Summary: AU: When something goes horribly wrong in the telling of The Hobbit, two fourteen-year-olds are brought in to make things right. Gollum is on the loose with the Ring, the Gaffer has been murdered in his sleep...dark days are descending upon Middle-earth.
Author's Note: THIS is what I've been working on while I was away on a cruise. I haven't fixed Predestined(sorry!), but I'm working on my new chapters...slowly going back to writing TF stories. I'm hopeful that I'll have SOMETHING else to show by the end of this week! It's summer, and I haven't done anything on my preexisting stories.
Genres:Hurt/comfort, friendship, angst, suspense, tragedy.
Disclaimer:All recognizable aspects of this story (characters, places, etc.) don't belong to me. I'm merely borrowing them and (hopefully) returning them. And yes, Claire's quite...Mary-Sue-ish. I KNOW that. I don't need people telling me that. Rated T for some descriptive violence.
The last thing fourteen-year-old Claire Fiona Reynolds expected was for her cellphone to ring on a Friday morning. She picked it up, answering on the first measure of 'Bohemian Rhapsody.' "Yello, Claire speaking."
"Claire-Bear!"
Claire sighed. "Jacob," she said sternly. "Don't call me that!"
Jacob snickered, holding a hand over his mouth. "Why?" he asked innocently.
"Because I don't like it."
"Why?"
Claire smirked. The game was on. "Why not?"
"Why?"
"Why not?"
"Why?"
"Why not?"
"Why not?"
"Why?"
Jacob laughed suddenly, and it took every ounce of Claire's almost nonexistent self-control not to throw the phone across the room. "Jacob Henry Masterson, I forbid you to trick me as such henceforth!"
"With what power?" Jacob asked, grinning madly.
Claire took several calming breaths. "With the power of the Valar," she replied calmly, straight-faced. "Was there a reason you called?"
"Yep."
Claire shook the phone. "Then what was it?" she asked, still in a perfectly calm tone.
"I wanted to see if you could go to the all-night LOTR marathon on Saturday."
"Jacob!" she squeaked. "What do you think?"
Jacob laughed. "Ask your mom." Even as he spoke, he could hear her shouting from her bedroom.
"Ok, I'm good to go," Claire said, almost breathless.
"I'll buy the snacks, but on one condition."
Claire nearly groaned.
"No fan-girlishness," Jacob said sternly.
Claire grinned mischievously. "And what does no fan-girlishness entail?" It was the same thing they went through every time they went to see a movie Claire had already seen.
"No screaming over any of the actors' or characters' lines, no getting angry at the decisions of the characters, no loudly reciting the lines, no screaming what a character should do next, no talking about the characters, no throwing popcorn at Gollum, no screaming at people in the audience to be quiet, no yelling at people when they snore, and absolutely nojumping up and hugging the screen at the end of ROTK. Actually…just don't talk at all, ok?"
"But Jacob, that's everything fun!" Claire protested, sulking.
Jacob grinned, but kept his voice somber. "Those are the rules. Ya either follow 'em, or I don't take you."
"Fine," Claire huffed. Her normal attitude returned, though, and she said, "I'll buy the tickets." She paused, thoughtful. "Hey, Jacob?"
"Yeah?"
"Why didn't you just ask me at school?"
"Because by that time you'd be too awake, and would have had sugar. There wouldn't be anything to stop you from bouncing off the walls."
"Too true, mellon nin. Too true."
"One more rule: no Elvish," Jake said, grinning. He knew what kind of reaction that would get.
Sure enough, Claire howled, and threw the phone: she loved speaking Elvish.
Jake snickered. "You want to go, right?"
"Yes!" she sing-songed, grabbing the phone back.
"Then no Elvish."
-Saturday Night-
Jacob gripped Claire's arm tightly, restraining her bouncing. She followed along behind him, humming 'Concerning Hobbits' as loudly as possible. Of course, she'd been trying to teach herself to play it on the piano (and failing), but what was the point of practicing without a piano?
