Chapter 9
Disclaimer: If only, if only, the fic writer sighs,
I owned the LotR legal rights,
And the orcs sit below, hungry and lonely,
And tear out each other's throats- if only.
AN: I really like that song. Or the origional version of it. From Holes. And sincerest apologies and thanks to Prophet-Song, who informed me that I had messed up submitting this chapter. To explain: I write the entire story in one document, not chapter by chapter, so I can keep track of everything without repeating myself too much. I accidentally submitted the entire document, including a lot of my notes for future chapters, in the previous version of this chapter. I'm very sorry for the confusion, Prophet-Song. Thank you for reviewing and telling me about that.
"What is this? What in Middle Earth is this...Big Folk girl doing here?"
"I think she may be one of His. He does have armies of the Big Folk. Southrons, I think they're called."
"But does He keep armies of women?"
"I don't know...I don't know. But what other explanation is there?" My head was throbbing. I tried opening my eyes, but the images before them were starkly bright and too blurry to make any sense of. I tried to pull myself up, but I found that my arms had been tied together at the wrists.
"Leave Stephses alone..." I heard Elvis hiss angrily. The outburst was followed by a sharp cry, and several pathetic sounding coughs.
"Be quiet, you villian!" I now recognized the voice as belonging to Sam. I tried to open my eyes again, but groaned as the first onslaught of a ferocious headache washed over me. I decided that the bright light meant that it was no longer the middle of the night.
"Shh, Sam. She's waking." This voice belonged to Frodo. I blinked until the world returned to focus, careful not to move my aching head.
"Not yet, I'm not," I moaned.
"Get up," Sam commanded gruffly.
"Not yet," I whined again.
"I think she can have a few more moments to rest," Frodo chuckled uneasily. "You hit her pretty hard with that pan." My eyes opened in annoyance.
"Pan?" I asked, pulling myself up with a deranged sit-up. "You hit me with a pan? Is that why I've got this migrane?" My vision was still swimming, but I caught a glimpse of a frying pan, lying guiltily by one of the backpacks. The large, overstuffed backpack, to be specific.
"Of course I hit you!" Sam cried. I cringed as my head resumed its throbbing. "You were attacking Mr. Frodo!"
"Not so loud," I whined. "And I wasn't attacking him, you deranged leprechuan. I was aiming at you. I was defending myself against him. There's a difference."
"Why would you attack Sam?" Frodo asked.
"Is Stephses hurt, Precious?" Elvis cut in, finally recovered from his coughing fit. He had finally entered my field of vision, and he looked worse for the ware. His neck was bruised and raw, and he was still twitching slightly. His voice was more hoarse than usual, which was not only seemingly impossible, but a definite bad sign. Compared to him, I was as healthy as a horse.
"Nothing worse than a headache," I assured him. He smiled weakly, but shook his head.
"Silly Stephses," he rasped. "We tries to tell Stephses, but Stephses didn't see. Hobbits are dangerous-" he was interrupted by another coughing fit.
"I saw, Elvis," I said meekly. "I messed up, though."
"So the two of you are conspirators?" Sam accused. I knew the word, but at the time, my headache prevented any logical thought.
"Sure, sure. Not so loud, okay, midget? We're conspiracies..."
"You're both working for...the Dark Lord, then?" Frodo asked steadily, though he hesitated slightly before mentioning the 'Dark Lord'.
"Who, Voldemort? Not that I know of. I loved the books, though. Hey, Elvis. Are we working for Voldemort?" Elvis looked confused.
"What are Voldemort, precious?" he asked.
"I would take that as a 'no,'" I suggested. The hobbits exchanged glances.
"On your feet," Sam said at last. I stared at him blankly. "Get up," he reiterated.
"You hit me with a frying pan," I said stupidly.
"I'll hit you again if you don't," Sam warned. I scowled, but obeyed, generally immitating a worm as I rolled to my side and tried to rise to my feet while my hands were tied behind my back.
"What were your orders?" Frodo asked when I finally finished the task. Again I stared blankly.
"I have orders? Wow. That's new. Elvis, do we have orders?" He shook his head, and I turned to the hobbit. "Orders from who?"
"The Dark Lord!" Frodo said.
"I told you we're not working for Voldemort!" I said, frustrated.
"Who in the world is this Volti-more?" Sam demanded. I shook my head sadly.
"Poor, deprived little leprechuan. He's Harry Potter's rival. You know, with the scar? And the wand? Voldemort's the evil wizard."
