A/N: Please review! Not only do reviews motivate me, but it lets me know what I'm doing right/wrong. Come on guys, don't make me beg.
Throughout the story I'm going to take some things from the movie, others from the book, and some I'm going to change altogether, and/or make it up.
All spoken language is in Westron for the rest of the fic, unless specified as otherwise.
Enjoy.
Weathertop, Eriador
October 6, 3018 T.A.
Frodo honestly didn't know how his life came to this point. Hobbits were pretty unexciting creatures, preferring a simple but happy life opposed to one full of grand adventures and fame and fortune.
He was already considered with some speculation among other hobbits, how could he not with his dear uncle Bilbo as his guardian.
Bilbo Baggins, the only hobbit in recent memory who not only had an adventure, but craved for another one! A craving so strong that he decided to leave on his and Frodo's joint birthday last year, leaving everything in his possession to Frodo. Including the ring.
The ring. This was all the ring's fault. In Bilbo's original adventure over 60 years ago, he had come across a (supposedly) simple gold ring which had belonged to a miserable creature named Gollum. Bilbo later found out that the ring had the power to turn the wearer invisible, and used the ring quite often thinking it a grand trinket. If only that was all it was.
Gandalf the Grey, who was a good friend of Bilbo and basically a grandfather to Frodo, found out that Bilbo's ring was actually Sauron's ring of power, and could lead to the destruction of middle earth. Fearing that the dark lord may somehow find out about the ring's location, Gandalf bade Frodo to leave for the nearby town of Bree where he would meet him after seeing the head of the wizard's council.
After a few days involving dark riders dressed in black, a lot of hiking and a few extra companions (Frodo's distant cousins Meriadoc (Merry) Brandybuck and Peregrin (Pippin) Took had somehow ended up accompanying him and his dear friend Sam on the journey), Frodo and his friends all made it to Bree.
Unfortunately, Gandalf wasn't there.
They did meet someone else though, a ranger that went by the name Strider. He had even saved their lives by insisting the hobbits stay in his room instead of going to their own room. This saved their lives since in the middle of the night the cloaked riders – who they then found out were the dreaded Nazgûl – had gone to their room to try and kill them all.
Strider explained that he was a friend of Gandalf's that was sent here just in case the wizard was unable to come himself. The next morning the four hobbits and one ranger headed out to make their way to Rivendell.
They were currently about half-way between the Shire and Rivendell, at Weathertop, a place that Strider told them used to be a watchtower of the old kingdom of Arnor. Once they had set up camp, Strider had left to scout the area and Frodo had opted to take a nap.
When Frodo woke up, it was to a distressing sight; Sam, Merry and Pippin were cooking. With a fire. In the night. A fire in the night which anyone would see from miles around, including the Nazgûl who were still pursuing them.
Even though Frodo put it out, it was too late. They were able to see the cloaked figures of the Nazgûl approaching from all sides, making their way up the hill. With no where to go but up, the hobbits grabbed their daggers (which were like swords to them) that Strider had given them and went to the very top, hoping that Strider would come in time to help them.
And that's where Frodo currently found himself; not in his cozy hobbit hole in Bag End, but at the top of a large hill covered in ruins, surrounded by undead cloaked horrors.
Frodo knew that it was his own fault that he was in this situation, he could have said no when Gandalf told him to leave the Shire, or he could have pawned the ring onto someone else. Frodo just wished that his friends wouldn't suffer for his decision.
Sam, Merry and Pippin tried to shield him from the wraiths, but they were quickly cast aside and the Nazgûl proceeded to their intended target.
As Frodo observed the Ringwraiths approaching, he felt an all-consuming desire to put on the ring. He knew he shouldn't; the warnings of Gandalf rang clear in his head, but he couldn't seem to stop himself as he slipped the ring onto his finger.
Suddenly the image of black robed wraiths was replaced with one of pale and mighty kings. The tallest and mightiest of them came forward and bore down on Frodo.
