Note: I must remind you people that this takes place in an alternate universe, so yes, Gandalf does show up. Yes I know that I made a mistake in the first chapter. The dwarves got seven rings, not five. So it should say that twenty rings were forged. Sorry for my ignorance, so without further delay, chapter two...
Chapter 2.
"You're right, Sam," Frodo said, as he and his gardener friend walked along the gravel path that passed through Hobbiton, "Pippin has been acting strange lately." Both of the hobbits had long pipes in their mouths, and were smoking large circles into the air. Their furry, leather-like, bare feet gently slapped against the rough stones. The night air was chill and the stars twinkled like fireflies caught in a jar.
"Just yesterday," began Sam, pausing a moment to suck on his pipe, "he told me that none of us was worth a damn, and that we are all going to die anyway. He had the strangest look in his eyes, and his face was pale and sickly."
Frodo had noticed their friend's odd behavior also, but he, unlike Sam, noticed similar moods in other people. On one of his several out-of-home-for-no-reason trips (as he fondly called them) he took a visit to Buckland. He was hoping to talk to Sancho Hardbottle, a friend of his whom owned a bakery, but his friend didn't wish to see him. When Frodo asked why, he was chased away with a rolling pin and with curses involving the words 'doomed' and 'condemnation'.
Finally, Frodo reached his home. He said good bye to his friend and the gate creaked as he pushed it inwards and strolled up the path to his small door. He turned the handle, and the never-locked door pushed inwards, creaking slightly with age. Frodo turned to hang his coat on the coat-rack, when he noticed that his coat's proper place was occupied by a rather large and gray cloak.
The hobbit's eyes darted around the hall, but he couldn't see anything in the dark. He dropped his coat on the floor, put his pipe out and laid it gently on a nearby table, and gently shut the round, hobbit-sized door. He gently knelt over, afraid that his old, cracking back would alarm the intruder of his presence, and lifted the carpet that was laid in front of the door. Frodo reached his hand under, and sighed in relief as he pulled the sheathed 'Sting' out from its hiding place. He carefully slid the blade from its home, and held it at the ready.
Frodo tiptoed to the end of the hall, and glanced into his kitchen. No one. He sneaked through the 'most important room of the house' and peeked into his dining room. No one. He repeated the arduous process of checking the rooms until there weren't any rooms left to check. The battle-hardened hobbit sighed, half in relief, and half in disappointment, and returned the elven blade back to its sheath.
"You could put an eye out with that thing," a voice from behind Frodo said, as all the lights in the house suddenly sprang to life. Frodo whirled around and stuck his finger into the old wizard's knarled face.
"Gandalf, Can't you just knock like a normal person?" he asked, quivering with fear and agitation. The two friends stared at each other, looking each other in the eye, angry expressions etched into their faces. Then, all at once, they both burst out laughing.
They greeted each other with hugs and pats on the back, and soon the offer for tea came up, then scones, then eggs, then crumpets, then biscuits, then mushrooms, then...
"Wait Frodo," Gandalf interrupted, putting his bony hand on the bustling hobbits arm, stopping his dashes for the pantry immediately, "I came here on serious business, there isn't any time for snacks."
"Oh, Bosh," replied the simple-minded hobbit, "there's always time for tea. And maybe a few scones." The look on the old wizard's face told Frodo otherwise, so he sat down across from his wise, old friend, and listened.
"Gollum is alive," Gandalf began, taking a deep breath for what he was about to say, "and he is causing a great deal of trouble. No, Mr. Baggins, not the trouble he used to cause, much bigger trouble. Let me explain, we found a dead body, a blacksmith of some talent, in Bree. It was dead for quite some time, and the only reason anybody found it was because some runaway cart smashed the door to his building down, and someone went inside to make sure nobody was hurt, and they found him, 'strangled and mangled', so to speak."
Frodo was speechless. There was no doubt in his mind that Gollum had committed the murder, since 'strangling and mangling' was the twisted creature's murder of choice, but the question was why? Gollum had done some bad stuff in the past, but plain murder for no reason?
"The news gets worse," Gandalf continued, reading Frodo's expression of disbelief like a book, "Some elven metal, with magical properties no less, was stolen just two weeks before, from a band of traveling High Elves. Remnants of that same metal were found, next to a melting pot, and a ring-mold."
"He's gone COMPLETELY insane!" Frodo exclaimed, shaking his head slightly, "He thinks that he can create another ring, another 'precious'." All the hobbit got in response was a blank look. "Gandalf, he didn't create another magic ring did he?"
The Wizard nodded his head.
"And from what me and Elrond can tell," Gandalf said, growing more and more solemn, "is that this ring is the most twisted and evil ring yet, more so than the one ring was. It corrupts the dreams of all others within a certain radius of where the ring is, making them think that there is no point in living, causing them to act strangely, and, if they dream these twisted dreams often enough, do horrible things."
Frodo gasped in surprise and studied Gandalf's face. He hadn't noticed it before, but the wizard had large bags under his eyes, and he looked as if he hadn't slept in days.
"So that means that the ring is still in the Shire," Frodo said, turning away from the wise man and staring out the window.
Gandalf nodded, "Most likely."
"So that means that no one is safe if they go to sleep, and dream," Gandalf didn't need to answer that question, it was rhetorical.
"The question now is, where is Gollum?"
