Weathertop

        The next few days passed in a blur, and Elliott found himself at Weathertop. The place where Frodo gets stabbed and whatever. Elliott's problem, currently, was whether (ha) or not to change it. With a simple, "No, don't light a fire you fucking nimrods," he could prevent Frodo from a life-threatening wound. But... should he? Everything happened for a reason; what if his stopping the fire meant that they didn't ride as fast and got caught and killed by the nazgul? Or nothing so fast-acting, but he set off a butterfly effect that caused the end of Middle Earth? 

        Elliott toyed with one of his bracelets as Aragorn left him and the hobbits up on Weathertop, leaving to scout out the area. Did he or did he not...? 

        Ah, well. Sorry Frodo; the risks weren't worth it. He curled up on his side and closed his eyes with a yawn and clutched his protection bracelet tightly. He'd wake up when Frodo went yelling at the others to stop the fire, now was time for a small nap.

...

        A hand shook roughly at his shoulder and he grumbled, sitting up. "Wha...?" he rubbed his eyes, then looked around. Frodo was deathly pale and whimpering with bandages around his shoulder, the hobbits looked terrified, Aragorn looked grim and the place was clearly a battlefield. His jaw dropped. He slept through it!? What kind of fanfiction was this, where the original character - Oh, god, what if he was a y/n?? He never thought about that! - slept through all the important scenes!? He stood, hurrying over to Frodo. "What the hell happened!?"

       "We were attacked by the black riders," Pippin said, face struggling between laughing, scowling and crying. "And you just slept through it! It was so... so... so strange, seeing you curled up in the middle of the battlefield, fast asleep and not gaining a scratch while the rest of us fought for our lives!"

        Elliott winced, averting his gaze sheepishly. Guilt welled in him, but he stamped it down. "Wake me next time, then," he grumbled, walking over to Frodo, unclasping his protection bracelet and from his own arm and clasping it around Frodo's wrist. 

       Aragorn sighed. "We have no time for petty squabbles. Come, we must make haste."

        And that signalled the beginning of the most gruelling walk Elliott had ever gone on. They didn't stop moving, except to sleep. Good news was that Elliott, as an elf, didn't need to sleep as much as the others.He got to stay up all night and play around with his charms, of which he currently had five. He had the speed bracelet, the protection bracelet, the courage bracelet, a bracelet for strength, and a bracelet for luck. That last one has been made when he found a gold coin on the ground, then quickly enchanted one of his bracelets by wishing he had found more. For a while he wasn't sure if it was enchanted with luck or greed, but it seemed to be luck.

        "Look, Mr. Frodo, there are the trolls from Bilbo's story," Sam said to Frodo, touching his cheek. Then he gasped, looking up worriedly. "He's gone cold!"

        "He is turning into one of them," Aragorn said. "We must go. Quickly, before it is too late!"

        Elliott zoned out again until the golden-haired elf that he saw like, sixty years ago appeared. Then he hid behind a tree, because it was awful trying to explain to Aragorn why he ran away and he didn't need a second instance of that. He'd learnt that a simple, 'I was scared' worked wonders, but it still didn't get rid of all the questions. Then the elf - Glorfindel, Aragorn said - rode off with Frodo.

        Great. Not much else to do, now. He just followed Aragorn as the man led them into elvish territory. Shit. he'd run away from the leader of this place, too, hadn't he? That was coming back to bite him. Maybe he could plead 'child' if questioned. 

        Or he could run away again. He liked that idea. 

        They were greeted by some random elf that Elliott didn't know - thank god - and were each given a room to stay in. Elliott's was the best, in his humble opinion. That was why, for the next few days, he holed himself up in his room and didn't come out at all. It got to the point where Aragorn had to drag him out to eat.

        Elliott snuck into the hall of healing, peeking his head into Frodo's room to greet the now-awake hobbit. No-one was in there except Gandalf, so he slipped in quietly to say hi before the other hobbits caught wind of Frodo's condition and ran in. "Hey, Frodo. Sorry for sleeping through your stabbing. Congrats on not turning into a ringwraith," he said, then winced at his choice of words. Frodo just laughed, though.

      So did someone in the corner. Elliott jumped and turned around. only to face Lord Elrond. He cursed himself. How could he firget that Elrond was the one who healed Frodo, and was in the room when he woke!?

        "How is your leg?" Elrond questioned, a slight smirk and a twinkling of his eyes the only things that gave away the fact that he was teasing. 

        "Oh!" Elliott's voice went high-pitched. "Lord Elrond. What a-" his voice cracked; something it hadn't done in years. "-a nice surprise."

        Elrond huffed, crossing his arms. "Quite."

        Oh, Elliott was in so much hot water. That was why he did what he did best in these situations; he ran away.

        He looked around, but Elrond was in front of the door. No matter. He turned and threw himself out the window, ignoring the shocked cries.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Outtake:

         Aragorn grunted, deflecting the sword of a Nazgūl and setting the foul thing on fire. He quickly ran up the hill towarss where he'd left the hobbits and Elliot.

        One, two, three, four hobbits. Good. He swung his torch out at another Nazgūl. Wait, where was...? Then he stumbled over something warm and fleshy. Horror filled him. Had he allowed an elfling to die under his watch?

        He looked down at Elliott, who was curled up on the ground, as if sleeping. Poor thing. Just then, Elliott shifted with a slight yawn, then fell back into a deep sleep. Aragorn sighed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sorry if in my telling of the happenings, shit gets left out. We'll call that an artistic rendition, not just me having the memory of a goldfish (so I can't remember the lines, or what happened completely) and losing my Lotr books (so I can't go back and CHECK).

Update: I now know where I'm going with this because I had just this,, amazing fucking idea and it's bloomed so much and I'm at an all-time high in motivation rn.