Frodo felt almost as if he was watching himself from that moment, not in control of his body as he struck forward at the Lord Nazgûl proclaiming "O Elebereth! Gilthoniel!"
At the same time he felt a sharp pain in his left shoulder, feeling ice cold and like the deadliest of poisons had entered into his bloodstream.
With his remaining strength he wrenched off the ring from his finger and clasped it tightly in his right hand. He was distantly aware of Strider fighting the wraiths with a flaming torch in one hand and a sword in the other, and of his fellow hobbits crowding around him, asking if he was alright. He felt as if everything was cast in shadows, and all noise was like a distant echo and strangely distorted.
Suddenly his head became clearer, his sight and hearing began improving. He felt strong enough to focus his eyes on the unfamiliar figure leaning over him that he hadn't noticed before. He felt something wet land on his injured shoulder; looking down he saw it looked like liquid pearls, covering his injury. He watched as his wound started to heal, a strange vapour escaping the wound. When the wound was fully healed, he looked up and noticed the greenest eyes he had ever seen before succumbing to unconsciousness.
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Iri had just decided to reveal himself to the children when hooded figures started appearing from all around, surrounding the group Iri had been watching.
The cloaked figures sent shivers up Iri's spine; they reminded him of dementors in the way that they seemed to glide more than walk and the way they seemed to radiate darkness and cold. Iri couldn't let these obviously dark beings do whatever they had planned to do. He had to help those kids!
So Iri soon found himself racing up the hill after them, ignoring the little voice in his head calling him foolish for rushing in headlong into a situation where he didn't know what he was fighting, how to fight them, or who he was going to help.
It seemed that Iri was not the only one who noticed the children's predicament, for the adult traveling with them was also sprinting up the hill to try and protect them from the cloaked figures.
When Iri reached the top it was to the sight of the man fighting off the dementor-things and three of the children huddled around an obviously injured fourth one.
Since Iri didn't know what those cloaked things were, and therefore didn't know how to fight them, he decided to try to be of use by healing the injured child. When he got closer he noticed that the four figures weren't children despite their size; their faces were that of young men. Perhaps they were dwarfs, but Saruman had said that dwarfs were stocky and had beards. Well whatever these not-children were, Iri still wanted to help.
He gently pushed his way to the injured one's side to take a look at how bad his wound was. It looked like a normal stab wound, but Iri could feel the dark power radiating from it. Trying to heal it normally Iri discovered a piece of the blade working its way through the victim's bloodstream towards his heart. Iri was eventually able to remove it, but trying to heal the rest of the wound yielded no results, and he didn't know enough about the plants or animals here to know what would help for healing. Iri also didn't know what the dark magic surrounding the wound would do.
Afraid of the none-child's death, Iri decided to use his most potent aid; his healing tears. After sending a quick prayer to whoever would hear him that those around him were trustworthy and would help him, Iri focused his magic and leaned over so the tears would land on the wound. As the first tear fell, the none-child flinched and seemed to gain some awareness. The second fell and black smoke reeking of dark magic began leaking from the wound. As the third fell the wound began to close. After the fourth, the wound became fully healed.
Iri was only able to offer a tired smile to his now aware patient before the energy needed took its toll and he fell unconscious.
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Strider finished chasing away the last of the Nazgûl and hurried to see to Frodo. The only problem was that someone else was already there.
Strider watched as the stranger began to cry on Frodo's wound. But the tears didn't look like normal tears; they were large and looked like liquid pearls. And more amazingly, they seemed to be healing a wound from a morgul blade, something even elven medicine wasn't able to fully heal.
The healing seemed to have sapped the stranger of all his strength, for no sooner was the wound closed than the stranger had slumped unconscious.
"Strider, who is that?"
Strider had thought that maybe the hobbits knew who it was, since they had obviously allowed him to help the injured Frodo, something the over-protective hobbits wouldn't have done for a normal stranger (they definitely had been very wary and distrustful towards him even days after traveling together).
"I do not know master Merry, but we cannot just leave him here after all he has done to help Mister Frodo. Quickly, gather your things, we must leave at once."
