Disclaimer: Not mine. Nope. Wah.
Note: I'm using movie-descriptions because the fangirls need to be able to
recognize Frodo. Sorry about that.
Chapter two.
We fell all in a heap, with a thump, onto a wooden floor. Picking ourselves up, our heads knocked into the ceiling of the house we were now in. I looked around, and was convinced I'd seen this place somewhere. It looked strangely familiar; the quiet coziness of it . . . the place exuded a sort of comfort, from the floor to the construction of the low ceiling. We heard footsteps, and then a semi-familiar voice calling out, "Goodness, Sam, what did you do this time? I do hope you haven't broken anything. . ." his voice trailed off as he came into the room where 12 confused Frodo fans stood. He was about 4 feet tall, with dark brown curls and sapphire eyes. He wore no shoes, and instead had hair on his feet, for warmth no doubt. The whole club of fans stood silent, shocked. We knew him, and the reality of where we were slammed into our minds like a Mac truck. We hadn't just fallen into someone's house. We were in the Shire, Hobbiton to be exact. And we had fallen through the roof of Bag End, owned by Mr. Frodo Baggins. I tried to bring myself back together, although my heart and soul had just been picked up by a tornado. Frodo Baggins, the hobbit I wrote fanfic about, the hobbit I was in love with . . . I gave myself a mental slap, cleared my throat, and stepped forward. The other fangirls seemed like they were in a trance, still trying vainly to cope with the shock, and thay stood there quite still. "I'm sorry, uh, Mr. Baggins," I said. "We didn't mean to fall here, er . . ." I looked back at the group. They looked like they were beginning to snap out of it, and the danger of what could happen was evident. "Frodo," I said, losing the apologetic tone, "I think you had better run. Run away. Right now . . ." "Why? Whoa, hold on a minute, how do you know my name-" "Just RUN!" I yelled. He didn't have to ponder why for more than another instant, because the 11 fans behind me suddenly snapped, and pandemonium broke forth. 11 screaming, yammering fangirls charged at Frodo, yelling things like "Frodo!" and sounding like any other fangirl with a "you're-so- hot!" teenage girl thing. Frodo took my advice. He ran. Unfortunately for him, his pursuers were fast, quite fast, and as he reached the door and bolted out of it, they were close behind him. I wasn't worried yet, though. I liked to run and I was good at it, and I had at various points in time outrun some members of our group. None of them were particularly speedy- but, of course, those races had been staged without the addition of hormones. I ran out the door after them, and passed the fans, whom I no longer wanted to have anything to do with. Had I really associated myself with these . . . creatures? I caught up to Frodo. He looked at me with fear, and tried to run faster. "Frodo, no, let's just say they're crazier than I am," I panted as I ran. "Come on, let's get you out of here, away from them . . ." He nodded, breathing heavily as he ran, obviously quite tired, his shorter legs moving in a blur. "Just trust me, ok?" I said, and he nodded again It was plain that he didn't, but he could see it was either me or them, and I guess he found me to be the lesser of the two evils. "Here goes, then . . ." I said, picked him up, swung him onto my back, and dashed into the nearest forest on the side of the road. When I was very little, a bully chased me around the playground for most recesses of the year. By the end of the year, I was faster than he was. Now I worked hard; the weight of Frodo on my back was considerable, and I was tiring. I knew that once I got us out of sight of the obsessed teenage girls behind Frodo and I, I could pull something tricky and escape, seeing as they'd be making a lot of noise as they ran, and weren't moving too fast. "You're sure- that - you're not -part- elf?" Frodo gasped, his sentence breaking every time I jumped over something. "Because I've- never- heard of- anyone other- than an -elf- runing- like this." "Dunno," I replied. "Just taught myself to run, that's all, I think . . ." I stopped talking because I realized that for all I knew I could be part elvish. Anything remotely Lord of the Rings related seemed to be possible now. No, I shook my head. It might seem possible, but no way was I part elf. It was possible here, not wherever I came from. "No," I amended aloud.
Suddenly, I stopped. I could no longer hear the crashes and other telltale signs of clumsy people crashing through the forest. I had a possibility to get Frodo out of there. "C'mon, if we get a little farther we can get out of here," Frodo said, realizing what I had noticed. We'd managed to leave the fangirls behind for a little while. "There's a river up there, ahead of us. If we reach it, and follow it up a ways, we'll come back to Bag End, by the back way. Then maybe we could lock them out or something . . ." But as he spoke, he remembered the random arrival of his "guests," and figured that they might be able to get in some other way. "Actually, Frodo," I said, "I don't think they'll be able to get in. I've got a long story behind all this, but going back to Bag End is a good idea: with any luck they'll get lost, and they're not bright enough to figure out we might go back to Bag End. Where do I go?" And, following Frodo's directions, we got back to Bag End. Shortly I set him down, though, and we walked a ways; for though speed was clearly a virtue I was too tired to carry him any longer. He looked rather grateful to be on his own feet, I noticed. It was then that I realized something. I was somewhat of a runaway, and the person I was running away with, regardless of what we were running from, was Frodo Baggins. Who I dreamed about at nights, envisioning his face tired and worn throughout his journey, wishing I could say just three words to him: " I love you." But now, I wondered what he'd say if he heard me say those words. And I decided to keep my mouth shut for a while.
