Trapped Mind

Trapped Mind 4














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


&quolle,lle, are you sure that dog is unfit for police work?"

Sergeant Hansen peered at the big black thing as it and its mistress were passing his booth. He and Cecilie were on friendly terms. In many ways he reminded her of her deceased father, and he saw her as the daughter he had never had. He never got condenscending with her; she was far too clever a detective that he could ever do that.

"I'm positive," Cecilie replied cheerfully. She always brought her dog with her at work. Being away from it for 12 hours a day would be animal abuse. But the beast would suck at actual police work, being too undisciplined and too happily carefree. Nevertheless, she made sure it was properly trained and walked every day, even in her lunch break.

And it was a lunch break she needed, particularly today. Ugly case. Her was was filled with terrible pictures of mishandled flesh and raped body parts. She hated child abuse, and albeit she tried not to take her job personally she would love nothing more than to lock away that son of a bitch for the rest of his days. The evidence was, sadly and fortunately, quite overwhelming. She would get his man.


About three miles from headquarters there was a nice little area where she could let loose Ronja. She loved seeing that big mutt burst free from her tight lead and storm out to play in the field. She would quickly locate a discarded work glove or a piece of a branch and toss it in the air like a playful puppy. Today she located something else.

A man.

Even today Cecilie wasn't quite sure what had happened. The man had seemed vaguely familiar. She remembered that she had recognised him all of a sudden, but today she couldn't remember who it was. The man had raised his arm. She had gone for her 44. and then there was a flash.


Or something.

Ronja had barked furiously. There was a thud and then silence.

The next thing she knew, a man with a grey greasy beard and burning insane eyes was hovering over her, mumbling something unintelligible.

She recalled the deep rooted fear that had surged through her body as the man grabbed her and hauled her sorry arse into an old house – shed, almost. The room was dusty with a most insisting smelldecadecay and fungus. It made her sick. Why hadn't she flattened this man? He appeared old and fragile, though surprisingly sturdy. Right. She had been completely dizzy and weak from the flash. Whatever that had been. She couldn't even support her own weight when she tried after he had dumped her unceremoniously on the dirty floor. An odd cackle was heard. Like the dry laughter of a very old person. It took her a while to realise that the cackle really was the continuous knocking of old defective wooden blinds that swayed in the wind.

Then the probing.

Long, dirty knucklebone fingers probing her body, searching for something. The hiss of a voice. Or rather a parody of a voice. She very much felt stuck in a nightmare.

And then for a split second her old adrenaline reaction to danger woke up. She straightened and went for her weapon. Which wasn't there…

The old man grinned at her. Why? She didnike ike that grin. Didn't he understand that she was injured and needed a doctor? Perhaps he was one. She shivered. This was not her idea of a nice sympathetic country doctor.


And so it had begun. Better not linger too much at those particular memories. The man had strapped her tightly to a table. He had forced her mouth open, made her drink something foul and smelling, bathed her in choking smoke while he was still chanting his gibberish and moving his crooked hands over her head. Like a bad version of Nosferatu. This was ridiculous, she had to… OH!!!!

The pain.

The pain that rippled through her entire being was unprecedented. Her cool rational brain didn't expect to survive such pain. Her emotional brain went straight into panic.

Suffocation. Loss of senses. Loss of self. Falling through an abyss. Death.


The birth had, if at all possible, been even more painful than the death. This is what a baby must feel like, she thought dully as her cruel midwife bore her to life. She didn't regain her senses right away. Hearing was the first to resurface. So much noise. So loud. She winced. Then the tactile sensation. Prickly. Very uncomfortable. She opened her eyes. Everything seemed bigger. She gasped. A sound from her lips. A smell. All senses complete.

Her tormentor hovered over her, a mad gleam in his eyes. Then he leaned over to free her from her confinement. She didn't move.

He waited a long time. She waited. Finally, with the sign of a troubled frown in his brow, he leaned over to check what might be wrong. And then she struck.

She used all her might to bury her suddenly tiny fist in his throat. The old man gargled and toppled over.

