PART ONE: ANACHRONISM
Chapter X: Is This The End?
Snow and rock came pouring down the mountainside onto the narrow path on which the Fellowship and I stood. I threw myself against the rough rock wall, praying that the avalanche wouldn't knock me from the ledge and send me plummeting to my death. (To be honest, I would probably Skip before I actually died, but there was always the horrifying possibility that one of these days, I would not be so fortunate.) The icy snow pounded against my face and body—hammering me in all directions until I could no longer feel the avalanche, only the suffocating weight of the debris. The snow surrounded me. I couldn't move. I was trapped. I was going to die here, on the mountainside of Caradhras, buried in ice and snow.
There was nothing peaceful about being buried in snow. Every fiber of my being was screaming in protest, every inch of me filled with a raw, electrifying terror. I desperately wanted to break free, but I didn't possess the strength to claw my way out.
And it was cold, so cold.
The snow clung to my skin and sunk through my clothes, so that it felt as though my very core had frozen.
Why hadn't I Skipped yet?
I wanted to scream. Why hadn't I Skipped? I could very well die on this mountainside. Skip me away, save me. Do not let me die. I wasn't ready to die.
Someone grabbed me by the back of my winter coat, and dragged me up out of the snow. The ice fell away and I gasped for air.
"I found Ana," called out Aragorn (the person who had grabbed me).
"I have Pippin," said Boromir.
"Merry? Where is Merry?" asked Gandalf.
Aragorn inspected my pale face framed by snow-coated hair. Then he pulled the wool blanket that I'd dropped out of the snow and wrapped it around my shoulders. Gently, he said, "Do not let the snow defeat you, Ana."
I nodded my head and resolved to tell Arwen her fiancé had done a good job next I saw her.
Beside me, a ginger head popped up from the snow and Gimli growled. "Here is one dwarf who will not be defeated by a mountain!"
The avalanche had passed. From what I could gather, Aragorn, Boromir, Legolas, and Gandalf had managed to dig themselves out of the debris and then proceeded to uncover the rest of us. However, the hobbits and I were now shivering, and any protection we may have had against the cold had disappeared. Gimli may have possessed the strength to survive the wrath of Caradhras, but I didn't think the rest of us small people would.
Legolas stood on top of the snow once more, looking about curiously. "The voices… They ride on the wind, bringing ill intentions."
When I managed to get my breathing under control, I glared up at Legolas through the wild snowfall and cried, "Stop saying scary things!"
Legolas turned to face the rest of the Fellowship. He brushed some snow from his blond hair and said, grimly, "It is Saruman."
A deep rumble echoed through the mountains. I looked up just in time to see another avalanche come crashing down. The Fellowship and I gathered together, pressing our backs against the mountainside. We covered our heads with our arms as rocks and snow poured over us. This time, Gandalf raised his staff. I don't know what he did, but the debris seemed to miss us as it poured over the ledge into mist below.
"We cannot stay here!" shouted Aragorn after the avalanche had passed.
"We must go through the Mines of Moria," said Gimli. "Balin would give us a royal welcome."
"Not the Mines," said Gandalf. "I would not go through Moria unless we had no other choice."
"We should make for the Gap of Rohan," insisted Boromir.
"Wherever we go," said Sam, his voice thin. "Can we leave now? I do not fancy trying to survive another avalanche."
"Let us leave this accursed place," said Boromir.
"I second that!" I raised my hand in the air, only to see that it was frightfully pale.
Gandalf still did not agree right away. He surveyed the faces of the Fellowship carefully before coming to rest on me. At last, he said, "Very well. We make for the Gap of Rohan."
It was relief to finally turn around and begin the long trek back down Caradhras. The battle against the weather seemed lesser as we started to descend the mountain, like Caradhras was happy that we had given up. Once again, Aragorn and Boromir led the way, their strength and speed renewed with the prospect of leaving this wretched, frozen place. Gimli followed close behind them, still muttering about how he could continue forward—the mountain had not defeated him yet. The hobbits and I bundled together beneath the few blankets we hand, shivering as we fought against the cold.
"Your lips are blue," Pippin told me.
"So are yours." My lip cracked when I tried to smile.
