Thank you to all those reviewing.

Nina: Yeah, right. You DON'T want Legolas hurt? So, you want him to just wake up and blink and nothing happened? Haha. OK.

Earthdragon: as always, you made me think about that😉

Thanks as always to the fabulous Anarithilien.

This chapter is for Tear-Soaked Keyboard, Ruiniel and Tobiramamara, and Nurayy- who have all been reading everything I think I have ever written and posting for reviews on every single chapter- making me very happy. Thank you. This chapter is for you when you catch up😊

Chapter 12: Brandybuck Hall

Frodo sat comfortably in one of the deeply upholstered chairs in the library of Brandybuck Hall. The small fire blazed and crackled merrily in the huge stone hearth, small because they did not really need it but they had it because Merry was still not quite recovered and was cold. Merry was sitting in the chair opposite with a thick blanket tucked around him. The blanket had been crocheted by the lovely Estela Bolger who had been visiting her friend, Celandine. On the sheepskin rug at their feet, Pippin lay on his belly, knees bent and hairy feet waving in the air, chin on his hand and staring hard at an open book with rather beautiful illustrations of dragons. Sam was sitting at the large oak desk at the window and scribbling away. Pippin had been asking Sam what he was writing and Sam had blushed so they all knew he was writing to Rosie Cotton. The shutters were open for it was very peaceful outside and the long shadows of evening crept over the lawns and disappeared into the Hedge as if they were making their way into the Old Forest.

Frodo smiled at the scene noting the warm cheerful light from the oil lamp on the desk as it fell upon Sam's face; his rounded cheek and eyelashes appeared long and thick as he bent his head earnestly to write. It was the type of thing he had tried so hard to imagine all those months ago when they had been on the quest; the idea of them all sitting quietly together in The Shire had comforted him.

Frodo himself was writing another section of his book since he had his friends here and was occasionally asking them what had happened. Pippin had been telling Frodo about his mad dash to Minas Tirith when he looked into the Palantír and Frodo, although he knew about this episode, was curious and wanted to know more.

But now Merry had drifted into a light sleep so they had all quietened and watched him carefully, attentively, hoping he would fall into deeper sleep.

Merry's return still baffled them and Frodo thought that the mysterious Elf who had appeared in time to help Sam must have also helped Merry. Intrigued, Frodo could not really concentrate on his writing and his pen had hovered over the same word for some minutes now. The Elf was powerful enough to drive off whatever it was that had been after Sam, and he supposed something similar may well have happened to Merry, and the Elf had also cast a glamour upon the cleft in the Beacon that had resulted in Pippin, of all people, speaking Quenya.

Pen resting on the paper now, Frodo frowned; it must certainly have been one of the High Elves, he thought, one of the Noldor who had come from Aman over the Ice or Sea in the First Age, and was therefore very ancient and very powerful. Like Glorfindel. Wondering about who this might be, he began writing again, his head to one side but still a little preoccupied; he was determined to go back up the Beacon to root around in that cleft in the rocks where he thought Merry must have been all the while.

Except Sam would not hear of it. 'I'm not letting any of us go up there on our own. Master …I mean, Frodo. So, don't think you'll be sneaking off and looking. If you're really wanting to go, we'll all go, but only when Merry is well enough.' But Frodo caught the implied suggestion from Sam's concerned face, only when you're well enough too.

He rubbed his shoulder and winced a little. There was a dull ache all the time. . .not pain. Just an insistent nagging ache, like Angmar never wanted him to forget that morgul blade... That he could always be teetering on the edge of the Otherworld, the world of shadows and could be dragged in…

Outside the evening was darkening into dusk and he saw a bat flit around the open window. But now it was darker, the trees seemed to crowd around the edges of the grounds of the Hall. The Hedge seemed closer, leaning towards the Hall, as if listening and the trees within the boundaries of Buckland seemed otherworldly, more part of the Old Forest than The Shire.

Frodo shivered slightly. There was a frost in the air tonight and the stars were pricking out in the deep blue sky slowly, one by one. Cold and hard and bright.

It was so quiet.

Was that movement in the shadows beyond the window? A flutter in the darkness?

Must be an owl, he told himself and stared into the dark, wide eyed.

A skein of mist floated over the lawn. In spite of the fire, it was suddenly quite cold.

