In That Sleep of Death
Chapter 143
by Llinos
beta Marigold
Bloggin stood open-mouthed; his poor brain almost exploding with demands for information and his incredulous eyes overloaded with what was happening around him.
First of all, Mr Little Pip had begun shouting something about eagles, which was terrifying enough in itself, as he knew that eagles were predatory monsters that would kill a small orc like him just for sport. Then Mr New Little Pip had grabbed him round the neck, almost strangling him as he knocked him off his feet and dragged him backwards.
Bloggin almost protested at this rough treatment until he realised that all the hobbits were attempting to take cover beneath a rocky outcrop and that Mr New Little Pip had pulled him into their hidey-hole to protect him from whatever it was that may or may not be eagles.
"M-merry... how it be... they go finding..."
"I don't know, we must all just keep really still," Merry had wedged himself in front of Frodo and was hugging Pippin as close to him as was possible.
"This shouldn't be happening!" Sam growled. "We done it all, just like Mr Gandalf said. What else is there?"
Even as he spoke, all four hobbits and Bloggin felt the susurration begin again. Quietly at first, then building to a rustling murmur, it agitated around them, probing and whispering. Above them the seven remaining Nazgûl circled ominously.
"What are they doing?" Frodo could not see clearly from his cramped position and was still very groggy. "Do you think they can see us?"
"Noooo! Pippin! Come back!" Merry gasped as his cousin either wrenched himself, or was pulled from his protective grip and rolled out into the open.
Merry and Sam both scrambled from their hiding place, falling over each other to try to grab Pippin from whatever had hold of him. The sibilant sounds seemed to become excited and Sam was certain he could make out words. "sshhhh iss remembersss, thissss one hassss tousssched..."
The wind picked up, the pulsating noise rising in pitch to an incessant whine, and abruptly all three were lifted up and swirled helplessly around, like leaves in a whirlwind. Frodo lurched on to all fours and began to crawl towards the melee, trying to force his battered body forward to stop what was happening. Bloggin, sensing he should do something, dashed out from under the rocks and ran around after the hobbits, waving his arms in the air, too panicked to try to communicate with his brother what was happening.
"Frodo! Don't move! Stay there!" Sam's voice was whipped away by the spiralling wind, and even if Frodo had heard him and had obeyed, it was doubtful that it would have made any difference.
The tumult of spirits and wraiths distended to encompass both Frodo and Bloggin and they were relentlessly caught up in the spinning spectral cyclone; lifted higher and higher as the Nazgûl circled down to meet them.
All four hobbits and the little orc were buffeted helplessly back and forth, their arms and legs flailing against the unseen force that held them. At the same time a dread fear washed over them as the Nazgûl wheeling above, like ever-present vultures waiting for a dying animal to breathe its last, radiated their deadly Black Breath. Merry felt his right arm deaden with pain and Frodo tried to clutch at his shoulder as a wire of agony shot through him.
Desperately Merry reached out and attempted to grab hold of Pippin. "At least," he thought, "if we are to be taken by the Ringwraiths, to meet our doom, we can go together." Just as their fingers touched, Merry suddenly felt as if his whole body had turned to stone and he plummeted to the ground.
Although the breath had been knocked out of him by the fall, Merry rolled over hoping to see the others also released from the eerie wind and was met by the falling body of Bloggin, who landed on top of him with a sickening thud!
"Gerroff! Quick, where are they?" Merry frantically pushed Bloggin to one side and, fuelled only by adrenaline; all his faltering strength having been used up long ago, lurched to his knees.
The fearsome wind had at least subsided and all seemed eerily quiet. There was no sign of Frodo, Sam or Pippin. The only sound came from the screeching cries of the Nazgûl as they flew swiftly away towards Barad-dûr – that and a tiny echo in his mind.
'merrrrryyy! love you!'
Bloggin whimpered in fear as the remaining hobbit, his face a contortion of grief and fury, fell forward onto the ash-strewn ground and began to hammer his fists on the rock. "Nooooooo! Pippin! No! No! No!"
-0-0-0-0-0-0-
Frodo felt happier than he had ever felt before in his whole life. He was not sure why this particular day should feel so wonderful; there had been many others just like it and he was in no doubt there would be many more. Endless happy days spiralling joyfully into infinity; with an inexhaustible supply of now! But this particular day had a certain magical quality about it.