Claire switched to 'The Breaking of the Fellowship' when she got bored waiting in line for the tickets. Her humming grew louder and louder until Jacob made her stop.
Making Claire stop doing anything was a challenge. You had to distract her with something else, which was preferably not annoying. In this instance, Jacob poked her shoulder.
"Ow! Jacob!" she hissed.
Poke.
"Jacob!"
Poke.
Claire's jaw set, and she looked straight ahead, forcing herself to ignore him.
Poke.
Claire narrowed her eyes.
Poke.
Fists clenched.
Poke.
Lips a thin line.
Poke.
Claire screamed under her breath, but kept her eyes straight ahead, boring holes in the wall.
Poke.
"Jacob!"
Poke.
Claire grinned devilishly. She poked him back. "Poke," she said gleefully.
"Poke." Jacob poked her again.
Claire's eyes narrowed again. "Poke."
"Poke."
"Poke!"
"Poke."
"Poke!"
"Poke."
"POKE!"
"Poke."
Claire screamed under her breath again, and crossed her arms. "You are…are…" she spluttered.
"Are what?" Jacob asked, amused.
"Are…infuriating. And irritating. And frustrating. And-"
Jacob groaned, and blocked her words out with a simple: "We won't go!"
Claire narrowed her eyes, and said, "Why do I even hang out with you, Orc-man?" she snapped.
"Orc-man? I thought I was Gollum." He sounded almost disappointed.
Smirking, Claire said, "You're meaner than Gollum. You make him look almost nice."
"Great."
"…I wish I had my iPod," Claire said almost wistfully, looking bored.
Jacob groaned. Claire wishing for her iPod wasn't a good sign. "You know what happened last time you sang in public."
Claire raised an eyebrow. "Yes, but that won't stop me from singing again…if I had my iPod, which I don't." Her face promptly dropped into a pout. She sulked all the way to the ticket window, sullenly handing the person the money and all but stomping away. Jacob trotted after her, grinning to himself. He purchased the candy, and found himself being half-dragged into the theater.
Once inside, they sat right in the middle of the fifth row, and gave evil looks to anyone who decided to sit in the fourth row. Claire was bouncing up and down slightly, munching on some Junior Mints. Jake snatched the box, making her glare at him again when he started eating them.
The lights dimmed, and Claire stopped glaring and bouncing. She leaned forward until her chin touched the seat in front of her, and watched the screen as the movie started, enraptured.
The Fellowship of the Ringwas starting, Galadriel was speaking in Elvish, and Claire was grinning broadly. Jacob thought everything was normal.
That was, until Galadriel—who no longer sounded like Cate Blanchett—started saying something very different.
"Gollum was angry that he had been cheated out of his Precious. He flung himself at Bilbo Baggins, stole his sword, and forcibly took the Ring back, Bilbo losing his life in the struggle. Gollum, although reunited with the Ring, now had a new desire. He wanted to destroy all evidence of Bilbo. So Gollum travelled to the Shire, Sting in his hand, to kill the Hobbits, as he linked them in his mind to Bilbo."
Claire looked stricken. "No," she whispered. Jacob didn't reprimand her: he was staring open-mouthed at the screen. All around them, the moviegoers looked perfectly calm, as though Galadriel hadn't just said Gollum was going to kill the Hobbits.
"Jacob," Claire whimpered, staring almost tearfully up at the screen. Jacob shook his head, completely shaken.
"Gollum remained in hiding for many years, watching. He first disposed of the Sackville-Bagginses, thus ensuing that Bilbo's favorite cousin, Frodo, received Bag End. And he settled to wait again. Samwise Gamgee remained his gardener and friend, and his cousins Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took could often be found staying in Bag End. Stricken as he was by the loss of Bilbo, Frodo grew further and further away from the inhabitants of Hobbiton, rarely leaving his hole at all. His friends, worried as they were, did nothing, correctly blaming it on grief.