"I think," said Sam, "if it ever snows in the Shire, I will not dare venture out my doorstep. I have had enough of snow to last me a lifetime."
"I'm sure the snow in the Shire would be less cold," I said. "And endless."
"The Shire is pleasant during the winter," said Frodo. "You should visit sometime, Ana."
"If my Skipping allows it, I will."
"Master Bilbo used to tell me stories," said Sam wistfully, "of a time when it snowed in the Shire, causing the Brandywine to freeze over. The wolves crossed the river, and the hobbits of the Shire had to fight the wolves back into the forest from whence they came."
"Ah!" I grinned. "So the Shire hobbits can fight."
"Only when need requires it," said Frodo with a wry smile.
"Beyond training in Rivendell, the only fighting I've done was when I was six," I said, "when I slapped a girl because she said I was cheating."
"She lied?" asked Sam, preparing to be outraged on my behalf.
"No, no, I was cheating. I just didn't like the fact that she pointed it out." I snorted and shook my head. "I was a brat."
"It is a comfort to know that some things time cannot change," said Legolas, prancing over the snow top as though he weighed nothing at all. I stuck my hand out in an attempt to trip him, but Legolas stepped over my arm gracefully. He smiled and said, "I wish you better fortune next time."
So Gimli tripped him instead.
Legolas landed with a heavy crunch, disappearing beneath the deep snow. A moment later, his blond head popped up again and he glowered at Gimli.
"Elves," said Gimli (my hero).
"Dwarves," said Legolas.
The hike down the Caradhras took about a day—far shorter a time than it took to climb up the mountain, according to Pippin. Eventually, we passed the snowline and, as we reached a warmer climate, the land became greener and plants grew between the slanted rocks. Winter's chill still bit at our faces as we wandered across the hill lands that rang alongside the Misty Mountains. However, the cold at this altitude couldn't compare to the ice of Caradhras, and we were all in much better spirits as we headed south.
I won't tell you all the details of our four-day journey. Mostly it is just walking and more walking. The most interesting parts were when we paused for breaks and story time began. As we rested, Boromir would tell us of the White City and the great deeds of valor performed by the men of Gondor. Legolas would tell us of the going-ons of Mirkwood and some edited-for-appropriateness stories of elven parties. Aragorn would tell us of the Númenor and the Dúnedain, stories so old that words in the common tongue no longer existed to describe some of the occurrences. There was something deep and heavy in the stories Aragorn told, and it was a relief when one of the hobbits would begin telling light-hearted tales of the Shire.
Even I would recount small stories of Ohio (edited so that I did not reveal too much of this tech-savvy, alternate world) and pieces of my Skips of Middle Earth (chosen carefully so that I didn't tell anything of the future). Whenever the stories drifted near Bonnie and Nick, I would quickly steer away, asking Boromir about his childhood in White City.
And then, there were the tales of the dwarves. Gimli would tell us of the great halls of the Lonely Mountain, reclaimed by Thorin and Company. I did not ask any questions about the details of Thorin's quest and whenever Gimli came close to recounting parts of Thorin's journey, I would cut across him. At first, Gimli did not seem to understand, but slowly he stopped talking about Thorin altogether and instead told us of the dwarven halls in Moria.
We told many stories as we continued south, past Hollin and into Dunland. In the early days, Boromir had taught me how to hold the Sword Breaker, and I'd practiced fighting with Merry and Pippin. However, by day two, that became impossible. I needed all my energy for walking. By day four, my legs were dead. Every muscle in my body ached and I felt as though I might collapse at any moment. I staggered behind the others, and though we took rests, they weren't enough time for me to regain my strength.
"I will not carry you on my back again," said Boromir.
It was during one of our rest periods, and I sat on a soft patch of grass with legs sprawled out in front of me. The Fellowship had picked a spot in the shadow of a forest so small and insignificant that not even Gandalf or Aragorn had known the name of it. Merry, Pippin, and Sam were sitting on the ground beside me, but they did not seem nearly as defeated by the long hike as I was. The other members of the Fellowship stood over us, not knowing what to do with me, the dead-weight.
"I'm not made of muscle like some people." I rubbed my hands against the aching muscles of my legs. "I feel pain. Pain, I tell you."
"There is a phrase you used once to describe a person like you, Ana," said Legolas thoughtfully. "What was it?"
