PART ONE: ANACHRONISM

Chapter LXXVI: Add A Little More To The Plate

"God damn you, Senturiel." I held the locket out and glared at the red gemstone. "I told you to bring me to the right place!"

I was getting some dark looks from the passing hobbits. Some of them actually went out of their way to avoid coming within five feet of me. Rather than Skip me to the Battle of Five Armies, the Senturiel had decided that Hobbiton was place I should be. So, there I stood on a cobblestone road, being avoided by creatures a good foot shorter than me as I yelled at the locket.

I placed the chain back around my neck and then looked about the town. There was something off about Hobbiton, though I couldn't quite name it. It seemed quiet, stiller than I remembered. My previous trips to Hobbiton had possessed a silliness and cheer to them whereas now a sort of grim, stillness seemed to have settled around the town.

"Ana?"

I turned around and saw the bright-eyed Rosie Cotton. Her curls bounced as she bounded along the road to my side. She wore a dark green dress that swayed about her ankles, and the other hobbits watched her with open admiration as she passed.

"Hey," I said. "I haven't seen you in ages."

"Not since Bilbo and Frodo's birthday party." Her smile was practically a ray of sunshine.

"How've you been?" I asked.

Rosie took a deep breath and smiled. "Things have changed in Hobbiton since you last saw us."

There was something in her tone that set me on edge. "What's happened?"

"Mister Frodo has left Bag End and taken dear Sam Gamgee with him."

I faked a gasp. I think it came out more dramatic and over-the-top than I intended because Rosie gave me a peculiar glance. Trying to look a little less shocked, I asked, "Where have they gone?"

"They were supposed to move Mister Frodo to a new home," she said. "But these cloaked men came and raided his new home in Buckland, and Mister Frodo was nowhere to be found. No one knows what happened to him. Or Sam."

"That's terrible," I said. I reached out and patted her shoulder awkwardly. "But I don't think you need to worry. Sam and Frodo are very capable hobbits."

My words didn't seem to do much to reassure her. I remembered how her eyes had glowed when she'd danced with Sam, and following that memories came the image of blood tricking down Sam's head.

I forced a smile and said, "I'll make sure they return in one piece, Rosie. Even if I have to tie them up in sacks and drag them through mountain ranges myself. I promise. I'll return them to you."

She nodded and a thin of a smile appeared at her lips. "I am sure they shall return—especially with your help, Ana. But I should tell you that their departure is not all that has changed in Hobbiton."

"What else?"

"Someone has moved into Bag End."

I gasped. "The Sackville-Bagginses?"

"Yes, but they have not treated it with disrespect." Rosie hesitated. Her eyes wandered up the hill until they came to rest on the round, green door of Bag End. "Rather, the Sackville-Bagginses have allowed someone else to move in with them."

My stomach twisted at these words. "Who?"

"I have never seen him," said Rosie. "I have only heard rumors. But they call him Sharkey."

I snorted. "That is the stupidest name I have ever heard. I mean, that sounds like a five-year-old didn't know what to name his pet fish."

Rosie stared at me for a second, her mouth hanging open. Then, she sighed and said, "Never mind the name. Do you know what this Sharkey has done to the Shire? From the safety of Bag End, he has slowly taken over the Shire and forcing us to obey his will. The freedom and joy that once filled Hobbiton has been sucked away into Bag End and the man that lives there under the protection of the Sackville-Bagginses."

The amusement had drained from me as I listened to Rosie's words. I wanted to help her, I really did, but I had so much on my plate right then between war and death and the Senturiel and Thorin and the Ring and Frodo and Sam—adding the troubles of Hobbiton to the list just seemed like too much for me to bear.

Something in my face must have showed, because Rosie's eyes grew very wide. Then, eternally kind, Rosie reached out and touched my hand. "You do what you must, Ana. I am sorry for laying our burdens on you. This is something us hobbits must take care of."

I smiled. "And this is why you're the perfect girl for Sam. Make sure I get an invite to the wedding."

Rosie's face turned bright red. I removed my hand from hers and caught hold of the locket. I snapped the clasp open and the red Senturiel glittered in the sunlight. I closed my hand over the rock—felt the cool stone against the palm of my hand—and muttered, "Work with me here, Senturiel."

Skip.

"Nazgûl!"

I released the locket and groaned. "Great. We really need to work on our communication skills here, Senturiel. I want to go to Thorin. I want to go to the Battle of Five Armies. Come on here. Work with me!"

"Watch out!"

