Chapter 12: The reverse butterfly effect: or how to introduce OCs while keeping the plot on the rails.
Disclaimer: not mine, clearly. Nor is the butterfly effect, which belongs to Lorenz (1963).
Thank heavens Ruth had spent last summer working as a helper at an American summer camp. She'd learned how to paddle a Canadian canoe, which was coming in damn handy as we made our way down the Anduin. I'd expected us to be distributed, one per boat, among the rest of the Fellowship. But Galadriel had been quite firm.
"You made the bloody decision to come here." (I hadn't realised till then that the Lady of the Golden Wood swore). "You get your own bloody boat and you can sink or swim as you see fit. And if you do sink at least it will save us all the worry that you'll seriously distort the plot. And, no, you can't bloody well take a look in my mirror." Needless to say, none of the three of us had received a gift.
As we struggled along in the wake of the other boats (blokes are a lot stronger, and paddle much faster) we turned our minds to the vexed question of the Plot.
"Tenth walker fics divide in three," said Ruth. I gave a stifled groan. Really, this endless picking-apart-of-fanfic and burning desire to classify and cross-reference its more bizarre formats was beginning to get a bit much. There's only so much breaking-the-fourth-wall a girl can cope with. (Note to author: go and write some hot Farawyn smut and get this out of your system. Write another Legomance if you really must. But please, enough with the metafiction.) However, Ruth didn't hear, or chose not to hear (or was instructed by our author not to hear) my groan and carried on regardless. "Sometimes the tenth walker conveniently doesn't know how the story ends, so can't give the game away and mess things up."
"They're pretty rare, though," said Charlize.
"Then there are some of them where they whole point is that the original characters screw up the story – so we get major canon deaths, all sorts of things going wrong. If the author has an ounce of imagination, they can be about the only decent sort of tenth walker fic."
"While I might agree on the literary assessment, I think we're all agreed that we don't want that sort of story," I said. The others nodded.
"So then there's the ones where although the OCs know the plot, miraculously their presence doesn't change anything," Ruth ticked off the third possibility on her fingers.
"That's the sort we want," said Charlize. "Surely all we've got to do is keep well out of the way of any action, which suits me fine because like Sophie, I don't particularly want to get shot at by the pointy iron variety of arrow."
"But... we've already screwed it up," said Ruth. "Sophie here has given Boromir a stab jacket. And a book of bad Elven poetry."
"What's so bad about that," I asked, huffily. "I like Boromir. I don't want him to die an agonising death from orc arrows, yet again."
"Well, think about the key things that have got to happen when we reach Amon Hen. Boromir has to scare Frodo into going it alone to Mordor, and Pippin and Merry have to be captured by orcs, spurring the chase of the three across Rohan, and getting the Ents involved in overthrowing Saruman. If he doesn't get killed by the orc arrows, Pippin and Merry won't get captured."
"Well, he'll still scare Frodo," I said, clutching at straws.
"That's where the Elven poetry comes in. You've given him hope that he might get off with Éowyn and turned him from a miserable, grim-visaged warrior into a happy, romantic heap of mush. At this rate, he won't succumb to the lure of the ring because he'll be too bloody cheerful."
"You've messed up my story," Charlize said angrily and started to cry.
"We'll just have to try to encourage him to do the right, I mean, wrong thing when the time comes," I said.
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX
A day or so later, the time had indeed come. The Fellowship, minus Frodo, was sitting on a shingle beach on the edge of the Anduin, just beneath Amon Hen. Frodo had gone off into the woods to think about what he should do next: head to Mordor or go to Minas Tirith. Each of the remaining members seemed lost in his own thoughts. Charlize, Ruth and I were trying to keep out of things. Eventually though, Aragorn started a discussion.
"He is debating which course is the most desperate, I think," said the Heir of Isildur. He gave a somewhat long winded version of the choices available saying how much he missed Gandalf's advice.
At this point, Legolas dutifully lived up to his Captain Obvious reputation and said, "Grievous is our loss." From this point the conversation trundled off along its predictable, well-worn path, with the various members balancing up the needs of the quest against their own options. But something was missing. No one was pressing for an immediate return to Minas Tirith, ,do not pass Meduseld, do not collect two hundred mithril pieces'. Because the one person not joining in was Boromir, who was lost in contemplation of his book of verse, a blissful smile on his face. While the rest were preoccupied, Ruth prodded me with her toe.
"Do something about Boromir," she hissed as quietly as she could.
I shrugged, then Charlize mouthed, "You've got to."
"Um, Boromir, do you think you should go and check on Frodo?" I asked, quietly.
"Oh, I'm sure he'll be just fine," said Boromir, in an absent-minded undertone. Neither of us particularly wanted to interrupt the animated conversation taking place between Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas. "Anyhow, I can't go, I'm busy reading some poetry."
Ruth rolled her eyes. I had another go. "But he might be lost or something..."
"Well, I'm sure Aragorn can go and find him. He's a Ranger after all, good at tracking and all that."
I took a deep breath and tried a third time. "What if he's run into some orcs?"
"Oh, all right then," said Boromir. "You're going to mither me till I check, aren't you?" He shut the book and stuffed it in his pack, before picking up his scabbard and buckling it back round his waist. With a long-suffering sigh, he set off up the hill into the woods.
Ruth, Charlize and I sat in silence while the remaining members of the Fellowship had a rather heated discussion about the best course of action. They still seemed to have reached no firm conclusion when Boromir reappeared about thirty minutes later.