'Sam,' he said slowly, 'let's close the shutters. It's getting dark out there.'

Sam lifted his head and looked at Frodo.

On the rug at his feet, Pippin too stopped swinging his feet and looked up. 'It's all right, Frodo. There's nothing here. We're safe in the Hall.' But when he saw how anxious Frodo was, he added, 'But now you mention it, those windows let in a draft. I'll close them.' He began to scramble to his feet.

But a drift of ice-cold air fingered its way through the window and seemed to quest, searching, and found Frodo first, and then Merry. It lifted his hair slightly and Merry stirred and murmured. '…They are coming…. they come from Carn Dûm…Ah, my heart!'

'Pull the shutters closed!' Frodo snapped and Sam leapt to his feet and pulled at one shutter. Pippin yanked the other shut but Sam stood, staring out at the dark gardens. He seemed frozen.

Frodo shoved himself to his feet and strode over to the desk and yanked the shutter from Sam's grasp, slamming it closed and fumbling with the bolts. He did not look outside but the corner of his eye had caught the glimmer of something moving across the lawns at preternatural speed.

'Sam!' he said and Sam suddenly blinked and came back to himself.

Pippin was already headed towards the main door. He called out as he did, 'Hey, Dods! Iberic! Saracdoc! Is everyone inside?'

There was the sound of feet on the stone slate floor in the kitchen and Pippin disappeared. Frodo heard bolts being thrown across the doors and the murmur of voices, then dogs barking wildly.

'Get those cudgels, Dods,' said Saradoc's voice, summoning his nephew. 'And there are the scythes ready for mowing. Bring those. Pippin, have you got that sword of yours?'

Pippin must have nodded, thought Frodo, for Saradoc then said, 'Right then. Let's go and chase off whoever it is.' The door was flung open then and the doughty Brandybucks and one Took ran out into the garden making enough noise to frighten away anything, the dogs racing over the damp grass.

Merry was awake now and staring up at Frodo in alarm. 'What is it?' he asked, struggling to sit upright but Sam was there and pushing him gently back.

'It's nothing. It'll be a wild dog or wolf at worst. They'll see it off. It'll be after the lambs,' he said.

Frodo did not think the figure he saw was on four legs but two. Sitting beside Merry as they waited, he tried not to rub the stump of his finger and stared into the fire; but that simply brought back the memory of Sméagol as he seized the Ring and disappeared into the molten heart of Mount Doom. He was aware of Sam pulling books from the shelves and thumbing through a large volume, and soon Merry was dozing again.

'Did you see something, Sam?' he asked quietly.

Sam took a breath and glanced quickly at Merry and then back at Frodo. 'I don't rightly know if I did,' he confessed. 'But for a moment, I thought…. Well, I thought I saw the same figure as I saw in the fog when I found Merry.' He looked at Frodo as if for reassurance and Frodo nodded.

'I thought I saw something too…very indistinct though.'

'Hm.' Sam agreed. 'Did you hear what Merry said?'

Frodo glanced at him and said quietly. 'We have heard that before.'

But there was no time to talk more for they could hear the other Hobbits returning now, faces flushed from the brief chase and eyes bright. With a gesture to Sam to silence him, Frodo looked around. There was Saradoc and Dods and a number of other Brandybucks, carrying cudgels and heavy sticks, their eyes bright and hair tousled by the wind.

'Well he won't be back in a hurry!' Saradoc was saying as the posse followed him past the open door of the Library and towards the kitchen.

'It was a wolf,' Pippin added, returning with them and coming into the Library, throwing himself into a chair as if he had merely been out on a bracing country walk with friends. There was a general concerned hubbub of noise from the kitchen where the posse had gathered for discussions were needed about how to let other farmsteads know there was a wolf about and a hunt organised for the next day.

'Well spotted, young Frodo,' Saradoc poked his head round the door and said quietly in a pleased whisper. 'We have sent messages to the Muddles and Wentworths over the way to look out for it. It won't get far if it keeps going. Most likely it's turned tail and run off now.'

Sam glanced at Frodo but said nothing. Frodo smiled slightly and nodded and Saradoc called to his wife for tea and buns.

