A/N: It seems everyone (and by that I mean Sakura123 because no one else is
reading) has waited another long while for me to update. Sorry! I hope it's
good enough to make up for my crudness. A special thanks goes to Sakura123
for being the one person for whom I seem to be writing this story. You are
really keeping me going here!
Pippin started off at a slow pace, he was at the mercy of his instincts and they told him that he shouldn't stray too far into the trees. The continuing song soon overruled that. It pulled him faster and faster, deeper and deeper into the dark forest. He could hear it clearer now, he was getting closer.
By now he was running at full pelt. He ducked under branches and dodged around trees and completely ignored thorns when they caught his trousers. He lost track of time as he ran it could have been for hours or it could have been for seconds.
He skidded to a halt and used a tree to stop himself. He looked over his shoulder for any danger, he knew it was lurking just beyond his range of sight but it would not show itself. His head snapped back round to the singing. He was no longer sure if he wanted to see the singer, her song was full of feeling but Pippin could not pinpoint what that feeling was. At times he was certain it was sadness, sadness so deep that it was barely detectable but at other times it was joyous and merry, the tune of someone so contented that the happiness was just a part of everyday life.
It was during one of these happier moments that Pippin gathered together enough courage to peer around the tree that he had so far only been trying to stare through.
He gasped; the woods were illuminated with an ethereal light. He felt as though he were looking back through time and right in the centre was the singer. She was wearing a white dress, it was spotless and the light emanating from it was almost blinding. Once Pippin's eyes had adjusted to the light he could see that trees surrounding the singer changed as well. They were younger and their bark smoother. They were the kind of trees you could comfortably sit under on a hot summer's day. Their branches didn't block out all sunlight, but dappled it on the ground.
Pippin jerked out of his trance. He was himself once more. He couldn't remember how he got there but he could guess. Right now though, that was not his biggest problem. The song was changing, an underlying theme emerged and it was angry.
*** "Good luck to you!" cried Bella as she waved the three travellers on their way. They were well supplied with food now, and both Frodo and Sam were enjoying a loaf of bread. Unfortunately, Merry's horse had managed to run off with no rider to guide it so Merry was now sat in front of Sam.
Merry was the only one of the three that was not eating. He could still feel the tea sloshing around inside him and he felt comfortably filled up for the first time in a week. He glanced over at Frodo and jumped when he saw two figures floating either side of him. He had forgotten completely about Drogo and his wife. Merry smiled a little at the people they passed as they jogged along the road. As they turned away from the road and onto a grassy meadow whose fence had been blown down, they passed a group of three young lasses. They all had flowers in their hair and wore plain, slightly mucky dresses. One of them was carrying a basket of apples.
They were giggling among themselves and when the ponies came past they all looked up and said their good mornings, to which Merry replied with another good morning. Sam made a questioning noise and turned his attention from the direction of the pony to Merry.
"What was that?" he asked. Merry realised with a jolt that the young girls had not really been there, not with the living anyway. He checked behind, and sure enough there was only the faintest laughter and other than that, no sign that anyone was ever there.
"Nothing." He mumbled to Sam. When would he stop seeing these people? And if he didn't, would he ever work out the difference between the living and the dead?
"Sam." Said Merry and received a grunt in reply. "Have we passed anyone since we set out from Bag End?"
"Not likely with it still threatening to rain like this." Replied Sam, glancing up at the light grey sky. Merry returned to his thinking; he had seen at least a dozen people since they'd left Bag End and there always seemed to be more around the corner.
A Hobbit came cantering towards them, the soft ground indenting slightly as he rode up. He was coming to them head on, but he wasn't slowing down. The ponies showed no signs of noticing and when he glanced over at Frodo, Merry saw that he too, saw nothing. He looked back to the rider, and he was no longer there. This was ridiculous. The only way Merry had of telling whether another was dead or not, was the reaction of the others. Though the reactions of Drogo and Primula helped none, as they greeted each person, living or dead along the way. Merry decided to hide his ability to see what others could not, as it could certainly unnerve those that did not know of his 'gift'.
They travelled another five minutes in silence, until Frodo remarked upon the clouds.
