Midnight
by Leafy
Rating: PG-13 for scary imagery, violence, bad attitudes, and tense situations.
Author's Note: I'm in the process of writing a series of LOTR fanfics with titles that are also titles of some of the songs on the Trans-Siberian Orchestra album "Beethoven's Last Night". All of the stories are going to be linked. That's right, my first series! :o) Hope you like it!
This is the second story in the series. The poem referred to in this story in the one in my story "Overture". It is a poem I wrote, myself.
Disclaimer: I own nothing Tolkien or Trans-Siberian Orchestra.
Responses to the reviews for my last story:
Daphne and Moonfairy2000: Thanks for the reviews! I'm glad you both liked the ending! Hope you like these stories, too! :o)
LatestSin: Thanks for the great review! I'm happy you liked the ending. Yeah, Lego didn't die. (He can't die! He's too cool!) I can say for certain that there will be at least two Lego-centered tales in this series. Hope you like it!
Lirenel: Yeah, that's the end of that story. But not my LOTR writings! :o) Thanks for the review. BTW, I looked at some of your stories, and that Warped LOTR one is very clever. :o)
Marissa and the WWP: Thanks! ::grabs goodies:: Writing fuel! Thanks for the review! As for your question, Emblethor sent himself through at that time because it would cure his horrible wound (he didn't want to die!), and he thought that he would be helping the fellowship by getting out of their hair. Emb isn't always so swift on the uptake. (Emblethor: I heard that!) As for my muses, it's an interesting tale. I tried what you suggested, and it worked quite well! I got FIVE wolves (names: Numesse, Meletya, Pinilyapio, Mornekel, and Poikagalad) but then, I found all these other critters that work as faberoo muses, too. They've asked me to update my profile with their profiles, too, so I'm adding the details in there. They're really great! They've given me a bunch of ideas so far! Thanks for the song, too. After y'all sang it for me, I went back and listened to my copy of the soundtrack. Can't decide which rendition I like better, but yours is in the lead! Those wolves have beee-yoteeful voices. :o) Thanks again for the review!
Caitlyn: Thanks for the review! I'm glad you took the time to read my stories, and even happier that you took the time to review. I'm happy you liked The Difference, and hope you like these new stories, too! :o)
bOOgie: Oh, happy endings are some of the best. :o) Yeah, I think the hobbits are very interesting, and they've got lots of potential. I like them all, but I seem to keep gravitating towards Pippin. Not that that's a bad thing (TOOKS ROCK! :o) ) Hehe, well, thanks again for the review, hope you like my new stories, and as for more cliffhangers etc. …count on it! :o)
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Chapter 1
'Moonlight'
"It gets worse with time…just give me what's mine…if so, you won't suffer…you will all be fine…and you will all be mine," Sam brought his hands back around from where they'd been joined behind his back, ending the poem bashfully, despite the nefarious tone of the final lines.
"You do pick the oddest things to memorize, Sam Gamgee," Merry said, looking across minimal fire at his friend, smiling teasingly.
"It's just bits and pieces I've picked up," Sam replied in a good-natured mumble, smiling back at Merry.
"Indeed," Aragorn spoke up then. "It does sound unusual, yet it also sounds useful. I would like to know where you learned it."
"I wish I could remember," Sam shrugged unobtrusively at the ranger. "But I don't. Though, it doesn't sound like anything the Gaffer would've taught me."
"That's true," Frodo added with a slight chuckle, thinking of the old hobbit, whose pearls of wisdom, while they could be considered keepsake, were none of them, as mysterious or mystical as this.
"In fact, it is a very old poem," Gandalf spoke up from his own spot. "One that I, myself learned from a text, long ago, and have not heard or thought of in a long time. Tell me, Samwise, what made you think to recite that?"
"Well," Sam's nerves reared perceptibly at Gandalf's question, as he sensed a good deal of importance riding on its answer, "I don't know, really. I suppose it's only because it sounds so much like much of our situation. You know, with the bits about returning what's his, and how he's watching, and all that."
"A keen observation," Gandalf replied. "Indeed, it would probably be a good idea to keep that particular poem in your head."
"That I will," Sam said, admiringly dutiful, as he took his seat again.
