Lord Of The Rings Fan Fiction ❯ No Such Thing ❯ part two ( Chapter 2 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: tsutsuji 
Frodo, Bilbo and Gandalf discover the new arrival on Tol Eressea....
Non Anime: Lord Of The Rings Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance / Drama | Type: Crossover | Uploaded On: 04.18.2005 | Pages: 3 | Words: 3.3K | Visits: 190 | Status: Completed
Frodo, Bilbo and Gandalf discover the new arrival on Tol Eressea....
Non Anime: Lord Of The Rings Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance / Drama | Type: Crossover | Uploaded On: 04.18.2005 | Pages: 3 | Words: 3.3K | Visits: 190 | Status: Completed
Title: No Such Thing 2/?
Author: Tsutsuji
Fandom: Lord of the Rings/The Faculty crossover
Pairing: Casey Connor & Frodo. (Yes, will probably be slash.)
Rating: R (rating for part two: PG)
Warnings: Slash, crossover, interspecies, angst, h/c.
Date written: 9/02 revisited 4/05
Status: WIP
Disclaimer: I do not own the copyright to these characters and I'm making no profit from this fic and intend no copyright infringement.
---
Bilbo paused on his walk along the rocky path overlooking the sea. Behind him, down the long grassy slope, he could see a whiff of smoke that marked where his home was hidden in the roll of the hills. Below him to the right, the unusually quiet waves broke against the rocks that hid the beach to the south. Beyond it, on the edge of sight, a bank of cloud hung far at the southern horizon, blurring the boundary between sea and sky. Nearly straight in front of him, across a glittering bay, the city of Avalonne's gleaming towers shone in the sun.
What made him pause was some movement on the road that led up from the bay into the city. From this distance he could not see for certain, but it appeared to be a small group of the elves heading into the city, and it looked like they were carrying something. In fact, it almost looked as if they were carrying a person, which struck Bilbo as odd. It was hard to imagine anyone here on the Isle being sick or injured enough to need to be carried. It must surely be something else, he thought; but all the same, he wandered back toward home in a roundabout way, toward the bay and the city, in case there was anything else to see.
As it happened, there was, for just as he turned down the hill toward home, he glanced back one more time toward the road below, and saw, this time, a single figure coming up from the city and leaving the road to climb the hill in his direction. Curious, Bilbo waited, and became more curious still when he recognized the figure.
"Gandalf! Whatever is happening?" he wondered aloud, and walked down to meet the wizard.
"Ah, Bilbo. I'm glad I found you here. Frodo is not with you, is he?"
"No, he's not. It's very difficult to pry him out of the study these days, as a matter of fact. Is something the matter? You look, well, flustered, as I haven't seen you in a long time. There can't be trouble with the elves, can there?"
"No, not trouble," Gandalf said, "although something is amiss, it seems." He continued up the hill, to Bilbo's surprise. "We'll find Frodo at home, then? Good. You are both wanted in the city."
"Really! Whatever for?"
Gandalf didn't answer but moved along quickly, and Bilbo trotted along as quickly as his old feet would carry him to keep up.
Bilbo had not grown younger on the Elvish isle, but a great deal of his health and vigor had returned, though he was still very fond of his daily naps. His mind was alert again, and his appetite for food and drink had returned to nearly their old healthy hobbit levels. He often felt, especially on his walks, like his old self, in the days before his great adventure - just a simple hobbit with no great ambitions, few needs, and no desire for anything more than what life had given him. Plain good food, Elvish song and story, a cozy home, and a nice bit of garden outside his windows were all his delights. There was only one thing that still troubles his heart, and but for that, he would be utterly content.
"Frodo does not come out to walk with you anymore, I take it?" Gandalf said, pausing at the crest of the hill for Bilbo to catch up.
"Hardly ever. He's hard at work on that poem, you know. The translation, that is. Luthien's tale. It was your idea, you and Gildor, to keep our language alive, and he's taken to it with all his heart and mind - it seems to be all he'll think about."
They walked more slowly down the slope, the sound of the sea muffled by the hill behind them. From this side the gardens and windows of the smial could be seen, a splash of color among the grey-green seacoast hills.