"Short," recommended Boromir.
"Beard defiler," added Gimli.
"Neither here nor there," said Sam.
"Loud?" Even Aragorn pitched in.
"No, no," said Legolas. "I remember now. Overly dramatic."
"Great," I muttered. "Do you guys enjoy making fun of me?"
"Yes," said Merry. "It keeps us entertained on the long road south. I do not know how we wou—"
Merry never got to finish his sentence. A black arrow buried itself in his left temple. He sat for a moment, unmoving. He stared at me, though there was no thought or life behind those brown eyes. Then, his body gave out, and he crumpled upon himself. He lay on the ground beside me, unmoving, lifeless, a corpse.
I didn't even have the strength to scream.
"Orcs from Saruman!" roared Boromir.
"In the forest! Look to the trees!" shouted Aragorn.
I looked up to see a party of orcs emerge from the spindly branches of the nameless forest. Their faces were gray and disfigured, their malicious smiles revealing sharp teeth stained with dark blood. I could see white paint on their noses and foreheads, and I was certain the symbols were supposed to mean something but I couldn't decipher them.
Legolas drew his bow and fired arrow after arrow. However, the orcs answered Legolas's shot with their own. A volley arrows soared through the air from the shelter of the forest.
I threw my hands over my face as the arrows rained down about me. I prayed that the Skip would take me, take me somewhere far away, but my life must not have been in danger, because I remained. When I opened my eyes, I saw that three arrows had landed in Merry's lifeless body—one in his leg, one in his abdomen, and one in his shoulder. Blood welled where the arrowheads had pierced the skin, and I clasped a hand over my mouth to prevent myself from throwing up or screaming or…God, I don't even know what I would've done.
There was a howl of pain, and I turned to see Sam clutching at his leg, which was skewed through the thigh by an arrow. Frodo stared down at Sam, his eyes wide with horror, and Pippin was scooting backwards across the grass, his face white. I tried to cry out, but my gaze drifted back to Merry and all sound died on my throat.
Gandalf lifted his staff into the air and muttered some words in a foreign language. His spell sent the next volley of arrows flying away from us as if they had bounced off an invisible shield. But, in the gap between the first and second spell, an orc fired one clean shot that struck Gandalf in the shoulder.
"Gandalf!" Frodo started towards the wizard.
"Stay down," roared Aragorn.
"Wargs!" Boromir drew his sword. "They have wargs!"
I hadn't moved since the first arrow struck. I could only stare at Merry's fallen body where blood trickled from his temple and from the three fresh arrow wounds that penetrated his limp body. He was dead. He was really dead.
I had seen action movies where the characters died. Bonnie had dragged Nick and me to see 300, and I had seen more than enough dead bodies in that movie alone. But Merry was right in front of me. Right in front of my eyes. I had known him. We had been friends. He had laughed at my poor alcohol tolerance. He had told be about the Brandybucks, about what a fun family they were. He and Pippin had laughed after they'd tripped me up during our sword lessons not two days ago. He was Merry. My friend Merry. And he was dead. No action movie could prepare me for this.
Orcs riding wargs came forth from the trees. I remember their war cries, shrill screams in a language that wasn't meant for human ears. "Azakashuga!" and "Matum!" they called as they waved their jagged blades above their heads and barred their blackened teeth. The wargs howled, a grating sound that sent shivers down my spine. Aragorn swung his sword and managed to lob off the head of the closest warg. The orc rider swung his blade and it clipped Aragorn's shoulder. Legolas fired another arrow, and it struck the orc rider in the forehead. Both orc and warg went crashing down. Aragorn clutched his bleeding shoulder as he lifted his sword and continued to fight.
"There are too many of them!" shouted Boromir. He slew one orc but soon two more replaced it.
Their numbers seemed endless as the orcs emerged from the pale trees. The more battle-hardened members of the Fellowship fought with sword, axe, bow, knives, staff, but they could not hold off overwhelming numbers.
I hadn't moved from my spot on the ground. The hobbits stood around me. Frodo clutched his glowing blue sword, Sting. His face was pale, and he looked no more ready for battle than I did. Pippin stood beside Frodo, trying to stop his hands from trembling as tears fell from his eyes. Sam knelt behind them, clutching his bleeding thigh.