0o0o

Later, Sam and Frodo found themselves alone again, for Merry had gone to bed and Pippin was in the kitchen with Dods. Sam said quietly, 'That weren't no wolf, Frodo. You know and I know it. The more I think about it, the more convinced I am that this is something come from the Barrow Downs. Why is it here? When he was in Bag End, you said that Merry told you that his friend in Bree, Tubby…'

'Cousin,' corrected Frodo automatically.

'Cousin,' agreed Sam without pause, for these things were important to Hobbits. 'Had seen things going on up there. Bonfires and bones?'

Frodo rubbed his hand again. The stump of his finger throbbed and his shoulder hurt with a sharp pain.

'Well I don't rightly know what's been causing those bonfires,' Sam continued stoutly, 'but it ain't anything natural. All that stuff Merry's been saying about Carn Dûm? What's that all about?'

'Carn Dûm is where the Witchking had his capital long ago when he destroyed the Kingdom of Arnor,' Frodo said but it was as much for his own benefit as Sam's. Somehow it seemed to help repeating the history, as if it normalised something that frightened him. He looked at Sam. 'Merry said the same thing when we were captives in the Barrow, do you remember? When Tom Bombadil got us out and spread all that treasure out on the grass.'

'Yes,' Sam murmured softly, remembering.

'It seemed such a strange thing to do,' Frodo frowned. 'To just leave it there. He gave us all swords from that hoard, didn't he? You and me and Merry and Pippin.

And he took that blue stone brooch for Goldberry. He seemed to know to whom it had belonged.' But though he talked of Tom Bombadil, he remembered the cold that had buried itself in his blood and bones as he awoke inside the barrow, the Wight had laid a sword over their necks, dressed them in strange clothes as if for a sacrifice.

He turned now towards the heavy laden shelves of the library and scanned one of the dustier sections. 'There used to be an old history book here,' he murmured almost to himself. 'Going right back to the Settlement of The Shire.'

'I think I've been looking through it when you were dozing by the fire,' Sam said and Frodo saw now that on the desk he had been writing at, Sam had a large book open at his side. It was bound in dark blue leather with gold leaf lettering. It looked very old and worn. 'This is the ledger of the Oldbucks, and tells the story of the Fallohides' migration to Bree and then here to Buckland,' he said, putting it down in front of Frodo. 'It wasn't called Bree then though. It was called Brodda,' he said with interest. 'After a lord of Cardolan.'

Sam put his finger in the book and pushed it back open on the page he had open before. He tapped it with his finger. 'Read this,' he said authoritatively and Frodo, startled, looked down. Frodo looked at the book. Its pages were thin and yellowed with age. The script was bold though as if someone brave and defiant, determined to keep the story alive, had written it.

After a while, he looked back up at Sam, his eyes wide and lips parted. 'Well. That's certainly interesting. Bilbo always said that the Fallohides were there in the war against Angmar,'

Sam nodded. 'My old gaffer used to say that too. He said it was a small company of archers went to fight for the King at Weathertop. Not many returned either but they did go. He never used to say which King it was though and I never thought to ask, and if I'm honest, I'm no wiser than I was.'

'This says it was Argeleb. The King that was killed at Amon Sûl.' Frodo paused and frowned. He flicked through the ancient book and then paused. 'Here. This is what is says…'

'Argeleb the First claimed all of Arnor as King, for Cardolan and Rhudaur's lines had borne no fruit and there were no heirs. He claimed to be the seventh King of Arnor and made peace with Cardolan with the promise of that which had caused such strife between the Royal Houses, for Cardolan had great honour and although the Prince was not of the Royal House, it was a great one nevertheless. Argeleb bestowed upon the House of Cardolan four of the Mergyll-Dagnir that were brought from Numenor as a sign of faith.' He looked up and said thoughtfully, 'I wonder what it was the Argeleb promised Cardolan.'

'It wasn't the beer at the Prancing Pony, that's for sure,' Sam said agreeably. 'It must have been something big, mustn't it? Something that Cardolan had wanted. Maybe it was to marry their children so Cardolan got the crown after all, in a way,' Sam said speculatively. He was not as interested as most hobbits in family trees but he was still, after all, a Hobbit. 'I wonder what the Mergyll- Dagnir are?'