And yet it could have ended much worse than it did. When Cecilie tried to get down from the table, she discovered she had almost no strength left. She knew she couldn't grow strong fast enough for her to be ready when he recovered from the blow. Her eyes swept frantically over the room and its contents in search of a weapon.

The weapon came from the right. She didn't even have time to recognise her own dog. A black monster came hurling in and snarlingly attacked the man that was just getting up. He yelped.

Acting completely on adrenaline and impulse, she flung out an arm and picked up a sharp object from the floor. She didn't quite know what it was, but it served its purpose. The blade went deep, deep into his flesh between the ribs. The old man rattled. Then she saw him make an effort to concentrate; his brow furrowed, his eyes squinted and his hue went completely red. As if he was concentrating on something.

Finally his hand shot out and the effect was breathtaking.

In a blinding flash that hurt her chest and smothered her, she and her dog were pushed away through air and over land…

…. to make ground contact near Ashby where Gandalf encountered them.


*


The room was very silent. It was almost as if everybody had ceased breathing, and you could hear the proverbial pin fall to the floor. The narrator, Cecilie, was looking down, lost in her painful memories. Ronja, her dog, had never been more silent. Frodo wasn't moving one inch, Bilbo was hiding his face in his broad hands and Gandalf's eyes had never left the Hobbit girl.

Then she breathed.

"That's it," she said, her voice infinitely sad.

Gandalf nodded.

"I believe you," he said, "for now."

She nodded, acknowledging the fact and accepting it.

"Good grief, sweet lass," Bilbo murmured.

"Cecilie," Frodo whispered.

Her sharp eyes met his. For some reason she didn't like the tone of his voice. It was full of… affection. It would complicate matters; and surely he could see she had complications enough? But his eyes persisted. She had to avert hers before long, feeling distinctly uneasy under their scrutiny. It was usually the other way round. Having told her tale, however, she was left raw and vulnerable.


The next days she had intense discussions with Gandalf. He treated her quite differently now. They were considering the right approach of affairs and the consequences of each step.

"You must stay here," the grey wizard insisted, "it is not a good idea for you to leave the Shire in your current state as a small, vulnerable Hobbit lass."

"It is better that I leave, believe me," she said just as insistingly, "I am going insane here. Find me a guide and a good stick for defence, and I'll be fine."

The old man smirked. "Provided that your story is true, I sympathise. Getting along with Hobbits is sometimes a trial. However," he hastened to continue as she was about to pursue her success with his momentary concession, "it may also prove beneficial for you. I, for one, have enjoyed these many years of dealing with the halflings. They are much more sturdy than they appear, extremely resourceful and impossible to predict."

"Well," she said sweetly, "if that is the case – and I am currently a Hobbit – then what is to say I won't manage well enough on my own outside the Shire?"

He looked at her under bushy eyebrows with something very close to profound annoyance, mixed with reluctant respect.

"You may be the only link to the disappearances of the young girls in Rhûn – let's not risk that advantage."

"So, what happens? YOU are going to carry out the research?"

"Yes – or people I trust. You must have patience. This is not the only emergency in the world."

She cocked an eyebrow. So he was like the federal Marshall dept.?

"That may be," she said silently, "but how do you know that this can be prioritised low? What if my coming here has somehow disrupted the balance of … well, between dimensions?"

She had made a valid point. He was almost leaning over her now to listen more intently.

"Explain," he demanded.

"Consider: we have no idea how I got here – or even why. We can only surmise that I have come through some sort of metaphysical portal. I guarantee you, that your world does not exist in mine. And I'm pretty sure you would claim the same thing about my world. Where does that leave us? With the logical conclusion that our worlds exist on a parallel level. Now, I don't know jack about quantum mechanics [here the magician's eyebrows virtually vanished behind his hat], but it seems reasonable to me that any connection between two parallel existing universes would be extremely fragile in case of disruption. Now, do we agree that my arrival here is a disruption?"

Gandalf nodded. Momentarily mute.

… then I dare say that my little 'problem' could very well end up as your prime concern."