"Soon, something changed. Hamfast Gamgee, Samwise's father, was discovered one morning to have been stabbed in his sleep. A short, Hobbit-sized sword was found at his beside. Signs of a struggle were all around the room, as well as blood.
"Gollum disappeared. There was a light in the darkness: two strange travelers had been following him. They were Middle-earth's last hope, as Gollum was unknowingly bringing the Ring closer and closer to Sauron. Sauron's power was such by then that he could feel the Ring wherever it was, and manipulate it to his own will.
"Gollum was bringing the Ring to Sauron."
"Two strange travelers, Jacob," Claire hissed. "Could it be…" But she didn't finish her question. A bright doorway, reminiscent of the doors of Moria, appeared on the screen. The others in the theatre were oblivious to it.
Claire stood up, but nobody took any notice. "They can't see us, Jacob," she whispered, waving her hand in front of a woman's face.
"Claire…what if we're the strange travelers?" Jacob asked, in a normal volume.
"There's only one way to find out," said Claire decisively. She strode up to the doors, and said loudly, "Mellon!"
The doors swung open onto what looked like a grassy clearing in the nighttime. Claire grabbed her purse, and slowly walked through, Jacob on her heels. They walked forward a little, and the doors swung shut behind them. Claire spun around, but it was too late: the doors were gone.
"Looks like there's nothing we can do but wait, huh?" said Jacob, looking around.
Claire wasn't listening. She was poking her head around the trees, and squinting up into their tops. "Gollum's hiding here somewhere…I can smell him," she mused, looking around. "We ought to get somewhere safe, Jacob." She was strangely calm.
"Claire, how do we even know we're inHobbiton?" Jacob groaned, following her as she darted off, lightly dodging around trees.
Claire shrugged. "I can…tell," she explained, still jogging. She suddenly stopped, and Jacob slammed into her. "Hush!" she commanded, dragging him to the ground. "Up ahead, I think it's the Gamgees' place…" she hissed.
"What makes you say that?" Jacob whispered back.
Claire narrowed her eyes. "Because I think that's Gollum up there, beside the window."
And, sure enough, a small creature was crouched beneath the window. There was a long object clutched in its hand, catching the light that came from the window. Soft, angry muttering could be heard.
Jacob's mouth fell open. "Galadriel was right," he breathed. "That's gotta be the Gamgees' place."
Claire nodded. "C'mon, Jacob, we need to save the Gaffer-"
"Claire!" he hissed. "Remember what Galadriel said?"
"No, we have to help," she whispered defiantly, tears swimming in her eyes. "We can stop him, Jacob…"
Jacob shook his head sadly. "We can't," he told her quietly. "Gollum's got a sword. We're the only ones that know what's going on, remember? If he kills us…the Hobbits won't stand a chance. Galadriel said that there were obvious signs of a struggle…so we surprise him after…"
Claire made a choking noise.
"After the…deed," Jacob relented, frowning deeply. "We take Sting, scare Gollum off…"
"But why do we leave Sting?" Claire asked.
Jacob thought for a moment, before saying, "Because we'd look like idiots carrying the…murder weapon around."
Claire gave a strangled yelp, and Jacob clapped his hand over her mouth. "Claire, shush!" he hissed.
"Sorry," she whispered, taking his hand off her mouth.
There was a movement up beside the house, and Gollum crawled up the side. The light was now off inside the house. The window slid open, and Gollum crept inside.
Claire was trembling uncontrollably, but she pushed aside all of Jacob's efforts to console her. She stood up, and crept up close to the house, silent tears sliding down her face. Jacob followed her, looking deeply troubled.
There was a muffled choking sound, and a groan. Claire squeaked, and closed her eyes. When she opened her eyes, her mouth was set, and her usually bright green eyes were dark and cold. "Give me a boost, Jacob. I'll go in first."
"No, Claire-"
"Jacob," she said firmly. Jacob, biting his lip, locked his hands together, and made a step for Claire to get inside the window. She slipped inside, and he heard the thump of her landing. He jumped up, and scrambled ungracefully into the room. The room was messed up: the candlestick had fallen to the floor, the chair was knocked over, and there was dirt on the floor; obviously from Gollum.