Frodo gave an interested hum and thought about it. 'Well. It goes on that it was actually the lord Bródda, and the Prince of Cardolan that the Fallohides fought for.' He frowned. 'I never knew that. You don't hear much about Cardolan in the books. It's all about the Kings of Arnor and then Arthedain.' Then he continued, 'Rhudaur, which sits between Cardolan and the elven realm of Rivendell, had once been a realm of Arnor and noble in its race. But the Dúnedain had dwindled and evil Men prevailed in all their councils. The chief of the Men of the Hills, Ulug, argued that Arthedain would lead them to war against Angmar and Rhudaur would be first to be attacked and so would suffer most while Arthedain remained untouched. A secret alliance was formed with the Enemy. Angmar reached out and took Rhudaur this way.' Frodo found his hand unconsciously rubbing at his old wound as he read and the coldness of the morgul wound reasserted itself, as if the mere mention of the name could evoke the presence of he that dealt it, and for a moment Frodo thought he saw the shadows of Angmar upon the walls of the room, saw his tall shape in the smouldering coals of the fire.

'Here, let's leave this,' Sam said, taking hold of the book and sliding it gently away from Frodo. 'All this talk of Angmar, it ain't good for you. Think about something cheerful instead,' he insisted. 'How about Tom Bombadil and his merry house. Tom wasn't afraid of anything.' He began to rise so that he could replace the book in its place upon the shelf.

'Please don't fuss, Sam,' Frodo said but fondly so that Sam would not think he was offended or cross. 'We have to think about this so we know what is happening. I do not think any of us will be safe until we have solved this.'

Looking at him, Sam returned to his chair, placing the book upon his knees. 'Well, if you think it will help.' He paused and looked down at the blue leather of the book, his finger tracing the gold letters on the cover. 'The Barrow Wights were afraid of Tom,' he said carefully. 'Do you think we should ask him for help? Perhaps we should sing that old ditty he gave us?'

'I think that if Tom is going to help, he will.' Frodo did not really know why but he felt a certainty about this. 'And if he is, he will appear without us doing anything at all.'

Quietly they sat together and contemplated the book. Then slowly, Sam spoke again, 'Do you remember when we were in Tom's house?' he said vaguely and Frodo stared at his back. 'He said another rhyme. Do you remember?'

A memory was coming back to him too; Tom sitting in his carved wooden chair surrounded by waterlilies and a faraway look on his weathered face. Tom's voice had deepened, become sonorous like a ship's bell ringing through the mist. But it was Sam's voice that spoke now, recalling the words from so long ago

'Who shall sound the horn in the hills, ringing?

Who shall call them back to the grey twilight, those Kings of Old?

Shall he free the faithful and restore the lost Kingdom?

Not once shall he pass the Door to the Dead,

Not alone shall he pass but alone he will return.'

'How did you remember that, Sam?' Frodo asked wonderingly.

Sam blinked. 'I don't rightly know to be honest. It just come to me now…'

'I wonder what it means,' Frodo said aloud for the words rang in his head too, like he must not forget them. 'Tom said that the Barrow Wights were evil spirits that Angmar raised to possess the tombs,' he continued. 'They certainly aren't the faithful or the Kings of Old. Why do you think Angmar did that?' He paused for he suddenly remembered that as he had been awoken by Tom, it had seemed that the ghosts of ancient kings strode from their dark barrows and one had a white star upon his brow. Why had they done that? Had they been raised to fight Angmar? Was Angmar still afraid that they might yet rise again?

Angmar is gone, he told himself. He cannot return. Ever. Gandalf had told him.

Sam said nothing but he had opened the book again cautiously and was turning over the pages. 'Who do you think was buried in our barrow then?' he asked and Frodo almost winced at the notion that it was 'their' barrow; he did not feel anything but horror when he recalled it.

'Who knows,' he replied. 'But the treasure that Tom spread out belonged to the lord who was buried within, and not the Barrow Wight'

'Perhaps the blue brooch was what he was promised then,' Sam said. 'Perhaps it was that Prince who fought with the King for..what was it…that which had caused such strife amongst the Royal House.' But Frodo could tell that Sam was not much interested and he closed the book with finality. 'Perhaps that was one of those, what d'ya m'call its? Mergyll- Dagnir?'