"It's a dark tale, for all its beauty," Gandalf said thoughtfully.
"Yes, well. Might not have been the best choice, I suppose. But then... " Bilbo hesitated, and Gandalf turned and looked at him quickly, questioning. "Well, I'm no longer certain it was the best choice for him to come here," Bilbo finally admitted.
"Is that so?" Gandalf paused, looking down at Bilbo intently. Bilbo noted that he did not seem very surprised.
"A hobbit belongs in The Shire-- except for me, I'm more at home with Elves now. But I often wonder if Frodo wouldn't have found healing there, as he hasn't yet found it here. It's where our roots are, or maybe better to say, our hearts, after all."
"So you think he should have stayed behind? It was his own choice to come with you, you know."
Bilbo sighed. "Perhaps I should have stayed as well. Maybe then I could have helped him more."
"You had your own healing to do," Gandalf reminded him gently. "And you would have been parted from him soon, in that case, I'm afraid."
The hobbit sighed again. "I suppose you're right. I had barely enough strength left for the journey here, as it was. The time of our parting will come soon enough, as it is. I'm only afraid..."
"What are you afraid of Bilbo?" Gandalf said, looking at him sharply, though his voice was mild.
Bilbo gazed down at the bright little garden, and at the dark window of the study that could be seen behind a row of sunflowers.
"If you must know, I'm afraid I shall be the one left behind," Bilbo said, almost as if to himself. He glanced at Gandalf, and away quickly.
"You've done all you can for him, Bilbo," Gandalf said, bending to lay his hand on the hobbit's shoulder. "It is not your task to make everything come out right, you known."
Bilbo nodded, blinking and trying to smile. Gandalf straightened and turned toward the hobbit hole again, looking down at it rather sternly, Bilbo thought.
"Help may come in unlooked for ways," the wizard said as he started walking.
"Whatever does that mean?" Bilbo asked.
"Perhaps nothing."
Bilbo realized he was going to get no more answers at least for the moment. With his curiosity breaking through his concern for Frodo, he hurried along at the wizard's side.
---
Frodo had no great desire to leave his study, even though he hadn't written a word in some time. He preferred to let his mind wander in the beautiful, tragic tale of Beren and Luthien, more comfortable there than in his own dark memories. He was surprised when Gandalf and Bilbo called to him from the window, surprised enough to be coaxed out in to the sunlight. Frodo sighed as he left his desk, but he found a smile of greeting for the wizard, even though he'd almost started to dread meeting that piercing gaze. He thought he could hide the darkness in his heart from Bilbo, but he knew Gandalf could see through his smile with ease.
The flowers in Bilbo's garden and the sea-fresh air did nothing to pierce the shadows in Frodo's mind. But as soon as they started walking, his attention was caught by Gandalf's unexpected news of a new arrival on the Elvish isle. He exchanged an astonished glance with Bilbo.
"A new arrival from the Havens?" Bilbo asked, and Frodo lifted his eyes at last to look up anxiously into the wizard's face. His pulse quickened in sudden hope.
"No, I don't believe it is from the Havens," Gandalf said, with a quick glance at Frodo. "It is not yet time for the last ships to sail from Middle Earth, as time is reckoned in the outer world," he said gravely. Frodo dropped his eyes to the ground again.
"Then, what concern is it of ours?" he asked, his voice dull with disappointment.
"That you shall see for yourselves. For now I will tell you only this, that the boat ran aground on the south shore, with a broken mast and no oars."
"But was there anyone aboard the boat?" Bilbo asked impatiently.
"There was a Man aboard her," Gandalf said.
"A man!" Bilbo exclaimed, and the hobbits looked at each other again in surprise.
"Yes. A youth, I'd say of less than 20 years."
"You've seen him?" Frodo asked, intrigued in spite of himself.
"Briefly. He is sick or injured, though we could find no wound on him. He did not awaken when I spoke to him, but Gildor, who found him, says he spoke a few words in a strange language before he fainted."
"A language unknown to the Elves?" Bilbo wondered at that.
