Chapter 3
Puffing and grunting, Gimli masterfully swung his axe, lopping off some branches of a fallen tree. He paused, wiping rainwater out of his eyes, and glanced to his right, where Legolas lay under a tree. Two nights had passed since the elf had fallen into the river, and since then his fever had risen steadily. Since yesterday Legolas had not fully awakened. Often he would talk or even sit up, but because of what he was saying Gimli knew he was hallucinating.
Having by now cut a sizable number of dead leaf-covered branches, Gimli dragged them over to Legolas. He then propped the branches against the tree, forming a makeshift shelter to help keep the rain out. He placed some stones on the branches where they touched the ground, then crawled into the shelter next to Legolas.
Gimli cast a sorrowful, worry-filled eye upon his friend. He reached out and placed a hand on Legolas' brow, but quickly withdrew it--the elf was still burning to the touch. He grabbed the cloth strip he had placed on Legolas' forehead and, going out of their "shelter", rewet it with water from his canteen. He ducked back under the branches, smoothed Legolas' hair out of the way, replaced the strip, and sat down to wait out the night with his friend.
Far away, a dark hand caressed the side of a cement bowl, in the waters of which two figures resting side by side could be seen. The owner of the dark hand laughed evilly as he beheld Legolas sit up and cry out, and Gimli hurry to calm the elf and lay him back down.
"Yes, comfort your friend, foul dwarf," the evil one rasped in a hideously chilling, deep voice. "I fear you do not have much time left to enjoy one another's company. Indeed, the hour of your parting is upon you! And not only you and your little elf shall be parted..."
A swirl of hot, reeking breath stirred the water in the bowl. A new image came up--an image of a round door, and little people...two little people, with curly hair and furry feet, bedecked in shining coats of mail, laughing...
"Ah, my little hobbit friends," the evil one sighed. "Such laughter! Is it right, that such merry folk should have to suffer such pain as what is about to be inflicted upon you?" The voice began to chuckle. "Yes...yes! For you little folk and your friends have inflicted pain of your own, yes indeed...you have angered many. You thought your foe was vanquished, and indeed he was...but there are other foes stronger than Sauron for you to worry about now!"
The dark hand was lifted from the rim of the bowl, and a flash of green light was reflected in the water's surface. With a shuddering howl, the sound of padding paws receded into the night.
Merry Brandybuck, clutching his prize to his chest, ran as fast as he could down the steps and out into Brandy Hall's main yard. Laughter behind him showed he was still pursued. Thinking quickly, Merry turned from his path and stuck his foot out. With a yell of suprise his younger cousin, Pippin Took, fell over his outstretched leg and collapsed to the ground.
It was Merry's turn to laugh as Pippin, wearing a bemused expression, sat up and pulled a clump of grass out of his hair. "That was a dirty move, Meriadoc!" the hobbit exclaimed.
"So was trying to steal my mushrooms. I picked these myself. They're mine. My own. My precioussssessssss!"
Pippin shuddered. "Oh, please don't do that," he begged. "You remind me too much of him...Gollum..."
Merry smiled, and offered a hand to Pippin. "Remind you of him? When did you ever even see the wretched creature?"
"I thought I saw him once, after--after Moria," replied Pippin, taking his cousin's hand and rising to his feet. "It was during watch, one night...I saw a shadow, flitting about in a bush, and two pale eyes..."
"Sounds like Gollum, right enough," Merry nods. "Not that I ever saw the beast. But I've heard our cousin's--and Sam's--accounts of him so often I almost feel that I have..."
Suddenly the hobbits' chatter was silenced as a horn blast rang in the air.
"AWAKE! FEAR! FIRE! FOES! AWAKE!"
Merry's and Pippin's mouths dropped open. "The Horn-call of Buckland!" cried Merry. "Something's wrong!" With grim glances at one another, two blades were swept out of their scabbards, and the two hobbits set out in the direction of the horncall, all thoughts of mushrooms forgotten for now.
A little ways down the road, the two hobbits came upon another hobbit. Wild fear was in his eyes. "Raspin!" cried Merry. "What is the matter? Why are they blowing the Horn-call?"
"Wolf!" gasped Raspin. "This side of...the Brandywine...coming this way...run!" The panicked hobbit flew back toward the Brandybuck smial.
"Do you suppose it's a Warg?" Pippin asked.
"What other wolf-creature would dare to cross the Brandywine?" Merry replied.
As the two hobbits turned the corner, a loud and horrible howl met their ears. The hobbits shuddered at the sound and clamped their hands over their ears, letting their swords fall. At that moment, a dark shape leapt around a tree.
It was the wolf, all right. The beast was enormous, as big as a hobbit's pony, gray-coated and red-eyed. Its pointed, silver fangs gleamed in the sunlight. Blood dripped from its narrow snout. A strange intelligence glittered in its eyes, and it regarded its new prey with cool delight. Grinning, the horrendous beast let out another chilling howl.
Pippin and Merry shrank together, transfixed under the wolf's gaze. It seemed to have a power to freeze its enemies in their tracks. As the wolf-- was it really a wolf? It seemed so intelligent!--stalked nearer, Pippin instinctively clutched at Merry's arm. Merry, shaking off his paralysis, spoke out of the corner of his mouth. "Pip. Run."
"No!" Pippin breathed back. "I won't leave you to fight this alone!"
"Listen to me!" Merry commanded. "Go and get help! I can't hold this monster off for long. Hurry!"
"But--"
"GO!" Merry gave his terrified friend a shove. Just as Pippin began to flee, the wolf turned its paralyzing gaze upon him.
