Hooray, it's chapter six! I'm having fun with this one... heh heh... Go, my little pseudo-Sue, go!
At first I doubted whether there could be any guest whose arrival would cause more of a stir than the wizard's did. He stormed into the haven on the evening of the eighteenth – "stormed" is indeed the right word; the fellow moves about like a gale-force wind – and all of Rivendell was caught in the excitement of his arrival. I, too, witnessed his entrance, and recognized him immediately – this was that same Mithrandir who had so often visited Minas Tirith when I was younger. There was no mistaking him: the image of the bearded, scowling wizard making his way up the streets of the city, a trail of curious children streaming behind him, was one that had been properly etched in my memory. (Of course the children had always followed at a distance; for who knew what nasty sort of creature an irritating youngster might be turned into if he dared challenge the wizard's patience?)
"I must see Lord Elrond immediately!" he'd roared at no one in particular, and naturally one helpful elf or another had escorted him up to the Elf-Lord's chambers. We did not see him again after that until the arrival of the second party, three days later.
There was a sort of thundering sensation through the earth, late on the afternoon of the twentieth of October, though no storm clouds were visible in the clear autumn sky. Sador looked up at me from where he sat, under a tree, flipping through the pages of a book he'd found.
"Did you feel that, Urwen?" he asked, frowning. "Felt like a minor earthquake, don't you think?"
"Yes – how odd," I replied, and began to meander towards the centre of the settlement, hoping to find out what the elves were making of the disturbance. I half expected them not to acknowledge it as a "disturbance" at all, being, as they were, so in tune to the rhythms of the land. I was in for a surprise: elves were hurrying here and there, up and down, whispering to one another in hushed, excited voices.
"Excuse me, but what's happened?" I asked, touching the arm of a passing elf. He simply shook his head by way of a "Not now!", and hurried onward. I cursed quietly to myself – though I doubt whether any of the elves would have noticed, at that hour, had I screamed at the top of my lungs – and was quite convinced, in that moment, that an attack on Rivendell was imminent.
I was just about to run back to my apartment, where I'd left my sword, when Elrond issued suddenly from his great house, his feet seeming to flow over the stairs like water over rocks.
"Cárarentë!" he cried to the scurrying elves. "Cára i cormacolindo!"
Of course, as I was hopeless at understanding spoken elvish, all I gathered from this was "They are coming!", and interpreted it as a reference to the feared Nazgûl. So, it's going to be a fight, is it? I thought, and turned back to warn Sador. From behind me, Elrond cried out, "Harna ná i cormacolindo!" – a phrase that was meaningless to me at the time.
I needn't trouble you with a report of my misinformed return to my apartment, nor do I need to recount how I convinced Sador that he ought to arm himself, as the haven was under attack. It wasn't, of course: the Ringwraiths had been foiled at the Ford of Bruinen, thanks to the combined magic of Lord Elrond and Mithrandir. The scurrying about was of course due to the fact that Frodo Baggins, a hobbit of the Shire, had fallen unconscious on the east bank of the river. Elrond was well aware of this, and it seemed the other elves had guessed as much based on the uprising of the River Loudwater (for that was the cause of the "earthquake" we had felt). It was not long before a party of elves was seen returning from the direction of the river, bearing a tiny body between them.
Only a child, I thought, upon seeing the body – because of course I had never seen a hobbit, and though I had heard of them, it did not occur to me that this tiny creature might belong to that race.
"Is he alive?" Mithrandir demanded, bursting from the house and making his way through the crowd of elves. "Let me through, confound it all! Let me through!"
Elrond was already with the poor fellow, unbuttoning the apparently bloody shirt as another elf cradled the body in his arms.
"Does he yet live?" Mithrandir demanded again, upon reaching the Elf-lord.
Elrond nodded. "Yes – yes, he is alive, but the shadow has very nearly consumed him. We must make haste. Come."
And with that, the two of them escorted their patient into one of the many wooden buildings.
"Is that the whole business, do you think?" Sador wondered, standing beside me and watching the elves disperse.
"It looks like it," I said, perplexed. "I wonder who that little fellow was? He certainly had everyone in a panic."
"Perhaps he's a prince," Sador suggested. "Was he an elf? Did you see?"
"I saw two very hairy feet, actually," I said, with a snort. "And since I've never observed any indication of hairiness in an elf, I'm inclined to doubt he was of their kindred."
Frodo, of course, was not the only newcomer to arrive that evening. Very soon after him came five others: an elf, a Dúnedan ranger, and three more hobbits. Sador and I had positioned ourselves under a tree near the central courtyard of the haven, and so saw them coming.
"Oh, look! I've never dreamed... Oh, so many elves!" said one of the small creatures, running to keep up with his taller companions. "Aren't they beautiful? Oh... But I must go to Mister Frodo! I must see him!"
