The Dream - Part 8

by Bex

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It had been agreed that my role in the Ringbearer's 'early' arrival (But was it? Really? Or was this just the way it now was? And the other tale now a false one?) would be kept discreet for now. So, far as the Hobbits would know, Temeril and I were just two no-bodies who happened to be there as they stepped wearily and saddle-sore into the main hall, to be welcomed graciously by the Lord of Imladris, then led off to their rooms by serenely courteous elven servants.

At least, the Hobbits tramped off readily enough, with the one I guessed was Sam fussing over one who would of course be Frodo. The two men lingered: Gandalf, and the man with him, who was none other than...

"Estel...Welcome back." Elrond warmly greeted him, then the wizard. Yes, Elrond had been a Foster father of sorts to him, I recalled. Oh, good Lord, and then Aragorn'd gone and--

It was about then that I was quite grateful I'd at long last been taught rudimentary mind-shielding, and had mine in place. If there was a time to have it...it was now.

I gulped inwardly and decided we'd seen enough - it was time to sidle off. Before Temeril and I could retreat, though, Elrond's voice called to us.

"Lady Sarah...Temeril...we who are here will all meet together in two hour's time in the map room. Further counsel is now necessary."

We both nodded.

Three sets of keen eyes looked in our direction. Gandalf must have guessed, regarding our curiosity.

"Events...have already...begun to change," he added quietly.

I nodded again, my heart sinking. Despite the fact that all had safely arrived at Imladris...I could tell that he didn't mean 'change' in a good way.

Oh, dear.

*****

Under scrutiny again.

Elrond and Gandalf, and Elrond's advisory staff (or so I'd labled them) seemed to trust me...but to the heir of Isildur, I was a new curiosity. He sat, bathed and changed from his travel-worn clothing to finer garments fit for Elrond's House (or even a King), and peered keenly at me, this 'seer' unbidden, yet dropped into their midst.

Our formal introduction over, I shifted a little uncomfortably under his gaze. What exactly had he been told?

What I was about to hear drove my self-consciousness out of my mind but good as Gandalf spoke.

"Saruman knows of the Ring."

I blinked. "Well, yes...of course. He knows it exists in general..."

The Istar's quiet voice forestalled my wittering. "He knew it to be in Frodo's hands."

For a moment it didn't register. Then I sat up as much as I could in my chair. "What?!"

I wasn't the only one surprised. My reaction far outstripped the others', though. I sat there, stunned, finally adding, "How do you know this?"

Aragorn spoke then. "He has men, Southron men stationed in Bree, the other settlements surrounding the Shire. We Rangers had been noting their movement into the area all this early Spring." He paused. "I happened to be in Bree a fortnight back, and noticed an especially large number of them there, many staying at the Pony. They said they were seeking trade with the Southfarthing, in pipeweed."

He paused. "A few days later, Nob told me several who had stopped at the Pony that very day had also mentioned the name Frodo Baggins, and inquired after the most direct route through the Shire. I took note of that, and it was well I did...for I met with Gandalf there later that very evening, against all expectation, as I did not hope to see him again until mid-summer, by his reckoning."

Gandalf took up the tale at this point. "When I heard that, we both made to Hobbiton with great haste, riding without pause. As it was, we were barely in time." He paused.

Damn him for playing story teller and drawing it out! 'Barely in time to do what?!"

"Saruman had sent men to find Frodo. And the Ring. We arrived to find Frodo under attack that very hour - by two Ruffians from among those sent by Saruman. One had just wounded him with a knife; Frodo later told us how he'd returned to his hole that evening to find them ransacking it. Searching for something. When he confronted them, they attacked him."

I gawped. "So he was wounded by them, not--"

Aragorn nodded. "A more ...ordinary sort of wound. Made by an ordinary blade. Fortunate...despite all."

"And he still had the--?"

Both men nodded. "As I said...verily in the nick of time did we arrive."

It sounded as if Gandalf might have filled Aragorn in on some of the details of what-might-have-been. What might-still-be?

Oh, good Lord...this was going to tie my brain in knots.

"What happened to them?"

"They fought unusually fiercely...for mere 'thieves'. One I was forced to slay. The other escaped, though, I would say, gravely wounded. Fortunately, Frodo's wound was not life-threatening - we dressed it and left that very night."

I was still focused on the main issue. "My God...he knows...somehow he knows. How?"

All glances fastened on me. Not from suspicion. Perhaps hoping I'd have a ready answer to this new twist? Far from it.

My mind reeled. What Saruman knew, Sauron, defacto, did... Except for the fact that in the original story, the head of the White Council had kept his share of secrets from the dark lord he'd allied himself to. Or at least had tried to. Therein might lie some hope...

Either from his natural astuteness or due to my still new shielding, Gandalf again seemed to guess my general thoughts. "If Sauron knew of the Ring in as much detail as Saruman seems to...we would likely have already been lost. He would not, I think, have hesitated to send in the Nine the moment he knew." I nodded nervously. "These were only Southrons in the service of Saruman."

"How were you so sure of this...?"

Gandalf's eyes glinted slightly. "We asked one man, the one wounded mortally. Ere he died. He spat at us, cursed us, and told us 'Sharkey' would see us paid for our deed."

We all sat, sober. Saruman's nickname among his people. It seemed fairly obvious. Saruman knew what he ought not to have known yet. The 'story' had already changed.

And there was no telling where it might go now.

I fancied I felt their gazes returning to me, as I sat, refusing to make eye contact with any of them.