It had started early with a quick breakfast in the nursery, snatching a piece of bread and butter, just to keep Merry-lad company. Merry had assured him that today was the day they would catch the big old pike that haunted Bucklebury Pond. His grandfather Rory had just bought him a new rod and line and the little lad assured Frodo he could have first 'go' on it!
Second breakfast was taken in his mother's little parlour; strong, sweet tea and a runny boiled egg and soldiers. His mother still fussed over him like a faunt, but Frodo never minded. The egg had even proved to have a double yolk.
Then, with a large picnic basket, bursting at the seams, Frodo had set off with his mother and father and Merry and his parents, Uncle Sara and Aunt Esmie, in the phaeton to Bucklebury Pond. The Pond was more like a large lake; being formed by a backwater from the Brandywine and was deep, cool and luscious.
Frodo and Merry had jumped, dived and swum in the Pond until their fingers had turned wrinkled and Aunt Esmie had seen her precious baby shiver at least once. Then they had both been wrapped in big fluffy towels and were now sitting beneath the majestic horse chestnut trees, with the sunlight filtering warmly through the green fingered leaves, setting about the serious business of demolishing the picnic.
They sat happily munching their way through egg and cress sandwiches, pork pies, cold chicken, scones with strawberry jam and clotted cream, while their fathers discussed the various methods for catching pike.
"First of all you need a strong rod with a test curve of at least two and a half pounds," said Drogo. "I think Old Rory has done your lad proud with this one, although I doubt the child could handle his Lordship yet."
"True," Saradoc agreed, "It's got a massive reel; holds up to 30 pounds of braid line. I doubt Merry can even lift it, but you know how Rory is with the lad."
Frodo listened contentedly to the long discussion. He, and they, knew very well that no one ever actually caught his Lordship. The great pike had ruled the Pond for as long as he could remember, but had always remained, 'the one that got away'!
Merry and he had a little pretend squabble over the last egg sandwich, until Merry diplomatically tore it in two, measuring the pieces to make sure they were equitable and handing Frodo the slightly smaller half. "You shouldn't even be eating those Fro," the youngster pointed out diplomatically. "You know egg makes you ill."
"I don't care," Frodo grinned; his mouth full of sandwich. "They're still my favourites." 'Which was odd,' it suddenly occurred to him. 'Egg does make me ill and I never eat it!'
'Nevertheless! This was the most perfect day,' Frodo thought dreamily. "Nothing could make it better – could it?"
Then, strolling over the mossy bank that surrounded the Pond, he saw his Uncle Bilbo, followed by – of all people – the wizard Gandalf! Why would Bilbo be here, today of all days? Frodo had not even heard that he was due to visit – and with Gandalf! Perhaps they were off on another adventure, or had just been on one and were coming to tell him all about it. Well that would certainly make this day even more than perfect!
Suddenly, Frodo's happiness seemed to falter. Of course he was delighted to see them, but there was something not quite right about it – something frighteningly unreal!
And why was Merry here at the same time as his own parents? Drogo and Primula had both drowned at least two years before Merry was even born. It was all wrong. "But then," Frodo said out loud to whoever might be listening, "it's a very nice dream; just a happy dream. Something I wished could have happened and that's not such a bad thing."
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Sam was digging his garden. The soil was deep black with loam and a touch of peat and he turned it over with ease. Behind him on the grass were three bulging sacks, each filled to the brim with that morning's crop of new potatoes.
"Sam! Help me Sam!" Marigold, his youngest sister was struggling along the path, laden down by a hefty jug with a tankard balanced on top, together with an equally huge bundle made from a large red and white spotted cloth. Sam rushed to her rescue, laughing as he unburdened her of the pitcher of beer and mug.
"Ma said to bring you a noon piece," explained Marigold unnecessarily. "I thought I was going to drop it!"
"Drop my beer!" Sam exclaimed in mock indignation. "I would have to disown you as my sister if you did that!"
Sam sat on the lush green grass and took a long pull on his beer, while Marigold set out the freshly baked bread and ripe yellow cheese on the red and white cloth. There were pickled onions in a jar and a large slab of butter wrapped in waxed paper. Marigold had even remembered to bring a good knife and a pickle fork.
Sam munched happily on the bread and cheese, while Marigold ran around picking lady-smocks and daffodils and poppies to make a posy for her mother. Just as Sam had speared his fifth pickled onion, there came a shout from over the hedge.