I spun around and saw Faramir dart out from behind the ruins of white column. He tackled me to the ground just in time to avoid the black claws of a fell beast.

My head cracked on the hard ground. I groaned and rolled onto my stomach. Above me, Faramir was fighting an orc. I looked up just in time to see Faramir drive his sword through the orc's throat. The orc collapsed onto the ground next to me. I sat there, gasping and panting for a minute, before I looked up at Faramir. His face was covered in a thin layer of sweat and there were shadows under his eyes like he had not slept in a good, long while.

We were in Osgiliath, in case you were wondering, when it was being attacked by the nazgûl and the armies of Mordor. I wasn't sure which attack this was, for I knew during the war with Mordor, Gondor has won and lost possession of Osgiliath multiple times.

As Faramir shoved me out of the way of an orc blade, I began to wonder if the Senturiel held a grudge against me for eating it when I was five. If it wasn't going ot bring me to Thorin, why couldn't it Skip me somewhere same and warm?

"What are you doing here, Ana?" asked Faramir, offering me a hand and hauling me to my feet.

"You still ask that question?" I scoffed. "Did we just meet?"

"I ask out of habit," said Faramir.

"Oh." I brushed some dirt off my pants. "Well, I've got to go."

Faramir frowned. "Already? Are you going to jump off a cliff?"

"No, no." I shuddered at the idea of having to jump off a cliff or high building ever again. "I found out that I ate the Senturiel back when I was five and it's been in my stomach this whole time. So I got the Senturiel surgically removed and now I carry around in this locket that Thorin gave me because the Senturiel conveniently fit in the locket. Don't you love it when things work out so well?"

Faramir squinted at me. "That sounds suspicious."

"What? I think it sounds perfectly logical."

Faramir frowned. "Is this more of your—what do you call it?—sarcasm?"

I was saved from having to reply by the arrival of a group of orcs, and Faramir became preoccupied with trying to stay alive. When the orcs turned their pale yes on me, I opened the locket and grabbed hold of the Senturiel.

Skip.

"Alright." I said, my eyes wrenched shut. "I'm going to count to three and when I open my eyes, I expect to be standing near Thorin in the Battle of Five Armies—understand?" I paused. Now that I had time to think about it, standing with my eyes closed in the middle of a battle did not seem like a good idea. I took a deep breath and said as quickly as I possibly could. "Onetwothree."

I opened my eyes.

I was not in the middle of the Battle of Five Armies.

"God damn it! This isn't funny! Work with me here!"

The Senturiel had dumped me in the ruins of an old fortress. I don't even know how to describe it. Imagine a fortress where the dark towers resembled stone spikes pointing to the sky. Now, drape some silvery cobwebs on those spikes, and add a stormy, black sky overhead. Oh, and give the whole scene a chilly, eerie air. That would be this fortress.

The fell air sent chills down my spine. I stood on an exposed platform, and while I couldn't see any orcs or wargs around me, I had the uncomfortable feeling of being watched. I didn't like being out in the open and I fled down a flight of stairs to another, smaller platform of stone.

As I hid behind a dark pillar, I snapped open the locket and glared down at the Senturiel. Under my breath, I hissed, "Okay, Magic Rock, I don't like you and you don't like me. I think we've established that. But we can't act like children. We need to set aside our differences and work for the greater good—which means stop sending me to creepy and dangerous places."

An icy, biting breeze swept through the ruined fortress. I shivered, drawing closer to the pillar int the hopes that it would provide some shelter. I had no desire to stay in this place one second longer. I was about to open the locket when a thin voice called out through the air. "Agnâtnâtha."

I looked up and, peering around the dark pillar, I found myself facing several cages of metal suspended from chains. Most of the gibbets contain skeletons, the flesh long picked away from the bones by birds. Bile rose in my mouth, and I had to swallow it back down again. This was not a place I should be. Why would the Senturiel bring me here?

However, one of the cages, I noticed, had someone still living in it. He was all skin and bones, only a little more than a skeleton, with a wild, gray beard that surrounded his thin face. His faded blue eyes watched me through the bars of his cage. So shrunken and wrinkled was he that it took me a minute to realize he was a dwarf. Dark ink tattoos, with the zigzagged lines of dwarrows, covered his forehead and nose. Through the sharp bars of the cage, he extended a boney hand towards me.

"Bira…shagimi…" He voice was thin and cracked as he spoke in Khuzdul.