"I must see Lord Elrond, as well," said the ranger, striding quickly into the courtyard and turning in the direction the first, unconscious guest had been carried. He was obviously familiar with the layout of the place.
"Yes – I, too, have things to say to him," the elf said. "You hobbits may come with us. I am certain that you will be satisfied with the care Frodo is receiving."
"Did you ever dream we'd be coming here, Merry? To Rivendell?" whispered one of the other little creatures.
"Hush, Pippin! ...But no, I suppose I didn't – not when we set out, at least," replied his equally small companion, and then they had all disappeared into the darkness of the building.
"Did you hear that, Father? Hobbits!" I exclaimed.
"What? I've never heard of such a thing," Sador said.
"That's what those small people were – hobbits!" I was rather excited about the prospect. Certainly important things were happening if representatives of such a secretive race had shown up in Imladris.
"Well, I'm getting tired," Sador said, yawning. "I've had quite enough excitement, and if you don't mind, I think I'll be going to bed now. I'm sure we'll hear all about this business in the morning."
Despite my biting curiosity, I made myself follow him back to our chambers. He was right – all would most likely be explained in the morning, and at this point we would just be getting in the way if we went to investigate.
But I shall look into this in the morning, I promised myself, as I climbed between my sheets. I will find out what this is all about!
I made good on my promise of going to investigate, awakening very early the next morning and making my way down towards the courtyard before the dew had lifted from the grass. Elves were still about in great numbers, but they were greatly subdued in comparison to the previous night.
"Please," I said to one of the elves, who seemed to be standing guard outside the building into which Elrond had taken the unconscious hobbit, "do you think I might be able to visit the patient? If it isn't too much trouble, of course."
The elf regarded me thoughtfully for a moment, then nodded.
"Yes," he said. "You may go and see him, of course – though I shall warn you to stay out of the way of Lord Elrond if you hope to see the hobbit recover."
"Thank you – of course I'll stay out of the way," I assured him, and scampered up the stairs and into the shadows of the building. I guessed the direction I should take based on a process of elimination: Frodo would not be in Elrond's private chambers, nor in the library. He was most likely in the East Wing of the building, to my right – and that was the part of the building I entered into now.
"Did you see him move, Merry? I think I saw him move!"
"Of course he's moving, Pip – he's not dead! But have you seen him open his eyes? Now, that's the real question."
Two of the other hobbits I'd seen the previous night were seated on a bench far too high for them, just outside one of the bedchambers. They swung their legs in agitation and peered worriedly into the room.
"Excuse me, sirs, but might I inquire as to whether you're familiar with this Frodo fellow?" I asked, hoping my tone would be considered sufficiently polite by these diminutive men. The looked up at me suddenly, eyes wide and curly hair bouncing.
"Hold on, you're no elf!" said one – the one called "Pip", I thought.
"Does Elrond know you're here?" said the other one, looking about nervously.
"Don't worry yourselves, please – I'm a friend," I said. They regarded me suspiciously, and I came to the conclusion that either their culture or the present circumstances had made them rather distrustful of strangers.
"You dress a lot like Strider. Are you a ranger?" the first hobbit – "Pip" – asked me.
"Who? ...Wait, never mind – I'm a ranger of sorts, but probably not the sort you'd run into in these parts," I said.
"What's your name, then?" the other one – Merry – asked me.
I hesitated for a moment, then decided I ought to be honest with the little fellows. What harm could they do, after all?
"Tanneth," I said. "Well... Urwen, as well, but I prefer Tanneth."
"Where're you from?" he demanded, still regarding me somewhat suspiciously.
"From the South," I said vaguely. "I was sent here – Lord Elrond wanted my services, for one reason or another."
"She's not dangerous, then!" Pip said, elbowing Merry. "If Elrond trusts her –"
"Hush!" Merry said, and it became evident in my mind that he was the thinker between them. He looked up at me. "What do you know about Frodo?"
"About Frodo?" I said, and frowned. "Well, hardly anything at all. I know he's a hobbit, and I know his name – and perhaps not even his full name, at that."
Merry seemed to be attempting to search my thoughts with his eyes.
"Nothing else?" he asked, carefully. "You don't know why he's here, or why he's hurt?"
"No – that's why I came to see him. I was curious," I said. Merry seemed to accept this.
"We're his cousins," he told me. "We've come all the way from the Shire, and a very unpleasant journey it's been! I now know why they say it's best not to go wandering about in the outside world – a dreadful place, it is!"
"Even Rivendell?" I wondered, curious as to what these creatures regarded as "pleasant".
"Well, perhaps Rivendell is nice enough," Merry admitted, "though we haven't seen much of it yet."
"What are your names, then?" I asked. "Or are you just called 'Merry' and 'Pip'?"