"Sauraman, you mean?" Frodo asked.
"Who?"
"Who is 'Harry Potter?'" Sam asked. This was getting us nowhere, so I decided to give a classic book report.
Did I mention that my social/political skills are enough to put any country down the toilet?
"Harry Potter," I began. "Is more commonly known as 'the Boy Who Lived.' He defeated and almost killed Lord Voldemort, an evil and really powerful tyrant wizard, when he was just an infant, because he's some kind of Chosen One, or something like that. He also happens to be the star of a fantastic book series, 'Harry Potter,' written by J.K. Rowling-"
"A book was written about him?" Frodo asked slowly.
"No! He's a character in the book. He's a made up character. Completely fictional. Kind of like Vageeta and Erik and Barney. Even though Vageeta has died a few billion times (he keeps getting revived! Why can't he just stay dead?) and Erik died at the end of the book (even though he's so cool!) and practically every living creature under Heaven and most of them in the other place would pay a king's randsome to skewer Barney on a dozen blunt pitchforks and soak him in lemon juice. But Harry isn't dead yet, even though the rumor going around says that he will die in the seventh book. Voldemort died once already, but, of course, in the world of fiction, dead people can get up and go back to terrorizing the innocent community with only the slightest difficulty." I had effectively lost both of them.
"So...are you working for..." his voice went softer than a whisper. "...Sauron...?"
"Never heard of him," I said honestly. I glanced at Elvis to ask if he had, but my question was already answered. My friend had gone rigid, his eyes wide. His hands were opening and closing on nothing, as though he was trying to claw at something that was no longer there.
"Are you okay, Elvis?" I asked. He looked helplessly up at me. His eyes were haunted. I turned to the hobbits. "No," I said firmly. "We're not." Frodo caught the sincerity in my words.
"We can't let you go free," he said quietly. "You'll have to come with us." Without another word, he began walking away. Sam tugged at the rope, and I realized that it pulled at the bonds on my wrists, as well as the loop around Elvis's neck. My friend winced and began walking. Not wanting to disturb his bonds any more than necessary, I did the same. Sam made sure to shake me up once in a while, just to keep me off my feet. He realized that I was bigger than him, but my headache and bound hands provided him with an advantage, and he had confiscated my spear, and on the few occasions when I did try to fight him, he would smack me over the side of the head with my own weapon.
We walked for some time in silence. But as we went on, it became harder and harder for me to ignore the raw skin around Elvis's neck, and the painful way he jerked every time the rope moved against it. One particularly violent tug from Sam summoned a piercing cry.
"What's going on?" I cried out suddenly. "What's in that rope, anyway? What's wrong, Elvis?" Both of the hobbits turned around to check on the disturbance. Elvis was now writhing on the ground, howling.
"It burns!" Elvis shrieked at last. "It burns us! It freezes! Nasty Elves twisted it!" he shuddered and grabbed at the rope, only to throw it ruthlessly away. "Take it off us!" I stepped toward my friend, but another jerk of a rope sent both of us to the ground.
"Quiet, you!" Sam barked. I realized that I really really disliked this hobbit. "It's hopeless! Every Orc in Mordor's going to hear this racket!" he turned to Frodo. "Let's just tie them up and leave them."
"Hey!" I cried indignantly. "Don't we get any say in this?"
"No!" Elvis joined in my plea. "That would kill us! Kill us!" he was almost sobbing.
"It's no more than you deserve!" Sam argued. Frodo looked pensively at the three of us. Elvis was howling in despair, clawing at his neck and drawing blood, but unable to remove his bonds. All of his twisting and contortion, so effective in avoiding Orcs and disappearing into shadows, was useless against his adversaries: two hobbits and thier rope.
"Maybe he does deserve to die..." evidently, I was not even a part of this conversation. I silently cursed sexism in all its forms. "But now that I see him, I do pity him..." I looked up suddenly, seeing a way out. Frodo might be suffering from whatever schitzo disease had gotten Elvis, but it had revealed a chance for both of us. Elvis had caught the clue as well, and he timidly grabbed the rope and crawled toward Frodo. He offered the painful bond to the hobbit.
"We be nice to them, if they be nice to us...Take it off us!" Frodo was gazing cautiously at Elvis. "We swears to do what you wants...We swears..."
"There's no promise you can make that I can trust!" Frodo accused.