"But what happened? Will Mister Frodo be alright?"
Strider picked up the sword which had injured Frodo, watching as the blade seemed to dissolve like smoke in the air, leaving nothing but the hilt in his hand.
"Frodo was stabbed by a morgul blade. I do not know how this stranger healed it, but for that we should be grateful. But we must leave lest the Nazgûl return."
Sam went to gather all their equipment from their camp while Merry and Pippin carried Frodo down to Bill, the pony they had gotten in Bree.
Strider slung the stranger over his shoulder, surprised at how small and light he was. Who was this figure? As far as Strider knew, only elves had healing powers and only Elrond could compete to the level that he had just witnessed. But this being was too small to be an elf; maybe he was an elfling? But then surely Strider would have seen or heard of him before, elflings were rare and highly celebrated, so surely Strider would have heard of his birth.
As Strider placed the stranger on top of Bill, he moved the stranger's hair out of the way. The ears were not pointed, so he wasn't an elf. And he was much too young to be an istari. Who could this figure be?
Strider decided to figure out the mystery that was their companion later as carried the unconscious Frodo across his shoulders and started ushering the other three hobbits to start moving.
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October 11, 3018 T.A.
Thankfully Frodo was back to normal by the next day, much to everyone's pleasure. Their mysterious guest had yet to wake up though. They were forced to trickle water in his mouth and the hobbits were starting to fear that he would never wake. Frodo took to tending to the stranger whenever they made camp since he knew that it was from helping him that the stranger was like this.
And that was how Strider found himself 5 days after the Nazgûl attack sitting by the fire smoking pipe-weed watching as Frodo gently washed the strangers face with a damp cloth on the other side of the fire. But as Frodo moved the stranger's hair back to wash his forehead, Strider did a double take.
"Frodo, move your hand for a moment. I want to see our guest's forehead."
Confused, Frodo complied. And there, clear as day, was a scar in the shape of a lightning bolt.
Flashback
(A/N: Remember that Aragorn grew up with Fred and George as older brothers, Tonks as an aunt and Sirius and Remus as uncles)
Estel was 8 years old and was hiding from everyone in a wooded area in Rivendell. He knew that everyone was worried, but he didn't want to hear one more word about Harry Potter ever again.
Estel loved Fred and George, who were his older brothers' boyfriends and also acted like brothers to him. And he loved Sirius who was like his uncle and always visited him and played with him.
When Estel learned that Uncle Sirius and the others were from another world, he was excited to hear about it. First Uncle Sirius would tell stories about when he was in school, and all the pranks and games he used to play. And then he would tell stories about his best friend, and how they were so close, many mistook them for real brothers. And then he told stories about Harry. His godson.
Sirius would get so sad and wistful when he talked about Harry, and at first Estel was upset that it made Sirius so sad. And then Estel got jealous because he knew that if Sirius could, he would go back to Harry and leave Estel behind. Estel felt that Sirius didn't love him anymore, he only loved Harry.
"Estel, are you out here?"
Estel recognized the voice of his other uncle, Remus. He didn't see Remus as often as Fred, George or Sirius, but he still liked Remus' company, especially when it was time for bed and Remus would read to him. But even though he liked talking to Remus, he didn't want to be found right now and held his breath, hoping that Remus would walk by without noticing him.
Unfortunately Remus found him anyway.
"There you are. Everyone is worried, why don't you come back in?"
"I don't want to. And nobody wants me anyway, they want Harry."
Remus paused for a second, then taking a deep breath he sat down next to Estel and settled in for a long talk.
"Now that's not true, why would you say that?"
"It is true! It's all Sirius ever talks about! Harry this, and Harry that! He doesn't love me, he only loves Harry!"
"It's true that Sirius loves and misses Harry, but that doesn't mean that he doesn't love you too. It's like saying that you don't love Elrond because you love Sirius."
"But that's not true! I love Ada and Sirius!"