Numbly, barely aware of what I was doing, I pulled the Sword Breaker out of my jeans pocket and unsheathed it. The combed-blade did not seem anywhere near effective.
Legolas let out a high-pitched shout. My head jerked up only for me to see that an orc had run a blade through Legolas's chest. Blood covered the elf's jerkin. As Legolas collapsed to the ground, I let out a strangled cry. A warg trampling over the elf's legs before turning to me, its dark eyes glittered with hunger.
I squeaked. My few scattered lessons from Boromir could never prepare me for this.
"Stay strong," said Frodo. "We are with you."
"Yeah." There was not an ounce of courage in me. "Yeah."
The warg sprinted towards us. It opened its jaws—and never reached us. Boromir brought his sword crashing down on the warg's head. The beast let out a low whine and crumpled to the ground, blood spilling from its skull.
I couldn't even find the words to say thanks.
"Watch out," said Boromir. "Those things will kill you."
And then, an orc drove his sword through Boromir's chest.
I'm pretty sure I screamed. I must have screamed. I don't remember. All I can remember from that point onwards is that an orc charged at me, his blade ready to rip me to shreds. I lifted the Sword Breaker, trying to block the attack, but my arms gave out pathetically beneath the orc's blade. He was going to kill me. I was going to lie bleeding and dying on the ground. The end. All over. It was so final.
Skip.
It was the middle of the night in the parking lot of the strip mall. The sky was the color of ink, splattered with the faint silver dots of stars. The parking lot was nearly empty of cars, the only light coming from dull yellow lampposts and the neon signs of the stores that were too lazy to turn off their lights after closing.
I stood outside the locked restaurant doors, clutching the Sword Breaker as if to defend myself from an orc that no longer existed.
The air was chilly, and my panting breath came out in tendrils of white mist. For a moment, I could do nothing more than breathe. In and out. In and out. In and out. Trying to find something, anything, to hold onto to stop myself from drowning in the fear and misery inside me.
I bent over and clutched my knees. Breathe in. Breathe out.
It was no use. Everything was spinning around me. I was going to be sick.
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.
They died. Boromir, Merry, Legolas—who else was dead? Did they all die? The Ring? What will happen to the Ring? Middle Earth? Was it doomed too? When I was twelve, I saw the White City burning, what must have been the destruction of Middle Earth. Was this meant to happen? Was the Fellowship meant to fail? I wasn't strong enough. There was nothing I could do to prevent it. I could only watch. I could only watch the inevitable happen.
I closed my eyes and tried to swallow back tears.
Perhaps it was meant to happen. Perhaps I could only watch them die, only watch them fail. Perhaps I could never change it.
Bile rose in my throat, and I released a hacking cough. Every inch of me hurt. My back, where I had landed roughly on the ground. My arms, which hand been shocked by the force of the orc's blow against the Sword Breaker. And mostly my head, where the memories churned about relentlessly.
This couldn't be it. Things couldn't end in such a way. No. No. There had to be another way.
What could change? We couldn't make it over Caradhras. Could we take a different route through the Gap of Rohan? Was there a way to sneak past Isengard without the eyes of Saruman watching? Was there another road?
I opened my eyes.
Moria.
Gandalf had said he would never enter the Mines of Moria unless there was no other choice—but now there was no other choice, was there? The Fellowship could not go over Caradhras, and the Gap of Rohan led only to death. But Moria. Maybe they could make it through Moria.
I sheathed the Sword Breaker, shoved it into the back pocket of my jeans, and then pulled my sweater over the handle. The tears that had been on the verge of spilling had subsided. Now, I was fueled by hope. I knew a solution. I could save the Fellowship. I could save them, right?
My gaze scanned the dozen or so cars still in the parking lot. It looked as though my car had been moved. No doubt my parents had brought it home when they realized I'd gone missing…again. They would probably give me hell when I showed up on their doorstep after disappearing for five days. But they would scold me and love me anyway. God, I loved my parents.
I staggered through the parking lot, oblivious to the blistering cold and focused only on searching. All I could think of was Skipping. I had to return to Middle Earth and change the future. I could do it. I knew I could.
Perhaps if I believed hard enough, it would actually work.