Gandalf sat looking at her for a while before he leaned back with a sigh. Well, there was that. He felt like a healer: which patient to attend to first? Who was dying? Who was merely injured? This was a world of many problems and concerns, some of which could not be postponed. Could she? He honestly didn't know.

Finally the tall man rose, stretching his back gingerly.

"You make a good case," he admitted. She nodded. She was used to making cases.

"However… since we basically don't know anything, we must play it by ear. I will attend to more immediate matters, and you will stay here in safety. Collect any news you can from passing travellers and pay heed to old verse and legends. The answer may very well be buried there."

Cecilie suppressed a sigh and nodded. "Very well. I shall find out everything I can about Rhûn and its mages."

"Sensible… meanwhile."

"Yes?"

The wizard smirked, "Try not to drive the Hobbits insane?"

The grey wanderer was still chuckling as he went back into Bag End.


*


Over a year went by.

One season after the other passed so depressingly swiftly that Cecilie, at some point, felt she was about to spend her life in the Shire, trapped in a body that was definitely not her own. And with the seasons changed her mood. In spring she felt born anew, in summer she felt playful, in autumn a certain melancholy dominated her and in winter time she felt she was slowly dying. She had never been so influenced by seasons before. Frodo tried his best to cheer her up at any given time. He was a dear. Unfortunately a dear with a serious crush on her, she knew. She reacted by burying herself in studies of Rhûn, elven language and writing, ancient spell legends and myths and tales from the beginning of the world. Anything that would help her further investigation. And would keep her away from the attractive youth. She had been close to surrendering herself a couple of time. Flirting big time he had sometimes embraced her or tickled her. If she was in a good mood she would respond with equal flirting – and one day in particular…

"What are you reading?"

Cecilie frowned, slowly emerging from her concentrated world of dechiffering elven runes that she was studying lying on the grass in the meadow.

"Basics and grammar of elven runes," she quoted, reading aloud from the cover of the old leather bound book. And suddenly that book was snatched away from her.

"You read more than I," he grinned at her, "let the book be. I can teach your how to read runes."

She winced, deliberately closing yer eyes to those twinkling gems of his.

"I favour self study," she admitted, "now, give me the book."

He was about to, responding to her serious tone of voice when suddenly a jinxster peeked out his eyes instead.

"It has a price," he said mischievously while he kept the book out of her reach. She sighed. This was too childish.

"Very well, then," I will have to wait." Getting up from her position, gathering her writing material, she pretty much decided just to let it ride and not bite.

And then something odd happened.

Had it been the rich scent of flowers on this sunny summer-blessed day? Or was it the youthful and life confirming glint in his eyes. Perhaps it was just the sheer joy of being alive and one with Nature? Whatever the reason, a fountain of joy suddenly burst open from her inner centre and just as he was at his most unsuspecting moment, she quickly snapped the book from him. He instantly went after her with a squeal.

It was until tumbled over in the tall grass that she stopped herself. This was getting dangerous. But before she could get away from him, he had pinned her to the ground; smile wide, eyes beaming and curls moist and merrily dangling from his forehead.

"I've got you," he whispered.

"No…" was all she managed to squeeze out before he closed her mouth with his.

One second.

One second she let herself fully enjoy the sweet fulfilling sensation of his rich young lips moulding hers. One second that went straight to her heart and thrilled her entire being.

Damn!

This was exactly what she wanted to avoid.

This one second. Of absolute and perfect happiness.

Well, that was more than most people get in life.

She managed a huge effort of self control. And pushed him off. He looked at her with an expression that was mirrored in her face. Realisation that something important had happened.

"I'm… sorry?" he tried, not really knowing what he should be sorry about.

"I'm sorry too," she sighed. Sorry for letting it happen. Sorry for letting her tight control slip for even a second.

And then she was gone. Leaving Frodo in the grass to try and sort out why the hell he should be sorry for expressing love for another fellow Hobbit.