"Yeah. That's why they call it 'trust,'" I said simply. I could see Elvis search his mind for a way to prove his honesty. Frodo was almost convinced to let us go. All we needed now was some kind of proof...
"We swears..." he began, and then his eyes lit up. He had found it. "To serve the Master...of the Precious. We will swear on..." were there any Bibles nearby? Neither of us saw any. I realized that the hobbits probably weren't religious. "On the Precious!" he managed to choke out the word before succumbing again to a coughing fit.
"The Ring is treacherous," Frodo said gravely. "It will hold you to your word." He was now standing less than a yard away from Elvis.
"Yes..." Elvis pleaded. "On the Precious..."He went very still, and captured Frodo's eyes. There was no doubt of his honesty. "On the Precious."
"I DON'T BELIEVE YOU!" Sam shouted, running forward. Elvis turned and fled up the side of a rock. I followed, though careful to put myself between him and the hobbit. If it came to blows, I wanted a chance to slug Sam.
What I didn't take into account was the rope.
Sam gave it a sharp tug, especially on Elvis's end. My friend was sent tumbling down the side of the rock, gasping pitifully.
"Get down! I said, down!" Another yank on the 'leash' overbalanced me.
"Sam!" Frodo cried suddenly. Sam paused, turning to his companion.
"He's trying to trick us!" he explained angrily. "If we let him go, he'll throttle us in our sleep! They both will!" I fought the urge to point out that if Sam pulled on that rope one more time, I wouldn't wait until he was sleeping to throttle him. Instead I kept my face impassive as I pulled myself to my feet, once more carefully placing myself between Sam and Elvis. Frodo walked forward. He paused and looked at me, but said nothing and continued until he was standing just over Elvis, who was still trying to pull air into his heaving chest.
"You know the way to Mordor?" he asked stonily. Terror once again came over Elvis as he regained his breath.
"Yes," he whispered, his voice higher than normal.
"You've been there before?"
"Yes..." Elvis repeated. The word had been reduced to little more than a squeak. He was trembling now. Frodo took a deep breath and stooped over his prisoner. He loosened he loop and slipped it over his head, freeing him.
"You will take us to the Black Gate." There was a certain amount of authority in his voice. Elvis was also impressed by the command, and didn't move when Frodo walked away, except to turn his head and continue to watch the hobbit as he returned to me. I was absolutely still as he untied the ropes that fastened my wrists. He glanced quickly at the place where the bonds had been, and I followed his gaze: the skin there was chaffed and bleeding a little. Large bruises wound their way down my arms, ending in ugly welts where the ropes had dug into my skin. "You are free to go," he said to me. "I'm sorry about the bruises." He returned to Sam and gathered my spear and my pack, putting them on the ground for me. I stared silently at my belongings as he began to walk away. Sam gave me an untrusting look and followed. Elvis stared sadly at me, but said nothing.
"Show us to the Gate, Gollum," Frodo called. Elvis hung his head and slunk to his new master, bound by his promise.
Is this the end? I wondered. Do I just go now?
Where to? a voice in the back of my mind asked. I bent down and collected my things, then turned to face the departing hobbits and their guide.
"Hey!" I shouted after them. "Where do you think you're going?" All three of them froze. I took advantage of the situation to dash up to them.
"What are you doing?" Sam asked.
"Good question," I snapped. "What did you think I would do, just let you get away?" Sam's eyes flew to my spear. Evidently he remembered my first attack on him. "Elvis is my friend, you maniac leprechuan! Do you honestly think I'd just leave him alone with an abusive psycho like you? What kind of a person do you think I am?" Frodo studied me carefully, grasping the meaning of my words.
"What do you intend to do then?" he asked carefully.
"I'm coming with you," I said.
"What?" Sam asked.
"It's a package deal. If he's got to come with you, then I'm coming too. There's no escaping it."
"I see," Frodo said, nodding thoughtfully. "Why did you attack us?" My eyes widened.
"You just now decide to ask that?" I laughed. "Why wouldn't I? You guys were throttling Elvis! Did you expect me to go and watch TV? Of course I attacked you!" Frodo studied me pensively.
"So you mean us no harm?"
"That depends, Frodo," I said. "For example, if Sam here keeps abusing Elvis like he has been, I'm going to kick him so hard-"
"But you have no intention of harming us otherwise?"
"Not really."
"What is your name, then?"
"Gaia. Stephanie Gaia. But call me Steph."
