Trapped Mind

Trapped Mind 3














Disclaimers: Everything is Tolkien's - thank you, dear. ;) However, Cecilie and her world is mine.


The next trips thalkealked together, a sensible arrangement since Frodo, of course, knew much more about the area than she. Occasionally she would gaze wistfully in the direction of the Shire border at the Wine, but mostly she just jogged along merrily and listened to his Hobbit stories. They would occasionally meet Hobbit hags with sour faces and a sarcastic remark, but Cecilie's continuous lack of response to this eventually stilled most of the outraged tongues. At least in dealings directly with her. Naturally the madams would still get together to indulge themselves in exhilarating discussions about the offending young lady that knew no Hobbit manners at all. Some Hobbit lasses would sometimes whisper the latest rumours to her ear, but the carefree ex-human would shrug her slim shoulders and smile in irony.

"How can you be so relaxed about it?" Frodo's cousin, Merry, asked her in awe. He and his inseparable buddy, Pippin, would sometimes join Cecilie and Frodo on their walks. She gave him a sad smile.

"People appear to be the same whereever one goes, evidently," she said, "though I come from a very… different place with very… different looking people, we too have our share of busy bodies and slander and envy. The Seven Deadly Sins are present whereever you go."

"Seven Deadly Sins????"

Cecilie stopped in her track. She would have to mind her big mouth a bit . Na. Naturally no one in this area would know about cultural aspects such as the Seven Deadly Sins. If she was to avoid too much explaining and increase of suspicion against her person, she would be wise in choosing her words and references with more care.

"Well…" she started warily. Merry looked at her in anticipation, fascination lit within his eyes. "It's a reli… conceptual saying we have where I come from: the Seven Deadly Sins are the sins that are most devastating for manki… people."

"What are they?" Pippin interjected.

While Cecilie rapidly listed the sins, Frodo regarded her closely. His quick mind and observant eyes and ears had caught on to her hesitation and her reluctance to expound. Clearly she was trying to hold back information from her homeworld. He didn't know what to think. She was truly different, and magic did exist. However, young Hobbits were known to have a very fervent imagination. Well… they would just have to wait for Gandalf to return with news of her origin, he decided with an inward shrug.

"That's really interesting," Pippin said enthusiastically, but Merry dashed at him, "Right, young Pip – now she has given you more good ideas to get in trouble."

Pippin turned to give as good as he got while Frodo left his two friends to their bickering and asked her with a smile:

"Which of those sins are applicable to the old ladies that have been gossiping about you?"

"You have to determine the reason for their behaviour, Frodo. In my world it would be Envy and Pride."

Bilbo's nephew watched her hungrily while she elaborated her theory. He couldn't always quite follow her, but he loved these discussions they had from time to time. He had never really considered lengthy conversation with young lasses like this. Talking to Hobbiton girls had always been flirty, short remarks, girlish giggles and winking eyes. This was much, much different and it intrigued him to no end.

Cecilie noticed his attention, of course, and felt sad.


Sad because she was no longer that young no matter what her exterior appeared to look like at the moment. Sad because she could never revert to inward youth. Sad because she knew that this charming young fellow would one day lose his youth and be infected by a virus called Life. She cherished the brilliant light in his eyes and hungered for the innocence in his smile, yet was afraid she might contaminate him with maturity.

Her face hardened. She had to go back and find the wizard and go home. Somehow, she would find a way before her influence on this young lad and his friends had become irreversible.


*


This day he could eat. His wounds were almost healed. A little blood still tickled from the openings, helping to keep away infections. Nature was good. And he could manipulate Nature; this he knew. He would soon start again. As soon as he was strong enough to hold down a young person. Preferably a girl. They were the weaker sex after all. Well… except one apparently.

The man winced at the memory. That was an experience he did not care to repeat. Next time he would be more careful.

Careful was the crow that was pecking at his wooden blinds. Careful was the rat that scarpered as soon as he moved. Careful was the moon that hid her face these days with a sky covered with clouds. Careful Nature. He would follow the advice.

Carefully waiting.


