Tindomiel: Thanks, and I'll try. I don't really plan the cut-off points, to be honest.
WargishBoromirFan: Good point about the dinosaur thing. Garbled Khândian folklore, maybe? Oh yes, and 'argh'.

As you can tell,I struggled a lot with this chapter. It's the first time I've hated a piece so much I had to redo it. Admittedly I just did some rearranging but that's not really the point.

Chapter Ten: Visitors

"Are you sure you're all right, master?" asked the hobbit.

"Yes, yes, fine," said Nobby. His voice twanged with anxiety. "I just need to ... be alone with my thoughts, sort of thing."
Nobby stared at his feet as he sat back down in the hollow of the tree. He felt naked without his old steel-toed boots. Right, he thought, who are you?

Don't be frightened.

Just - answer the question.

My name is Frodo Baggins.

Cecil Nobbs. Everyone calls me Nobby. What're you doing in my head?

What are you doing in my body?

I don't know. What's going on here?

It was a moment before a reply came. The voice seemed to be thinking about it.

How long will you be here?

Dunno.

Then listen carefully: you are carrying an item of great worth. You must defend it at all costs.

Why's that?

The air you breathe, the ground you walk on, the people you meet - all will be lost if you lose the Ring.

It's a nice bit of work, I'll grant you, but why's it so special?

Have you heard the legend of Isildur's Bane?

Who's what now?

You must know about the Last Alliance, surely.

Nope, sorry.

The Dark Lord?

.

"Do you see it?" asked Carrot. He held the Omniscope so that it faced Vimes. Or his back, at least.

"What are we supposed to be seeing?" said Ridcully suspiciously.

"From here," Carrot tilted his head, "he doesn't really look like himself. It's like the world is trying to persuade me that he's someone else."

Ponder nodded wisely. "We're wizards. We see what's really there, however unlikely it is. You've broken into another world, and now it's trying to mend the gap, as it were. Just keep concentrating on his real identity. And yours."

"Right."

"Do you have any string?" Stibbons was saying. "You could wear this around your neck, give us a proper view of..."

"How's that?" Carrot had wedged the Omniscope behind his badge. It glinted octarine in the weak sunlight.

"Great."

Carrot didn't voice his other concern as he hurried after his commander. He rubbed his breastplate; for a moment, he'd thought Vimes' hand went right through it...

Vimes pushed into the red tent and found his body once again beyond his control.

"My lord," he said, bowing his head.

A pale young woman, all in white, acknowledged him. She stood just behind the king.

"That's her, that's her!" hissed a voice. Carrot had just slid into the tent. The audience on his breastplate were making a fuss.

"Him, you mean," intoned the Archchancellor.

"But what would he be doing there?" came the rational voice of Ponder Stibbons.

"Circle time," Ridcully murmured.

"Why'd you reach under your hat just then?"

"The girl, look at the girl!"

"Try to get closer, Captain," said Ponder. "Something... strange... is happening..."

"Ah, the lord Aragorn," said a man in leather armour, looking up. He wore a crown and a harassed expression. "I was told you had not yet left."

Vimes' voice box was on autopilot. "No, lord. I felt my place was here."

"So you would lead my army?" said the king coldly.

"No, Théoden, I would follow you."

Old Stoneface must be rolling in his grave! Listen to me!

He is proud. I would not ruin his chance to save his people.

There was a barb to that comment, thought Vimes. Damn.

Over on Carrot's armour, the debate was still going on:

"What are you talking about, Adrian?"

"That's the girl who fancies-"

"Shut up," said Carrot, through gritted teeth.

"Notice how she watches him?" Adrian again. He sounded amused.

"Shut up! Look at the king!"

"Well, it looks like him, and sounds like him," conceded Stibbons.

"That's because it bloody well is him," snapped Ridcully. "Well, fancy that. I thought he was a bit out of his depth last time we met."

"Now he's organising a war."

"What is this, Stibbons, the state-the-bloody-obvious championships?"

"But - I mean - Verence..."

The voice was both incredulous and hushed now, as though it was speaking of a great secret.

Dark Lord? You mean like old Harry Dread and that?

What?