"They are getting darker, are they not?" No one replied. It was plain that they were and Merry at least had an idea of what that meant. The ground took an upward turn and the ponies stumbled their way up. Towards the top Frodo's slipped on the increasingly wet earth. The wind was stronger, in fact, the weather all round was harsher. They rounded the top of the small hill and saw what they were looking for. It was still a little was off, but they could see that between the trees, it was black as night.
The sky above swirled as if in torment and the blackened clouds formed ugly, tortured shapes. The trees below were as mangled as the sky above. All around the edge, the plants had grown wild and un-welcoming. The untamed grass looked sharp and fierce, even from a distance. Beyond that, the trees were gnarled and undoubtedly old. They stood tall and confident above all else, dominating the landscape like they had been there since time began.
The three looked at each other. They could all see in the others' eyes that they were not expecting anything so large as this. Frodo shrugged and urged his pony onward.
***
Pippin's legs jolted to a start and shot him backward only to meet another tree. The singer's hand was clenched around a branch. It was a dainty hand and with the glow that surrounded it, it seemed like a dream. The hand squeezed and squeezed until the branch splintered and broke off and fell to the ground. The hand shook away the remaining splinters and the deceptively calm singer walked towards Pippin, almost strolling.
Pippin dared not look up at the face that was fast approaching him. His head was pointed firmly downward and his eyes tight shut. He felt his way around the tree until he found the darkness he was searching for. He ran blindly forward, his eyes so used to the light of the singer were useless in the darkness. He soon came to another tree and he stumbled around it.
The anger of the song was now clearly evident and with a particularly harsh snap of notes, Pippin came back to himself. He paused a moment, trying to figure out his feelings. He was scared, scared beyond belief, but why? He should be running. Yes, he would rely on that and run.
He moved away from the tree that he had been clinging to, but a hand caught his before it had left the rough bark of the tree. The skin felt as though it was made of silk and if he puled hard enough he would merely slip out of the grip. But the grip tightened, almost unbearably. He could feel bones moving in ways they were not meant to and pull as he might, he could not release them. A shiver travelled visibly up his arm and through his body, followed by a tingling that made its way to the very tips of his toes and then died away.
All of a sudden, the music stopped.
Pippin started off at a slow pace, he was at the mercy of his instincts and they told him that he shouldn't stray too far into the trees. The continuing song soon overruled that. It pulled him faster and faster, deeper and deeper into the dark forest. He could hear it clearer now, he was getting closer.
By now he was running at full pelt. He ducked under branches and dodged around trees and completely ignored thorns when they caught his trousers. He lost track of time as he ran it could have been for hours or it could have been for seconds.
He skidded to a halt and used a tree to stop himself. He looked over his shoulder for any danger, he knew it was lurking just beyond his range of sight but it would not show itself. His head snapped back round to the singing. He was no longer sure if he wanted to see the singer, her song was full of feeling but Pippin could not pinpoint what that feeling was. At times he was certain it was sadness, sadness so deep that it was barely detectable but at other times it was joyous and merry, the tune of someone so contented that the happiness was just a part of everyday life.
It was during one of these happier moments that Pippin gathered together enough courage to peer around the tree that he had so far only been trying to stare through.
He gasped; the woods were illuminated with an ethereal light. He felt as though he were looking back through time and right in the centre was the singer. She was wearing a white dress, it was spotless and the light emanating from it was almost blinding. Once Pippin's eyes had adjusted to the light he could see that trees surrounding the singer changed as well. They were younger and their bark smoother. They were the kind of trees you could comfortably sit under on a hot summer's day. Their branches didn't block out all sunlight, but dappled it on the ground.
Pippin jerked out of his trance. He was himself once more. He couldn't remember how he got there but he could guess. Right now though, that was not his biggest problem. The song was changing, an underlying theme emerged and it was angry.
*** "Good luck to you!" cried Bella as she waved the three travellers on their way. They were well supplied with food now, and both Frodo and Sam were enjoying a loaf of bread. Unfortunately, Merry's horse had managed to run off with no rider to guide it so Merry was now sat in front of Sam.
