In Which There Is Crushing Disappointment, Hair-Raising Adventure, And Calculated Risk
There was a moment of silence following Mithrandir's speech. The live-action Fellowship looked at one another, trying to decide who would be the first to speak. After an awkward pause, Boromir cleared his throat.
"I'm sure I don't know," he said. "I die at the end of the first movie. Heroically trying to save Merry and Pippin and all that."
"How many arrows?" Bigwig asked.
"Three."
"Lucky bastard. I must have had half a dozen at least. And I pulled some out, too."
"But they're big ones. Nearly two feet long, thick as my thumb."
"Oh, well, that's different," Bigwig said. The two moved off to the side a little and commenced a lively discussion on techniques of orc-fighting. The others stared after them.
"He. . . dies?" Pippin asked, stunned.
"Yes," Merry answered. "I'm starting to see it all now in my mind. Fuzzy it is, like memory. Only, it's a memory that hasn't happened yet. Or something. And there's other things, too. Trees and such. This is very odd. Do you feel it, Pip?"
Pippin thought for a moment, then winced. "There's a big hot fiery thing," he said. "It's right strange to be remembering what hasn't happened yet."
"Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, this is just terrible, we should never have brought them here, they're going to go absolutely mad, just plain potty, and it'll be all our fault!" Greenleaf cried, jumping out of Legolas and Timkin's attempts to restrain him. "It's our world that's doing it to them! They're not in their own time, they're remembering forward, that's never healthy for mortals, we found them too soon, oh dear, this is never going to —" his last words ended in a squeak as Strider wrestled him to the ground and sat on him.
Mithrandir looked around, worried. For all of his shouting, Greenleaf did have a point. Something had gone wrong with the timing of the spell. He cast about for the least boggled of the live-action Fellowship. "Sam! What is the absolutely latest thing you remember?" he asked. "Backwards or forwards?"
Sam wrinkled up his brow in thought. "Faramir. . . Gollum. . . Mr. Frodo walking towards that flying beastie. . . walking through the woods. . . that's all, Mr. Mithrandir, sir."
"I was on a horse with Legolas. Gandalf and Éomer and Aragorn were beside us," Gimli said thoughtfully. Mithrandir glanced over at Aragorn.
"When was this?" he asked.
"Arwen. . . your lovely dark hair. . . your wide mouth. . . a gratuitous tit shot. . . " Aragorn murmured, lost in the reverie of forward memory.
"It's affecting his mind, too," Gandalf said sadly.
"Who is Arwen?" Strider asked, climbing off a subdued Greenleaf.
"His one true love," Gandalf said, waving a hand in Aragorn's direction.
"Yet another of the joys denied you by our slipshod story editing, it seems," Mithrandir said. Strider moved to kneel by Aragorn and listened hungrily to the bits of description trickling from the besotted Ranger's mouth. The two wizards looked at each other.
"Blast!" Mithrandir swore. "I was certain we'd got it right. Gandalf, where did I go wrong? You were to tell the whole story, were you not?"
"Yes," Gandalf said. "But we were to do it in installments. You pulled us out before we had come through the first part. Our forward memories take us nearly to the end of the second part and no further. I believe you would have done better to have waited a year for us to conclude the tale. We have not yet lived it and cannot tell you the end."
"It does appear that I acted in haste," Mithrandir conceded. "However, we were becoming desperate. We had tried once before and failed."
Gandalf raised one bushy eyebrow. "You tried once before? Where did you look"
Strider tore himself away from Aragorn's increasingly bawdy ramblings and glanced over at the wizards. "It was my suggestion," he said. "The end of the story had been done as animation before. I had spent some time in the land of Prydain and had become acquainted with the wizard from the third part in an alternate guise. Not long ago, we attempted a sortie into the third part. I felt that the transition from animation to rotoscoping would not cause anyone from the third part undue harm."
"What happened?" Gandalf asked.
"We were met by a force beyond our strength and driven out," Strider said sadly.
"Disco-dancing orcs singing Where There's A Whip There's A Way' is not a sight fit to be seen by mortal Men," Mithrandir clarified.
Everyone contemplated this image for a moment. Perry and Mippin clung to each other out of sheer horror, and Little Sam curled up in a ball and rocked.
"What are you going to do, then?" Sam asked, patting Little Sam's shoulder.
Mithrandir heaved a heavy sigh. "I do not know," he said, softly.
At that moment, the live-action Frodo stirred in his magically induced sleep. "Bil-bo. . . " he muttered.
"Bil-bo," echoed the other Frodo.
"Mithrandir! They are stirring!" called Timkin.
"Come, Gandalf." Mithrandir said. "We may have to renew the spell. The Rings must on no account be allowed to interact."
"Is it wise to keep them asleep for so long?" Gandalf asked. "It is true that the Rings present a danger, but the danger of lengthy induced sleep on the bearers may be greater. Perhaps it would be wise to let them wake."
"But the Rings?"
Gandalf wrinkled his nose in deep thought. "I have thought of an alternate plan," he said slowly. "This plan is not without its own peril, however. I propose that you and I, Mithrandir, take the Rings for safekeeping, while both Bearers are awake."
"Are you mad?" Mithrandir asked. "You cannot touch the Ring any more than I!"
"You cannot touch the animated Ring," Gandalf said, "and I cannot touch the live-action one. But perhaps we could each handle the other Ring safely for a time."
Mithrandir thought about this. "It is indeed a risky plan," he said. "But in desperate times, desperate measures often work. We will try your plan, Gandalf."
"I will go first," Gandalf said, moving to the sleeping Frodos. "I will take the animated Ring. If anything. . . untoward. . . should happen, send the others back immediately, then cast me into the void." Mithrandir nodded and held his staff ready.
Slowly, Gandalf approached the rotoscoped Ring-bearer. He gently turned the small Hobbit onto his back and carefully lifted the cord with the Ring over the abundant chestnut hair. No one dared breathe as he tucked the two-dimensional trinket into a pocket in his robe.
