Stu slowly cracked open one eye and waited for his surroundings to come into focus. A foul creature had crawled in to his mouth during the night and died. The entire USC drum corps was practicing in his head. His one open eye scanned the room while his brain tried to assemble the bleary picture into something coherent and process the necessary data needed for Stu to be able to remember just where in the hell he was.
He felt a warm body at his back and snuggled closer. Bare skin brushed bare skin and Stu froze, both eyes flying wide as he stared at the leaf-patterned wall. Cautiously he placed his hand behind him and gingerly groped the body pressed so near his. He squeezed his eyes shut.
“Oh, God.”
Just then the door to his sitting room flew open so hard that it crashed back against the wall with a boom. It bounced off the plaster and ricocheted right back in to the stormy face of Argyle. A muffled curse drifted through the closed door. The door again opened, but this time more slowly. He entered the bedchambers and eyeballed the twin lumps beneath the duvet.
“Come out, Arwen.” He snapped as he lifted the end of the covers. He peered under the duvet and then slowly straightened. “I’m sorry, Steward, I thought you were with Arwen.” He said sheepishly and made a hasty exit.
Stu pulled the pillow over his head and wished he could die. The warm body next to him snuggled closer.
The door opened a crack and a bright, cheerful face peered in the room. “Hallu? Up yet? Lord Elrond says we are to depart soon and I can’t find Merry. He wouldn’t be in here, would he?”
Without saying a word, Stu reached under the covers and hiked them up just enough to display twin sets of feet.
“I don’t suppose Frodo is in there, then? Ah, well. I’ll find them, never you mind.” The door squeaked shut.
The exposed feet curled back under the duvet and planted themselves firmly in Stu’s back.
“Oh, God,” he moaned again. “Why me?”
Gently he extracted himself from the possessive embrace. Just as he was about to roll off the bed, the door again opened and Stu dove for the covers.
“Do you people ever think to knock?” He hissed, for that was all he could manage over the drum corps which had gone from a rousing Souza style march to an all out Aeorsmith meets Metallica does Alice In Chains imitating Marilyn Manson jam session.
Sam stood forlornly in the door. “Begging your pardon, Mr. Steward, but I was wondering if you might know the where abouts of Strider. Seems he’s gone missing and I thought, well..”
Stu sat upright, though the effort made his stomach bolt for other regions, namely his throat, and pointed a stiff arm at the door. “Out. Get out.”
“I meant no harm, if you catch my meaning, Mr. Steward,” Sam said as he beat a hasty retreat.
Stu swallowed and tried breathing deeply to calm his stomach. For a moment it worked and he lay back down with his eyes closed. The covers were bunched around his waist and a leg was thrown over his thighs, but thinking about it required far more energy than he currently possessed. He dropped one leg on the floor, hoping the old trick would stop the room’s rapid counter-clockwise spin.
There was a brief rap on the door and Stu groaned as the door opened a crack. “My apologies, Master Steward. I was wondering if you’d seen—Ah. Well, yes of course. Lord Elrond is waiting for the party to gather. We will depart as evening comes, to lessen the chances of detection.” Grandlaff softly closed the door.
Painfully Stu eased from the bed, careful not to disturb the one sleeping next to him. Not that they, apparently, could be disturbed for they had slept through an entire parade. Stu was reminded of Sunday mornings as a teenager when his younger siblings had continuously invaded his room at his mother’s behest to rouse him for church services. Infrequently he’d been hung over; mostly he’d been exhausted; never had there been another body in his bed.
He found a loose robe and draped it over his abused body. He gathered clean clothes and headed in the direction of the communal bathing room. Perhaps a long soak would improve his disposition and ease the ache in his head. Stu would have committed murder for a cup of coffee, strong with two sugars. The best he could hope for was tea with milk.
Thankfully the bathing pool was empty and he had it to himself. He stripped and sank down into the warm water. He did not quite understand how it was that there was always hot water bubbling in the pool but not so much as a light bulb to be found in Imladris. He accepted it the same way he accepted that he was in a place called Middle Earth surrounded by ‘Elves’ and magical rings and little people who looked like children, smoked pipes and had incredibly hairy feet. He could only hope that he would wake up soon. His dream had gotten stranger and stranger. Any minute he would start referring to himself as Alice. And he did not mean Cooper.
Once again dressed and feeling as well as he could, Stu made his way to the main hall. A buffet was still spread, despite the lateness of the hour, and consisted of a variety of fruits and breads and cheeses. He had yet to accustom himself to not having eggs and bacon, a common love between himself and Half Lings. They, too, enjoyed crispy bacon sizzling in its own juices. They had learned to make do. Apparently Elves did not eat pork at all and very little beef.
Stu discovered he was alone and breathed a sigh
of a relief. He was not up for company and the prerequisite conversation other
people would entail. He selected something that looked like cantaloupe and
a few selections of odd cheeses and a cup of tea and took them to a table
near a corner. The idea of sitting so close to the open balcony where the
bright autumn sun sparkled and illuminated the main part of the room was more
than he could stand. Even thinking about it made his eyes sting and water
and his head pound all the more. He swore that he would never again touch
Elven wine.
“Good morn,” Boomer sat in a chair opposite without asking. “I
see you, too, feel the effects of the wicked brew the elves call wine.”
His eyes focused on Stu’s neck. “You are ready to begin our great
adventure?”
Stu did not like the way Boomer stared at his throat and he was reminded of a newspaper article he’d once read about people who were convinced they were vampires. “Should I ask for some garlic?” He pulled the all ready tight neck of his tunic more closely.