You know - they had a Guild on Phedre Road till that goblin bloke thing fell in the Cut.

What are you talking about?

What?

What?

Now the voice was exasperated.

An evil power has arisen in the land. This Ring is the key to its power. We - that is, my servant Sam and myself - are on a quest to destroy it.

Destroy it? I could get at least 50 dollars for something like this!

You cannot sell it.

Why not?

It is intrinsically evil!

And?

Look, just get me across those mountains-

What mountains are they? Are we near the Hub?

They are the Mountains of Shadow. What is this 'hub'?

Oh dear. Er - never mind. So, if I get over these mountains, what are you going to do until then?

I shall... rest. I have carried the burden for many hundreds of miles. This could be just what I need to complete my errand. I am becoming quite weak.

Right. So you want me to climb a load of mountains with this oddball just so's you can have a rest?

Yes, that's one way of-

You must to be joking. I could live the high life if I sell this little thing...

Nobby made to get up, intent on finding some way back to Ankh-Morpork. Made to, didn't quite manage it. Every muscle seemed to have turned to concrete, every sinew to steel.

You will not go.

What've you done? Let me go!

No. I cannot let you take the Ring.

Take your precious Ring, then! Just stop this! It hurts!

I've tried. I can't take full control, but I can make things difficult if you make them difficult for me. The quest will not fail.
In return you will be allowed to be near the Ring. I can sense its grip on you already. It will be reward enough.

Nobby's motor functions returned. He unstiffened. Then Nobby, suspicious of whatthis voice in his head could do, held up the Ring experimentally. The little corner of his mind that was now known as Frodo reacted, like the tightening of a muscle. Nobby stood up, Ring in hand. He drew back the arm-
The arm froze mid-motion.

No!

Right then! I get the idea.

It was about that time that Nobby realised two things: firstly, that he was a prisoner of his own head (or not his own head, he didn't know which was worse); secondly, that a dark shape was creeping up the hillside towards them.

"Damn - hill," hissed the thin creature, as Nobby stared in horror. Another shape, half-hidden among the trees to the right, was keeping pace with it. "Bloody - piece of -"

The being squinted up at Nobby. "Hang on," it panted, "You're Nobby Nobbs, aren't you?"

"Oh, thank gods," sighed Nobby. "Someone normal."

"You were in the library last week, right?" asked the thing. Its skin had a strange, bluish sheen. "You got some books about the feminine mind and dressmaking."

Nobby's face pinched again. "How'd you know that?"

"It's me. Rincewind. Bugger!" he picked a twig off the slightly-sticky sole of his wide foot.
Something big bounded through the trees. It looked like a treasure chest on legs - hundreds of legs - and then it was gone, out into the forest on the other side of the clearing.

"Oh," said Sam contemptuously, from the cooking pot, apparently unaware of the Luggage."You're back."

"Yess," hissed the Rincewind-thing. Then he snapped back to normal speech.
"You know. Red robe. Pointy hat. I crawl through the city gates every few months, usually chased by something horrible, or just-escaped from something horrible. I can't even look in a mirror without winding up on some dangerous quest. Incidentally, what's this quest, and how dangerous is it? On a scale of one to ten."

And as Nobby stared, the skin became healthier colour and the shape filled out. Just as an old face made of shadows suddenly became a young woman's, the thing now looked like a bedraggled man.
Nobby opened his mouth to answer, just as a slight tremor ran through the earth.

"There you go!" said Rincewind, with terrible happiness.

He was youngish for a wizard, though that might have been because to Nobby, wizard beard, and the older the wizard the bushier the beard; Rincewind's was a wiry tuft, far from flourishing. His robe was frayed and threadbare in places.

The ground shook again.

"So, we'll say... 6 and a half, then?"

Note to Tolkien purists: this is where it all gets messy.
Bursar has screwed around with Sauron's strategies, which is why the Morgul-host is passing on the 9th of March. Frodo and Sam are behind schedule - they're still in Ithilien.
By rights, Aragorn should be on the Paths of the Dead; Vimes' arrival has screwed that up too.
Théoden's just arrived at Dunharrow. We'll just say he rode faster, as opposed to "Egleriel is sloppy".