*

For some reason the moment hadn't been particularly awkward. However, it did leave them with a certain impasse afterwards. Somehow they just didn't know what to say of think about it, and both were unwilling to talk to each other until they had sorted it out. When they finally met, they had each reached the completely opposite conclusion.

"You know I love you," the young Baggins blurted out. Cecilie slowly raised her head from amother book she was consulting. No 'hello', no 'how are you'.

"I was afraid of that," she confessed. She instantly saw the hurt in his face. "Why 'afraid'?" he almost choked. "What is it that is so terrible about me loving you?"

"A broken heart," she stated firmly, not even hesitating. "Whose?" he demanded to know.

"Yours in particular," she said without preamble. "And also mine."

He blinked at her; not completely understanding.

"Why the difference? And why does anyone's heart have to be broken?"

"I will be going home at some point, Frodo" she sighed, "and then what? We will both hate being separated if we are committed to a relationship."

"But you less than I?"

"Perhaps. I have the experience to cope with a broken heart. I have been there before."

So pragmatic. So logical. So rational. She was indeed much much more mature than he. He suddenly felt angry and fisted his hands for outlet.

"Then let me get that experience," he said, his voice low and quivering.

Courageous, isn't he? she thought.

"Even if it hurts me?" she pointed out.

Realisation dawned on his face. "No, of course not."

"Ah," she noted and returned to her book.


*

A special day was approaching. Two birthdays. The day that Bilbo Baggins, Lord and Master of Bag End turned 111. And the day that his nephew and heir, the young promising Frodo Baggins, came of age, 33. That happened to be the same day. And they would turn a total of 144 – one gros. Bilbo chuckled as he wrote the speech he planned on delivering at his birthday under a particularly spectacular event.

It was time.

For the past many years he had begun feeling… stretched. Like too little butter spread on too much bread.

Of course, he regtretted very much that he would leave behind Frodo – and that little lass that had become such an interesting daily element in their happy bachelor life. He smiled as he remembered how Frodo always beamed at the sight of her. He hoped to Elbereth that the two of them would marry some day. However, if she was serious in?? pursuing her former life as a human, poor Frodo didn't stand much of a chance. Hobbit girls could be so stubborn. Bilbo put away his writing quill momentarily and went to the window, pondering.

She was out there, generally deeply engrossed in her chosen book of the day, and sometimes offering the ever working Sam and the gaffer a kind and radient smile with those even teeth of hers. Bilbo smiled sadly. She had been so dilligent in her studies. Preparing herself hard as she could for life outside the Shire. If she could only give up that idea and settle…

As he thought the thought, he knew that she would never be content with that. Like he wasn't…

His contemplation was interrupted by an insistant knock on the door. How annoying! People had been in and out of this hole the entire morning and they were driving him crazy. FRODO! Where was that boy anyway?


The party went according to plan – Bilbo's plan. The little Hobbit kids clapped their hands and cheered at the beautiful and fanciful fireworks that Gandalf had procured. Not bad, Cecilie thought. She particularly liked the dragon. The cake had been plentiful, the music lively, the dance… uncoordinated at best – and the enigmatic speech by Bilbo completely a surprise. She had felt he was cooking something, but she hadn't been able to deduce anything from the hints and signs she had noticed, and for once Frodo had remained silent.

She had been sitting at a table with Hobbit children crawling all over her, tugging at her hair that had grown surprisingly long and riding her knee despite her best effort to shake them off. At a table closer to the inebriated Bilbo sat Frodo, silently watching his uncle making verbal fun of Boffinses and Proudfoots – feet. Watching him and watching the kids made her believe – for one second – that Gandalf had done a trick to the old Hobbit. Smoke risen along with the flash – yet none of that could conceal the fact that Bilbo had indeed… vanished into thin air. Cecilie stared. And stared. Then turned her head to look at Frodo. He seemed less surprised, only mildly so. What was going on here? She started to extract herself of clawing little Hobbit hands.

She caught him at Smitty's corner where he was approaching Bag End with long strides. His face was ses. Ms. More so than she had ever seen it before.