The shopping center parking lot led into a highway. Even at night, trucks and cars raced along the dark road, their engines roaring and their headlights flooding my vision. I stood on the curb, watching them go by.
How many times had I been in this position? How many times had I stepped into danger in order to Skip? A grim smile crossed my face. One of these days, it was going to kill me.
I stepped off the curb.
Lights flashed. A horn honked. Music played. Elves sang. Music stopped. People spoke.
"Is that you, Ana?"
I was standing in the middle of a grand dining room. The arched ceilings resembled the branches of trees, and the pillars had been carved with serpentine vines. I blinked and looked around. The room, with its soft golden light, was familiar, and it held the same elegant curved tables and carefully crafted benches as those in Rivendell.
Slowly, it dawned on me that I was, in fact, standing in the middle of Rivendell's great hall. Elrond sat at the high table, dressed in long green robes with a thin silver crown placed upon his dark head. He had half-risen from his seat and stared at me in wide-eyed surprise. I'm sure I wore a similar expression of horror on my face, but I was not looking at Elrond. I was looking at Thorin. That's right, Thorin, the King of Elf-Haters, sat at the high table on Elrond's left, amongst the people of honor. Thorin seemed a lot less surprised than Elrond, and honestly, his expression was more that of amused irritation than shock. Seated at the tables on either side of me with plates of food in front of them were the other members of the Company. On the edges of the hall, there were some elves holding instruments. They must have stopped playing at my abrupt arrival. Every eye was fixed on me.
Desperately, I scanned the hall, but Gandalf was nowhere to be seen.
"Hi," I said at last, managing a weak wave for Elrond and Thorin. "Long time no see. Is Gandalf here?"
"Who enters the realm of Rivendell with permission?" asked Elrond, maintaining composure even as he spoke in outrage. "And to do so undetected… Does she wield some fashion of witchcraft?"
Thorin looked thoroughly exhausted with the whole thing. "No. She is called Ana Stonbit. She comes and goes in such a manner often. She does not mean to intrude but such behavior comes naturally to her."
Ignoring Thorin's rather rude remark, I turned to Elrond and said, "Don't worry, your elvenness. We meet in the future, and I bring you food. But where is Gandalf?"
Elrond hesitated before saying, "He will join us shortly."
He spoke casually, but he had no idea how much relief his answer had given me. Gandalf was there. In Rivendell. I had Skipped to the right place on the first try. I wouldn't have to jump off one of Rivendell's balconies to Skip back to Ohio. It was fine. Gandalf would come, and I would tell him not to take the Gap of Rohan. It would be fine. The Fellowship would be fine.
Elrond's gaze flickered from me to Thorin and back. Slowly, he seemed to resign himself to my presence, and he settled back in his seat. "How do you know that we will meet in the future, Ana Stonbit? Do you have the gift of foresight?"
"Me?" I laughed. "No. I just kind of show up in the future and in the past from time to time."
"In the most irritating fashion," said Thorin unhelpfully.
"Ana," said Bofur, who was seated at the table to my right, "How are you? We have not seen you since the wargs attacked."
"Oh, uh." I shifted uncomfortably from side to side. I couldn't very well tell them that I had just seen the Fellowship murdered on their journey to the Gap of Rohan and was having a very hard time right now. To begin with, that would reveal to future to more people than necessary, and secondly, that would put a real downer on everyone's moods. I bit my lip, and after a moment's consideration, I said, "I'm all right."
"You look peaky," said Ori.
"Peaky?" I tried to smile, but now that I'd started thinking about it again, I couldn't wipe the image of Merry's lifeless eyes out of my mind.
"Peaky?" repeated Glóin. "I was thinking she looked more like a drowned rat. Her eyes have traces of red."
"Do they?" I pressed the backs of my hands to my slightly swollen eyelids. Well, I had been crying in a parking lot just a few minutes ago. There probably wasn't a lot I could do about my puffy eyes.
"Do not be so cruel," said Bofur, hitting Óin on the arm. "She helped save us from the trolls."
"I did?" My hands fell away from my eyes, and I stared around at the table of dwarves in confusion. "I remember running away from the trolls, and telling them to eat you instead of me."