"Certainly not!" "Pip" snorted. "My name is Peregrin Took – and that's a great old family, that is – though mostly folks just call me Pippin. This is Meriadoc Brandybuck – you've heard him called 'Merry', and he doesn't mind that at all."
"I don't," Merry confirmed.
"Well, I'm very pleased to meet you, Merry and Pippin," I said. "I wonder if you could tell me, though, what's the matter with your cousin?"
Merry shifted uneasily. "I don't know whether we ought to tell you that. It's been touch-and-go for Frodo, you see, since we got here, and we haven't had a chance to talk much to Elrond, or Gandalf, or even Strider, for that matter. I don't know how much we're allowed to reveal about... present matters."
"Well," I huffed. "Can you at least tell me if they think he'll recover from... from whatever it is that's wrong with him?"
"I think Elrond will take care of it," Pippin said. "And Gandalf's there, too – surely they'll be able to figure something out, between them."
"Take a look for yourself, if you want," Merry suggested, gesturing towards the doorway of the bedroom.
I approached it quietly and peered inside. Despite the quiet, there were indeed a lot of people in that room: Frodo lay beneath the sheets, pale as death, and Elrond sat at his left. The Elf-lord appeared to have his fingers pressed into a wound on the hobbit's shoulder, as though he were searching about for something in the torn flesh. Another hobbit sat on Frodo's right, stroking his hand gently and whispering to him. Other elves moved about silently, apparently preparing ointments and compounds. Mithrandir – or... what was it the hobbits had called him? Gandalf, that was it – sat in a corner, his eyes closed tight in concentration.
"Well!" I said quietly. "This is certainly no ordinary wound, or they would have had him patched up and on his way by now."
"It's those Dark Riders..." Pippin began, and then stopped when Merry glared at him, shaking his head frantically. I decided to pretend I hadn't heard.
"Who's that other hobbit – the one who stays there beside Frodo?" I asked.
"That's Samwise Gamgee, his gardener," Merry said.
"His gardener? Why, I would have said they were friends, good friends – equals, I mean."
"Well, they are friends," Merry said. "But Sam would never consider himself Frodo's equal! No, they're servant and master, through and through – though there's love between them, as well."
"Excuse me..." came a gruff voice from behind me, and a man pressed by me and into the room. He stopped halfway in, though, and turned back to take another look at me, apparently realizing suddenly that I wasn't an elf. He was no elf, either – he was the Dúnedan ranger from the previous night.
"Who are you?" he asked suspiciously.
"No one," I said automatically, and he narrowed his eyes at me. "I'm sorry – I am someone, of course – I'm a guest of Elrond's."
"She's Tanneth," Pippin supplied.
"Have you told her anything?" the ranger demanded of the hobbits.
"No, nothing!" Merry protested. "Honestly, we haven't."
The ranger directed his gaze at me once more, and I was shocked at the depth of his eyes and the noble bearing of his countenance – here was a man who did not shy from confrontations with strangers.
"Wait here a moment," he said, and strode into the room. He came up behind Elrond and whispered something into the Elf-lord's ear. Elrond nodded slightly, never turning his gaze from Frodo. I saw his lips move in a reply, and then the ranger was returning in my direction.
"Excuse me," he said. "It seems you are indeed welcome here. However, if you were aware of the circumstances, I'm sure you would appreciate my caution."
"I do," I assured him, then said hurriedly, "Well, I don't fully understand what's happened, but I don't mind you being suspicious of me, either. It's nothing personal, I'm sure."
"Indeed it isn't," the ranger sighed, and leaned back against the doorframe. He rubbed his forehead wearily. "We had a close call – a very close call. We're all feeling a bit shaken up."
I turned to gaze at Frodo, who was mumbling something through the darkness of his unconscious state. "I'm sure he'll be alright," I said, assuming the ranger had been talking about Frodo's injury. "Elrond's the best healer Frodo could have. If he can't save him, no one can."
The man's brow creased in worry. "Yes – yes, that's true, of course. But somehow... Somehow I can't believe that this will be the end of it," he muttered. That statement took a moment to sink in, but before I could ask him what he meant, he said "Excuse me," again, and headed back down the corridor.
"That's Strider, of course," Pippin said.
"Strider?" I snorted. That was no proper name for one of the Dúnedain – it appeared I wasn't the only one who was being kept in the dark.
It's so odd for me, now, to think back on that day. It's so strange to think that there was a time when they didn't trust me, when I didn't know their names, when I hadn't met... Well. I'll save the rest of the story for another time.
I don't mean to sound like a feedback junkie, but PLEASE REVIEW! Come on, people. You know it makes my day. Ten points to anybody who does! An extra ten points to anybody who can translate what Elrond was saying near the beginning of the chapter! (Minus ten points for anybody who says my elvish sucks... Just kidding, luvs.) FLAMES WELCOME!!