Claire had Sting in her hand, and was pointing in menacingly at Gollum, who cowered in a corner. "Be completely silent," she hissed, "or I'll run you through." Sting dripped blood off its tip, and Claire averted her eyes from it, staring at Gollum instead.
Gollum pressed against the wall, but made no sound.
Jacob's eyes flashed towards the bed, but he quickly looked away. "Get out of Hobbiton," he snarled. "Stay away from here, and never dare to come back."
The pitiful creature nodded fearfully, and darted out the window. Claire dropped the sword to the floor, and hugged herself. "Oh God, Jacob," she whispered. The air was thick with a metallic odor: and Claire knew exactly what it was.
"C'mon, Claire," he whispered, guiding his distraught friend to the window. They climbed out, and slipped back into the forest. Claire slumped against a tree, completely white and looking panic-stricken. She took several deep breaths, and a little color returned to her cheeks. "What now, Jacob?" she whispered.
Jacob frowned, sitting down beside her. "We tell Sam and Frodo the truth," he replied.
Claire nodded. "Galadriel said Gollum was heading to Mordor…we need to stop him. We'll need all the help we can get. We ought to get Sam and Frodo…and maybe Merry and Pippin, they helped in the movies and books, and we might get this story back on track. Go to Bree…"
"Slow down, Claire. First we need to convince Sam and Frodo."
She just kept on going. "…see if Aragorn's there, go to Rivendell…and from there make our way to Mordor. We'll need to find Gollum's secret entrance in Shelob's lair, that'll be where he's heading, Sauron probably wouldn't risk losing the Ring in the hands of the Orcs…" She paused, and took a gasping breath.
Jacob patted her shoulder, and said, "Ok, I get it, Claire. Right now let's just focus on the task at hand."
Claire nodded, and stood up. "Let's see if we can find our way to Bag End. It's almost morning, look." And sure enough, the forest was growing light.
The two made their way quietly through Hobbiton, following both their instincts and what they'd seen in the movies. Luckily, they made their way to Bag End. Claire was tired now, having been up all night and having done more in that night that she ever had in one day, and so she sank down in the cool, dewy grass, and leaned up against the equally grassy outside wall of the hole. "D'ya think it'll make any difference?" she whispered.
Jacob blinked, still standing. "I think so. Gollum didn't stick around to kill Frodo, Sam, and all the other Hobbits, did he?"
Claire smiled, although it was more of a half-grimace. "No. We stopped that…for now." Her face was still abnormally pale, and her eyes were wide. Even when the sun rose, her cheeks remained pale.
"Claire, come on. I hear noises inside," said Jacob suddenly, grabbing his friend's arm and dragging her up. Claire followed almost sleepily, eyes still abnormally wide. She suddenly gasped, and jerked back. Jacob stopped, and spun to face her. "Claire? Something wrong?" he asked, frowning.
Claire shuddered. "I don't…know," she whispered, looking positively horrified. Jacob touched her arm, and she shook herself. "I'm ok, Jacob. Let's go."
They walked up to the front of the house, and Claire promptly knocked the 'shaving a haircut, two bits' knock. Jacob rolled his eyes, but was secretly pleased to see a little color returning to his friend's face. They stood outside the door, waiting, but nobody came.
"Maybe…maybe we came later than we thought. Maybe last night…maybe it was late enough that they're all in Rivendell," Claire mused, looking doubtful.
Jacob sighed. "Couldn't be. We scared Gollum off; so what? Now he's on his way to Mordor. We wouldn't've just been sent here for that…we were sent here to help, right?" He exchanged worried glances with Claire, who bit her lip.
There was a crackling sound, as if someone had broken glass. Claire was suddenly very stiff. "Jacob, you're the fastest runner in the whole school," she whispered. "Go get Sting." When he started to protest, she said, "Please! Jacob, go!" Her voice was colored with a strange note of despair.