"Where have you been, Boromir?" asked Aragorn. "Have you seen Frodo?"
"Yes and no. We talked for a bit, then he seemed to get annoyed, then he vanished. He must have put the ring on."
I gasped in surprise. Surely not! I'd been so convinced that this thoroughly nice, decent version of Boromir wouldn't succumb to the lure of the ring. Ruth and Charlize however looked heartily relieved that things were running according to the original plot. Meanwhile, Aragorn and Boromir started a furious row, culminating in Aragorn running off into the woods to look for Frodo, trailed by Sam. Merry and Pippin also headed off, in a slightly different direction, and Legolas and Gimli also joined the search. Boromir sat down heavily on the shingle with his head in his hands.
"Now look what you've done. I've gone and upset Frodo – I still don't know how. And Aragorn's pissed off with me too. And all I wanted to do was to be left alone with my poetry."
"Should we go into the woods?" asked Charlize.
"No," said Ruth firmly. "We are staying well out of it. We do not want to mess up the plot."
Suddenly we heard the high-pitched squeaks of the two younger hobbits coming from between the trees.
"Bloody hell, what does a man have to do to get a bit of peace round here," said Boromir grumpily. But for all his crossness, he still jumped to his feet and sprinted into the trees where the noise had come from.
The three of us sat in silence for a while. Eventually Charlize couldn't take it any longer.
"Ruth, this 'not getting involved and not changing the plot' business is all very well, but it's really extremely tedious. I am bored out of my mind. Can't we go into the woods and see what's going on?"
"Uh, hello? Pointy iron arrows, remember?" I said. Just as we were about to get into an argument, suddenly there was a rustling in the bushes, followed by the crunch of footsteps on the shingle. We could see the pebbles scattering as a line of dimples appeared along the shore, but not the feet responsible.
"Oh for God's sake Frodo, take the bloody ring off," said Ruth. There was a crunchy, skidding noise just in front of us, a moment's silence, then Frodo appeared.
"So Boromir tried to take the ring from you," I said, unable to disguise the disappointment in my voice.
"Take the ring?" said Frodo. "What on earth are you wittering on about? Boromir wouldn't do a thing like that."
"Then why are you running away from him?" asked Charlize.
"He kept bloody going on and on about his horse girl. I can't take any more of it. Honestly, his love sickness is starting to make Mordor positively attractive as a destination." Frodo grabbed his pack and flung it into the nearest boat. He'd taken about two strokes out into the river when Sam crashed through the bushes, sprinted down to the water's edge then threw himself in. He gave a strangled gasp then sank like a stone, bubbles marking the spot where he'd disappeared. Charlize waded in – it was only up to her waist – picked up the floundering hobbit and hefted him into the boat.
"Good luck, you two," said Ruth.
"Aren't you going to try to stop us, or come with us?" said Sam, hopefully.
"Nope, you're on your own now," said Ruth.
The three of us stood in a line on the edge of the shingle, watching as the hobbits paddled steadily across the stream. Eventually they reached the other bank, beached the boat and clambered up the grassy bank beyond. Without so much as a backward glance the two small figures disappeared into the moorland beyond. We went back to our vigil beside the remaining packs and sat down once more.
This time we didn't have to wait long. The scrunch of footsteps behind us alerted us to the return of the ragged remains of the fellowship. Aragorn and Legolas carried Boromir's lifeless form on a hastily constructed bier of ash branches, with Gimli following behind, arms full of the remains of his shield and shards of his horn. They set the bier down.
Then Aragorn and Legolas began to sing, taking it in turns to sing a dirgelike (and somewhat tuneless) ode to the various winds of Middle Earth, lamenting their fallen comrade's passing. Amid the tears pricking my eyelids, I dimly registered the fact that Elven singing isn't actually all it's cracked up to be. Who knew? But before they'd got more than a couple of verses in, Ruth's voice cut the air.
"You complete plonkers! His chest's going up and down. The guy's unconscious, not dead."
She rushed over and knelt beside Boromir, slapping his cheek none-so-gently. "Boromir, wake up." His eyelids fluttered open. He gave a deep, snuffily groan.
"Bugger me, my head hurts."
"Where are the hobbits?" Aragorn asked.
"N'unggg. Uh, orcs took Pippin and Merry. Orcs with a white hand on their armour. Dunno about Frodo and Sam," Boromir grunted.
"Frodo and Sam have taken one of the boats and set off towards the Emyn Muil and Dagorlad."
"Shit," said Legolas. My eyebrows shot up. That definitely wasn't in the original. Tolkien definitely left out the bit about Elves having potty-mouths.
"Which do we follow?" asked Gimli.
"I think the ring has passed beyond our ken," said Aragorn. "We track the younger hobbits."
Boromir tried to get up, but his legs buckled and he collapsed back on the shingle.
"Not you, Boromir. You rest up, and when your concussion's worn off, you and the girls head straight for Edoras." Boromir brightened visibly at the mention of Edoras. The other three shouldered their packs, checked their belts, knives, axes, small nuclear arsenals (okay, I made that bit up), and prepared to go.
"Aragorn..." Boromir said in a low voice, each breath clearly costing a struggle.
"Don't strain yourself to speak, mellon nin," said Aragorn. "We know we go with your blessing."
"No, it's not that," Boromir gasped. "Give my bloody vambraces back, you light-fingered bastard."
Thank you for all the lovely reviews. Oh my goodness. I'm writing a tenth (eleventh and twelfth) walker fic. How the hell did that happen?
Farawyn chapter 15 is up, by the way.
