A/N: How long did this take to write? I am so sorry, I really couldn't get
them out of the door but the I took the story by the throat, and it's taken
a most strange turn. It's turning out quite different from what I'd
planned.
Sam knew just what to pack and he got it all immediately, foods, blankets, weapons and of course rope. He spread it equally between three packs, then took some out of Merry's pack and put it into his own because Merry wasn't back to his normal strength yet. He also took some out of Frodo's pack and put it into his own, just because it was Frodo and he shouldn't be carrying that kind of weight. Sam returned to the hallway where the others were wrapping themselves up warm in cloaks.
Rosie was fussing around Merry, making sure he was wrapped up especially warm even though outside it was not all that cold.
"Are we ready to go yet?" asked Merry with little patience. Sam handed Frodo and Merry their packs. Rosie noted how much larger Sam's pack was compared to the other two, but nothing would sway her husband's mind if it were set.
"I'll just get the ponies then we can set off." Said Sam as he walked out the front door towards the stables. Merry was very fidgety. Frodo could not get him to stand still or calm down. Merry had his pack on his back and was waiting expectantly for Sam to come back, which he did shortly.
"All ready, let's go" Said Sam.
***
Pippin hadn't moved since his bout with the creature. Nothing would get him to move, he thought. It would be far better for him if what he thought was true, but it wasn't, as he soon found out. He uncurled his legs and stretched them out, like a person who has woken up from a long and refreshing sleep. He pulled his head up and looked around, he was confused, he couldn't for the life of him remember how or why he was here. If he even knew in the first place. He felt a veil had been lifted from his eyes as it suddenly clicked in his mind what danger he was in. He jumped up and glanced around quickly and then regretted it as the blood rushed from his head. He became dizzy and his legs began to shake as his brain tried to deal with the sudden loss of sustenance. White dots appeared before his eyes and soon covered his entire vision. With nothing to lean on, he slowly sank to the floor while his brain still tried to work out the entire muddle. His head was still spinning; it was a strange sensation and it left him with a grin on his face. His vision slowly returned once his heart began to pump blood faster and the shaking in his limbs subsided and finally stopped.
Pippin allowed his body to recover and used the time to analyse his situation. He found he was sitting in an unknown forest, with nothing to protect himself with. He checked himself and found he to be covered in cuts, bruises and blood, not all of which was his own. He vaguely remembered fighting for his life but he'd been so tired at the time that the memory had not imprinted itself properly upon him. Either that, or there was some sort of spell on him, that would explain how he ended up here.
Pippin rose to his feet, slower than the first time so as to keep himself conscious. It appeared that he had lost much blood in the time between going to sleep at Bag End and waking up in the clearing. Now standing, Pippin went as close to the inexorable darkness as he dared to see if there was anything at all around that was familiar. Nothing struck a bell.
It had obviously been raining recently as a damp smell hung in the air and the ground moved and slid beneath his feet and pushed between his toes. He found a small puddle, which ignited his thirst and, although quite disgusted with himself, he drank from it. The water was dirty, as it was likely to be after lying on the muddy, twig-covered ground it was resting on while trying to sink through. Nevertheless, it did great things to his thirst.
With one small problem solved, he moved on to planning what he might do next, searching out food was high on the list. But before he could formulate any real idea, he heard a quiet and far off tune. He listened closer, and heard singing with the tune. Pippin was standing stock-still; such a voice as this, he had never heard before. The first image that came into his mind was that of an Elf, a beautiful Elf-maiden illuminating the gloom around her as she walked through the woods at her own leisurely pace. That image he soon dismissed though, no Elf music he'd ever heard was quite like this. Elves sang of days of old and far off battles. This song, although with no seemingly understandable words, was of a more homely nature. Another, very different image made its way into Pippin's head. His mother was sitting next to a cot, his cot, singing this unearthly song. But that seemed wrong too. He had to go investigate, he had to find the source of that enchanting voice.
Almost before the thought had come into his head, Pippin had walked right up to the very edge of the clearing. He paused, he knew it wasn't wise to leave the relative safety of the clearing, but wisdom was counting for less and less in Pippin's mind. The song was pulling at him, it was closer than when he'd first heard it, bit it refused to come any closer. Pippin struggled with himself, or rather, he struggled with the song; he knew that to go looking for it was utterly foolish but it was pulling and plucking at him, it was, he realised with a jump, physically hurting him. He was filled with a yearning to be near the singer, whatever it was. It started as a tingling his feet and spread up his body from there, soon his entire being was pulsating in time with the music.
Pippin could feel the music build up, he lifted a muddy foot and held it, wavering in the air, as he was still unconvinced that he should plunge into the darkness. But the tune pulled at him, one long held note, full of feeling finally pushed him into the trees. A blanket immediately fell over his consciousness and the last thing he noticed was how all he hurts ached and stung.
***
Merry clung to his head; spasms of pain were shooting through it. He felt himself sliding sideways off his pony so with one hand he grabbed vainly at its mane, the other hand still holding his head. Sam soon appeared next to him on his own pony and held him upright.