Jacbo sprinted off, feeling that had the gym teachers been able to see him, they would have fainted. He could hear noises in the Gamgee residence, so he snuck around the edge, and peeked in the window. Ignoring Galadriel's words echoing in his head, he jumped into the room, grabbed Sting, and climbed out, just as the door could be heard opening. Jacob cursed softly, and ran off.
Claire was crouched beside the door, glancing fearfully around, and just as pale as before. "Jacob!" she whispered as he ran up. "Thanks…" She took Sting, cleaned it on the grass, and then crept around to the nearest window.
Immediately, both Claire and Jacob felt cold, despite the warm sun. "Nazgûl," Claire whispered fearfully. "Must've gotten here last night…"
"Ring…" an icy-cold voice hissed.
"I-I don't know what you mean!" said a frightened voice. There was a thud, and then a pained cry.
"You do know…"
"No… No!"
Claire sprang up, jumped through the already broken window, and sank Sting into the Nazgûl's back. Sting was at an angle, so it pierced up through the Nazgûl's neck. It shrieked in pain, and Claire's screams joined with it. Her hand seemed attached to Sting, although she thrashed around wildly, clearly in terrible pain.
The Nazgûl's cries escalated, and it suddenly turned to dust with a loud bang. Claire fell to the ground, dropping Sting as she did so. She was sobbing, and clutching her right arm: the arm she'd stabbed the Nazgûl with. "Oh God, oh God," she panted, her breathing labored.
"Claire!" Jacob cried, kneeling beside his friend.
Claire pushed him away, still breathing shallowly as she sat up. "I'm…fine," she protested. Her green eyes were dull and lifeless. She looked over to where the Nazgûl had been standing, and then past it.
A dark-haired, blue-eyed Hobbit was collapsed against the wall, holding his arm and looking nervously over at his unexpected visitors. His face was pale, but bruises were coming up.
Claire took a deep breath, and crawled over to him. "You alright?" she asked breathlessly.
The Hobbit nodded, but she shook her head. "You're bleeding," she said softly, reaching out to take his arm. He flinched back.
"I'm sorry," said Claire, hurt. "But I-I want to help you. I just saved your life…let me help."
Not daring to speak, the little Hobbit nodded reluctantly.
"Do you have any sheets I can use?" she asked, looking around the room.
The Hobbit nodded again. "Cupboard in the bedroom," he said. Claire looked expectantly at Jacob, who dashed off, trying to remember the map of Bag End from The Hobbit. When he came back, he had a fresh, clean, folded sheet draped over his arm. Claire had rolled up the Hobbit's sleeve, and was looking anxiously at the wound. "What did the blade look like?" she asked, after sending Jacob off to get some water. He looked put out.
"Long and thin," said the Hobbit. "Almost…dusty."
Claire's throat closed up. "Oh…no," she choked out, looking horrified. The Hobbit gave her a frightened, questioning look. "A Morgul-blade," she explained. "It's…" She felt her throat close up again. Swallowing, she said, "…deadly."
The Hobbit flinched, but not away from her. "Deadly?" he repeated in a whisper.
Claire nodded miserably, face still white as the sheet she was now tearing into long strips. "But…my friend and I have a plan." She looked into his eyes. "I promise you, I won't let this kill you."
Jacob came back with the water, and then sat down to watch. Claire was first soaking a square-ish piece of cloth, and then cleaning the blood off the Hobbit's wound. "Jacob," she said after a little while, "could you get more water? This stuff isn't helping more." Her voice was strained, and Jacob knew why: the water was a violent shade of red, and the wound was still bleeding. He nodded, and darted off.
Claire bit the inside of her lip. "Do you have salt?" she asked.
The Hobbit nodded. "Pantry…in the kitchen," he said softly. Claire reached out and took his hand. She squeezed it once, then forced herself to stand up and walk into the kitchen. The pantry doors were almost right in front of her. She poked around for a bit, until she found a very small box labeled 'SALT' in hand-carved letters. "It's not Athelas," she muttered, "but I'm no king."
