Trapped Mind

Rating: NC-17 - or R

Summary: A rational detective from our world that is transformed into a Hobbit struggling to find her way back and be restored to human-hood. Complications are bound to happen.

Category: romance, drama, action, angst, sex – okay, it has it all. ;)

A/N: I wonder if this is strictly a Mary Sue? My protagonist is not involved with the Ring quest at all. She meets Frodo pre-Ring and post-quest, but she's not meddling with the great war itself at all. She has her own quest and problems to attend to. I'm mostly concerned with changes here. Outward changes and inward changes and how they affect the way we look at life and our surroundings in general. The Frodo in this story is not Elijah Wood. However, I did provide him with blue eyes as a tributeKrysKrystal Baggins whose great fiction you all can read somewhere else on this site. Other than that, he's closer to the book than to the film.

In the interest of story flow and plot I did reduce the length of time between the birthday party and Frodo leaving the Shire with the Ring – in that regard, the story line follows the film.

Other than that I'm sure the most blatant Tolkien fans of you can find plentystorstory cock-ups and mistakes. I'm not awfully good with Middle Earth mythology and language either. You're hereby warned. Nor should readers with an aversion towards the image of a young Frodo in sexual ingsings read on from here. If such offends you, do yourself a favour and find a PG-13 or less story to peruse.

More on language: I'm Danish, so you will find more than one grammar mistake and odd expressions, I'm sure. Please try to ignore it. It's difficult writing in a language other than one's mother's tongue.

R&R: Is welcome, of course. All comments are interesting, but please take the above A/N into consideration before you flame my butt into cinders. If, however, you feel the irresistible urge to flame me good and proper, then give it all you have got. I have to admit: I rather like it - I find it envigourating. ;)

She didn't remember much from her first time after the transformation. Bits and pieces of sensory information slowly made it through to her dull brain that had been drugged by the numbing effect of shock. As time went by, she weakly recollected vague images of flashing lights, a big black beast leaping for a shape that yelped, dark ominous shadows falling on her path, an icy cold wind that penetrated even her bones and psychedelic sounds that appeared to match the strange colours that met her strained retina.

The world did not look, smell, feel, sound, seem like she remembered it.

For one thing, her hearing was extremely acute all of a sudden. The smallest animal with the softest feet could be heard by her ears that felt bigger than usual and oddly more sensitive.

Her olfactory sense had ced aed as well. Subtle scents of bark and resin were suddenly identified by her nose by an ability that rivalled that of her dog.

Her dog.

She shook her head gingerly.

Yes, she had a dog. A comforting sniffing sound nearby verified that piece of her recovered memory.

And then there was her tactile sense. Surfaces were either softer, harder or coarser to the touch. It pained her at first. Now she was slowly getting used to it.

The eyes. Not much difference. Yet it appeared as if her peripheral vision had been enhanced. And she could see farther….

She shook her head gingerly again.

She had a strange feeling of not being completely in synch with her own body. It was as if her brain had not yet learned how to process the neural messages that was sent to it via the senses. She had trouble translating the input. That might be the reason for her confusion and slight lapse of memory as well, she deduced.

Deduced.

That's right.

She was used to deduce…. stuff. Detection.

She had been….

And her life flooded back at her, nearly drowning her already hard working brain.

Life was good.

This day was one of the days that Gandalf the Grey, Mithrandir to the Elves, thought that Life was actually worth living.

A pipe with good weed in his mouth and a calm, steady horse underneath him with the sun blazing, warming, yet not roasting and a breeze to rustle his long beard appeared to be the recipe any old wizard needed for peace of mind.

The tall magician let his eyes sweep over the landscape. Curving hills with green luscious grass, a crystal blue sky that almost seemed incandescent and strong healthy trunks of trees with majestic branches that reached out to touch the few dotted clouds floating by. Nature was magnificent. Nature was gracious. Nature was all-powerful. Nature could squeeze him and all living beings like a bug…

… Nature was to be protected.

A frown made it between Gandalf's eyes. There was the matter of the orcs… so fond of felling trees.