At first, I recoiled, disgusted by his stench and weathered skin. How long had he been imprisoned here? How long had he endured this torment? Pity clenched my heart, and I said, gently, "I'm sorry. I don't understand."

"Achrâchi gabilul… Birashagimi."

I took a step forward and then another. Slowly, I raise a hand to touch the old dwarf's fingertips. His fingers curled around mine, and I stared into his weathered, blue eyes.

"Birashagimi."

"I don't understand," I said again.

He released my fingers and sunk back into his cage. His voice creaking, he uttered one last line, "Gaubdûkhimâ gagin yâkùlib Mahal, agnâtnâtha," and then he was silent.

"What is your name?" I asked. "How did you come here? Where are you?" But no matter what or how I asked, the dwarf made no reply. He had said his piece in Khuzdul and now he had no more to say.

I didn't know what to do. I wanted to free him from this place, but a part of me knew that if I tried to move him from that cage, he would die. He was thin and breakable, and his life was already near its end. Still, it felt wrong to leave him to the darkness of this place.

"I would take you away with me," I said, "but I must return to the Battle of Five Armies and find Thorin."

The dwarf stared past me with empty eyes.

Something caused the hairs on the back of my neck to prick. Some sliver of instinct jumped in my chest, telling me to turn around. When I did, I almost screamed.

A ghostly king with a skeletal face, a thorny crown, and dark pits for eyes stood behind me. He had none of the greenish glow of Ráoulidor and instead blazed like a white fire. It sent chills through my body, and I suddenly understood the blankness in the dwarf's eyes. This ghost was horror incarnate. He held a sharp, white sword in his right hand. He reared up, ready to strike me. I screamed and fell backwards onto the cold, hard ground.

I grasped my locket and tried to pry open the clasp. I was about to open it when a black shadow appeared behind the ghostly king. A scream erupted from my lips before I could control myself. I felt a wave of fear wash over me. This black shadow. It wanted to hurt me. It wanted to destroy every cell of my being and it would laugh while watching me die. The terror was overwhelming. My whole body was trembling. I could barely clutch the locket in my fingers, let alone find the clasp to open it. The hooded figure was watching me. He lifted his head and beneath the darkness I could see a single, blazing red eye.

A terrible voice filled the air. It felt as though knives were digging into my skull, threatening to break the bone. I covered my ears and fought back another scream.

The ghostly king extended a thin hand towards me. His fingers reached for my neck, and at first, I thought he meant to strangle me. But then I felt the cool chain of the locket around my neck and realized his true target.

Despite the agonizing pain in my head, I dropped a hand to my chest and grabbed hold of the locket.

Skip.

The snap of bones. The howl of a warg. The clash of metal. The cry of pain. The silence of death. I was surrounded by the dead and dying. The ring of battle filled my ears. But, for once, I wasn't afraid of war. I was relieved. The dark figure was gone. The dark, hooded figure that controlled the ghostly king was gone. I was safe. The Senturiel was far from his reach. Even if I was surrounded by orcs and wargs and men and elves and dwarves—I was safe from the hooded figure.

An orc caught sight of me. He lunged forward, shifting the blade in his right hand.

I reached down to my right boot and pulled out the Sword Breaker.

The orc let out a bark of laughter at the sight of my weapon. He snapped something taunting in his foul language.

I tried to look as tough and intimidating as possible. "Clearly, you have never met the Sword Breaker before."

The orc took a step forward—and was hit in the head with a wooden staff.

"God damn it, Gandalf!" I cried, rounding on the wizard dressed in gray robes. "Do you mind? I was trying to prove the orc shouldn't underestimate me."

With a flick of his sword, Gandalf finished off the orc. He turned to me, his blue eyes flashing in the pale morning light. "The day you frighten an orc, it will be the end of the world as we know it."

I shrugged. "The world's already ending, so you might as well give me a shot." I paused. My eyes flickered around the battlefield. We stood in the shadow of the Lonely Mountain, surrounded by elves, dwarves, men, and orcs. The Senturiel had finally taken me to the Battle of Five Armies. After the fear of the hooded figure and the caged dwarf, I had almost forgotten my purpose, but now I turned to Gandalf and asked, "Where's Thorin?"

"I do not know," said Gandalf. He drove his sword through an orc's stomach.

"I need him," I said. "I would complain to the Senturiel but it actually listened to me this time."

"This time?"

"I wanted to get here and it brought me to Hobbiton and Osgiliath and…" My voice trailed off. "Do you know a hooded figure with red eyes that controls ghosts?"