Frodo reached over for the book again and opened it at the pages describing the War against Angmar. He did not know exactly what he was looking for but he had a sense that he almost had something, and yet it slipped out of his grasp. 'There's more here about the Fallohides. You'd think they singlehandedly drove back Angmar,' he said, amused. 'The last Dúnedain in Cardolan took refuge in the forest behind. That must be the Old Forest,' he said, looking up at Sam.

Sam made a face. 'They must have been desperate to take refuge in there,' he said. He picked up the book about dragons that Pippin had been reading and went to return it to the shelf.

'I think they were,' replied Frodo. He tried to imagine the stream of refugees that would have fled the Downs to lose themselves in the Old Forest, pursued by Orcs and the Half-Men of Carn Dûm. He thought how terrified they would be, how terrified he had been during the Quest. 'The Shire didn't exist then, not as a separate entity,' he said and then turned a page and began to read again. 'There were two more kings then, Araphor and then Argeleb.'

'Haven't we already had one of those?' asked Sam, turning back and coming into the room again. He sat heavily down on the cosy armchair again.

Frodo smiled. 'This is Argeleb the second. He was the tenth king of Arthedain and known as the Good King in The Shire.'

'Oh, THAT one, 'said Sam for every Hobbit lad and lass learned about the migration of Hobbits to over the Stonebows and into the lands that would later be known as The Shire. 'I thought it was Argevil who was the Good King.'

'No, Argevil was the Land-Giver. Argevil was Argeleb II's son. It was during his time that The Shire became a land in its own right; mayorships were set up in this time and the village councils that….' Frodo glanced at Sam and grinned. 'It goes on a bit about Shire politics and the council systems. Are you interested?'

'No,' said Sam bluntly and yawned widely.

Frodo skipped on ahead. 'It goes on about the Stoors finally coming to the Shire and the Great Plague that wiped out the last of Cardolan's population and nearly all of Minhiriath,' he observed. 'It must have passed Fornost by. Anyway, he died and his son, Arveleg II, became King. Not much seemed to have happened in his reign.' Flicking over two pages of painstaking detail of Hobbit genealogy, he went on, 'He was succeeded by Araval, and he was victorious against Angmar. But by that time, Cardolan was abandoned and the Barrow Downs only inhabited by the Barrow Wights.' Quickly, he skimmed the page; it detailed what the Barrow Wights were and there was a horror in him at the memory of the Barrow, and he glanced briefly at Sam whose eyes were a little glazed at this point, and so Frodo finished, 'Finally, two or three kings later, there was a marriage between a princess of Gondor and the heir to Arnor. He was called Arvedui.'

There was a snore and Frodo looked up to see that Sam had dropped off. He smiled slightly and carefully slid a bookmark between the pages and closed the book.

He sat staring into the fire for a while, thinking.

Then, because he could not help himself, he opened the book again and read:

'The Barrow Wights are terrible spirits that haunt the dark places of the earth, hiding from the light. They are demons, powerful and cruel. They are shape shifters and of a substance of darkness that can enter the eye, heart and mind, crushing the will. A dismal choir of tortured souls that the Wight had captured and devoured can be heard from within the tomb. They cannot be destroyed except by powerful spells beyond any Man.' The book went on and Frodo slowed down in his reading for it evoked a horror in him that he had not forgotten. He swallowed and missed a bit more, picking up later, 'They can only be destroyed by light and only by breaking open a burial site can they be driven from their secret hiding places.'

Suddenly afraid, he lay awake for hours, wondering why a Barrow Wight, if it was only one, had left its barrow and was haunting the Shire. When he got into bed and pulled the white sheets over him and snuggled into the duck down quilt, his dreams were restless and heavy.

He dreamed of the long barrows that appeared out of the creeping fog that curled about him so he was lost. He thought it clasped him like wet silk, smothering his mouth and ears and eyes. He tried to run but could not, tried to cry out but the fog was suffocating and the Barrow Wight was pushing into him, through his mouth and eyes and ears so his will was crushed. He dreamed of ugly misshapen half men lunging out of the mist and the cries of his comrades as they were slaughtered.

A promise made but not honoured. A treachery gone unrevenged.

He felt an inexplicable anxiety about Legolas. And that Aragorn was in grave peril.

0o0o0o