"Ho there Samwise Gamgee!" It sounded very much like Mr Bilbo Baggins' friend Gandalf the Wizard. Sam poked his head up over the hedge and there indeed was Mr Gandalf himself, together with Mr Baggins and his nephew Frodo, all sitting up grand in Mr Gandalf's waggon.
"How would you like to come for a little ride with us Samwise?" Gandalf had a twinkle in his eyes that Sam had never really noticed before.
"We're going down to Woody End," Frodo added. "Uncle Bilbo knows of some elves who will be passing that way and we're going to meet them."
"I've spoken to your ma and pa," Mr Bilbo added. "They say you've worked really hard and that they don't mind you coming along."
"Yes, do come Sam," Frodo pleaded. "I expect we'll stop for a couple of pints in the Green Dragon on the way back."
"Well, that would be grand!" Sam took his hat off and scratched his head. "But if you don't mind me saying, it's a bit of a surprise an' all!"
"I know!" Frodo laughed with glee at the gardener's perplexed expression. "I expect it all seems like a dream to you Sam. But why worry? Just come along and enjoy yourself."
"Right you are Master Frodo," Sam waved goodbye to Marigold and ran around to the gate. As he climbed up onto the back of the waggon the thought did cross his mind that, if it were a dream it certainly was a peculiar one. Sam did not in general hold with fanciful dreams; his Gaffer always said they weren't for the likes of them!
But, when all was said and done, this had to be a dream and a pretty odd one at that! 'Daffodils and poppies, blooming together?' Sam wondered why he had not thought about that earlier. 'And his ma! That was even more extraordinary. She had passed on before Marigold was even walking and yet now, she was baking him bread and sending him off on adventures with the Wandering Wizard to meet Elves! Very strange!'
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Pippin couldn't remember a time when he had ridden his pony this fast. The wind was racing past his ears and his breath was coming in short exhilarated gulps. Bracken's hooves, pounding on the fresh green turf, filled the air with the heady aroma of springtime.
He had left Tuckborough at first light and was now flying through Green Hill Country on his way to Buckland. It was now nearly noon and all morning long Pippin and Bracken had been racing the Sun.
"Aha!" Pippin shouted to his willing pony, "We're winning! We'll be at Woodhall before her! Mistress Sun put on a good show, but She's no match for us!"
Bracken snorted in agreement, but still did not slow his pace.
"Good old Merry will be so surprised!" Pippin laughed. "At this rate we should be in Buckland before Her Royal Highness, Mistress Sun has even donned her nightdress, let alone thought about going to bed!"
Even as Pippin shouted his defiance at the Sun, a magnificent red stag broke cover before them and sprinted ahead, along the green ride, his noble head held high and his antlers shimmering in the golden sunlight.
"Come on Bracken," Pippin cried. "Let's race him. The Sun has proved no match for us; we will show this fellow the meaning of speed!"
Without further urging, Bracken put his ears back and head down and was soon galloping neck and neck with the stag. Ahead of them Pippin could see that a great oak had fallen across their path and was blocking the way. Its ancient trunk was thick with age and it rose at least six feet from the ground.
"Hey hup, my beauty!" Without hesitation Bracken cleared the tree, leaping even higher than the stag had done and, with not an inch to call between them, the rider and pony raced the king of the woodland ever onwards with the leisurely Sun dawdling behind them.
"Hold there Peregrin Took! Halt I say!" A tall figure stepped out from the trees that lined the margins of the green ride, followed by a smaller, hobbit-sized person.
"Oh pish and botheration!" Pippin muttered. "Now who's this and what do they want?"
He hauled on Bracken's reins with a loud "Whoa!" And as the pony slowed to a halt, he jumped quickly down. "Gandalf!" Pippin was surprised and quite pleased to see who it was. "And Uncle Bilbo too! Why did you stop me?"
"Why do you think Peregrin Took?" Gandalf smiled at him.
"You want to know what I think?" Pippin laughed. "Is that a trick question?"
'Now why did that seem so odd?' Pippin wondered. 'Then again, riding his pony faster than the Sun was really quite peculiar too; especially as he was riding from west to east. Didn't the Sun usually go the other way? A dream then,' thought Pippin. 'What a pity; it had felt so real!'
-0-0-0-0-0-0-
'Merry? Merry dear heart, why do you rage and weep so?'
Merry could only vaguely make out the voice in his head, masked as it was by his anger and misery. As the first wash of anguish began to subside slightly, he became aware that Legolas must be talking to him. What was the rule at the moment? They'd been told not to mindspeak or... or... Whatever it was Merry decided he did not actually care anymore. His cousins and friend had been taken by the Nazgûl, almost certainly to Sauron, there was hardly anything he needed to keep secret now.