*


The night without a moon that fell over the wounded magician's dusty laboratory,ced ced the hilly countryside of the Shire as well. A young, lithe Hobbit lass found the dark, dull nocturnal period perfect for her mission: to leave Hobbiton and find her way back. She had come to like the people she was staying with; especially the young lad. She would never forgive herself if something happened to him or to his friends and his uncle. She knew there was one stubborn wizard out there trying to dig up her origins. She also knew he would fail. Feeling so completely out of place and different in this country and among this people had convinced her that she was not mad. Everything had happened as she had remembered it.

And now that she knew all the roads and paths. Now that the moon had chosen to mask its visage in company with the stars. Now was the perfect time to silently slip away into the blessed camouflage of darkness. No natural light would illuminate her way. No one would see her. Of course, the dogs would scent her, the geese would hear her – but most of all they would notice her dog. The warning that a predator was near was different from the warning that a Hobbit was near. The farmers would think the fox was passing by.

She looked down at Ronja. The beast was awake and alert, her triangular ears sticking straight into the air, eager to catch the slightest sound and be of use to her mistress. Her black glinting eyes peered into the night and her wet muzzle quivered with anticipation. The dog had surprised Cecilie. She had always told her colleagues that her dog wasn't fit to be a police dog. Too much go, she had declared. Too enthusiastic. She can't control her own joy. Yet in dire need she had turned out to be – perfect. She suppressed a chuckle. Imagine that. Something to tell the Super if she ever made it home.


The door creaked behind her. She stopped with abated breath to see if the high pitched sound had woken her hosts. Silence. She breathed. It appeared not. She could continue.

And so two dark shades moved quickly through the still of the night, soon merging with the rest of the indeterminable shades of darkness. Only slight sounds were heard as they slithered across the ground, minding not to crack twigs or rustle leaves or tumble stones or pebles. As a Hobbit she could move much more soundlessly than as a human. Hobbits had many practical skills, Cecilie realised. They could come in very handy in police work.

But she would not return to her world as a Hobbit.

For a nano second there she felt a sting of regret to the heart.


With a silent sigh and a hushed whisper of farewell, the transformed human turned away from Hobbiton and made her way into nothingness.


*


"Gone!! What do you mean, gone??"

His voice was incredulous. Not that Frodo blamed him. He had felt just as incredulous when he had opened her door after having knocked on it in vain for several minutes.

Cecilie, the Hobbit lass that had been kept in their custody, was gone. And with her her big black dog. Bilbo's face was slowly turning tomato red.

This wasn't good.

"How the %&#!§!! could that happen?" Bilbo raged. He wasn't angry at Frodo, and the lad knew it. But he was mad at himself for letting it happen. Elbereth knew what would happen to her now. He knew for sure what would happen to them. Gandalf would skin them alive. In a second. He swore softly under his breath, trying to keep the profanity from being heard by his impressionable nephew.

Of course, Frodo heard them, but wasn't particularly impressed. He muc much worse swearing lined up for this one himself. His uncle was picking up travelling gear.

"Frodo! Get the ponies ready and go to the Tooks and the Brandybucks. We must put together a search party. Do you have any idea where she might have gone?"

Frodo winced, realising that he might actually have prevented this earlier.

"Yes – she has been admiring the view over the Brandywine."

"Oh, no," Bilbo stopped momentarily his preparations and turned to look at Frodo, "can she swim?"

"I don't know," Frodo muttered sheepishly, "that never came up."

Bilbo swore. This time fully audibly. "Well, I sure hope so," he growled. He knew there wasn't much hope. Very few Hobbits could swim. They tended to shy water like the plague. Of course, if this girl was really what she claimed to be… a human woman turned into a Hobbit, - then perhaps she might know how to swim.

Bilbo clutched the walking cane he found. His knuckles were turning white.


*


Cecilie could swim. She wouldn't be much of a police officer if she couldn't swim. In fact, hours before she had swum across the Brandywine and was now knocking on the big gate of Bree. It had been cold. She was still shivering from the encounter with the river's cold water, but the sun was gaining strength, and her clothes would soon be dried by its generous warmth.

It felt like forever before a sound was heard from the other side of the wooden portal. A creaking sound, a soft cursing, feet dragging in mud – and finally a very small hatch was opened far above her head. A mumbling man looked out. Then down. Then disappeared. And a hatch further down the gate was opened to reveal the peeking head of a human male who looked exactly like a character from a Charles Dickens novel.