Bilbo asked more questions, but Gandalf had no more to say as they walked along. Curiosity now spurred them on. Even Frodo found himself looking forward to reaching the city and catching a glimpse of this mystery.
"But why summon us?" he asked as they passed through the gates. "Hobbits know even less of Men than the Elves do."
"The answer to that you shall know in a moment," Gandalf said, and that was all they could get out of him.
---
When they entered the room where the injured young Man rested in bed, the elves withdrew, leaving the hobbits and Gandalf alone with him. The wizard gestured them forward, and they approached cautiously. Bilbo peered over the edge of the bed, and gave a small gasp.
"Goodness!" he exclaimed, turning to his nephew with his eyes wide with questions.
Beside him, Frodo said nothing, but stared in astonishment at the young Man. The boy's face was his own -- or nearly so. It was young, far younger than he felt, but they were his own features, although they were peacefully composed in deep sleep. If that face woke up and smiled, he thought, it would look as he had long ago, before Bilbo left him in the Shire, before... everything. Yet, as he looked longer, he could see that the face was not entirely untroubled, even softened by sleep. There were blue shadows under the closed eyes, and a line between the brows that revealed some deep worry or lingering pain, a line far too deeply etched for one who appeared so young.
The boy's hands rested on top of the sheet that was over him. Even they were like Frodo's own hands, as he couldn't help but notice-- except, of course, that they were whole. The nails were bitten to the quick, and as he watched, the fingers twitched a little. Frodo felt fascinated by those hands, even more so than by the face, but gazing at them he felt a chill, almost of fear.
"Who is he?" Frodo asked, his voice a whisper. He tore his gaze away from the hands to look up into Gandalf's face.
The old wizard studied the figure on the bed with curiosity, and, Frodo thought, with some sadness.
"I do not know. How he came to be here, or from where he came, I cannot guess. Our first concern is to nurse him back to health, from whatever has weakened him so - whether it was the journey itself or the thing that sent him on it, we don't know. And then, when he is stronger, we must find a way to speak to him."
---
In some kind of dream, Casey kept looking into a watery mirror. He couldn't see his own face, just a shadowy shape with light dancing around its edges. He heard a sound, a murmur like distant waves, but with words in it, or maybe music. He would just start to understand and then it would fade again. Someone kept moving a light around; he could sense it even though his eyes were closed.
He knew he ought to open his eyes and see what was going on, but he didn't want to, not yet. It couldn't be time for school yet. Just a little more sleep. He was just comfortable enough to know that he didn't want to wake up yet. It was like the best of Saturday mornings, almost waking up and realizing you didn't have to after all, and going back to sleep. But the light kept dancing around that shadow in the mirror, and eventually he felt curious enough to want to see what that was about. So he opened his eyes.
The first thing he noticed when his eyes were opened was, oddly enough, a smell - an aromatic, herby smell, like a rich woodsy incense, with a hint of a spice like clove.
"Who's smoking?" he wondered aloud, before his brain was connected enough to think of a more logical question like "where am I?" or "what happened?"
Logic went out the window a moment later, anyway. Someone leaned over him, an old man with sparkling eyes under bushy eyebrows, and a long white beard, who happened to be smoking a pipe.
"Ah. You can speak," said a rich, warm voice, sounding very pleased with either him or itself.
"Apparently," Casey said, proving the point. He could move a little, too, which seemed to be something of a surprise. It felt like he hadn't moved much in a long time. He wiggled fingers and toes, slowly working up to stretching. It actually felt good to stretch a little, as if the movement could squeeze old pain out of his limbs. All the while he gazed up at the old, bearded face above him.
"Who are you?" he asked at last.
"Hmmm," the old man seemed to consider this a surprisingly challenging question. "Perhaps you should call me Gandalf."
"Gandalf," Casey repeated, catching the deep, rolling sound of it but at the same time hearing it said rather differently in his mind. "Oh-kaay..." he said, suddenly amused but at the same time suddenly cautious. "You can be Gandalf. You look the part, any way," he added as an afterthought.
One bushy eyebrow shot upward at this remark.
"You know this name?" the old man asked, eyeing him in wonder.
"Um, yeah," Casey said, feeling even more cautious. It wasn't a good idea to offend an insane person, he thought. "You're the famous wizard, right?"