The old man concentrated. Today. Of all days. He would not let himself worry.

Today he would…

… his horse reared.

Many years of horseback riding and intense training helped him remain in the saddle. The rearing had been completely unexpected – he hadn't even noticed subtle signs like flittering eyes or moving ears of the noble bay head that now so actively moved in front of him. It was as if the horse had been taken just as much by surprise as he had. The reason for this was soon revealed. From underneath the bushes a black… wolf?.. suddenly shot out, yapping at the horse that started dancing nervously on its slim legs. Gandalf leaned over to get a better view.

A dog. A black dog, at that. A black, completely harmless dog with a wagging tail and body language signalling ready for play. Gandalf sighed irritably.

Then something else happened.

A voice from the right – from behind the bushes.

"Oh, good! Finally I meet someone!"

A hoarse voice, but definitely feminine. Gandalf's horse had stopped dancing. He wasn't really afraid of dogs and females. They had just taken him by surprise, being just as wrapped up in this sunny beautiful day as his rider.

"Can you tell me where I am?"

The tall mage with the bushy beard, the pointed hat and the long, grey robe could not even control his eyebrows as they crept up, up and further up into his hairline already hidden by the rim of his hat. Anybody seeing the mage for the first time wouldn't even believe he had eyebrows. Before him was a Hobbit lass with a torn blue shirt, much too big for her, and a pair of trousers that looked more of human origin than anything else. A piece of rope was making sure the garments didn't make it down to her ankles.

"Um… greetings, young one," he said rather lamely. The horse tipped his sensitive ears round by the sound of his rider's voice. There was a confusion in it that he hadn't heard before. It made him take a few steps sideways, uneasy.

"Right," the impatient reply was.

Gandalf's eyebrows were down in their usual place. Now he was frowning. He didn't like her tone.

"You don't know where you are?"

She shook her dishevelled head and made her unruly tresses dance clumsily round her face.

"Do I look local?"

"Local? What do you mean, child?" The mage was getting annoyed. This was not the perfect continuation to an otherwise perfect day.

"What do I mean? I thought you could tell just by looking at me. Listen, you carry a mobile phone? I need to get in touch with authorities. I have a v a very spaced experience. Somehow my height has been reduced to half of what it used to be…"

"What?" Gandalf interrupted.

"Will you let meish?ish?"

He didn't believe his own ears. Was she actually standing there dressing him – Gandalf the Grey – down???

"This isn't funny," he said through clenched teeth. "Who are your parents? I will…"

"For crying out loud,- I'm telling you. I was much taller yesterday – and my feet weren't this big and furry. Some crack'o scientist went nuts…"

The tall mage looked down at her with an infuriatingly condescending expression.

"Young Hobbits like you should not run around spreading that kind of stories."

"Hobbit? I'm not a Hobbit, and I'm definitely not putting you on. I'm telling you the truth."

"Still? You should know better. What is your name?"

"Cecilie."

"That is an odd name for a Hobbit girl."

A shower of foul language suddenly left this kid's mouth faster than Gandalf could follow.

"I'm not a #¤%&!§ Hobbit, whatever that is – I'm a Dane by the name of Cecilie Skoubo Poulsen, and I was five feet six yesterday and had perfectly normal feet!" she insisted.

Her small body was suddenly swept up by the wizard and loaded onto the still more puzzled horse.

"What the hell…" she started. She was cut short by an authoritative voice that boomed in her left ear.

"You will keep quiet nod I d I will take you to Hobbiton – there they must decide what to do with you."

Gandalf was angry. That much was certain. His bushy eyebrows were strutting and his eyes sharply narrowing. The lass wasn't impressed and seemed oblivious to the ominous signs.

"NO!" she roared with a good voice, "PUT me down. The police must find that bloody bastard that he can revert the effect!"

But it was no use. The tall man was far stronger than she, and though her dog hopped up and down to get to her, it was not long-legged enough to jump to the horse's back.

