A/N: I know to many, the common tongue used in all of J.R.R. Tolkien's works is perceived to be English, but I wanted to add my own interpretation on it. I always thought it would be cool if Westron was actually Gaelic. Anyways, from now on, unless I note it otherwise, they are speaking in the common tongue of Middle Earth. Don't forget to favorite this story so you get updated when I post another chapter! And please review! I love knowing what is thought about my writing!
Disclaimer: I own nothing except Tori...For now! huehuehue
Chapter 2: To Where?
I awoke to a kick to my ribs and pain exploding in my head as well as a heavy weight pushing the wind from my lungs. I cracked my eyes open to the dark of night and rain. My head felt like it was underwater. The small figure looked up from their hood, wet curly hair dangling over his eyes. Three more small figures came into view as I pushed him off. I gasped at the motion, feeling the sharp pain return to my side.
"Are you alright?" My head snapped up to him as my ears registered the language he was speaking. Why are they speaking Gaelic? We aren't in Scotland. Confused and head pounding, I answered in my mother tongue.
"I'll manage." I never liked complaining about pain. It took a lot of pain in order to get into Julliard with my dancing, and my tolerance for it had built up over the years. He held out his hand and I took it. With surprising strength, he helped me to stand.
"I'm Pippin. What's your name?" The others shifted from foot to foot nervously and were constantly looking out into the forest.
Another one stepped forward, "We don't have time, we need to get to Bree! Come on!" The others nodded and started toward what looked like a barricaded wall in the distance.
Pippin grabbed my hand and pulled me with him as the group advanced to the town. The one in the lead came to what looked like a door and knocked on it. A piece of the wall slid open from higher up, before the person behind the wall sighed and shut it. Another part of the wall slid open with a clack closer to our height. An old weathered face greeted us and took in our group.
"What do you want?" The old man asked gruffly.
"We're heading for the Prancing Pony" The old man shut the little window and opened the gate while lifting his lantern up. He looked curiously at our group, eyes bouncing from figure to figure.
"Hobbits! Five hobbits! What's more out of The Shire by your talk! What business brings you to Bree?" Hobbit? That's rude. They're just...little people? I tensed at the nickname that I was given earlier that day by Katlyn, and remembered the toilet and then running away from that awful deathly scream. Where the Hell am I? I looked out at the forest; nothing looking remotely familiar. There wasn't even a forest at the camp; just a few clusters of trees, and even then rolling hills stretched for miles past that. How far did I run?
"We wish to at the inn. Our business is our own." I looked back as the little person in the front said. The old gatekeeper nodded.
"Alright young Sir, I meant no offence," He side stepped us and gestured into the keep with a wide open hand, "My job is to ask questions after nightfall. There's talk of strange folk abroad. Can't be too careful." He shut the gate behind us as we made our way through the small square of the town. These locals are really not happy about us staying on the grounds are they? Rude much? I glared back at the gatekeeper and bumped into someone; sending pain into my tender ribs in the process.
"Out of the way! Watch where you're walking!" A tall man pushed me hard as he passed by. I grit my teeth against the shock it racked my body with.
"You watch where you're walking arsehole!" I spit through clenched teeth quietly before I was pulled along with the group by the one called Pippin. We came to a run down and old looking building. The door opened and greeted my nose with the fresh scent of food and the musty smell of alcohol. Pippin, still holding my hand in his, pulled me forward to the tall bar counter with the rest of his group.
"Excuse me?" The one in front asked over the loud racus of the tavern in a clear voice. An old chap stepped forward, then looked down in surprise.
"Good evening little masters and lady. What can I do for you? If you're looking for accomodation, we've got some nice, cozy hobbit sized rooms available. Always proud to cater to the little folk, Mr. er…?" He looked down at the-Hobbit? -in front expectantly.
"Underhill. My name's Underhill." He said after a short pause. He then removed his hood. The others followed suit. The one in front had dark curly locks that hung down a little past his ears. I did a double take at his ears; they were big, but that's not what caught my attention. It was slightly pointed at the tip. I looked at the others and they too had the same ears as the first, although there was one brunette and two blonds.
"Underhill, yes.." The barman nodded kindly with a smile.
"We're friends of Gandalf the Grey. Can you tell him we've arrived?" The man…-boy? Little person? Ah, to hell with it, I'm calling them hobbits.- Hobbit with dark hair spoke again. The barman looked confused.
"Gandalf? Gandalf? Oh yes! I remember! Elderly chap! Big grey beard, pointy hat," The hobbit nodded eagerly, "Not seen him for six months." The barman frowned and all the hobbits in the group sagged their shoulders slightly.
The hobbit in front finally turned to face the group. Clear bright blue eyes framed by dark lashes were set in dismay, his dark eyebrows turning up in worry. His face was young, but there was an underlying wisdom in his face that suggested he was older than he looked.
"What do we do now?" One of the blonds asked in a timid voice. He was a little thicker than the other hobbits, but his face was kind.
"Don't worry Sam, he'll come." The one with dark hair said and turned to the barman for want of food. After a few minutes, food and drink in hand, we made our way over to an empty table. I placed my plate down and sat on the bench with a gasp and held my side tenderly. Pippin looked over at me with bashful eyes.