The old man stopped short in mid-puff on his pipe and stared hard at Casey, who stared back as innocently as he could manage, trying to smile in a non-offending way.
"Where have you come from?" the old man asked at last, and the way he said it gave Casey the feeling that everything in the universe could hinge on the answer.
"Maybe before I answer that you should tell me where I am," he said cautiously.
Gandalf, as he called himself, considered this for a moment before answering. "You are in the city of Avallone, on the Isle of EressŽa on the Shores of Aman."
Casey lay back with a suppressed sigh. "Harrington Hospital Psych Ward," he muttered, closing his eyes. "I've lost it." He fought an urge to giggle, although he wasn't sure what he thought was funny about it. Giggling just seemed to go with being insane.
Gandalf again pondered Casey's words for a moment before speaking.
"You are not mad, as I discern your words to mean you think you are. I speak the truth. Look around you."
Casey opened his eyes again, cautiously, and looked around. The walls of the room were of white stone like marble, and rich, dark beams of wood crossed the ceiling. Narrow windows set in the wall let in soft golden light. The old man, or wizard, whatever he was, sat in a high backed carved wooden chair beside the bed, and next to him was another, smaller chair and a low stool. The bed itself was firm and soft, with a headboard of dark wood carved with trees and vines interlaced with stars.
On the opposite side of the bed, away from the old man's chair, there was a small table, which held a pitcher and cup and bowl on a silver tray. It hardly looked like hospital issue, Casey noted. Nothing did, for that matter. And it didn't smell like a hospital at all, or sound like one - no soft nurses' voices muttering from the hallway, no bells or phones ringing, no hum of machinery.
In fact, what suddenly struck him was the depth of the silence, but then he noticed it was not really silence after all -- quiet, but not silence. He heard a whisper of wind in leaves and birds singing outside the open windows. All he could see through the windows from where he lay was a patch of incredibly blue sky. And the smells - the old man's pipe, and something fresh and clean beyond that, rather like mint or lemon; and then, wafted in on the breeze, the scent of the sea.
That brought him sitting up in bed, as he suddenly remembered his last waking thoughts: the boat, the waves, and the strange men who came and spoke over him before he passed out.
"What's going on?" Casey asked, turning to the old man, who was watching him with knowing eyes. He suddenly knew, although part of his mind still denied it, that this was real. Wherever "here" was, he was really here.
(to be continued)
Author: Tsutsuji
Fandom: Lord of the Rings/The Faculty crossover
Pairing: Casey Connor & Frodo. (Yes, will probably be slash.)
Rating: R (rating for part two: PG)
Warnings: Slash, crossover, interspecies, angst, h/c.
Date written: 9/02 revisited 4/05
Status: WIP
Disclaimer: I do not own the copyright to these characters and I'm making no profit from this fic and intend no copyright infringement.
---
Bilbo paused on his walk along the rocky path overlooking the sea. Behind him, down the long grassy slope, he could see a whiff of smoke that marked where his home was hidden in the roll of the hills. Below him to the right, the unusually quiet waves broke against the rocks that hid the beach to the south. Beyond it, on the edge of sight, a bank of cloud hung far at the southern horizon, blurring the boundary between sea and sky. Nearly straight in front of him, across a glittering bay, the city of Avalonne's gleaming towers shone in the sun.
What made him pause was some movement on the road that led up from the bay into the city. From this distance he could not see for certain, but it appeared to be a small group of the elves heading into the city, and it looked like they were carrying something. In fact, it almost looked as if they were carrying a person, which struck Bilbo as odd. It was hard to imagine anyone here on the Isle being sick or injured enough to need to be carried. It must surely be something else, he thought; but all the same, he wandered back toward home in a roundabout way, toward the bay and the city, in case there was anything else to see.
As it happened, there was, for just as he turned down the hill toward home, he glanced back one more time toward the road below, and saw, this time, a single figure coming up from the city and leaving the road to climb the hill in his direction. Curious, Bilbo waited, and became more curious still when he recognized the figure.
"Gandalf! Whatever is happening?" he wondered aloud, and walked down to meet the wizard.