'they all be goed... hic...pip...frodosam all go be takened'
'Who took them Merry?'
'be they nazergûl did takened'
'Why did they not take you?"
'not don't not know not know no things more now!'
'I don't understand either, but Merry, please be strong. I will consult with Gandalf. Do not say too much to me at the moment. Is Bloggin still with you?'
'is'
'Then speak with him until I can return to you – be brave my valiant soldier."
'will... hic... will try'
Legolas carefully closed the link with Merry's mind and reached out his hand to Éowyn. She took it at once and listened carefully as he relayed all he knew, which, although was not much, was indeed dire.
Éowyn turned to Gandalf, who had been growing more and more impatient since his last communication with Bloggin via his brother. "I know," said Gandalf, waving his hand at her attempt to speak. "I eavesdropped. There is much to consider here, but so little of it makes sense. I must concentrate. There must be something I am missing."
"You could tell us Mithrandir," Éowyn spoke gently. "Perhaps if you set out all the facts to Legolas and to me you will see what is missing."
"Yes, yes," Gandalf beckoned to Sniggin to fetch him a low camp stool and he eased himself down to sit. "You are right Milady, we must apply logic."
Éowyn and Legolas could tell that the wizard was in great fear over what had happened to the hobbits, as indeed they were, but it would not help to dwell on that right now. Legolas, holding on tightly to Éowyn's hand, began to pull himself upright.
"No Legolas!" Éowyn, fearing for his wound, pushed gently with her other hand to stop him. "You are not healed enough yet. Your injury was only recently stitched. You must lie still!"
But Legolas was determined and, shaking his head, was able to pull himself up to lean against her. She managed to prop a pillow behind him and he sank back into it, satisfied that he was no longer flat on his back.
"Now," Gandalf began, his mind glancing briefly over what reaction young Faramir might have had at the close encounter between the elf and the object of his adoration. "The mystery is, why was Sauron not destroyed when Frodo threw the Ring into the fires of Mount Doom. His power should have perished with Its destruction – this I know for certain."
"Can we be sure that he did actually throw It in?" Éowyn suggested. "I know we heard the hobbits mindspeaking that he had, but might that have been some kind of trick?"
Legolas shook his head firmly and sent with his mind, 'I am sure there was no mistake about that. I am so familiar with the hobbits' minds now that I would have known if it were not them, or if they were being coerced in some way.'
"Let us then assume that Frodo did in fact succeed," Gandalf continued. "But originally we were expecting Pippin to have to destroy his faux Ring as well and yet, Sniggin here reported that Merry had said the Ring was made whole again."
"Perhaps It wasn't!" Éowyn suggested. "How was It joined? Did he say?"
"'Scuse I Milady Madam," Sniggin had been following the debate with care, wondering if he might be called upon to give evidence at some point. "He sayed, that is Mr Little Pip sayed that it was Eroo what done it."
"It seems unlikely that Eru would intervene in such a circumstance," Gandalf said wryly, "although not impossible."
"Not Eru, begging yer pardon yer 'Onour," Sniggin wrinkled his already craggy face. Being quite a gossipy little orc, he actually had quite a good ear for detail. "He sayed it was Eroo."
"Just a difference in pronunciation, surely," Gandalf was quite aware that much was lost in translation between the hobbits and the two little orcs. "But whatever or whoever caused it, are we certain that it occurred?"
"We cannot be certain of anything," Éowyn voiced the thoughts of all. "But that it did not occur, would seem the most likely reason."
"In that case," Gandalf followed the line of logic, "what we need to do now is to establish what on Middle-earth happened to Pippin's Ring."
-TBC-
Author's Notes:
A big Thank You to the faithful reviewers!
No questions to answer this time. I just wanted to point out that the reference to "His Lordship" (The mighty pike of Bucklebury Pond) was inspired by Rupert Brooke's poem, "The Old Vicarage, Grantchester". I remember choosing this poem for my 5th Form poetry study. It was then, and still is, a big favourite of mine and these lines in particular have always stayed with me.
"Still in the dawnlit waters cool
His ghostly Lordship swims his pool,
And tries the strokes, essays the tricks,
Long learnt on Hellespont, or Styx."
If you are a poetry freak like me, you probably already know it. If not, look it up anyway – it's a fantastic read!
Heddwch!
Llinos