And pounced.
Puffing and grunting, Gimli masterfully swung his axe, lopping off some branches of a fallen tree. He paused, wiping rainwater out of his eyes, and glanced to his right, where Legolas lay under a tree. Two nights had passed since the elf had fallen into the river, and since then his fever had risen steadily. Since yesterday Legolas had not fully awakened. Often he would talk or even sit up, but because of what he was saying Gimli knew he was hallucinating.
Having by now cut a sizable number of dead leaf-covered branches, Gimli dragged them over to Legolas. He then propped the branches against the tree, forming a makeshift shelter to help keep the rain out. He placed some stones on the branches where they touched the ground, then crawled into the shelter next to Legolas.
Gimli cast a sorrowful, worry-filled eye upon his friend. He reached out and placed a hand on Legolas' brow, but quickly withdrew it--the elf was still burning to the touch. He grabbed the cloth strip he had placed on Legolas' forehead and, going out of their "shelter", rewet it with water from his canteen. He ducked back under the branches, smoothed Legolas' hair out of the way, replaced the strip, and sat down to wait out the night with his friend.
Far away, a dark hand caressed the side of a cement bowl, in the waters of which two figures resting side by side could be seen. The owner of the dark hand laughed evilly as he beheld Legolas sit up and cry out, and Gimli hurry to calm the elf and lay him back down.
"Yes, comfort your friend, foul dwarf," the evil one rasped in a hideously chilling, deep voice. "I fear you do not have much time left to enjoy one another's company. Indeed, the hour of your parting is upon you! And not only you and your little elf shall be parted..."
A swirl of hot, reeking breath stirred the water in the bowl. A new image came up--an image of a round door, and little people...two little people, with curly hair and furry feet, bedecked in shining coats of mail, laughing...
"Ah, my little hobbit friends," the evil one sighed. "Such laughter! Is it right, that such merry folk should have to suffer such pain as what is about to be inflicted upon you?" The voice began to chuckle. "Yes...yes! For you little folk and your friends have inflicted pain of your own, yes indeed...you have angered many. You thought your foe was vanquished, and indeed he was...but there are other foes stronger than Sauron for you to worry about now!"
The dark hand was lifted from the rim of the bowl, and a flash of green light was reflected in the water's surface. With a shuddering howl, the sound of padding paws receded into the night.
Merry Brandybuck, clutching his prize to his chest, ran as fast as he could down the steps and out into Brandy Hall's main yard. Laughter behind him showed he was still pursued. Thinking quickly, Merry turned from his path and stuck his foot out. With a yell of suprise his younger cousin, Pippin Took, fell over his outstretched leg and collapsed to the ground.
It was Merry's turn to laugh as Pippin, wearing a bemused expression, sat up and pulled a clump of grass out of his hair. "That was a dirty move, Meriadoc!" the hobbit exclaimed.
"So was trying to steal my mushrooms. I picked these myself. They're mine. My own. My precioussssessssss!"
Pippin shuddered. "Oh, please don't do that," he begged. "You remind me too much of him...Gollum..."
Merry smiled, and offered a hand to Pippin. "Remind you of him? When did you ever even see the wretched creature?"
"I thought I saw him once, after--after Moria," replied Pippin, taking his cousin's hand and rising to his feet. "It was during watch, one night...I saw a shadow, flitting about in a bush, and two pale eyes..."
"Sounds like Gollum, right enough," Merry nods. "Not that I ever saw the beast. But I've heard our cousin's--and Sam's--accounts of him so often I almost feel that I have..."
Suddenly the hobbits' chatter was silenced as a horn blast rang in the air.
"AWAKE! FEAR! FIRE! FOES! AWAKE!"
Merry's and Pippin's mouths dropped open. "The Horn-call of Buckland!" cried Merry. "Something's wrong!" With grim glances at one another, two blades were swept out of their scabbards, and the two hobbits set out in the direction of the horncall, all thoughts of mushrooms forgotten for now.
A little ways down the road, the two hobbits came upon another hobbit. Wild fear was in his eyes. "Raspin!" cried Merry. "What is the matter? Why are they blowing the Horn-call?"
"Wolf!" gasped Raspin. "This side of...the Brandywine...coming this way...run!" The panicked hobbit flew back toward the Brandybuck smial.
"Do you suppose it's a Warg?" Pippin asked.
"What other wolf-creature would dare to cross the Brandywine?" Merry replied.
As the two hobbits turned the corner, a loud and horrible howl met their ears. The hobbits shuddered at the sound and clamped their hands over their ears, letting their swords fall. At that moment, a dark shape leapt around a tree.
It was the wolf, all right. The beast was enormous, as big as a hobbit's pony, gray-coated and red-eyed. Its pointed, silver fangs gleamed in the sunlight. Blood dripped from its narrow snout. A strange intelligence glittered in its eyes, and it regarded its new prey with cool delight. Grinning, the horrendous beast let out another chilling howl.
Pippin and Merry shrank together, transfixed under the wolf's gaze. It seemed to have a power to freeze its enemies in their tracks. As the wolf-- was it really a wolf? It seemed so intelligent!--stalked nearer, Pippin instinctively clutched at Merry's arm. Merry, shaking off his paralysis, spoke out of the corner of his mouth. "Pip. Run."
"No!" Pippin breathed back. "I won't leave you to fight this alone!"
"Listen to me!" Merry commanded. "Go and get help! I can't hold this monster off for long. Hurry!"
"But--"
"GO!" Merry gave his terrified friend a shove. Just as Pippin began to flee, the wolf turned its paralyzing gaze upon him.
And pounced.