Claire walked back into the study, and all but collapsed beside the Hobbit. She opened up the little box as Jacob walked back in. "What's that?" he asked, setting down the bucket.
"Salt," Claire replied, dumping a small pile of salt into her hand. She dipped her fingers into the water, and trickled some on the salt until there was mostly water in her hand. "This will help…but it'll hurt," she told the Hobbit. He nodded, and seemed to bite the inside of his lip.
Claire hesitantly applied the salt water to his wound, and saw him stiffen at the added pain. The blood flow lessened considerably, and she repeated the process. Finally, the wound stopped bleeding. Sighing with relief, Claire tore herself another square-ish piece of sheet, and dunked it in the water. She cleaned the wound again, this time achieving much better results than before. "Almost done," she murmured, taking up one of her long strips. Carefully and slowly she bound the wound, making sure it was tight, but not so tight that the Hobbit couldn't feel his arm. She was just tying the last knot when: "Mr. Frodo? You there?"
Claire's eyes seemed to light up, and she came out of her daze. "We haven't introduced ourselves," she said suddenly. "I'm Claire Reynolds, and this is Jacob Masterson."
"Frodo Baggins," said Frodo, trying to push himself up with his good arm.
Claire frowned at that. "You shouldn't," she said firmly. "Let me help." She reached around his middle, and lifted him to a standing position. Still stubborn, Claire helped him into the living room, finally getting him settled on a couch.
"Mr. Frodo?" The voice was worried now.
Frodo looked worried. "That's Sam. I should-"
Claire gave him a stern look. "I'll go explain. Jacob, make sure he stays here." She leaned closer, seeing the frustrated look on the Hobbit's face, and said, "I promised you I wouldn't let you be killed."
"Not exactly…"
She closed her eyes, calming herself down, then opened them. "Alright, let me rephrase. I won't let you be killed, and I'll do everything in my power to keep you safe. I don't know exactly what'll happen from that wound…there doesn't appear to be any of the Morgul-blade left in there… So just stay there." With that, Claire walked—half stumbled, actually—to the front hall, and opened the door. The Hobbit in front of her wasn't like Sean Astin: he looked more, in Claire's opinion, like Sam should. Sam looked startled at her appearance, and she didn't blame him.
"Who are you?" he demanded. "Where's Mr. Frodo?" He was both anxious and angry at the same time.
Claire tried to smile reassuringly, but she was weak from standing for so long. And her arm was starting to throb worryingly. "You're Samwise Gamgee, aren't you?" she said, sounding very polite.
"What of it?" Sam snapped. looking extremely wary.
"I'm…not sure how to explain," she admitted, rubbing her right arm. In the process, her long sleeve was pushed up: revealing something that made the sandy-haired Hobbit gasp. "Your arm!" he spluttered, eyes wide.
Claire looked down at her arm, and nearly gasped as well. Her arm had crisscrossing purple scars on it, and was a bright red color beneath it.
"What happened?" asked Samwise, frowning deeply.
Claire grimaced. "Ringwraith. Uh…come on inside, let me explain…" Seeing his suspicious look, she said, "There's a lot to tell… Tell to both you and to Frodo. Please, trust me." In her green eyes, which had grown so lifeless in the past hours, a spark appeared. It was enough to convince Sam to follow her inside.
"Mr. Frodo!" he yelped, upon seeing Frodo laying over on the couch, shirt torn and bloody, and face paler than usual, behind the bruises. "What'd you do to him?" Sam demanded, glaring at the two humans.
Claire slumped into a chair, tugging her sleeve down over her burning arm. "Nothing. It wasn't us. It was something called a Ringwraith, a Nazgûl. Really bad guys. There are—were—nine. Since I killed one-" She grinned slightly, looking more like her former self. "-there's eight."
"She can do math," Sam muttered. Jacob snorted.
Glaring, Claire said, "Anyway, do you want to hear the story or not?"
Sam nodded, looking abashed.
