Somehow all the songs and stories of great adventures managed to miss out
the details of sore feet and aching limbs. Pippin sank down in relief as
they reached the hill Strider said they would stay at for the night. Pippin
was quite glad not to be asked to go to the top, and waited with Sam while
the others went on. Once Sam had taken the packs off their ponies, Pippin
realised he would have to get up in order to tie them up, while Sam was
busy preparing their dinner. As he went to tie up the ponies near the back
of the dell they had chosen to shelter in, he noticed something on the
floor.
"Sam," he called, "there are footprints over here." Sam joined him and looked at them.
"Other people must have come by here," Sam said.
"They look recent," Pippin said. He couldn't be sure though. Both agreed to wait and see what Strider thought of it, and went back to their preparations. Again it was Pippin who found the remains of the fire, but Sam made the discovery of a little stream where they each drank deeply before filling up their water bottles.
It seemed a long time later when Strider, Frodo and Merry came down from the top of the hill again. Pippin told them about the footprints and the fire. While Strider went to inspect them, Frodo told them what they had seen from the top.
"There was this strange cairn of stones," Frodo described, "that was scorched, as if in fire, and all around it the grass was burned. But on top of the cairn was a white stone, untouched by the fire. There were marks on the stone, something that might have been a G rune, and three straight strokes. Strider thinks they might be a message from Gandalf."
"I cannot be certain though," he said, suddenly returning to the little group. "And I cannot tell much from these prints. Sam and Pippin's own prints have obscured much of them. Perhaps Gandalf was here, but rangers also use this place, and the marks may have been made by some with no connection to us or our business."
"So what shall we do now?" Pippin asked.
"We will rest the night here, and tomorrow continue our journey towards Rivendell. For tonight, we shall light a fire as far back in the dell as we can," he instructed, "I believe I might have seen a rider from the hilltop. The Nasgul have no love of fire, and it may protect us should we need it."
"Or it could draw them to us," Merry protested.
"Perhaps," Strider said, "but any riders in the area would most likely aim for this place anyway. It is best that we have some means of protecting ourselves." Frodo nodded, and soon the hobbits were eating the first hot meal they had had since leaving Bree. Whatever the dangers of a fire, Pippin was certainly glad of the advantages. Considering all that had happened, the meal was quite a pleasant one. Strider surprised them all by singing an elven song of ancient legend. Pippin sat back, looking deep into the fire and thinking about this mysterious ranger. All Pippin had heard of rangers suggested that they were vagabonds who could not be trusted, yet Gandalf clearing considered Strider a friend. And then there was his name. The voices had called him Aragorn, yet Gandalf had introduced him as Strider. That two such different names could be given to the same person was incredible. Why should he have two names? And why should the voices be afraid of him? Pippin was certain there was something this man wished to keep hidden, something of vital importance, perhaps some link with the voices who had taken Pippin years ago.
Suddenly, a feeling of cold dread came upon them all, interrupting Pippin's thoughts.
"The riders!" Strider cried, leaping to his feet and seizing a long branch, thrusting the end in the fire to light it. The four hobbits drew their swords and waited in fear for the riders to approach. They were only vague shapes, creeping out of the shadows at the edge of the dell. Pippin couldn't be sure how many there were, but fear seemed to be freezing his insides.
Strider leapt forwards, wielding his burning brand and trying to drive them off, but he couldn't fight them all. As one of the riders bore down on the hobbits, holding a mighty sword, Pippin found his own sword seemingly wielding itself. His arm raised his small sword to thrust and parry with skill he didn't have. He didn't try to fight the movements, just took advantage of them. The rider seemed as surprised at Pippin's skill as Pippin himself was. A strange pressure filled his mind, and it seemed that for a short time, there was someone else in control of his body.
A cry of pain filled the dell, followed by some words Pippin didn't quite catch. Then the riders were gone, vanishing like shadows with the dawn. He looked round, and saw Frodo on the ground. His first thought was a terrible one: Frodo was dead. He rushed to him, but Sam and Strider were already kneeling on either side of him.
"He lives," Strider said, and both Merry and Pippin relaxed slightly. Strider proceeded to pull back Frodo's shirt, revealing a deep wound in his shoulder. Pippin couldn't read the ranger's expression, but could see enough to know that this wound was bad. Strider picked Frodo up and moved him to lie beside the fire, thrusting more blocks of wood on the fire.
"Keep him warm!" he ordered, "I shall be back shortly." He turned and left, the three hobbits bending concerned over their fallen friend.
***
They moved on again for a short way that night before stopping again. Strider stood at the shoulder of Frodo's pony, in case he fell. Strider had put some herb on Frodo's shoulder but he still looked far too pale to Pippin.
Now they rested again. Frodo slept close to the fire Strider had insisted they make, with Sam as always by his side. Merry and Pippin lay close together, and Strider sat by the fire, staring out into the night. Pippin could hear the soft breathing of his friends as they slept, but he couldn't sleep. His thoughts returned to the way his sword had seemingly moved on its own, and to that night in the inn, when he had turned in response to a pressure in his mind. He didn't understand how, but he knew it had something to do with the voices.
"Are you there?" he whispered into the night.
"We have always been here," the night whispered back. It was the stern voice, the one which sounded like Strider.
"Who are you?" Pippin asked.
"You are not yet ready to know my name," the voice replied.
"You were controlling me, weren't you?"
"Yes."
"Then why didn't you help Frodo? If you have the ability, why didn't you use it?" Pippin would rather have been the one stabbed in that dell than Frodo. Frodo was the one who was so important, the ringbearer. If the voices had helped any of their group defend themselves, it should have been Frodo.