"Ah, Bilbo. I'm glad I found you here. Frodo is not with you, is he?"
"No, he's not. It's very difficult to pry him out of the study these days, as a matter of fact. Is something the matter? You look, well, flustered, as I haven't seen you in a long time. There can't be trouble with the elves, can there?"
"No, not trouble," Gandalf said, "although something is amiss, it seems." He continued up the hill, to Bilbo's surprise. "We'll find Frodo at home, then? Good. You are both wanted in the city."
"Really! Whatever for?"
Gandalf didn't answer but moved along quickly, and Bilbo trotted along as quickly as his old feet would carry him to keep up.
Bilbo had not grown younger on the Elvish isle, but a great deal of his health and vigor had returned, though he was still very fond of his daily naps. His mind was alert again, and his appetite for food and drink had returned to nearly their old healthy hobbit levels. He often felt, especially on his walks, like his old self, in the days before his great adventure - just a simple hobbit with no great ambitions, few needs, and no desire for anything more than what life had given him. Plain good food, Elvish song and story, a cozy home, and a nice bit of garden outside his windows were all his delights. There was only one thing that still troubles his heart, and but for that, he would be utterly content.
"Frodo does not come out to walk with you anymore, I take it?" Gandalf said, pausing at the crest of the hill for Bilbo to catch up.
"Hardly ever. He's hard at work on that poem, you know. The translation, that is. Luthien's tale. It was your idea, you and Gildor, to keep our language alive, and he's taken to it with all his heart and mind - it seems to be all he'll think about."
They walked more slowly down the slope, the sound of the sea muffled by the hill behind them. From this side the gardens and windows of the smial could be seen, a splash of color among the grey-green seacoast hills.
"It's a dark tale, for all its beauty," Gandalf said thoughtfully.
"Yes, well. Might not have been the best choice, I suppose. But then... " Bilbo hesitated, and Gandalf turned and looked at him quickly, questioning. "Well, I'm no longer certain it was the best choice for him to come here," Bilbo finally admitted.
"Is that so?" Gandalf paused, looking down at Bilbo intently. Bilbo noted that he did not seem very surprised.
"A hobbit belongs in The Shire-- except for me, I'm more at home with Elves now. But I often wonder if Frodo wouldn't have found healing there, as he hasn't yet found it here. It's where our roots are, or maybe better to say, our hearts, after all."
"So you think he should have stayed behind? It was his own choice to come with you, you know."
Bilbo sighed. "Perhaps I should have stayed as well. Maybe then I could have helped him more."
"You had your own healing to do," Gandalf reminded him gently. "And you would have been parted from him soon, in that case, I'm afraid."
The hobbit sighed again. "I suppose you're right. I had barely enough strength left for the journey here, as it was. The time of our parting will come soon enough, as it is. I'm only afraid..."
"What are you afraid of Bilbo?" Gandalf said, looking at him sharply, though his voice was mild.
Bilbo gazed down at the bright little garden, and at the dark window of the study that could be seen behind a row of sunflowers.
"If you must know, I'm afraid I shall be the one left behind," Bilbo said, almost as if to himself. He glanced at Gandalf, and away quickly.
"You've done all you can for him, Bilbo," Gandalf said, bending to lay his hand on the hobbit's shoulder. "It is not your task to make everything come out right, you known."
Bilbo nodded, blinking and trying to smile. Gandalf straightened and turned toward the hobbit hole again, looking down at it rather sternly, Bilbo thought.
"Help may come in unlooked for ways," the wizard said as he started walking.
"Whatever does that mean?" Bilbo asked.
"Perhaps nothing."
Bilbo realized he was going to get no more answers at least for the moment. With his curiosity breaking through his concern for Frodo, he hurried along at the wizard's side.
---
Frodo had no great desire to leave his study, even though he hadn't written a word in some time. He preferred to let his mind wander in the beautiful, tragic tale of Beren and Luthien, more comfortable there than in his own dark memories. He was surprised when Gandalf and Bilbo called to him from the window, surprised enough to be coaxed out in to the sunlight. Frodo sighed as he left his desk, but he found a smile of greeting for the wizard, even though he'd almost started to dread meeting that piercing gaze. He thought he could hide the darkness in his heart from Bilbo, but he knew Gandalf could see through his smile with ease.