"Good." Claire turned soft, sympathetic eyes on Frodo. "What story were you told about your uncle's…disappearance?" she asked gently.
Frodo looked confused. "That…his companions turned on him. That they tricked them." Anger flashed in his eyes.
Claire laid a gentle hand on his arm. "It's not true. Do you know exactly who his companions were?" she asked.
"Dwarves...thirteen of them."
She frowned. "And you know Gandalf the Grey, right?"
Frodo nodded.
"Well…he was there too. But," she added, "it wasn't any of them. The dwarves owe Bilbo their lives lots of times over. No…none of those fourteen tricked him. It was a creature called Gollum…who had possessed something called the One Ring of Power. It was Sauron's Ring."
Jacob nodded in agreement. "Still is Sauron's Ring, really. He just doesn't have it." He could see the look of pain—whether physical or mental he couldn't say—on Claire's face, and so he took over. "Gollum had had the Ring your too many years. It drove him crazy…he called it his 'Precious.' It drove him away from his people, and into hiding. Bilbo found the Ring, but Gollum…didn't want him to have it."
"He killed him," said Claire suddenly, voice bitter. "Gollum killed Bilbo, and took his Precious back. But he was still angry. He came here… Remember the murders of Lobelia and Otho Sackville-Baggins? That was Gollum." She looked at Sam, tears swimming dangerously in her eyes, and he understood.
"The Gaffer," he whispered, horrorstruck.
Claire nodded, face set rigidly, all trace of tears gone. "The Ring has consumed Gollum so much that Sauron's controlling him now. He's on his way to Mordor. The Ring has to be destroyed, or Sauron will rule all of Middle-earth." The gravity of their situation weighed heavily on everyone's shoulders. "Like I said earlier, Jacob and I have a plan, but it'll be difficult, and a lot relies on chance." She looked around at all of them, including Jacob. "I'm going after him, no matter what. Frodo, you need to come with me as far as Rivendell, because of that wound. The Elves could send you back here in safety. Jacob, Sam…I'm not going to speak for you."
Jacob stared, open-mouthed, at his friend. Where was the silly, happy-go-lucky fourteen-year-old that had been bouncing in line for movie tickets, and having poke fights, and freaking out about all-night Lord of the Rings marathons? He barely recognized the individual before him. Her red hair was hanging messily around her face, as per usual, but there was dirt and blood mixed in. Her face, usually flushed in excitement and natural color, was pale and ghostly, and her lips provided a startling contrast to her skin. Her green eyes were dull and hard, rather than light, sparkly, and happy with a hint of deviousness. Her long-sleeved shirt (which thankfully was her simplest Lord of the Rings shirt, only saying 'LOTR' in big letters on the front, and '12/19/01.') was ripped and stained with blood and salty water. Her jeans had dirt on the knees, and her converse tennis shoes were equally dirty. She looked, for all the world, like a vampire, minus the fangs and hungry look in her eyes. "Claire…are you alright?" he asked softly.
Claire narrowed her eyes. "I'm fine," she snapped, rubbing her right arm.
Jacob caught a glimpse of the angry, marred skin there. "Claire!" he cried out, sounding almost hysterical. "Your arm…Claire-Bear, why didn't you say something?" he asked in disbelief.
Claire tugged the sleeve down again. "It's alright, Jacob. Nothing serious," she said firmly. "And don't call me that." She turned away, hugging herself. She trembled slightly, and the other three knew she was crying.
Frodo hoisted himself off the sofa, and went up to her. "Claire…it's alright," he said softly. "I never thanked you for saving me, did I?"
Claire smiled slightly, and wiped her eyes. "It's cool," she said lightly, sounding like she felt better, even if she didn't look it. "No problem."
Frodo smiled up at her. "And I'll come with you," he added. Claire opened her eyes wide, and then shook her head. "You don't have to…"
"I know. But I want to help you."
"Same here," said Sam firmly. "You'll need all the help you can get, Miss Claire." It was a sign of how much he wanted to help that he called her 'Miss Claire.'