"I'm sorry for tripping on you earlier, my lady." He bowed his head politely. I shook my head lightly, feeling it throb dully as I did so.
"No, it's alright. I'm alright." I smiled lightly and his face lit up in response.
"So what's your name? And what're you wearin'? I don't think i've ever seen somthin' like that before." I could tell by his hazel eyes and his number of questions that he was a very curious hobbit by nature.
"Tori Campbell," I responded as I looked down at my clothes, then looked back up at Pippin, "Uhm...er...Clothes?" I stammered. I grabbed a piece of bread and bit into it. An awkward silence followed before Pippin broke it and pointed to all the hobbits at the table. Each had been staring curiously at me as well.
"That's Meriadoc Brandybuck, Samwise Gamgee, and Frodo Ba-," The one named Frodo cut pippin off with a kick to his shin from underneath the table. Pippin scowled at Frodo, but stopped and then pointed to himself, "And I'm Peregrin Took." They all smiled lightly except Frodo. His eyes returned to his plate of cheese and bread. They all looked like children, but their faces definitely held an older air about them.
"Nice to meet you" I looked down at my plate in response before looking back at them; they were still starting.
"Is there something on my face?" I reached to touch my cheek, suddenly feeling shy with the scrutiny. I grabbed some of my hair and played with it nervously. The one named Sam, shook his head and looked down with an embarrassed blush.
"No, Lady Tori." He said quietly. Merry took a swig from his draught of ale and laughed lightly.
"No, we are just surprised to see another hobbit this far from The Shire. I haven't seen you before. Where in The Shire do you come?" He took a big bite of cheese.
"Uh….Shire? Hobbit? I'm not a Hobbit...I'm from Scotland," His words swirled in my head and I stammered in response, "I'm on a school trip to Hobbiton." I finished and their eyes lit up.
"Ah, Hobbiton! We live there, though I don't ever remember seein' you in town," Pippin chimed in before his eyebrows raised in confusion,"You look like a hobbit though. Except for your ears, I reckon those are elf ears, but you're too short for an elf." Ears? My ears? Elves? I reached up to my ears and froze. Once rounded and small, they rose into a sharp thin point away from my hair about an inch. My eyes widened with shock and my hands explored the sensitive skin of the ears. My ears. I thought and shivered. What in the world is going on? Taking in the shock on my face, the hobbits turned to look at eachother with worry.
"Where is Scotland, Lady Tori? I've never heard of that land in all of Middle Earth." Sam asked after a moment. Middle Earth? Is that some Kiwi slang for New Zealand?
"An' what's school?" Pippin interjected. I gave him a funny look. What's school? He asks!
"It's right next to the UK," How could they not know about it? Have these people..er hobbits been living under a rock their whole lives? Frodo tilted his head slightly, "School is where you go to learn." They nodded, at least understanding the last thing that I said.
"Have you guys a telly? Ever watch Discovery Channel?" The confusion only deepened and their brows creased.
"What's a telly?" Merry asked.
"Television? TV?" I offered, but the confusion stayed in their eyes. Pippin opened his mouth to say something, but swiftly closed it; catching my look of annoyance.
"Nevermind." I grumbled and took a bite of cheese. Stupid locals! My stomach growled impatiently for more and I took another bite. The hobbits turned back to their food and ate in silence. Merry got up from his seat and walked over to the bar, coming back with an even bigger mug of ale than the first with a happy smug smile. Pippin appraised it and started asking about it and got himself his own, sitting at the bar stool laughing with glee.
Maybe if they point me toward Hobbiton, I can find my way back to camp. I need to get back. Sam suddenly leaned closer to Frodo and whispered,
"That fellow has done nothing but stare at you since we arrived." I looked with them over to a hooded figure in the corner with a pipe. His pipe barely lit enough to see his face, not enough light to really see. Just then, the barman walked by our table and Frodo stopped him.
"Excuse me. That man in the corner. Who is he?" Frodo asked loud enough for him to hear. The barman looked over his shoulder.
"He's one of them rangers. They're dangerous folk they are. Wandering the wilds. What his right name is, I've never heard, but round here, he's known as Strider." He wandered off to the table he was headed for.
"Strider." Frodo mused for a little while and slid a hand into his pocket. I look back to my plate, not feeling hungry suddenly as a bout of nausea hit me. My headache came back and it felt as though there was a dark coldness seeping into my joints. I laid my head on the table and took shallow breaths. The noises and voices from all over the bar suddenly magnified; screeching in and out of focus.
Suddenly, there was a warm hand pulling at my arm. Pippin's mouth was moving, but I couldn't focus on his words with all the noise echoing in my head.
"What?" I asked Pippin, my voice sounding foreign and far away.
"We have to find Frodo!" He pulled me to stand as his voice registered into my throbbing ears. I looked around in a daze as he pulled me along with the other hobbits. I rubbed my temple with my free hand. We came to a door on the upper floor and Sam kicked at the door.
"Let him go! Or I'll have you Longshanks!" Sam put his fists up and the tall man that stood with his sword- sword? Why does he have a bloody sword?- drawn.
He took a calculated look at the hobbits and shifted his eyes to me. An emotion flitted quickly across his face, too quick for me to catch, before sheathing his sword, "You have a stout heart little hobbit! But that will not save you. You can no longer wait for the wizard, Frodo. They are coming."