"State your business in Bree, Miss, if you like," the head said. Cecilie smiled, being on her best behaviour.

"To visit your fair town, Sir," she clattered through her teeth, still cold to the bone.

"You cold, lass? Come in, then."

The huge portal opened with a plaintive sound – not unlike that of her mother whenever it was time for a dentist appointment. Ronja leaped in instantly, wagging its tail in recognition of people of a familiar height. The gatekeeper stepped back, a bit anxious.

"She won't harm you if you won't harm me." Cecilie grinned a wolfy grin. The gatekeeper grinned nervously back at her and let her pass. He cocked an eyebrow at her wet clothes, but offered no comment.


Well, here she was. Moneyless, dry-clothesless, foodless – pretty much everythingless. Her spirit sank. And rose again as she remembered why she had embarked on this journey.

She was on her way home.


*


Meanwhile Bilbo, Frodo, the Brandybucks, the Tooks and Pridefoots – feet had made a plan and were following it. The search party of roughly 21 was split into 7 groups, each with three persons. Bilbo was teaming up with Frodo and Master Brandybuck, Merry's father, and they were the group headed for the Brandywine. The other groups covered the Old Forest (Merry had mentioned it to her and she had seemed intrigued), Farmer Maggot's field (from Pippin's unfortunate influence), north towards the lake and other directions that she might possibly have taken.

Bilbo's group soon realised they were on the right track. She had been swift, but not particularly careful where she put down her feet once she had got to the hills. She was easy to track from there, and Frodo's heart sank as soon as he realised that she had entered Bree. The big people's town. She was trying to go to what she perceived as home.


*


Mud was definitely prevalent in this town. That had been her only deduction so far. After seven visits to seven bars (why was she reminded of the Seven Deadly Sins?) she had received five offers to 'entertain' people who all backed down as soon as her ferocious dog had started growling softly, gained information on legends about something called the Simarlings… Simmalions… or something, stories about petrified trolls (where had she heard that before?) and about an ancient curse about a… ring? But nothing whatsoever on a wizard that had the bad habit of metamorphosing people. A meagre result.

Other people than Cecilie would have found this incredibly discouraging. But Cecilie was not 'other people'. She was used to long investigations and hopeless interrogations. She always got jackpot eventually. It was only a matter of time.


At some point she thought she might actually be on to something. A kind old lady had looked at her with pity in her china blue, almost transparent eyes, and so Cecilie approached her, signalling to her dog that it should stand back. The old lady was dressed in black and brown, a very average gown all the old ladies of Bree were favouring. Her fingers were malformed from arthritis, and her right eye was almost completely diseased with cataract. The other one, however, peered at the small Cecilie with a mixture of sympathy and shrewdness.

"What is it, little one? Are you lost?"

"Not exactly – and yet – yes."

"I thought so," the wrinkled woman nodded pensively, satisfied with her own assessment. "Did you run away?"

"Well… not exactly – and yet – yes."

The woman nodded again, her eyes attaining a dreamy expression. Cecilie had to move on with her questions, or the old lady would be lost in her own brilliance.

"Madam – if you please. I need to find my way back… have you ever heard of a … mage who could turn people into … various species?"

To Cecilie's immense surprise, her source of information nodded eagerly and then leaned over to whisper in the Hobbit's ear.

"They all can!"

Oh, boy.

"Well – um – can you think of somebody with that particular trick as a specialty?&q


"Hmmmm? – I heard of Master Yggve's attempts – mmmm – he was never successful, though."

Cecilie strained her ears. Master Yggve? The name didn't ring a bell. But then… she had never stopped to get his name before she knocked him cold.

"Where is he now?"

The woman had begun humming to herself, clearly losing interest in the conversation. The lass was not helpless enough to activate her maternal instincts.

"Mmmm – disappeared, did he not? Long gone, I suspect."

And that was really all she wrote. Cecilie couldn't get more out of her. It might be a rumour after all. Or it might be the real thing. As the saying went: there was never smoke without a fire.


*


Of course, the gatekeeper remembered her. And especially the black dog that had scared the living snot out of him. He wished to god people wouldn't bring those beasties. Where she had gone? He couldn't readily say. She had expressed a desire to visit their 'fair town', but perhaps they should ask the innkeepers?