The flowers in Bilbo's garden and the sea-fresh air did nothing to pierce the shadows in Frodo's mind. But as soon as they started walking, his attention was caught by Gandalf's unexpected news of a new arrival on the Elvish isle. He exchanged an astonished glance with Bilbo.
"A new arrival from the Havens?" Bilbo asked, and Frodo lifted his eyes at last to look up anxiously into the wizard's face. His pulse quickened in sudden hope.
"No, I don't believe it is from the Havens," Gandalf said, with a quick glance at Frodo. "It is not yet time for the last ships to sail from Middle Earth, as time is reckoned in the outer world," he said gravely. Frodo dropped his eyes to the ground again.
"Then, what concern is it of ours?" he asked, his voice dull with disappointment.
"That you shall see for yourselves. For now I will tell you only this, that the boat ran aground on the south shore, with a broken mast and no oars."
"But was there anyone aboard the boat?" Bilbo asked impatiently.
"There was a Man aboard her," Gandalf said.
"A man!" Bilbo exclaimed, and the hobbits looked at each other again in surprise.
"Yes. A youth, I'd say of less than 20 years."
"You've seen him?" Frodo asked, intrigued in spite of himself.
"Briefly. He is sick or injured, though we could find no wound on him. He did not awaken when I spoke to him, but Gildor, who found him, says he spoke a few words in a strange language before he fainted."
"A language unknown to the Elves?" Bilbo wondered at that.
Bilbo asked more questions, but Gandalf had no more to say as they walked along. Curiosity now spurred them on. Even Frodo found himself looking forward to reaching the city and catching a glimpse of this mystery.
"But why summon us?" he asked as they passed through the gates. "Hobbits know even less of Men than the Elves do."
"The answer to that you shall know in a moment," Gandalf said, and that was all they could get out of him.
---
When they entered the room where the injured young Man rested in bed, the elves withdrew, leaving the hobbits and Gandalf alone with him. The wizard gestured them forward, and they approached cautiously. Bilbo peered over the edge of the bed, and gave a small gasp.
"Goodness!" he exclaimed, turning to his nephew with his eyes wide with questions.
Beside him, Frodo said nothing, but stared in astonishment at the young Man. The boy's face was his own -- or nearly so. It was young, far younger than he felt, but they were his own features, although they were peacefully composed in deep sleep. If that face woke up and smiled, he thought, it would look as he had long ago, before Bilbo left him in the Shire, before... everything. Yet, as he looked longer, he could see that the face was not entirely untroubled, even softened by sleep. There were blue shadows under the closed eyes, and a line between the brows that revealed some deep worry or lingering pain, a line far too deeply etched for one who appeared so young.
The boy's hands rested on top of the sheet that was over him. Even they were like Frodo's own hands, as he couldn't help but notice-- except, of course, that they were whole. The nails were bitten to the quick, and as he watched, the fingers twitched a little. Frodo felt fascinated by those hands, even more so than by the face, but gazing at them he felt a chill, almost of fear.
"Who is he?" Frodo asked, his voice a whisper. He tore his gaze away from the hands to look up into Gandalf's face.
The old wizard studied the figure on the bed with curiosity, and, Frodo thought, with some sadness.
"I do not know. How he came to be here, or from where he came, I cannot guess. Our first concern is to nurse him back to health, from whatever has weakened him so - whether it was the journey itself or the thing that sent him on it, we don't know. And then, when he is stronger, we must find a way to speak to him."
---
In some kind of dream, Casey kept looking into a watery mirror. He couldn't see his own face, just a shadowy shape with light dancing around its edges. He heard a sound, a murmur like distant waves, but with words in it, or maybe music. He would just start to understand and then it would fade again. Someone kept moving a light around; he could sense it even though his eyes were closed.