In a dusty cabin, the shades were growing longer. Though silence dominated the place, the man lying on the floor felt he woke up in deafening noise. He winced. The blinds were half broke and let in selected rays of light that accentuated each and every fleck of dust that flowed through the air restlessly without ever landing. Here and there broken anatteattered phials and dishes lay spread out among torn books and overturned furniture. Now and then the rustling of a rodent could be heard, the hum of a fly and the annoying sound of a nearby mosquito would join it in an odd and cruel parody of music.

The man on the floor winced and blinked. It hurt. But it would have hurt more had the dog still been there about to flay him alive. He had not been able to anticipate the dog. That had been his first mistake. Actually his second. There was no doubt in his mind that he had chosen the wrong subjecr hir his experiment. Who would have thought….

…. who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him.

That had been her first thought right after she had managed to knock him flat. The lanky, skinny old man with the greasy beard had made it to the floor with a flourish. His head had hit the counter, but that was not the worst of his injuries. No, it had to be the blade she had trust between ribs. So much blood. And then she decked him and made him topple over. And that's when she thought it.

…. who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him.

Her brain was working much better now. Even the rhythmic beat of the hooves in the ground helped her correlate the information she had gathered and realised until now. It was now evident to her that she was very very far from home. In fact, looking at her faithful Alsatian that was trying to keep up with the rapid horse, she could safely quote: "I guess we're not in Kansas anymore, Toto."

It had been a mistake to wound the old dude like that. If he died, she might lose her only means to return and recover her original body. Her rational self still could not fathom the extraordinary miracle of changing physical shape like that. Yet, it had happened. She had been human and now she was… something else. A Hobbit, the grey wanderer had said? What the hell was that?

Her head hurt. She had to stop thinking or the headache that had paralysed her before would resurface and force her into inaction.

Those headaches…

What if she was really insane?

Two hours later they rode into Hobbiton and Gandalf disposed of her unceremoniously in front of an impressive-looking hole with woodwork on the portal.

"BILBO!" Gandalf cried. No answer. Cecilie got up and started to run. Gandalf reached down and grabbed her by her arm. She bit him.

"YOOOOUCH! …….. BILBO!!"

Finally the heavy door opened and revealed a young Hobbit with luxuriant brown curls, a cleft in the chin and a cheeky eye.

"Bilbo's in the garden with Sam – we didn't expect you until tomorrow, Gandalf."

"Well, go get him, Frodo – I was forced to arrive earlier – AAAUU!"

The last outcry was compliments to a certain artistic yank Cecilie performed on his beard. Frodo grinned.

"The reason wouldn't be the scratching wild cat you are currently entertaining?"

The magician threw the young girl to the ground with an oath.

"Get Bilbo… I have a challenge for him."

So Bilbo came, utterly smiling yet surprised to see his old friend one day ahead of schedule, and even more surprised to see a very young Hobbit lass lying on the ground at his doorstep. She didn't look one bit happy either.

"What's this, Gandalf?"

"A challenge, Bilbo," the wizard's smile was not altogether pleasant.

The girl had managed to pick herself up and was dusting herself down while the dog whined a bit and watched her keenly. Frodo backed off a bit; his experience with big dogs had been tainted by a certain adventure at Farmer Maggot's mushrooms fields.

"This is getting out of hand," she said sensibly, gingerly shaking her head as if to chase away the beginnings of a headache, "just let me go, will ya'? I have to find a way back and…." suddenly she stopped and looked at the Hobbits as if she saw them for the first time. In fact, her face was so comically dropping its jaw that Frodo started chuckling softly. Eventually she turned to Gandalf and said slowly:

"These are the Hobbits you were talking about?" He nodded. She then turned her eyes towards herself and let her glance travel down her own features. Very slowly and thoroughly. There was sadness in her now surprisingly soft voice.

"Holy shit."

Gandalf's brow furrowed. Then he dismounted and dragged a stunned Bilbo along with him.

"Gandalf, what…?"

"Listen, old friend," the old man intoned, "I met this Hobbit girl on the road to Ashby where she was rambling about having been somewhat taller and devoid of furry feet. I took it she was having me on, but looking at her surprise at seeing you and her shock at comparing herself to you, I wonder if there was some truth to her statement. Either that or is sis stark raving mad."