Jacob touched his friend's unhurt arm. "I'm coming too. We both were brought here…we're sticking together. Besides, best friends stick together."
Claire looked shocked. "You all…" She seemed close to tears again. "Well," she said, taking a deep breath, "first things first…we need to get to Bree. Jacob and I don't know the way…we only know we need to take Bucklebury Ferry, and neither of us know where that is."
"I'll show you," said Frodo, moving to get his things.
Claire seemed to notice he was up for the first time. "Oh no you don't," she said sternly, guiding him back to the sofa. "If you're coming to Rivendell, then you need to rest. We'll get everything."
Jacob was talking quietly with Sam. He waved to Claire, then darted out of the house. Claire saw the pain in Sam's eyes, and remembered that the Gaffer was his father. She patted his shoulder, and then went about asking Frodo what he needed for the journey, what food was nonperishable, and that sort of thing.
The thing that surprised her the most was that it felt normal. It felt like packing for a hiking expedition in the mountains back home, or going to explore a cave that her older brother had discovered. Thinking of her family made Claire want to cry, though, so she focused on packing, and wondering how they were going to manage all this. She'd already managed to drag two Hobbits into this mess…who else would suffer because she couldn't do it by herself?
Claire had been in the main bedroom, gathering clothes. She suddenly punched the wall (thankfully using her left hand), and then shouted something very foul, clutching her hand to her chest. "Oh, God that was stupid!" she howled, grimacing. "I'm an idiot." She paced back and forth, clothes-gathering forgotten. "It's not like they're going to die," she said, trying to console herself.
But there was a nagging doubt at the back of Claire's mind: the Gaffer had already been killed. That hadn't been in either the movies or the books. She knew there wasn't any way she could guarantee anyone's safety anymore. The thought burned her, even more than her right arm did. Claire wanted everyone to get out of this alive: and the fewer people involved the better. She considered leaving by herself, but knew Jacob would follow her. He knew where to go, what their plan was…so that option was out. It seemed like the only option was to let him and the Hobbits come. Claire hated that thought. She hated, too, the thought that Merry and Pippin might end up in their little party as well. It wasn't like she had anything against the two; it was just that there was a greater chance of someone getting killed before their time with that many people.
And, of course, Claire was taking them straight to Aragorn. Another possible casualty. Her stomach flipped over at the thought of not having a King Elessar. Maybe he could help them get to Rivendell, and then they could leave… But no, that wouldn't work… Claire would have to explain their plight to Elrond, who would call the Council as a result. The party might not be the Fellowship of the Ring then, but there was no doubt in her mind that Boromir, Legolas, and Gimli would be added to the equation.
Three more on the 'Possible Casualties List.' Claire's stomach hurt at the thought of each of them: Jacob, Frodo, Sam, Merry, Pippin, Aragorn, Legolas, Gandalf, Gimli, Boromir…even Arwen, who might insist on going. There was no end to the uncertainty that had been brought on by one simple occurrence. In danger too were the Men of Gondor and Rohan… And all the Elves of Lothlórien, Imladris, Mirkwood, and Valinor. If Sauron gained possession of the Ring, then even the Valar wouldn't stand a chance.
Claire suddenly realized how much was resting on her, Jacob, and the Hobbits. She felt her stomach turn over, and wrapped her arms around herself. It was too much to take in: her extensive Lord of the Rings knowledge would play no part here. She would have to rely on her wits and intuition, and the love of her friends.
But that's how they got through everything in the books, Claire realized with a start. They didn't have inside knowledge…just their wits, a little luck, and a couple hundred men and swords. She smiled slightly, comforted. Pictures of each person ran through her head, but they were smiling; they weren't going to die, Claire was sure of it now. She'd make sure of that personally.
In her head, Claire made a silent promise to everyone that would—or could—become involved with this twisted version of the War of the Ring: a promise like the one she made to Frodo. I won't let anyone die, she promised. Nobody will die because of me…nobody.