Boomer’s eyes finally lifted from his throat. “What is garlic?”
Stu was saved an answer and or explanation by the arrival of Argyle. “Steward, I would again apologize for interrupting you this morning. I truly thought Arwen had snuck away with you last night. I am truly sorry and hope you will forgive me.”
Boomer coughed and a red flush crept across his cheeks. “Excuse me,” he muttered and all but ran for the door.
Stu rolled his eyes. “No matter, Argyle. You were not the only one who came looking for someone. I seem to have left quite an impression last night. I hope I did not dance on a table wearing nothing but a lamp shade.”
“I don’t think so,” Argyle looked puzzled but brazened out the strange comment. He longed to make friends with Steward, if for nothing else, than he was a Ring Bearer. Of course, the events of the morning had raised the stranger somewhat in Argyle’s eyes. Not only had he not had Arwen in his bed, but also the one he did have came as such a shock that Argyle was forced to reconsider his previous opinions.
Just then, a stoop shouldered little fellow came in dressed in brown short pants and a bright yellow vest. Over his vest, he wore a blue shawl. His hair was grizzled and he trembled with age. His extraordinarily large feet were hair any bear. “Oh, my lad, there you are.” He toddled up to Argyle and Stu.
Argyle bowed. “Mister Baggins, it is good to see you up and about. I trust your visit with Frit-Frodo has gone well?”
The gnome-like creature rubbed his palms together. “I am always glad to see family again.”
“May I present Steward of Wran—Ring-gold,” Argyle still stumbled over the name of Stewarts’ home, but his made a valiant effort to correct himself. “Steward, this is the finder of the One Ring, Mister Bilbo Baggins. Fri-odo and he are related.” He forbore trying to explain the relationship between Bilbo and the younger hobbit. Only another hobbit would understand it, anyway.
Stu would have loved to be alone, but since he wasn’t, he made the best of the situation. Rising from his seat, he bowed, as he’d seen the others do. “Dildo how good to meet you at long last. I heard much of you at the council meeting.”
The elderly Half Ling blinked for a moment. “Yes, quite right. I understand you are a co-ring bearer?” His eyes lit with an inner fire that made Stu shiver.
“I don’t know about being a co-anything. I have a ring that is identical to the magical one you once possessed, but Boomer managed to swallow both rings and now I am wearing one while Frito wears the other. We were unable to tell whose ring was whose without too much risk. I guess my old wedding band goes into the fire.”
Bilbo nodded, giving the illusion that he’d understood more than one word in three of Stu’s speech. “I would like to see my old ring again. Would you mind?”
Instinctively, Stu clutched his collar and stepped back, not wishing to allow the old man to touch him or the ring. He looked to Argyle for guidance, but before the park ranger could say anything, a hideous and instantaneous transformation came over Dildo.
The old Hobbit’s face contorted and his eyes bulged from his sockets. His mouth opened wide in a terrifying sneer and he growled. With hands twisted into claws, he lunged at Stu.
Afterwards, Argyle would not be able to clearly say what had happened. As Bilbo lunged at Steward, the man squeaked and leapt in to the air. He seemed to hang there for several heartbeats, with his arms spread wide and his feet drawn up close to his body. Then time moved forward again and Steward’s right leg straightened with alarming force. His foot caught Bilbo beneath the chin and the old hobbit went sailing across the room where he landed atop the buffet table. Fruit and cheese and bread erupted as if propelled from the cracks of Mount Doom. Argyle turned back to Steward in time to witness him lightly touching back to the ground.
“Whatdafuck?” He shouted as he glared from the still hobbit to Argyle.
Bilbo did not move, even as young Frito came running into the room accompanied by the other three Half Lings. Around Frito’s waist hung a sword and he drew it, turning instantly on Steward. “What did you do to my uncle?”
Instantly, Argyle stepped between the angry Half Ling and Steward. “He tried to take the ring, Frito. Steward was only defending himself.”
From beside Bilbo, Pip looked up, his face streaked with tears. “Dammit, Strider, he’s dead.”
Shocked silence followed Pip’s announcement. Mary sat with his head on Pip’s shoulder and cried. Argyle tried to comfort Frito while Stu stood with his head hanging down and feeling guilty as hell. He had not meant to kill the aging Half Ling. He’d had no idea that Dildo was so fragile. He only wished to protect the ring, which Elrond had ordered him to do.
He felt someone pat his hand and looked down into Glimmergroin’s bearded face. “Tis a shame, lad, but the Ring must be protected, even from the likes of us. You did the right thing.”
“Indeed, Steward,” Legolas laid a hand on Stu’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “You had to protect the Ring. In time young Fri-Frodo will forgive you.”
Grandlaff shook his head sadly. “So passes another great friend.”
“The ring tried one last time to use him,” mused Elrond. He stood near the corpse and watched as the hobbits mourned their old friend and kin. “Let us not grieve, for his life was long and full. Nor should we hold anger in our hearts. 'Twas not Bilbo’s fault that the ring possessed him any more than Steward is to blame for trying to save it. He performed his duty and now we all know he is capable of defending both himself and the ring.”
Solemnly, elves came and removed Bilbo’s body from the room while others cleaned up the mess. Stu returned to his room to finish packing what little gear he owned. No matter how hard they had pressed, Stu refused the loan of a sword. After Bilbo’s death and Argyle’s account of what happened, no one suggested he needed an edged weapon again. All he carried was a long knife, one change of clothes and a cloak.
On the evening of November 16, a party of ten
set out from Rivendell. Few, if any, ever thought they’d ever been seen
alive again.