"What is it Merry?" Said Frodo from his other side.
"Headache," said Merry as it slowly faded away, "Something's happened."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean to Pippin, something's happened to Pippin." He paused for a moment, thinking, "But I didn't become him." He continued more to himself than anyone.
"You didn't become him?" said Sam, not quite sure that he had heard properly. Merry had explained what had happened the last two times he'd had a headache like this one. Frodo and Sam listened in silence, the silence continued for long after Merry stopped talking. The only sound was off the gentle breeze flowing through the trees and the fast clip-clop of the ponies' hooves.
The sun was shining down upon them, it was a true spring day in the Shire: neither cold nor hot, neither wet nor dry. The ponies were finding it hard to go with the urgency that their riders required due to the fresh green grass lining the sides of the roads. Sam's pony became particularly interested in a large clump of untended grass growing invitingly by someone's front gate. Being a greedy pony (as most ponies are) it was irresistible, so, ignoring Sam's desperate pulling on the reins, it steered off course to supplement its already sufficient breakfast.
Out of the corner of its eye, the pony noticed a shadow. It looked up, slowly chewing a mouthful of grass but nothing was there. It immediately dismissed that anything was wrong and bent its head back down again to eat some more. The shadow appeared again, closer than before. The pony became a little unnerved and looked up again; still nothing was there. It turned its head slowly back towards the grass. The shadow again, but this time it was near enough to reach out and touch the pony's rear end.
It wouldn't get any nearer, the pony made sure of that. It suddenly decided that what its rider had been telling it to do was very wise indeed and managed to do it with astounding speed. It quite suddenly reared up, turned towards the other ponies and galloped after them in blind panic, quickly overtaking them. Ponies, being herd animals, often follow the tail in front, which is exactly what Frodo's and Merry's did now.
The three riders fought against the ponies at first, until an unbidden sense of panic filled them. Sam tried desperately to steer his pony, the lead one, but he only succeeded in dragging its head to the side while it continued on in the same direction. Sam gave up and only concentrated on staying on, which was becoming increasingly hard for Merry in his weakened state.
The road turned away but the ponies didn't, instead they ploughed onwards towards a Hobbit hole. Sam's was the first to leap the fence, then followed Merry's, but Merry was not with it. The lurch of the pony dislodged Merry from the saddle and he slid off it sideways while they were in mid-jump. He curled up into a ball; he was a good enough rider to know to do that, and hit the ground, rolling many times before coming to a halt. Then Frodo and his pony came over the fence, Frodo barely had time to notice that Merry had fallen before he had been taken over the mound of the Hobbit hole and Merry was out of sight.
Sam knew just what to pack and he got it all immediately, foods, blankets, weapons and of course rope. He spread it equally between three packs, then took some out of Merry's pack and put it into his own because Merry wasn't back to his normal strength yet. He also took some out of Frodo's pack and put it into his own, just because it was Frodo and he shouldn't be carrying that kind of weight. Sam returned to the hallway where the others were wrapping themselves up warm in cloaks.
Rosie was fussing around Merry, making sure he was wrapped up especially warm even though outside it was not all that cold.
"Are we ready to go yet?" asked Merry with little patience. Sam handed Frodo and Merry their packs. Rosie noted how much larger Sam's pack was compared to the other two, but nothing would sway her husband's mind if it were set.
"I'll just get the ponies then we can set off." Said Sam as he walked out the front door towards the stables. Merry was very fidgety. Frodo could not get him to stand still or calm down. Merry had his pack on his back and was waiting expectantly for Sam to come back, which he did shortly.
"All ready, let's go" Said Sam.
***
Pippin hadn't moved since his bout with the creature. Nothing would get him to move, he thought. It would be far better for him if what he thought was true, but it wasn't, as he soon found out. He uncurled his legs and stretched them out, like a person who has woken up from a long and refreshing sleep. He pulled his head up and looked around, he was confused, he couldn't for the life of him remember how or why he was here. If he even knew in the first place. He felt a veil had been lifted from his eyes as it suddenly clicked in his mind what danger he was in. He jumped up and glanced around quickly and then regretted it as the blood rushed from his head. He became dizzy and his legs began to shake as his brain tried to deal with the sudden loss of sustenance. White dots appeared before his eyes and soon covered his entire vision. With nothing to lean on, he slowly sank to the floor while his brain still tried to work out the entire muddle. His head was still spinning; it was a strange sensation and it left him with a grin on his face. His vision slowly returned once his heart began to pump blood faster and the shaking in his limbs subsided and finally stopped.
Pippin allowed his body to recover and used the time to analyse his situation. He found he was sitting in an unknown forest, with nothing to protect himself with. He checked himself and found he to be covered in cuts, bruises and blood, not all of which was his own. He vaguely remembered fighting for his life but he'd been so tired at the time that the memory had not imprinted itself properly upon him. Either that, or there was some sort of spell on him, that would explain how he ended up here.