The group were excited. Cecilie was must still be in Bree. Bilbo and Master Brandybuck agreed to split up and meet again two hours later. Frodo went with Bilbo, but Bilbo hesitated, asking himself if the lad wasn't old enough to go exploring Bree. After all; he was almost of age, and Bree wasn't that dangerous to Hobbits. The little folk and the big folk lived side by side in something close to harmony in this town, so it wouldn't hurt his nephew to go off on his own.

"But be sure to meet us in precisely two hours," Bilbo eyed his adopted son sternly. Frodo nodded eagerly. He had done plenty of explorations outside the Shire on his own before – but never in Bree.


Frodo found her by the town fountain where she was drinking from the clear water. She appeared completely unharmed if somewhat dirty and a bit tired, but other than that none the worse for wear from her little adventure. Inexplicable anger rose in him. Thehe whe was! By the fountain! Calm and happy as you like! While they had been looking frantically for her, expecting the worst. She had left without a word or a note. Very rude and inconsiderate. He got off his pony and approached her with long, firm steps.

Ronja, of course, saw/heard/sniffed him first and ran to greet him. The girl lifted her head and dared to smile at him when she should be embarrassed and guilty. When he reached her, his face red and his hands quivering, she completely diffused the situation by a calm:

"Hi. What are you doing here?"

Frodo opened his mouth. But nothing came out. He closed it tight again.

Standing like that for a while, shaking with anger yet not knowing how to proceed, finally opted him to act. He grabbed her arm and hauled her with him round a corner.

Cecilie locked eyes with him; she had a bemused expression on her face.

"Frodo? What the h…?"

"Don't you dare say another word before I'm through with you, Missy!" the heir to Bag End exploded. And then he blurted it all out. All his anxiety, their fear that something might have happened to her, their efforts to search for her – everything she had caused by her reckless escape. She let him rage, watching him with increasing concern. He was attracted to her. It was so evident. It was all that she had feared. He ended the tirade with a question as to how she could do this to him – them, and for once she was struck dumb.


How to explain? How to tell him that she had left because she did not want to squash that adorable innocence she saw in him? How to convince him that if they had a relationship, he would in reality have a relationship to a much older woman… Hobbit? She shook her head gently. There was no way he would ever understand.

"What?" he roared.

"What what?" she asked in confusion. She didn't realise she had actually carried out the shake of her head.

"You were shaking your head."

"I was? Shit!"

"Mind your language, young lady!"

She looked at him with disbelief. And then she broke down laughing.

Somehow the whole situation seemed surreal to her. Here she was. Cecilie Shoubo Poulsen, 47 years old, Detective Inspector at the Danish police force being berated by a young Hobbit lad who thought he could tell her what to do.

Frodo couldn't believe it. He was dressing her down seriously. And she was laughing. Hurt stung in his heart, and tears threatened to flow. This lass was impossible to deal with. And why did she have to wink those incredibly beautiful eyes at him? Dark as the deepest ocean? Why did her mouth have to accommodate such luscious lips that parted and revealed such pearly teeth? Why were they laughing at him?


*

Frodo didn't talk to Cecilie for weeks after the Bree incident. He felt deeply hurt and wanted to lick his wounds in peace. Bilbo was keeping a closer eye on her than ever before, and she seemed appropriately annoyed with it. There were times when she longed for the obnoxious grey wizard to return with news. Perhaps he would succeed in clearing up her origins and convince these stubborn Hobbits that she was not what she seemed.

The situation was getting her down. mis missed her old mum, her department – even her snitches. She missed her computer despite its frequent system breakdowns (all forgiven and forgotten – she wouldn't kill Mr Bill Gates just yet), she missed her cosy little flat and her rumbling old boss, Superintendent Klaus Seberg.

It was in this mood that she met Frodo by accident in Mill's Meadow when she had finally managed to escape Bilbo's attention. He had left her to Sam, who, wonderfully shy as he was, agreed to look away while she was answering Nature's call. Of course, she AWOL'ed. Not to disappear altogether, but because she needed some time to herself.

… a plan that wasn't particularly successful as she saw Frodo approach her. He still looked angry.