"There are rules which we cannot break," the voice said mysteriously, "you will learn little prince, you will learn." Pippin didn't understand that, and didn't know how to reply. He was no prince, yet twice the voice had called him that, once in a language he had never even heard of. And why should he learn? Pippin would rather have nothing more to do with these voices and wasn't interested in anything they had to teach him. Pippin fell asleep still wondering.
"Sam," he called, "there are footprints over here." Sam joined him and looked at them.
"Other people must have come by here," Sam said.
"They look recent," Pippin said. He couldn't be sure though. Both agreed to wait and see what Strider thought of it, and went back to their preparations. Again it was Pippin who found the remains of the fire, but Sam made the discovery of a little stream where they each drank deeply before filling up their water bottles.
It seemed a long time later when Strider, Frodo and Merry came down from the top of the hill again. Pippin told them about the footprints and the fire. While Strider went to inspect them, Frodo told them what they had seen from the top.
"There was this strange cairn of stones," Frodo described, "that was scorched, as if in fire, and all around it the grass was burned. But on top of the cairn was a white stone, untouched by the fire. There were marks on the stone, something that might have been a G rune, and three straight strokes. Strider thinks they might be a message from Gandalf."
"I cannot be certain though," he said, suddenly returning to the little group. "And I cannot tell much from these prints. Sam and Pippin's own prints have obscured much of them. Perhaps Gandalf was here, but rangers also use this place, and the marks may have been made by some with no connection to us or our business."
"So what shall we do now?" Pippin asked.
"We will rest the night here, and tomorrow continue our journey towards Rivendell. For tonight, we shall light a fire as far back in the dell as we can," he instructed, "I believe I might have seen a rider from the hilltop. The Nasgul have no love of fire, and it may protect us should we need it."
"Or it could draw them to us," Merry protested.
"Perhaps," Strider said, "but any riders in the area would most likely aim for this place anyway. It is best that we have some means of protecting ourselves." Frodo nodded, and soon the hobbits were eating the first hot meal they had had since leaving Bree. Whatever the dangers of a fire, Pippin was certainly glad of the advantages. Considering all that had happened, the meal was quite a pleasant one. Strider surprised them all by singing an elven song of ancient legend. Pippin sat back, looking deep into the fire and thinking about this mysterious ranger. All Pippin had heard of rangers suggested that they were vagabonds who could not be trusted, yet Gandalf clearing considered Strider a friend. And then there was his name. The voices had called him Aragorn, yet Gandalf had introduced him as Strider. That two such different names could be given to the same person was incredible. Why should he have two names? And why should the voices be afraid of him? Pippin was certain there was something this man wished to keep hidden, something of vital importance, perhaps some link with the voices who had taken Pippin years ago.
Suddenly, a feeling of cold dread came upon them all, interrupting Pippin's thoughts.
"The riders!" Strider cried, leaping to his feet and seizing a long branch, thrusting the end in the fire to light it. The four hobbits drew their swords and waited in fear for the riders to approach. They were only vague shapes, creeping out of the shadows at the edge of the dell. Pippin couldn't be sure how many there were, but fear seemed to be freezing his insides.
Strider leapt forwards, wielding his burning brand and trying to drive them off, but he couldn't fight them all. As one of the riders bore down on the hobbits, holding a mighty sword, Pippin found his own sword seemingly wielding itself. His arm raised his small sword to thrust and parry with skill he didn't have. He didn't try to fight the movements, just took advantage of them. The rider seemed as surprised at Pippin's skill as Pippin himself was. A strange pressure filled his mind, and it seemed that for a short time, there was someone else in control of his body.
A cry of pain filled the dell, followed by some words Pippin didn't quite catch. Then the riders were gone, vanishing like shadows with the dawn. He looked round, and saw Frodo on the ground. His first thought was a terrible one: Frodo was dead. He rushed to him, but Sam and Strider were already kneeling on either side of him.
"He lives," Strider said, and both Merry and Pippin relaxed slightly. Strider proceeded to pull back Frodo's shirt, revealing a deep wound in his shoulder. Pippin couldn't read the ranger's expression, but could see enough to know that this wound was bad. Strider picked Frodo up and moved him to lie beside the fire, thrusting more blocks of wood on the fire.
"Keep him warm!" he ordered, "I shall be back shortly." He turned and left, the three hobbits bending concerned over their fallen friend.
***
They moved on again for a short way that night before stopping again. Strider stood at the shoulder of Frodo's pony, in case he fell. Strider had put some herb on Frodo's shoulder but he still looked far too pale to Pippin.
Now they rested again. Frodo slept close to the fire Strider had insisted they make, with Sam as always by his side. Merry and Pippin lay close together, and Strider sat by the fire, staring out into the night. Pippin could hear the soft breathing of his friends as they slept, but he couldn't sleep. His thoughts returned to the way his sword had seemingly moved on its own, and to that night in the inn, when he had turned in response to a pressure in his mind. He didn't understand how, but he knew it had something to do with the voices.
"Are you there?" he whispered into the night.
"We have always been here," the night whispered back. It was the stern voice, the one which sounded like Strider.
"Who are you?" Pippin asked.
"You are not yet ready to know my name," the voice replied.
"You were controlling me, weren't you?"
"Yes."
"Then why didn't you help Frodo? If you have the ability, why didn't you use it?" Pippin would rather have been the one stabbed in that dell than Frodo. Frodo was the one who was so important, the ringbearer. If the voices had helped any of their group defend themselves, it should have been Frodo.
"There are rules which we cannot break," the voice said mysteriously, "you will learn little prince, you will learn." Pippin didn't understand that, and didn't know how to reply. He was no prince, yet twice the voice had called him that, once in a language he had never even heard of. And why should he learn? Pippin would rather have nothing more to do with these voices and wasn't interested in anything they had to teach him. Pippin fell asleep still wondering.