Note: No, you dummies, this story isn't done yet, BUT I HOPE TO FINISH IT SOON! PLEASE REVIEW!!!
Chapter 2.
"You're right, Sam," Frodo said, as he and his gardener friend walked along the gravel path that passed through Hobbiton, "Pippin has been acting strange lately." Both of the hobbits had long pipes in their mouths, and were smoking large circles into the air. Their furry, leather-like, bare feet gently slapped against the rough stones. The night air was chill and the stars twinkled like fireflies caught in a jar.
"Just yesterday," began Sam, pausing a moment to suck on his pipe, "he told me that none of us was worth a damn, and that we are all going to die anyway. He had the strangest look in his eyes, and his face was pale and sickly."
Frodo had noticed their friend's odd behavior also, but he, unlike Sam, noticed similar moods in other people. On one of his several out-of-home-for-no-reason trips (as he fondly called them) he took a visit to Buckland. He was hoping to talk to Sancho Hardbottle, a friend of his whom owned a bakery, but his friend didn't wish to see him. When Frodo asked why, he was chased away with a rolling pin and with curses involving the words 'doomed' and 'condemnation'.
Finally, Frodo reached his home. He said good bye to his friend and the gate creaked as he pushed it inwards and strolled up the path to his small door. He turned the handle, and the never-locked door pushed inwards, creaking slightly with age. Frodo turned to hang his coat on the coat-rack, when he noticed that his coat's proper place was occupied by a rather large and gray cloak.
The hobbit's eyes darted around the hall, but he couldn't see anything in the dark. He dropped his coat on the floor, put his pipe out and laid it gently on a nearby table, and gently shut the round, hobbit-sized door. He gently knelt over, afraid that his old, cracking back would alarm the intruder of his presence, and lifted the carpet that was laid in front of the door. Frodo reached his hand under, and sighed in relief as he pulled the sheathed 'Sting' out from its hiding place. He carefully slid the blade from its home, and held it at the ready.
Frodo tiptoed to the end of the hall, and glanced into his kitchen. No one. He sneaked through the 'most important room of the house' and peeked into his dining room. No one. He repeated the arduous process of checking the rooms until there weren't any rooms left to check. The battle-hardened hobbit sighed, half in relief, and half in disappointment, and returned the elven blade back to its sheath.
"You could put an eye out with that thing," a voice from behind Frodo said, as all the lights in the house suddenly sprang to life. Frodo whirled around and stuck his finger into the old wizard's knarled face.
"Gandalf, Can't you just knock like a normal person?" he asked, quivering with fear and agitation. The two friends stared at each other, looking each other in the eye, angry expressions etched into their faces. Then, all at once, they both burst out laughing.
They greeted each other with hugs and pats on the back, and soon the offer for tea came up, then scones, then eggs, then crumpets, then biscuits, then mushrooms, then...
"Wait Frodo," Gandalf interrupted, putting his bony hand on the bustling hobbits arm, stopping his dashes for the pantry immediately, "I came here on serious business, there isn't any time for snacks."
"Oh, Bosh," replied the simple-minded hobbit, "there's always time for tea. And maybe a few scones." The look on the old wizard's face told Frodo otherwise, so he sat down across from his wise, old friend, and listened.
"Gollum is alive," Gandalf began, taking a deep breath for what he was about to say, "and he is causing a great deal of trouble. No, Mr. Baggins, not the trouble he used to cause, much bigger trouble. Let me explain, we found a dead body, a blacksmith of some talent, in Bree. It was dead for quite some time, and the only reason anybody found it was because some runaway cart smashed the door to his building down, and someone went inside to make sure nobody was hurt, and they found him, 'strangled and mangled', so to speak."
Frodo was speechless. There was no doubt in his mind that Gollum had committed the murder, since 'strangling and mangling' was the twisted creature's murder of choice, but the question was why? Gollum had done some bad stuff in the past, but plain murder for no reason?
"The news gets worse," Gandalf continued, reading Frodo's expression of disbelief like a book, "Some elven metal, with magical properties no less, was stolen just two weeks before, from a band of traveling High Elves. Remnants of that same metal were found, next to a melting pot, and a ring-mold."
"He's gone COMPLETELY insane!" Frodo exclaimed, shaking his head slightly, "He thinks that he can create another ring, another 'precious'." All the hobbit got in response was a blank look. "Gandalf, he didn't create another magic ring did he?"
The Wizard nodded his head.
"And from what me and Elrond can tell," Gandalf said, growing more and more solemn, "is that this ring is the most twisted and evil ring yet, more so than the one ring was. It corrupts the dreams of all others within a certain radius of where the ring is, making them think that there is no point in living, causing them to act strangely, and, if they dream these twisted dreams often enough, do horrible things."
Frodo gasped in surprise and studied Gandalf's face. He hadn't noticed it before, but the wizard had large bags under his eyes, and he looked as if he hadn't slept in days.
"So that means that the ring is still in the Shire," Frodo said, turning away from the wise man and staring out the window.
Gandalf nodded, "Most likely."
"So that means that no one is safe if they go to sleep, and dream," Gandalf didn't need to answer that question, it was rhetorical.
"The question now is, where is Gollum?"
Note: No, you dummies, this story isn't done yet, BUT I HOPE TO FINISH IT SOON! PLEASE REVIEW!!!