"What? Where's Bilbo? Sam? What are you doing here alone?"

Cecilie already felt annoyance building up. This was getting too much.

"Am I a prisoner?" she snapped.

"It's for your own good…"

"It's for my own good to find that bloody wizard and have him revert me to humanhood," she continued, cutting him short. He hipped his hands and stepped close to her. "You still have a terrible language," he concluded. She winced.

"Okay," she sighed. "I understand that I'm not respecting the culture here. And I am sorry for that. However, if you would let me go, we would all be the better for it. You would not be subjected to my 'insolence' as you see it, and I would not have to make myself 40 years younger than I really am.&q


He was still standing close to her. It was beginning to distract her.

"We could never let you go," his tone now soft and apprehensive, "you are a sweet lass that needs our help. Cecilie… whoever you are. You cannot survive out there without help. If you are truly from another world, used to be another creature – then you need more help than anyone."

She met his eyes. The miffed expression was gone and an adult gazed at her. Damn. Very unsettling. She didn't want him this mature. He was easier to resist if he behaved like a boy.

Yet he had a point. How was she to cope without money and guidance outside the Shire? Without knowing the various people and species, how could she defend herself?

Damn!

"You really must learn to temper those expressions," Frodo murmured.

She had spoken out loud without realising it.

She smiled with regret and a tiny chuckle.

"I'm sorry… shi... I mean – oh, dash it all!"

Frodo laughed. "'Dash it all' is permitted," he declared merrily.

Then on an impulse – he suddenly leaned forward and kissed her cheek lightly. And blushed.

And so did she. She wouldn't have thought it ever to be possible again. But she blushed.

What the hell was going on? Was she getting her second wind here?

Before she could analyse it, he grabbed her hand and ran away from the meadow with her in tow.


*


Five months after Gandalf had left Cecilie at Bilbo'srsterstep, the mage finally returned. His mood hadn't improved considerably, but he did greet Cecilie with proper courtesy.

"Greetings, little one, are you going to bite me this time?"

*Bite me*, Cecilie couldn't help thinking ironically, but said out loud:

"That depends…"

Bilbo grinned and Gandalf eyed him.

"Not changed much, has she, old friend?"

"No," the old Hobbit admitted happily, "but please come in, Gandalf – tell us everything you have unraveled – Frodo-lad, make us some tea, will ya'? and Cecilie, can you take out that cheese cake, dear?"

The afternoon tea was quickly arranged with usual Hobbit efficiency and they were soon sitting round the large kitchen table of Bag End. Ronja did her best to join the party, but was firmly kept at bay by her mistress.

As it was, Gandalf did have news of a certain Master Yggve who, supposedly, had been experimenting with species transformation. That, in itself, was not an unusual rumour. He had heard worse than that about the odd wizards round the world. What was more unusual – and disconcerting – was the fact that many young human girls had disappeared in the country of Rhûn. This was told to him by Radagast the Brown, who was a great traveller and scientist. The girls were never seen or heard of again, and there were rumours that an evil wizard was using them in … experiments.

At this point he directed his sharp glance at Cecilie. She was sitting on edge, grabbing every word he said with insatible curiosity. Her steel blue eyes met his.

"I daresay all that is very suggestive," she said seriously, "where is this Rhûn situated?"

"North east of here," the mage replied, "it is a very, very long journey."
She fell silent and leaned back, apparently lost in deep contemplation.

Gandalf removed the pipe from his mouth and smoke sailed out of his mouth in synch with his next words:

"You must tell us what happened, lass."

She looked up slowly, her uncannily adult eyes fixed on him.

"Will you believe me?"

"I don't know."

"An honest answer at last." She sighed.

Frodo was felt the world stop. With a keen sense that something important was about to happen he leaned over, straining his ears.


Cecilie knew she had reached a crossroad. She either trust this mage or keep her mouth. He already knew a lot. How much more could she tell him without compromising her position? Would they put her in a funny farm? Would they suddenly see her as an enemy? Would they fail to believe a word she said and announce her to be the most imaginative liar since Münchhausen?

Of course… they wouldn't know Münchhausen.

She raised her head and pinned the old man with her eyes. Decision taken.


*

TBC