It was Bilbo's time to drop the jaw. He looked intently at the mage.

"What do you intend to do??"

"I was going to let ynd tnd the mayor find out who her parents are and return her, but now it seems more sensible to me to let her stay here for the moment while I investigate her origins myself."

"What? Here?"

"You have already adopted and brought up Frodo," Gandalf argued.

"But this is a girl – barely 28 if you ask me – and I don't know the first thing about her!"

"It will be good for Frodo to socialise with a female, and she is in need, Bilbo. Will you turn away a child in need?"

"No… no, but she doesn't appear to be asking for my help – in fact, she did her damnedest to escape you."

"That was me – you are you. I promise you I won't be long. Keep her safe until then… and don't show her your ring. Caution Frodo as well."

The elderly Hobbit sighed. He enjoyed having Frodo around, but this disturbing element of a young lass could very well stir up his pleasant bachelor life… or perhaps it had become too pleasant?

"Very well, Gandalf, old friend. I can't deny you anything. And she does need help if she has no relatives. She's far too young to be on her own."

"She might not realise that," Gandalf warned him wryly.

And indeed she did not. When introduced to the plans for her future life, she snorted.

"Are you crazy, all of you? I'm not a baby. I'm bloody almost fifty!"

"Yeah, right," Frodo chuckled with merry disbelief.

"You're around 27-28, and that's it!" Gandalf said firmly, losing a bit of his patience.

"Even so, that's grown up, for heaven's sake," she insisted, adulthood evident in her voice if not in her appearances. Bilbo glared at her.

"Lass, you won't even be at age before your 33-year birthday."

"You kidding?"

"Where the heck are you from?" Frodo wondered at this girl who didn't even know the basic social rules.

"Denmark," she surprised both of them by saying.

"Where is that?" both Bilbo and Frodo asked in one tongue.

"Not here, obviously," she said, annoyed.

"Is it in Middle Earth at all? I have never heard of it," Bilbo mused.

"Middle Earth? What do you mean, Middle Earth?"

Frodo's chuckle was turning into a pearly laughter, "you don't know what Middle Earth is?"

The girl's annoyance rose as did her anxiety. She chose not to show her anxiety, "put a sock in it, chuckle-le-do – why don't you try to help me instead of making fun of the situation? It is hardly a laughing matter."

"My dear," Bilbo said sternly, "we will help you, but you must learn some manners."

" "Put a sock in it"," Frodo quoted in awe, not feeling the least bit offended by her attitude, "that's imaginative, - I must remember that expression." She glared at him in disbelief, and Bilbo turned his stern look at his adopted son.

And so they erupted in a vivid conversation where everybody talked simultaneously. Gandalf lost it.

"SHUT UPPPP!!!"

Silence. At least for a second before the indomitable Cecilie spoke up again.

"You're a control freak, right?"

Her deadpan statement made Bilbo and Frodo crackle with laughter and the mage splutter with fury. But Bilbo took her to safety.

"Come with me, my girl. I'd safe keep anybody with a tongue like that. You've got guts, and you're damn cheeky. You and Frodo will get along just fine."

Cecilie was getting frustrated. No matter how much she argued, they obviously didn't believe her. And why should they? Half the time she didn't even believe it herself. Was it possible that she a jua jumpy loony? That she was either imagining this or had never had a life as a normal human being. A half glance at her dog. Ronja, the beautiful black Alsatian. Now reaching her shoulder almost. The lad had been cringing from it. Was the beastie the living proof of her former human-hood? Or did they have dogs as big as her? Was anything certain anymore? She began shivering at the very thought. Then she felt a warm arm around her half naked shoulders.

"Those clothes are too big for you, lassie. I'll send Frodo out to buy you some proper girlie garments."

"Well, cheers, friend – could it please be trousers?"

She felt his bulky body shake with chuckling close to her.

"Of course, it cannot. Maybe later when the town starts to accept you, but certainly not now."

Well, he might have a point, she reluctantly conceded. When in Rome…

Only this didn't look like Rome. This looked rather like something out of a dungeon and dragons story.