"I know that. Your heart can love lots of people. Just like Sirius can love you and Harry. It's just that, remember that Sirius and Harry's dad were best friends?" at Estel's nod Remus continued. "Well, Sirius promised James that he would always be there for Harry and protect him. Sirius thinks that he didn't do as he promised, so he not only misses Harry, he feels guilty that he couldn't have done more for Harry too. That's why Sirius gets so sad after talking about Harry and wants to be on his own for a little while. But I know that Sirius loves you very much, and would hate to see you sad. It would have been Sirius' greatest wish to see you and Harry happy."
Estel and Remus ended up talking for a few more hours as Estel processed everything he had heard. It was with Remus' help that he realized that he wasn't loved any less than before, and that Sirius loved him for who he was, not as Harry's replacement. Ever since then Estel thought of Harry as a sort of brother that he had never met, one that would have grown up beside him and played with him if he hadn't been kidnapped by the dark lord from Sirius' world.
End Flashback
Since that day he had always enjoyed hearing stories about his 'brother' and had learned as much about Harry as he could. Which was why Strider could barely believe his eyes when he saw the distinct lightning-bolt shaped scar across their guest's forehead.
Strider began to hungrily take in every other feature of this 'stranger'. His frame was small, his hair as black as night with the red streaks Fred and George had described. And Strider would bet that if the stranger's hair was short, it would stick up everywhere in big a mess.
"Frodo, did you happen to see what colour eyes our friend has?"
"Yes, his eyes where green. In fact, I have never seen such green eyes; they were greener than the grass in the meadow by Hobbiton."
There was no doubt about it, this had to be him. Strider felt his hands shake as he whispered out "Harry Potter".
"Who?"
Strider broke out of his stupor to regard the hobbits that were now hanging on his every word.
"How much do you know of the people from the other world?"
It was Merry who answered.
"Well everyone knows of them. Misters Fred and George and Miss Tonks come to visit the Shire every few years, they're lots of fun. Why it was Fred and George who taught me and Pip how to light a fireworks."
The hobbits waited with baited breath for Striders explanation; not only did this sound interesting but they had never seen the calm and collected ranger this tense before.
"Growing up, I had known all the otherworlders and had seen all of them every now then; some more often than others. One person they had mentioned often was a young man who had been very dear to all of them. His name was Harry Potter, and was described as having the greenest emerald eyes you'd ever seen, hair as black as midnight with dark red streaks running through it, and most importantly, a lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead that was one of a kind."
Strider continued as the hobbits looked over the stranger in a new light.
"The only thing I don't understand is his apparent youth; he ought to be almost 500 years old by now, but he looks like a man just out of childhood. The others from his world had only stopped aging when they entered Arda, so unless he had been in middle earth this whole time without anyone realizing it, I don't see how he's still alive."
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The next day Iri woke, confused as to where he was and what he was doing on the back of a pony.
"Good morning. It is good to see you awake; the hobbits were beginning to fear that you'd remain unconscious forever."
What? Hobbits? Iri looked around and noticed that he was with the group that he had been watching before. Looking at the none-children, he wondered if maybe they were the hobbits; from the way Saruman said that Gandalf liked them, he had thought hobbits were a type of food.
Iri tried to speak, but when he opened his mouth all that came out was a croak. One of the hobbits handed him a canteen of water, which Iri took with a grateful smile.
"You are not from this world are you?"
Iri looked at the man with bewilderment.
"No. How did you know?"
The man paused for a moment and asked the last question Iri had ever thought would come out of his mouth.
"Are you Harry Potter?"
Iri just sat in stunned silence for a few moments. Harry Potter; that was a name that even those in his home world had forgotten. The last time he was addressed as Harry had been hundreds of years ago. How had this man known it? Or even more importantly, how did he recognize Iri as being Harry Potter?
"Wha-? How?"
"It is you, isn't it? But how are you still alive? Where have you been?"
Iri just looked at the man who seemed to be getting more excited by the moment. What was going on?! How did this man know who he was? How much did this man know?
"I'm sorry, but I don't recognize you. How is it that you know who I am?"