Merry was the only one of the three that was not eating. He could still feel the tea sloshing around inside him and he felt comfortably filled up for the first time in a week. He glanced over at Frodo and jumped when he saw two figures floating either side of him. He had forgotten completely about Drogo and his wife. Merry smiled a little at the people they passed as they jogged along the road. As they turned away from the road and onto a grassy meadow whose fence had been blown down, they passed a group of three young lasses. They all had flowers in their hair and wore plain, slightly mucky dresses. One of them was carrying a basket of apples.
They were giggling among themselves and when the ponies came past they all looked up and said their good mornings, to which Merry replied with another good morning. Sam made a questioning noise and turned his attention from the direction of the pony to Merry.
"What was that?" he asked. Merry realised with a jolt that the young girls had not really been there, not with the living anyway. He checked behind, and sure enough there was only the faintest laughter and other than that, no sign that anyone was ever there.
"Nothing." He mumbled to Sam. When would he stop seeing these people? And if he didn't, would he ever work out the difference between the living and the dead?
"Sam." Said Merry and received a grunt in reply. "Have we passed anyone since we set out from Bag End?"
"Not likely with it still threatening to rain like this." Replied Sam, glancing up at the light grey sky. Merry returned to his thinking; he had seen at least a dozen people since they'd left Bag End and there always seemed to be more around the corner.
A Hobbit came cantering towards them, the soft ground indenting slightly as he rode up. He was coming to them head on, but he wasn't slowing down. The ponies showed no signs of noticing and when he glanced over at Frodo, Merry saw that he too, saw nothing. He looked back to the rider, and he was no longer there. This was ridiculous. The only way Merry had of telling whether another was dead or not, was the reaction of the others. Though the reactions of Drogo and Primula helped none, as they greeted each person, living or dead along the way. Merry decided to hide his ability to see what others could not, as it could certainly unnerve those that did not know of his 'gift'.
They travelled another five minutes in silence, until Frodo remarked upon the clouds.
"They are getting darker, are they not?" No one replied. It was plain that they were and Merry at least had an idea of what that meant. The ground took an upward turn and the ponies stumbled their way up. Towards the top Frodo's slipped on the increasingly wet earth. The wind was stronger, in fact, the weather all round was harsher. They rounded the top of the small hill and saw what they were looking for. It was still a little was off, but they could see that between the trees, it was black as night.
The sky above swirled as if in torment and the blackened clouds formed ugly, tortured shapes. The trees below were as mangled as the sky above. All around the edge, the plants had grown wild and un-welcoming. The untamed grass looked sharp and fierce, even from a distance. Beyond that, the trees were gnarled and undoubtedly old. They stood tall and confident above all else, dominating the landscape like they had been there since time began.
The three looked at each other. They could all see in the others' eyes that they were not expecting anything so large as this. Frodo shrugged and urged his pony onward.
***
Pippin's legs jolted to a start and shot him backward only to meet another tree. The singer's hand was clenched around a branch. It was a dainty hand and with the glow that surrounded it, it seemed like a dream. The hand squeezed and squeezed until the branch splintered and broke off and fell to the ground. The hand shook away the remaining splinters and the deceptively calm singer walked towards Pippin, almost strolling.
Pippin dared not look up at the face that was fast approaching him. His head was pointed firmly downward and his eyes tight shut. He felt his way around the tree until he found the darkness he was searching for. He ran blindly forward, his eyes so used to the light of the singer were useless in the darkness. He soon came to another tree and he stumbled around it.
The anger of the song was now clearly evident and with a particularly harsh snap of notes, Pippin came back to himself. He paused a moment, trying to figure out his feelings. He was scared, scared beyond belief, but why? He should be running. Yes, he would rely on that and run.
He moved away from the tree that he had been clinging to, but a hand caught his before it had left the rough bark of the tree. The skin felt as though it was made of silk and if he puled hard enough he would merely slip out of the grip. But the grip tightened, almost unbearably. He could feel bones moving in ways they were not meant to and pull as he might, he could not release them. A shiver travelled visibly up his arm and through his body, followed by a tingling that made its way to the very tips of his toes and then died away.
All of a sudden, the music stopped.