He knew he ought to open his eyes and see what was going on, but he didn't want to, not yet. It couldn't be time for school yet. Just a little more sleep. He was just comfortable enough to know that he didn't want to wake up yet. It was like the best of Saturday mornings, almost waking up and realizing you didn't have to after all, and going back to sleep. But the light kept dancing around that shadow in the mirror, and eventually he felt curious enough to want to see what that was about. So he opened his eyes.
The first thing he noticed when his eyes were opened was, oddly enough, a smell - an aromatic, herby smell, like a rich woodsy incense, with a hint of a spice like clove.
"Who's smoking?" he wondered aloud, before his brain was connected enough to think of a more logical question like "where am I?" or "what happened?"
Logic went out the window a moment later, anyway. Someone leaned over him, an old man with sparkling eyes under bushy eyebrows, and a long white beard, who happened to be smoking a pipe.
"Ah. You can speak," said a rich, warm voice, sounding very pleased with either him or itself.
"Apparently," Casey said, proving the point. He could move a little, too, which seemed to be something of a surprise. It felt like he hadn't moved much in a long time. He wiggled fingers and toes, slowly working up to stretching. It actually felt good to stretch a little, as if the movement could squeeze old pain out of his limbs. All the while he gazed up at the old, bearded face above him.
"Who are you?" he asked at last.
"Hmmm," the old man seemed to consider this a surprisingly challenging question. "Perhaps you should call me Gandalf."
"Gandalf," Casey repeated, catching the deep, rolling sound of it but at the same time hearing it said rather differently in his mind. "Oh-kaay..." he said, suddenly amused but at the same time suddenly cautious. "You can be Gandalf. You look the part, any way," he added as an afterthought.
One bushy eyebrow shot upward at this remark.
"You know this name?" the old man asked, eyeing him in wonder.
"Um, yeah," Casey said, feeling even more cautious. It wasn't a good idea to offend an insane person, he thought. "You're the famous wizard, right?"
The old man stopped short in mid-puff on his pipe and stared hard at Casey, who stared back as innocently as he could manage, trying to smile in a non-offending way.
"Where have you come from?" the old man asked at last, and the way he said it gave Casey the feeling that everything in the universe could hinge on the answer.
"Maybe before I answer that you should tell me where I am," he said cautiously.
Gandalf, as he called himself, considered this for a moment before answering. "You are in the city of Avallone, on the Isle of EressŽa on the Shores of Aman."
Casey lay back with a suppressed sigh. "Harrington Hospital Psych Ward," he muttered, closing his eyes. "I've lost it." He fought an urge to giggle, although he wasn't sure what he thought was funny about it. Giggling just seemed to go with being insane.
Gandalf again pondered Casey's words for a moment before speaking.
"You are not mad, as I discern your words to mean you think you are. I speak the truth. Look around you."
Casey opened his eyes again, cautiously, and looked around. The walls of the room were of white stone like marble, and rich, dark beams of wood crossed the ceiling. Narrow windows set in the wall let in soft golden light. The old man, or wizard, whatever he was, sat in a high backed carved wooden chair beside the bed, and next to him was another, smaller chair and a low stool. The bed itself was firm and soft, with a headboard of dark wood carved with trees and vines interlaced with stars.
On the opposite side of the bed, away from the old man's chair, there was a small table, which held a pitcher and cup and bowl on a silver tray. It hardly looked like hospital issue, Casey noted. Nothing did, for that matter. And it didn't smell like a hospital at all, or sound like one - no soft nurses' voices muttering from the hallway, no bells or phones ringing, no hum of machinery.
In fact, what suddenly struck him was the depth of the silence, but then he noticed it was not really silence after all -- quiet, but not silence. He heard a whisper of wind in leaves and birds singing outside the open windows. All he could see through the windows from where he lay was a patch of incredibly blue sky. And the smells - the old man's pipe, and something fresh and clean beyond that, rather like mint or lemon; and then, wafted in on the breeze, the scent of the sea.
That brought him sitting up in bed, as he suddenly remembered his last waking thoughts: the boat, the waves, and the strange men who came and spoke over him before he passed out.
"What's going on?" Casey asked, turning to the old man, who was watching him with knowing eyes. He suddenly knew, although part of his mind still denied it, that this was real. Wherever "here" was, he was really here.
(to be continued)