"It's changed, " I told them, rather unneccesarily. "This wasn't supposed to happen." I imagined Elrond was about to comment with one of his common sensical rejoinders and hurriedly interjected, "I know; it's the story now." I shook my head helplesly. "I have no idea what's going to happen now. No real idea."

I sat there, my mind limping in circles. I did this. I changed the story, and now it's changing all over.

What have I done?

As it turned out, had we all known then the reason why Saruman knew the specifics regarding the Ring so early on in the 'story'...we'd have scarce slept easier.

Rather less so, in fact.

*****

Now, Imladris was practically crawling with non-elvish guests. Or so it seemed to me, after a couple of weeks of being the only human there.

I kept running into the Hobbits especially, passing them in corridors with a smile and a nod. I hadn't been introduced formally, and thus was merely another inhabitant of Imladris as far as they knew, and it was a real treat to be seen as a 'regular' by someone newer than me.

That illusion lasted for about two days...until I discovered that Bilbo had ratted me out.

I was sitting under the apple tree in the south simples garden, dreaming while still awake, something I still did occcasionally. Though fortunately not to the extent that I had earlier that week.

I was resting, eyes closed, legs straight, my grey-blue skirt spread neatly out, my back against the trunk. Above me pink buds were poised, just on the brink of bursting open.

Somewhere nearby, a robin who had been piping energetically stopped. I heard nothing obvious, but still felt the faintest sense of presence, and so, opened my eyes. Before I could turn my head to look, though, someone said apologetically:

"I'm not disturbing you, I hope..."

I looked. It was Frodo, hands casually in breech pockets, rolled shirt sleeves, touseled hair and wide eyes. That fair innocent, that sacrificial boy-man...

I shook myself inwardly. Stop it; he's a grown man among his people. A Country Squire, not a completely feckless youth.

He smiled uncertainly, and I realized that due to my wool-gathering he did not yet know my disposition. I smiled. "Hello," I said.

He seemed to relax a trifle, moving forward a few feet, then stopping and bowing slightly. "Frodo Baggins at your service, Lady Sarah."

I winced, and his smile faltered. "I am sorry, I did not mean to offend-"

I hastened to reassure him. "No, it is I who must apologise - the fault is not yours..." We both dithered, uncertain, awkward, and I hurried to break the stalemate - more than a few such moments were too many. "You must forgive me - the title of 'Lady' does not suit me. But the fault is mine alone."

More silence. Oh, this was awful.

My mouth twisted, as I glanced down, and then up again. 'Might we start this over again?"

For a moment he wasn't certain what I meant, then caught my meaning, his own wry smile tugging at his face. "If you wish."

I smirked. "I do." Brushing off my skirt, I shifted position to kneel before him so that we were roughly face-to-face - he a little taller than I as I knelt - and extended my hand. "Among my people, the custom is thus: to clasp hands as we greet each other."

Peering at my pro-offered hand, he readily extended his, his own smile widening. "And what then?"

Our right hands clasped, and I gently moved them up and down. "We shake them slightly, like so. This shows we will not attack each other."

"And?"

"We greet. Hello, Mister Baggins. I am Sarah Deckker - I'm very pleased to meet you."

"We say, 'Frodo Baggins, at your service and your family's.'" He paused solemnly, then grinned. "But I am also pleased to meet you, Sarah."

Oh, this fellow had some charm, all right. I grinned back, my brows raising. "Well, I would offer my service to you and family also...but I would first have to know what that involves."

He chuckled. "It means you'd better expect to have the whole lot of us to tea the next time we're in the neighborhood. Best dishes, too."

We let go of each other and I smiled wryly. "Might be a bit difficult. I'm a bit far from home."

"So it's true, what my uncle said, then..."

I glanced away momentarily, sitting back on my haunches. "What did he tell you?"

"That you hailed from a far land, had come with timely warnings of Saruman's treachery..."

I winced, this time only inwardly. Already the story was getting bandied about...though not quite in the way I'd feared. This was not bad at all. I could live with this version quite nicely.

"From a far land, yes. I had...heard of danger to you." I paused and looked at him again. "Because of what you carry."

He gazed back at me, gone solemn now. "That's why I came to find you. To thank you for the warning. Had not Gandalf and Aragorn known to come aid me, I might have been killed, what I was entrusted with taken."

I nodded. "You're very welcome."

His expression shifted again, a shade towards bemused/amused. "Another saying from your land?"

I smiled. 'Yes."

We both dithered a bit, and he moved restlessly. I wondered if his wound, even though not born of a morgul's malice, still bothered him. "I'm truly sorry if I offended...when I greeted you at first..." he said quietly.

I waved a dismissive hand. "They keep using that with me, I suppose it is customary; I ought not to dislike it. It's just...in my land...I am not a 'Lady'." I shrugged. "I simply am not."

Frodo smiled sympathetically. "They take a bit of getting used to, don't they? Sometimes so very formal. As if...as if they live the songs we can only listen to, and try to remember. But I daresay... they do not use such names without cause."

I felt my awkwardness returning. He saw it, I think, for he smoothly disengaged himself then, spoke of meeting up with his companions, inquired if I would be at the feast being held that night? Perhaps I might meet the rest of them then?

I smiled politely, my mind in a funk. Feast? Had I missed something? But I nodded. Of course. I would see them then.

Frodo extended his hand then, his brows raising just the slightest in expectation. I couldn't suppress a smirk and shook my head slightly as I gave him a hearty good-bye shake. The engaging rascal had a mischevious grin on his face again.

I watched him stroll away, his hands back in pockets, and shook my head again. Not quite the way I'd expected to meet the famous Mister Frodo Baggins.

Then again, he wasn't quite famous yet... was he?

~End Part 8~