"Frodo!" she hissed, "what the hell was that?"

"What was what?" he tried feebly. She tilted her head and her expression said it all: puuulease!

His shoulders fell. "That was Bilbo doing his favourite trick," he finally admitted.

"What trick? More magic?"

"Yes, - but I have sworn not to tell."

She tightened her grip round his arm. And her grip was good and strong, so she made him winced.

"Frodo," she said firmly, "you know my secret, and I'm trying to get by in this to me very alien world. Don't keep me in the dark here – I don't deserve that."

Her voice was stern and he sympathise. However, this was not his secret to tell.

"Later – perhaps," he said and extricated himself. In three strides he rounded the next corner – uncharacteristically running away from her. Perhaps he still had time to intercept Bilbo.


"Is he gone, Gandalf?"

The tall grey mage was sitting comfortly in a chair by the fire."

"Yes," was the heavy answer. A wave with the hand. "He left you something."

Frodo took the offered envelope and took out the ring.

"He left me the ring?" he exclaimed in amazement, "But why? Oh, well – it might come in handy at some point."

"I wouldn't use it if I were you," Gandalf said and rose.

"Why not?"

A deep sigh. "I don't know. There is much I don't know. I must find out. Farewell. Keep it hidden and don't tell anyone about it – not even Cecilie."

"Why not?"

Again. Frodo's vocabulary was getting monotonous.

"She might use it as some means to reach home – I don't know. It wouldn't be safe."

Frodo agreed. He took out the ring and slipped it in his pocket.

At that very moment Cecilie came back and burst in without preamble. Both Gandalf and Frodo looked at her with guilty expressions. She looked hard at them without a word. Then finally she said with her hands raised and a smirk in her face.

"Right! Okay! Have your little secrets. I'm going to bed. Just one question…"

"Yes?"

"Is Bilbo coming back?"

Frodo looked at gandalf who shook his head gently.

"no."

"Shit."

And her bedroom door closed behind her. Frodo and his wizard visitor looked at each other.

"I thought you had managed to persuade her not to use that word?"

Frodo shrugged.


*


Gandalf returned the next day to say his final goodbyes. Frodo did not like to see him go. He might be master and sire of Bag End now, but he had never felt more like an orphan. The wizard was enigmatic at best and he left imploring again that Frodo should keep the ring secret, keep it safe. Cecilie caught some of the conversation and cocked her head inquisitatively at the young Master Baggins. He just shook his head and she lifted one eyebrow. He hated keeping her in the dark like this. But he had given his word, though he did not understand how that could be so important. After all he had known about the ring for years and Bilbo had used it for years without any visible .
.


Life went pretty much back to normal. Cecilie remained devoted to her studies, Frodo, tight-lipped, respected her space and suppressed his feelings for her. Sam tended to the garden and looked away shyly whenever Rosie met his eyes. Merry and Pippin continued their pranks, and the old hags still had their particularly juicy theory on what Cecilie was doing when not watched.

So… everything was normal.

And after a while Cecilie's studies were finally fruitful.

*It was reported from the old days

when men were but born and elves still dwelling in the West

that a sudden portal between the worlds

became such a threat

that all life might be extinguished

saith the Ancient Kings

of all Free People

for those art the wise*


Shit, shit! That was her portal. She was sure of it!

There was a reference to another book, a prayer from up north that she instantly accessed.

*And so they chanted, for truer words

were never spoken

to close the portal

the source

of oblivion and extermination

through which a joining

would cause the world to crumble*


Another reference. The Book of Destruction.

*Hark, all ye wizards and mages

Pay heed to the threat of

merging species and worlds

the chant, the curse must be forgotten

the book buried

never to reappear

Burn the Works of Hexes

black magic art*


Cecilie looked up. Black magic. Like Agostino de Compostella's Black Book. Their version of it anyway. The warning was there. And some idiot wizards had ignored it.


She got up. So this was it. All the sources she had found on this subject pointed at a certain aread in Rhûn. The difficult part would be to actually find the nutty professor again, but she had an idea about that…

*

TBC