Gandalf's eyes narrowed. His hand gripping his staff turned white as he gripped the staff tightly. "The Necromancer?"

"The what?"

"He calls himself the Necromancer, though that is not the name we know him by."

My heart dropped. "What name do we know him by?"

Gandalf glanced left and right (taking care of an orc while he was at it) before answering. "Sauron."

I choked. I had come face to face with Sauron. The frigging giant eye on top of the frigging giant tower in the middle of Mordor that has unleashed armies on my friends and caused some of my friends to die. I had come face to face with him. I took a deep, shaking breath. And then, slowly, I began to remember the story I'd heard so long ago from Galadriel. The reason why the Dúnedain had been moving the Senturiel to Lórien. It had been for safekeeping…from the shadow of Mordor…and the reach of Sauron…

"The Necromancer…" I hesitated. "He wouldn't happen to know what the Senturiel is, would he?"

Gandalf's face paled slightly. "Tell me everything."

"I, er, met him in the ruined fortress thing."

"Dol Guldur?"

"Sure. He met him and a ghostly king—"

"The Witch-King of Angmar?"

I didn't know the Witch-King from any of the other nazgûl, so I only nodded.

Gandalf frowned. He grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me away just before an orc could cleave me in half. I ducked as Gandalf drove his sword through the orc's chest. As he released me, Gandalf said, "The Council drove the Necromancer from Dol Guldur not three days ago."

"I must have met him and the Witch-King before then," I said.

A sudden, inexplicable wave of fear overtook me. I could have sworn I felt an icy hand brush across me. I spun around, trying to see the Witch-King amongst the armies. There was nothing. Death was everywhere, but the dead stayed dead. Not ghosts rose from, their graves.

"What happened to the Witch-King?" I asked.

"He is the nazgûl," said Gandalf. "He cannot be killed by any living man."

Again, I felt the icy hand on me, and I jumped backwards, knocking into an orc. Gandalf pulled me away from the orc's blade. After he dealt with the orc, he rounded on me. "Do not forget where you are, Ana."

I shook my head, looking around me, but unable to see the ghostly figure. "He's coming, Gandalf. He heard me say I needed to come here."

The locket felt hot against my skin. I raised a hand to touch the melt and jerked my hand back from burning heat. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

"He would not dare reveal himself here," said Gandalf. "The morning sun still shines on the Lonely Mountain."

"Something is wrong," I said. I took a step back and almost tripped over a dead body. "The Senturiel is burning. Why? Why does he want this thing?"

"You do not know the legends of the Senturiel," said Gandalf. "Many desire the power to pass through time and worlds." He seemed to believe me now, his clear eyes scanning the battlefield for any sign of a nazgûl. "Ana, we must not let him have it."

Again, the cold chill brushed past me, and I let out a yelp.

"God damn it," I cried. "I have enough problems without a frigging Witch-King on my plate!" I glared down at the Senturiel. "This is your fault. I wish I could just crush you into a thousand pieces and be done with you!"

Gandalf stared.

"I know, I know," I continued, "magic rocks don't just get crushed to a thousand pieces. You have to throw them in a frigging volcano or something—because that's how you get things done in Middle Earth. We don't just crush things at home—No, we go on a cross-country journey full of perils to throw things into a volcano!" I paused and stared down at the Senturiel. "Do you think you'd be destroyed if I threw you into a volcano?"

Gandalf had finally had enough of my rant. "Ana, tell me what happened in Dol Guldur."

"I met the Necromancer and the Witch-King," I said. "They saw me use the Senturiel and they heard me say that I needed to come to the Battle of the Five Armies." I took a deep, shaky breath. "I need to leave. If I Skip out of here then he won't find me. But I need to find Thorin. Or I could do that later. If I Skip enough, I'm bound to come back here, right?" I paused and stared down at the locket hanging around my neck. "Right?"

The Senturiel didn't respond.

Gandalf, however, did. "Ana, I know you are afraid. But this is not the place to let fear overcome you. The Necromancer and the Witch-King have just been driven out of Dol Guldur. They are weak. Even if they come looking for the gift of the Valar, I can protect you. Do not give in to fear. Trust me, Ana."

I stared up at Gandalf, but all I could see the was the flaming red eye of the hood figure and the bone-white hands of ghost king. No one could protect me from that.

I grasped the locket.

Skip.

Note: There would be so many spoilers in this story if I translated the Khuzdul. Some of it will be translated...eventually.