The man pulled himself together and became the calm man Iri had watched from the distance once again.
"I was able to recognize you because I know others from your world who told me about you."
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Strider sat back, watching over Harry – or Iri as he asked to be called – and the hobbits as they slept. Strider hadn't been this excited or filled with this much nervous energy in a long time. Seeing Iri had brought back many childhood memories and feelings, and he couldn't seem to convince his mind that this was a stranger, not the brother Estel had always imagined.
But looking over Iri's deceivably small and delicate-looking frame, this time in Strider's mind, instead of Harry being the older brother who taught him about slaying giant snakes and stopping evil dark lords, Strider was now the older brother, watching out for the person who has always had to rely on himself.
Strider thought back to the conversation he had just had with Iri. Apparently Iri had only been in Arda for just over two years, a prisoner of Saruman's. This was distressing news since Strider and Frodo knew that Gandalf had gone to meet with the white wizard before meeting with them for the journey to Rivendell (which he had gone missing for). Iri had also explained about his animagus form and the reason he had lived so long.
In return Strider began telling Harry about Fred, George, Remus, Tonks and Sirius. He told of how their body and magic had changed when entering Arda (something that Iri confessed had happened to him too), and about some childhood memories he had of them.
The hobbits had all listened in as well with rapt attention; not only were they good stories, but they revealed a side to the experienced ranger the hobbits never knew he had. It was hard to picture the calm and dangerous Strider as a small child.
Strider knew that Iri hid how much those stories affected him, and how much he appreciated them as well. Strider wondered what the past few hundred years had been like for Harry; thinking that everyone you loved was dead and being a slave to the man who killed them.
Strider knew that it was foolishness to keep thinking of Iri as his brother, but he couldn't help it. With a small kiss to the slumbering man's forehead, Strider swore that he would keep Iri safe and happy – as any good brother would do.
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October 20, 3018 T.A.
Over the next week Iri heard much about his long-lost friends and family. He couldn't believe that they were here, alive and happy.
He and Strider, or Aragorn, had bonded, making Iri feel as though they had known each other since forever. And the hobbits and the two men had also formed a strong friendship – especially with Frodo, who felt indebted to Iri for healing his wound.
Iri hadn't felt this happy and carefree in a long time, despite the fact that the Nazgûl – which Iri had learned the dementor-thingies were called – were still pursuing them relentlessly.
The group was now a little over a day's journey from Rivendell, but the Nazgûl were closing in on them.
Suddenly, Strider put his hand up in a halt position and bade everyone to be silent and get down. Soon they heard the approaching sound of hooves.
They caught sight of a figure riding on a pure white horse. He was obviously and elf and had long blond hair.
Upon seeing him, Strider sprang out from his hiding spot and greeted the elf in elvish. The elf answered back and even though Iri and the hobbits couldn't understand the words, they could hear the note of panic and haste in the elf's voice. After talking to the elf for a bit longer, he introduced him to the rest of the group.
"This is Glorfindel who dwells in the house of Elrond." Glorfindel then continued.
"I have been trying to find you for nine days. The Nazgûl are hot on your trail and riding like the wind towards us. We must hurry. Frodo, my horse is fast and he will be able to beat even the steeds that the enemy rides upon. You must stay upon him lest you need to go on ahead."
"I'm sorry, but I won't leave my friends behind to the mercies of the black riders while I go on ahead to safety!" Frodo protested.
"But your friends would not be in danger if you were not with them. Once you go on ahead, the wraiths will pursue you and what you carry and leave the rest of us in peace. For it is not us that the Nazgûl are after, but you and the ring."
Properly convinced, Frodo mounted the elf's steed. No sooner than he did than the sound of galloping hooves reach their ears.
"Ride on! Ride on, the enemy is upon us!" and then in elvish Glorfindel addressed the horse. "Noro lim, noro lim, Asfaloth!"
And just like that the horse sprang forward and ran like the wind. Frodo held on tight as the horse sped onward, continuously followed by the Ringwraiths. Frodo didn't know how long the pursuit lasted, it felt like an age of panting breaths and reaching hands until Frodo finally caught sight of the Ford of Bruinen.
