Star Wars is the property of George Lucas and LFL. No profits were made and no disrespect is intended with this fic.



Hobbi(t)
Part One
by Arwen


I don't know how long the tortured me. Endlessly, it seemed. But I would not tell them! Never! The Dark Lord would never learn of the hobbit and his mission until it was too late!

Eventually, the figured out that I wouldn't tell them anything and they threw me in a pit below the Black Tower. Naked, I huddled against the wall and hugged my knees. If I closed my eyes and tried real hard, I could remember my home, Minas Tirith. My family. My brother, Faramir. My father, Denethor. My grandfather, Ecthelion, who died when I was seven. My mother, Finduilas of Dol Amroth, who died when I was ten.

She was very beautiful. When I was young, she would hold me close and sing songs to me. She was as beautiful as the sea she lived on before coming to Minas Tirith to be the bride of the son of the Steward of Gondor. She seemed so strong, invincible. But she wasn't.

When I was six, my brother Faramir was born. He was a big baby, and she never healed from birthing him. Four years later, the fever that killed only children, the infirm, and the old carried away the Lady of Gondor. My father never forgave the son who unwittingly caused his mother's death by being born. I was the perfect son, despite my faults. Faramir could do everything I did, and more, but he could never please our father. Always, when Father looked upon Faramir, he saw our mother and the fact that she slept in Rath Dínen, and did not sit next to him in the Citadel.

Seek for the Sword that was Broken:
In Imladris it dwells;
There shall counsels be taken
Stronger than Morgul-spells.
There shall be shown a token
That Doom is near at hand.
For Isildur's Bane shall waken,
And the Halfling forth shall stand.

The words of the dream that haunted me. Father did not want me to go, but I went anyway. I traveled for a hundred and ten days until I came to Rivendell, the House of Elrond. I presented myself to the gatekeeper that gray morning when I came to the River Brunien. "I am Boromir, son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor. I seek an audience with the Lord Elrond."

They sent me to see him, but to my surprise, there were perhaps thirty people there, sitting in chairs in a circle. One of the chairs was higher and grander than the others, and in this chair sat an Elf.

I looked at him and saw wisdom, greatness, and yet sadness. I looked at the others. There was a man, dark and tall, with a grim countenance. His cool eyes terrified me. Those are the eyes of a man who has stared Death in the face. I thought. I looked at the others. There were a few Dwarves, and I nodded respectfully to them and got a nod in return. There were a few Elves, that from their rainment I guessed to be from Mirkwood. To my surprise, there were two children! One seemed ten or so, with bright perky eyes and round chubby cheeks. The other didn't look like a child at all, but at that height, what else could he be? I supposed that they may have been midgets, but whatever they were, the eyes of these two were horrible to behold: they had the look of those who had seen worse than Death.

I stared, entranced.

"Why do you stare at them?" I turned to see a Dwarf, bristly and hairy like all Dwarves, holding a battle-axe.

"Why are there children here?" I asked.

He chuckled. "They be not children! They be hobbits!"

"What are hobbits?"

"They are sometimes referred to as the `halflings,' Man of Gondor. But they call themselves hobbits."

Halflings? Would one of these be the halfling referred to in my dream?

"Who are they?" I asked, nonchalantly.

"The older one is Bilbo. The other is his nephew, Frodo. They are a long-lived people, I'm told. Bilbo is much over a hundred years old and Frodo is not young either!"

"Why do they look so…so…"

"Haunted? I do not know. Mayhap we will learn this here! This Dwarf has come to learn much. Gimli, son of Gloín, I am, of the Lonely Mountain of Erebor."

"I am Boromir, son of Denethor, Steward of the High King of Gondor."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the dark Man look at me with interest.

"Who is he?" I asked Gimli.

"I do not know truly, Boromir son of Denethor. He has high favor with the Lord Elrond, and, it is said, the Lady Arwen."

"Who is she?"

"The Lady Arwen? She is the daughter of Elrond, and maiden fair she is. It is said that she and that Man have sworn that they will one day bind themselves together."

I looked at Gimli, startled. I knew my history, and there had only been two unions of Elf and Man before! Who was this Man who was so high that he thought that he was good enough to take the daughter of an Elf-Lord, and was great enough to win her esteem?!

Even as I wondered this, Elrond called us to order an the meeting began.

When I left Rivendell as a member of the Company of the Ring, I was still numb with shock. He was Isildur's heir! He meant to claim the throne of Gondor! But I followed him, and gradually I learned to love him, as a man learns to love the leader that he follows. I knew that Aragorn would do anything for any member of the Company, including me. When Gandalf fell into Moria, Aragorn was the natural leader. We followed him to Loríen and back out again. I don't know what madness seized me, but I tried to take the Ring from Frodo.

No!

I cannot even think about That here! I cannot think it! The Dark Lord must NEVER learn of it! I huddled against the wall and shivered. It was very cold. They brought me before him. They chained me to a wall in front of him. The great Eye, lidless, wreathed in flame, was before me. His voice just appeared in my mind, demanding answers!

But I wouldn't tell him.

So he destroyed me. He took my memory and wiped my mind clean.

Pain.

Dark.

Pain.

Darkness.

The Shadow.

Fire.

Pain.

Who am I?

Where am I from?

How did I get here?

Why do I hurt?

"Hobbiiiii…" the word came from my split lips.

It wasn't right. It wasn't right! It wasn't `hobbie' it was…

It was…

What?

Who am I?

Maybe I am Hobbie.

No. My name is not Hobbie.

Who am I?

Hobbie?

Hobbie'll do for now.

Hobbie may not be my name, but I will be Hobbie. At least it is something I can identify myself with.

I slept.

I woke.

The pain didn't go away.

I still didn't know who I was.

No matter. I will be Hobbie now.

Suddenly, the walls cracked! They broke down! I saw light! I crawled out, towards the light. I was standing on a broad plain. The rubble of a high tower was behind me. I crawled around, then stood and walked.

Where am I?

How did I get here?

There was something shiny over there…

I walked over to it. There was a door in the side of it and I walked in. I found a corner, curled up in it and slept.

"Hey!"

I awoke. There was a man standing over me. He was big and strong.

He smelled bad. He grabbed me by the scruff of my neck and tossed me out the door.

Wait!

I wasn't here!

Where's the tower, the mountain, the black smoke?

I wandered around.

Where am I?

How did I get here?

A lady stopped and looked at me.

"What's your name?"

I stared at her. What was my name?

"Hobbie," I said. It was as good as anything.

"Hobbie?"

"No. My name is not Hobbie, but I don't know what my name is."

"Well, you follow me, and we'll see if we can't help you, Hobbie."

Her name was Leona Klivian. She and her husband took me in. They gave me a name, Derek, and said that I could be their son. So I became Derek Klivian. But I remembered Hobbie.

I learned that I was on Ralltiir and that I had gotten here on a ship. I wanted to find the place I had been, so, after awhile, I left Ralltiir and joined the Imperial Navy. It seemed like my best bet to find out who I was. But the Empire disgusted me, and I defected to the Alliance. I took a pilot's test and was put in Rogue Squadron, under the command of Luke Skywalker.

I remembered Hobbie. I would find out who I really was and what `hobbie' meant to me! I would!


Continued in Part Two