"And as that's ensured," Frodo said to Sam, "I'm sure you have many others in there, Sam. What else do you know?"
***
Aragorn lay on the ground, his cloak acting as a blanket, laying underneath the thicket that acted as a roof over the bed of dirt. He stared up at the pale yellow of the open sky above him, framed by the black outlines of the trees.
He tried shutting his eyes, but found that this was almost impossible, that they seemed to want to spring open again, as soon as he did. For some reason, sleep seemed quite far off, this particular day.
He then realized that his lips were moving silently, mouthing familiar words.
"Beware the dark…don't sit alone…it's risk you can't afford…"
The poem, Sam's poem. An odd thing to store in the brain, to be sure, not to mention unsettling in its content. But only a poem.
And still, Aragorn found himself bothered by its memory, unable to remove all of the lines from his thoughts. It had been a queer thing to witness, back there. Sam's tone had been his own, yet the words came out chill and more meaningful than any of the other things any of them had found to recite, as a means of entertainment. And, there was his gaze. Sam had been seated next to Frodo, who had been across from Boromir, who had sat next to Aragorn. Yet, the whole time Sam was reciting the poem, he'd been looking right at Aragorn, as if telling the story to the ranger, alone.
Aragorn couldn't help but notice the way the poem seemed to speak only to one individual, telling him what would happen to him, as well as his friends if he didn't give the speaker of the poem "what's mine".
Aragorn naturally agree with Sam, on what was "mine" had to be, the burden Frodo carried. Even if it was, though, that didn't make it any easier to figure out the poem's words.
"Who says I must figure it out?" Aragorn thought to himself, clenching his teeth, forcing his lips to cease their movement. It was only a poem, an old, old poem, in prose that he could not grasp. There was no need to force himself to try, especially now, with so much else to be concerned with. Aragorn shut his eyes again, turning his head away from the glowing sky, breathing in slowly, knowing it would soon be time to move on again.
It had been a pleasant time before, being able finally to light a small fire, and finding themselves in good enough spirits to exchange rhymes and whispered songs. He should have enjoyed it, he knew. There was nothing to worry about, from it.
**********
Aragorn awoke without opening his eyes. He listened, still and silent for a moment, to the breeze of the early evening, sighing through the shrubs above him. He sighed in his turn quietly, rolling over onto his back, opening his eyes, which felt moist and sore, as if from a hard sleep. Indeed, the moment he opened them, Aragorn squeezed them shut again, thinking he hadn't opened them properly the first time, as all he saw was darkness, much too dark for this time of day.
He sat up, his eyes open for sure, gazing at the blind landscape as he climbed away from the bush. It looked like midnight. Aragorn got to his feet. How long had he been asleep? It didn't feel all that long. Why had no one woken him?
"Aragorn," Frodo's voice sounded behind him.
"What's wrong?" he turned, knowing this was no evening greeting.
"It's been dark too long," Frodo whispered, standing before him. "I think something's wrong. Look…"
Aragorn stepped over the shrubs, quickly following Frodo out of the clearing, through the trees, where the rest of the fellowship stood, gazing through them, at something Aragorn could not see, with looks of fused confusion and apprehension.
Through the trees was darkness, yet on the other side was a small lagoon, hardly stirred by the faint wind. The area of the water was lit just slightly, with something reflecting from the pool.
"Have a look," Gandalf said quietly.
Aragorn stepped through the trees and toward the water, though he found the sudden presence of light nerve-wracking, as if it wasn't the kind of light that was wanted.
Aragorn could see a pale globe reflected in the water, as he came close to it, the wind picking up suddenly, stirring the shining surface, swirling the circle. He stood patiently at the water's edge, looking down, waiting to get a clear view. As the waters calmed and stilled, his eyes met with a disquieting image.
He had expected to see the moon, troubled in some way, perhaps too bright, perhaps too dim, but plagued by something, itself. Yet the whitish thing he looked through the darkness of the rest of the clearing on was not the moon; it lacked the craters, the face that watched those that slept under it, and was not so gray. This was smoother, and much too intense in its reflection to be the moon.
The sun was reflected in the darkness of the water.
***End of Part 1