke in a summer breeze.
To her left, Melody was twisting carefully at the bindings on her hands. She had employed an old trick that she always used whenever tied up – by clenching her muscled when initially tied and then relaxing after the ropes were knotted, she had a bit of wiggle room to work with. She risked quick glances at Madison when the skies flashed with lightning, and saw with grim determination that Madison had passed out. Her terrified shrieks had been drowned out by the crash of thunder, but it hurt Melody like a stab to the chest to see her friend's panicked face. From this angle, Melody couldn't see Madison's ankle, but when they had first begun, it had looked horribly mauled. From Melody's own limited experience in bad leg wounds, Madison would be extremely lucky if she was able to use her ankle again. And the longer she went untreated, the worse it would become. Melody twisted the ropes again and was satisfied when the gave way a little more. She wanted to be tied when they reached Isengard, but she wanted to be able to get out of her bindings in a hurry. Once her hands were free, Melody was reasonably confident that she could get them out of any situation.
Melody wasn't just a pretty face – there was a lot of effort and skill that went into becoming a thief. She was naturally inclined to have quick hands, but instead of becoming a pianist, she became a thief. She knew how to detect if people were lying, knew how to talk her way out of almost any situation, knew how to battle adrenaline, learned how to pick a lock (hairpins didn't work, contrary to popular opinion), and crack almost any kind of safe. She knew that leather gloves were better than latex gloves for not leaving fingerprints (latex left a minimal residue that could be read if not wiped off) and a thousand other tricks of the trade. She knew how to work the account books to hide small discrepancies, knew how to skim thousands in cash without being caught, and knew how to complete anonymous wire transfers. She was working on her hacking skills, but her friend Jack was the best in the trade for cracking cellphones, computers, hard drives, even wiping CDs from three hundred miles away. But none of those skills were going to help her in Isengard – Melody had to rely on a very different set of skills if she was going to live through this situation.
But that wasn't the main problem – the main problem was that Madison had no idea how to do anything except stammer and spout knowledge she had read "somewhere" in a massive book that smelled of old socks. Madison was a coward = a sweet, adorable, lovable coward, but still a coward. She needed to man up. She needed to grow a backbone.
And all of this was erased from Melody's thinking when they saw the tall, jagged spire of Isengard climbing to the sky before them.
Zei and Shonji paused, panting, their colossal chests heaving in unison. How does yours fare? Shonji asked with a glance at Madison. Her face was pure white, completely bloodless, and her ankle was still slowly dripping blood. Zei sniffed, huffing a spray of water from his muzzle.
She's bad, Zei said indifferently. But she'll live – that's the important part. When are those damn girls going to get here?
Patience, young one, Shonji drawled lazily, his tail flicking from side to side impatiently. His soaked purple fur was dripping from his underbelly, small wet peaks forming along the ridge of his sides. They'll be here shortly.
As he said this, the small shapes of two horses appeared on the crest of the hill. One was a small bay pony, and the other was a stocky gray horse. They trotted down the hill, their cloaked riders shivering and sputtering random exclamations of their coldness. As they drew closer, the Sues relaxed visibly and slid off their mounts. All Sues, no matter how disgusting and hateful, have an inbred affinity for their creators. The pudgy brunette got off her horse awkwardly and returned the fierce hug Quilemna bestowed on her. The skinny blonde allowed Adavis to kiss her on both cheeks. "Ah, your face is good to see," Adavis said, and the blonde girl giggled a little haphazardly.
"Um, yeah," the chubby brunette said. "Amanda? I think we better get going. He'll – He'll be mad if we take too long."
Amanda bit her lip. "Yeah, you're probably right." She glanced fearfully at Zei and Shonji, both of which were eyeing them with something like disdain. "You better get your...rides...over here."
As Shonji drew closer, Melody lifted her head and locked eyes with Amanda. Amanda took an unconscious step backwards, biting her lip at the sight of those glittering honey-brown eyes. Thick, damp strands of beautiful blonde hair clung to the sides of her face, and the skinny girl tugged at her own lifeless blonde plait. She shivered. "C'mon, everyone, we need to go!" She shouted, louder than necessary, and scrambled on top of her horse. The Suethors took off at a dead run down the hill, towards Isengard, and Melody smirked.
Perfect.
Stop. Rest. Breathe.
She could barely lift her feet as she ran stumblingly behind Gimli. Her chest felt as though an iron band had clamped around her throat – her lungs burned. Her legs felt as though they had been dipped in concrete, and she slogged through the puddles, wishing the cold water would soothe the hot blisters rising on her heels. She swiped her dark hair from her eyes and paused to catch her breath. Ahead of her, Aragorn, Legolas, Gandalf, and Michael were running speedily, leaping over boulders and over rivulets of water. They looked so easy and graceful, proud deer bounding in pursuit of their friends. Michael had sworn he had seen Shonji and Zei follow the Uruks, so they were killing two birds with one stone and following their tracks. Sure enough, heavy tracks marked a wolf and a tiger racing ahead of the Uruks, their prints almost invisible beneath the heavy mass of Uruk feet. Isabella's head rang harshly, and the world spun around her in dizzying circles. She stumbled, and before she knew what was happening a strong arm had circled her small waist and dragged her to her feet. "Easy, child, easy," she heard the sweet voice of Legolas murmuring in her ear. "Aragorn!" Legolas shouted, and the lean ranger loped back to where Legolas was holding Isabella erect. "We cannot keep running like this. We are all tired – the Uruks are coming no closer. She is still healing from her wounds."
"We cannot stop now, Legolas," Aragorn said over the roar of the winds. "We are getting closer. I can feel it."
"We are all exhausted!" Legolas snapped. "Running like Morgoth himself won't bring them any closer. They run as if the whips of their Master is biting into their backs. We will not catch them, Aragorn."
"Is this my friend speaking?" Aragorn said disbelievingly. "Is this Legolas, my friend who tells me to never give up, to continue to hope?" Aragorn seized Legolas by the collar, their faces an inch apart. "I will not rest, Legolas, until this war is over or until I am dead. I will find the Halflings, and if they lie dead then I will avenge them. I shall never give up!" He shouted the last five words, and Isabella felt the air between the two friends sizzle with electricity. Legolas's starry blue eyes met his friend's dark gray ones.
"So be it," he said softly. "Come, Isabella, I shall carry you until I no longer can." He made a move as if to pick her up, but she drew away stubbornly.
"If he's not giving up, neither am I," she said frostily. She had no idea what a picture she looked, standing up to her ankles in freezing rainwater, her black hair clinging to her slender figure, fists clenched, crystal blue eyes hard as granite. Her dark brows were drawn together, and she jutted her chin angrily as she glared fiercely at the two warriors, her bangs dripping water onto her face.
"By Eru, you have spirit," Legolas breathed. "Very well. We must run, Aragorn, but not after a quick rest. Give her some lembas bread, and we shall resume our journey."
A/N: I decided to start putting my Author's Notes down here, so not to interrupt the flow of the story. Anyway, I don't know how to chapter turned out – my mother-in-law saps every drop of creative blood out of me, so this may be a little sub par. Anyway, CHECK OUT MY PROFILE! I have Character Pictures for all of the Authors, plus Shonji and Zei! They're anime pictures, unfortunately, but you can go look at them anyway. Alex drudged through the world wide web to find them, and I don't suggest looking at them if you have a very distinct picture of what the Authors look like in your mind. Anyway, ENJOY!
Oh, and I decided to publically thank all reviewers! I think I haven't been showing you guys enough lovin'...So review, and be recognized! :)