"Well, yes," said Bofur. "That did happen. But you also threw a hot drink—you called it coffee—in their faces. It was very heroic. We were telling the elves about it earlier today…"
I frowned. "I don't remember that…"
I did not realize it right then, but it occurred to me later on that the fact that I met the dwarves at Bag End and partied with them must have changed my actions in the future when they encountered the trolls. Since they already knew me, they did not have to ask who I was and I did not have to explain why I was there. My presence at Bag End had caused a change in the future even without my intending to. Not in any significant way, but slightly… Of course, there is a drawback to this changing future thing—I didn't remember changing my actions with the trolls, because I was not actually there to change them. There were going to be some major holes in my memory of things compared to other people's memories.
"Well then, Ana Stonbit." Elrond's voice filled the entire hall. "Join us for dinner and wait for Gandalf to arrive. A friend of myself in the future is welcome in Rivendell anytime."
"Thanks," I said. Though I couldn't exactly agree that Elrond and I were really friends in the future. More like casual acquaintances.
"Sit here." Fíli scooted over on the bench to make room for me between him and Ori.
I sat down and dished up what looked to be a salad onto my plate. I wasn't hungry—I couldn't eat a bite with the nerves and the panic dancing around in my stomach—but I figured I should at least pretend to enjoy the feast Elrond had provided.
"You eat such food?" asked Ori, staring suspiciously at the green leaves on my plate.
"It's called lettuce," I said. "It's not really about enjoying or not enjoying. Lettuce doesn't really taste like anything."
Kíli took a tentative bite of a leaf. He screwed up his face and, after an agonizing struggle, managed to swallow the single piece of lettuce. "I prefer meat."
"We have lettuce in my world," I said. "But we usually put dressing on it to make it taste better. I don't suppose the elves have any Thousand Island?'
"Why would they have a thousand islands?" asked Ori.
"It's a type of…" I trailed off as, once again, the fresh memories of orcs and blood came pouring in my mind. I glanced up at Elrond's table. No sign of Gandalf. However, my eyes met Thorin's, and I realized that he had been watching me. His mouth twisted into a grimace when our gazes met. I attempted a smile but failed miserably. Turning back to the rest of the Company, I said, "Never mind."
"You say that quite often," said Fíli. "I am not quite sure what you mean by 'never mind'. You never have a mind? So you do not think? That does not make any sense—unless you are talking about Kíli."
"Well, yes," I said. "Kíli never thinks, but that's not what the phrase 'never mind' means. It basically means that I want you to forget what I just said because I don't feel like explaining the joke to you."
"Oh," said Fíli. "So you make a lot of jokes that we do not understand."
"Or her jokes are not funny," said Glóin.
I opened my mouth to reply, but just then. the doors to Elrond's hall opened and an old man with a gray beard and a blue, pointed hat stepped inside. Gandalf. It was Gandalf. He smiled across the hall at Elrond and started to say something, but I cut across him.
"Do not take the Gap of Rohan!"
I was practically stumbling out of my seat in my attempt to get to Gandalf. Fíli reached out to steady me, but I pushed his hand away and hurried across the hall to stand in front of Gandalf. Forgetting all Middle Earth protocol, I grabbed the wizard by the forearms and repeated, "Do not take the Gap of Rohan."
Gandalf stared.
The whole hall was silent. Every eye—of every elf, dwarf, and hobbit—was fixed on me. But I didn't care. I barely noticed. The only things that ran through my mind were the faces of the Fellowship. All I could see was the wizard that stood in front of me. The one person right then that could save them.
"Why would I take the Gap of Rohan?" asked Gandalf.
"Do not take the Gap of Rohan," I said again. My voice was thin and pitchy. I had to make him understand. It was important. For the sake of the Fellowship, I had to make him understand. "I cannot explain why but you will know when the time comes. Do not take the Gap of Rohan."
Gandalf stared.
I refused to release him until he agreed.
After a moment and with much reluctance, he nodded. "I understand."
"Good." I let go of his arms. The faces of the Fellowship, of Boromir, Merry, Frodo, Sam, Pippin, Aragorn, Gimli, and even Legolas, swam in front of me. They would be all right. Gandalf would protect them. The Fellowship would survive. They would live. I closed my eyes and let out a sigh of relief. "Good."