Chapter two.
We fell all in a heap, with a thump, onto a wooden floor. Picking ourselves up, our heads knocked into the ceiling of the house we were now in. I looked around, and was convinced I'd seen this place somewhere. It looked strangely familiar; the quiet coziness of it . . . the place exuded a sort of comfort, from the floor to the construction of the low ceiling. We heard footsteps, and then a semi-familiar voice calling out, "Goodness, Sam, what did you do this time? I do hope you haven't broken anything. . ." his voice trailed off as he came into the room where 12 confused Frodo fans stood. He was about 4 feet tall, with dark brown curls and sapphire eyes. He wore no shoes, and instead had hair on his feet, for warmth no doubt. The whole club of fans stood silent, shocked. We knew him, and the reality of where we were slammed into our minds like a Mac truck. We hadn't just fallen into someone's house. We were in the Shire, Hobbiton to be exact. And we had fallen through the roof of Bag End, owned by Mr. Frodo Baggins. I tried to bring myself back together, although my heart and soul had just been picked up by a tornado. Frodo Baggins, the hobbit I wrote fanfic about, the hobbit I was in love with . . . I gave myself a mental slap, cleared my throat, and stepped forward. The other fangirls seemed like they were in a trance, still trying vainly to cope with the shock, and thay stood there quite still. "I'm sorry, uh, Mr. Baggins," I said. "We didn't mean to fall here, er . . ." I looked back at the group. They looked like they were beginning to snap out of it, and the danger of what could happen was evident. "Frodo," I said, losing the apologetic tone, "I think you had better run. Run away. Right now . . ." "Why? Whoa, hold on a minute, how do you know my name-" "Just RUN!" I yelled. He didn't have to ponder why for more than another instant, because the 11 fans behind me suddenly snapped, and pandemonium broke forth. 11 screaming, yammering fangirls charged at Frodo, yelling things like "Frodo!" and sounding like any other fangirl with a "you're-so- hot!" teenage girl thing. Frodo took my advice. He ran. Unfortunately for him, his pursuers were fast, quite fast, and as he reached the door and bolted out of it, they were close behind him. I wasn't worried yet, though. I liked to run and I was good at it, and I had at various points in time outrun some members of our group. None of them were particularly speedy- but, of course, those races had been staged without the addition of hormones. I ran out the door after them, and passed the fans, whom I no longer wanted to have anything to do with. Had I really associated myself with these . . . creatures? I caught up to Frodo. He looked at me with fear, and tried to run faster. "Frodo, no, let's just say they're crazier than I am," I panted as I ran. "Come on, let's get you out of here, away from them . . ." He nodded, breathing heavily as he ran, obviously quite tired, his shorter legs moving in a blur. "Just trust me, ok?" I said, and he nodded again It was plain that he didn't, but he could see it was either me or them, and I guess he found me to be the lesser of the two evils. "Here goes, then . . ." I said, picked him up, swung him onto my back, and dashed into the nearest forest on the side of the road. When I was very little, a bully chased me around the playground for most recesses of the year. By the end of the year, I was faster than he was. Now I worked hard; the weight of Frodo on my back was considerable, and I was tiring. I knew that once I got us out of sight of the obsessed teenage girls behind Frodo and I, I could pull something tricky and escape, seeing as they'd be making a lot of noise as they ran, and weren't moving too fast. "You're sure- that - you're not -part- elf?" Frodo gasped, his sentence breaking every time I jumped over something. "Because I've- never- heard of- anyone other- than an -elf- runing- like this." "Dunno," I replied. "Just taught myself to run, that's all, I think . . ." I stopped talking because I realized that for all I knew I could be part elvish. Anything remotely Lord of the Rings related seemed to be possible now. No, I shook my head. It might seem possible, but no way was I part elf. It was possible here, not wherever I came from. "No," I amended aloud.
Suddenly, I stopped. I could no longer hear the crashes and other telltale signs of clumsy people crashing through the forest. I had a possibility to get Frodo out of there. "C'mon, if we get a little farther we can get out of here," Frodo said, realizing what I had noticed. We'd managed to leave the fangirls behind for a little while. "There's a river up there, ahead of us. If we reach it, and follow it up a ways, we'll come back to Bag End, by the back way. Then maybe we could lock them out or something . . ." But as he spoke, he remembered the random arrival of his "guests," and figured that they might be able to get in some other way. "Actually, Frodo," I said, "I don't think they'll be able to get in. I've got a long story behind all this, but going back to Bag End is a good idea: with any luck they'll get lost, and they're not bright enough to figure out we might go back to Bag End. Where do I go?" And, following Frodo's directions, we got back to Bag End. Shortly I set him down, though, and we walked a ways; for though speed was clearly a virtue I was too tired to carry him any longer. He looked rather grateful to be on his own feet, I noticed. It was then that I realized something. I was somewhat of a runaway, and the person I was running away with, regardless of what we were running from, was Frodo Baggins. Who I dreamed about at nights, envisioning his face tired and worn throughout his journey, wishing I could say just three words to him: " I love you." But now, I wondered what he'd say if he heard me say those words. And I decided to keep my mouth shut for a while.