As Frodo reached the opposite bank of the river, he looked back to see what had become of his pursuers. All nine riders were at the water's edge, staring at the hobbit at the other side. The lead Nazgûl spurred his horse forward, into the water.
Frodo drew his sword, brandishing it to his foes.
"Go back! Go back to the Land of Mordor and follow me no more!"
The riders laughed at him, a sound which sent chills running through Frodo's body, and responded.
"Come back! Come back! To Mordor we will take you!"
"Go back!"
"The Ring! The Ring!"
And with that last cry the riders spurred their horses forward, into the river.
"By Elbereth and Lúthien the Fair," Frodo yelled, lifting his sword high in the air "you shall have neither the Ring nor me!"
The lead wraith stopped and lifted his hand. Frodo felt as if he were struck dumb, his tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth and his sword broke and fell out of his limp and shaking hand.
As the foremost Nazgûl was about to set foot on the shore, a sound of rumbling and roaring rushing water came to their ears. The water level began to rise and from around the bend came a cavalry of water horses and riders, charging at the wraiths and pulling them and the beasts on which they rode under the torrents of water and carried them down the river away from the hobbit.
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Iri walked along the road with Strider, Frodo, Sam, Merry, Pippin and two new faces; Lord Elrond of Rivendell and Gandalf the Grey, a wizard.
Even though Strider, Iri and the other hobbits reached the Ford a few hours after Frodo had, Frodo had waited for them, along with Elrond and Gandalf. Frodo told everyone what had happened and Gandalf explained that Elrond had felt a dark presence approaching his borders, and so they had gone out to investigate. On seeing the nine trying to cross the river, Elrond had released a great flood (since he controlled the river) that was augmented by Gandalf.
Now the group of 8 was silently making their way back up to Rivendell. Iri looked forward to finally having a nice cozy bed to sleep on. What he wasn't expecting was that there was a welcoming committee.
There were 4 elves waiting, all with dark hair, one was female and two were identical. But Iri barely noticed them; his attention was fixed on the 5 other people standing there. For there was his family, long thought dead, alive and healthy just as Aragorn had described.
Iri was glad he had known about them before this, for if he had met them without any forewarning, Iri didn't know what he would have done. His hands were shaking uncontrollably as it was, and he couldn't seem to remember how to speak as time seemed to stand still.
It was Sirius that first broke the silence, but he only managed to whisper a weak "Harry" before he fainted, caught by the still shell-shocked Remus.
¹ All that stuff that Frodo says to the Nazgûl and the Nazgûl's responses were taken word per word from the books. Plus the elvish stuff that Glorfindel tells his horse.
So here are a few facts (for this story, not necessarily canon): Frodo and Bilbo celebrated their respective 33rd and 111th birthday on Sept. 22, 3017. This was an important birthday because for hobbits, you reach adulthood when your 33 (the twenties are referred to as the tweens, and are equivalent to human teens) and the 111th birthday is like a human's 100th; an old age to strive for. It was mainly the fact that Frodo was now an adult and could legally inherit everything that had made Bilbo wait so long to leave the Shire.
I followed the movies and not the books for how long it took for Gandalf to realize that Bilbo's ring was the one ring and when the fellowship started; Frodo is now only 34 as opposed to 50.
Merry is 32, Pippin is 28 and Sam is 38. Again these are not necessarily their real ages, it's just the ones I'm giving them.
The reunion is next chapter, yipee! This also marks the end of flashbacks and the beginning of pure LotR stuff.
Okay fine; I'll beg for reviews. Pretty please review!
Come on people, chapter 9 had over 100 hits, this story is on 23 people's story alert and 10 people's favorites and on 6 C2 communities. But it seems like it's only the same 5 people reviewing. I crave feedback! I want to know how I'm doing, so lay it on me, the flames and encouragements. (Just make sure that if it's flamers, don't just tell me I suck, tell me why I suck so I can improve.)