Pippin rose to his feet, slower than the first time so as to keep himself conscious. It appeared that he had lost much blood in the time between going to sleep at Bag End and waking up in the clearing. Now standing, Pippin went as close to the inexorable darkness as he dared to see if there was anything at all around that was familiar. Nothing struck a bell.
It had obviously been raining recently as a damp smell hung in the air and the ground moved and slid beneath his feet and pushed between his toes. He found a small puddle, which ignited his thirst and, although quite disgusted with himself, he drank from it. The water was dirty, as it was likely to be after lying on the muddy, twig-covered ground it was resting on while trying to sink through. Nevertheless, it did great things to his thirst.
With one small problem solved, he moved on to planning what he might do next, searching out food was high on the list. But before he could formulate any real idea, he heard a quiet and far off tune. He listened closer, and heard singing with the tune. Pippin was standing stock-still; such a voice as this, he had never heard before. The first image that came into his mind was that of an Elf, a beautiful Elf-maiden illuminating the gloom around her as she walked through the woods at her own leisurely pace. That image he soon dismissed though, no Elf music he'd ever heard was quite like this. Elves sang of days of old and far off battles. This song, although with no seemingly understandable words, was of a more homely nature. Another, very different image made its way into Pippin's head. His mother was sitting next to a cot, his cot, singing this unearthly song. But that seemed wrong too. He had to go investigate, he had to find the source of that enchanting voice.
Almost before the thought had come into his head, Pippin had walked right up to the very edge of the clearing. He paused, he knew it wasn't wise to leave the relative safety of the clearing, but wisdom was counting for less and less in Pippin's mind. The song was pulling at him, it was closer than when he'd first heard it, bit it refused to come any closer. Pippin struggled with himself, or rather, he struggled with the song; he knew that to go looking for it was utterly foolish but it was pulling and plucking at him, it was, he realised with a jump, physically hurting him. He was filled with a yearning to be near the singer, whatever it was. It started as a tingling his feet and spread up his body from there, soon his entire being was pulsating in time with the music.
Pippin could feel the music build up, he lifted a muddy foot and held it, wavering in the air, as he was still unconvinced that he should plunge into the darkness. But the tune pulled at him, one long held note, full of feeling finally pushed him into the trees. A blanket immediately fell over his consciousness and the last thing he noticed was how all he hurts ached and stung.
***
Merry clung to his head; spasms of pain were shooting through it. He felt himself sliding sideways off his pony so with one hand he grabbed vainly at its mane, the other hand still holding his head. Sam soon appeared next to him on his own pony and held him upright.
"What is it Merry?" Said Frodo from his other side.
"Headache," said Merry as it slowly faded away, "Something's happened."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean to Pippin, something's happened to Pippin." He paused for a moment, thinking, "But I didn't become him." He continued more to himself than anyone.
"You didn't become him?" said Sam, not quite sure that he had heard properly. Merry had explained what had happened the last two times he'd had a headache like this one. Frodo and Sam listened in silence, the silence continued for long after Merry stopped talking. The only sound was off the gentle breeze flowing through the trees and the fast clip-clop of the ponies' hooves.
The sun was shining down upon them, it was a true spring day in the Shire: neither cold nor hot, neither wet nor dry. The ponies were finding it hard to go with the urgency that their riders required due to the fresh green grass lining the sides of the roads. Sam's pony became particularly interested in a large clump of untended grass growing invitingly by someone's front gate. Being a greedy pony (as most ponies are) it was irresistible, so, ignoring Sam's desperate pulling on the reins, it steered off course to supplement its already sufficient breakfast.
Out of the corner of its eye, the pony noticed a shadow. It looked up, slowly chewing a mouthful of grass but nothing was there. It immediately dismissed that anything was wrong and bent its head back down again to eat some more. The shadow appeared again, closer than before. The pony became a little unnerved and looked up again; still nothing was there. It turned its head slowly back towards the grass. The shadow again, but this time it was near enough to reach out and touch the pony's rear end.
It wouldn't get any nearer, the pony made sure of that. It suddenly decided that what its rider had been telling it to do was very wise indeed and managed to do it with astounding speed. It quite suddenly reared up, turned towards the other ponies and galloped after them in blind panic, quickly overtaking them. Ponies, being herd animals, often follow the tail in front, which is exactly what Frodo's and Merry's did now.
The three riders fought against the ponies at first, until an unbidden sense of panic filled them. Sam tried desperately to steer his pony, the lead one, but he only succeeded in dragging its head to the side while it continued on in the same direction. Sam gave up and only concentrated on staying on, which was becoming increasingly hard for Merry in his weakened state.
The road turned away but the ponies didn't, instead they ploughed onwards towards a Hobbit hole. Sam's was the first to leap the fence, then followed Merry's, but Merry was not with it. The lurch of the pony dislodged Merry from the saddle and he slid off it sideways while they were in mid-jump. He curled up into a ball; he was a good enough rider to know to do that, and hit the ground, rolling many times before coming to a halt. Then Frodo and his pony came over the fence, Frodo barely had time to notice that Merry had fallen before he had been taken over the mound of the Hobbit hole and Merry was out of sight.