Author's note: I own nothing. You will probably find that the story's
content will decline ever so rapidly along the way. I do this because I
have no idea where I was going with it when I wrote the story, so....let us
just say I got desperate.
Chapter 7: The Dream
There was fog. The whispering wind hissed through the trees, making leaves flutter wildly to the ground in sudden bursts. The sky was dark, pitch black above the canopy of grey-green trees. A tiny sliver of moon shone weakly out from the heavens, its light blocked by the fog. A feel of dreadful foreshadowing fell over the forest like a cold blanket.
Frodo could feel spine-chilling cold, but it seemed distant, its groping fingers unable to reach him. The wind circled round him, pulling him irresistibly farther into the dreary fog. Something was calling him, a small voice that got stronger with each step the hobbit took. Frodo ducked between looming trees and flitted like an unseen shadow, though he didn't know what he was hiding from.
"Come to me...come to me...."
The wind pushed Frodo insistently forward, almost urgently. He stumbled over a crooked root, catching himself roughly on the ground.
"Quickly, before you are lost..."
An unnatural calm fell over the misty world. Frodo looked up from the ground, blinking rapidly. Before him stood two trees old and crooked from their years of standing against the wind. They stood barely six feet above the black dirt, but commanded respect with their presence. A barely used path carved its way between the old trees, uncertainly fading into the distance. Frodo could see nothing beyond the trees except darkness. He felt quiet but powerful words beckoning him, calling him to the path. He found himself standing and at the gates before he realized what he was doing.
"Come to me..."
* * * * * *
Oleron walked away from the fire quietly, seeing that almost all of the Fellowship was sleeping peacefully. Passing between bookcases, he made his way toward a tall, thin, rather nondescript door that stood looming in the shadows. The rusty brass knob didn't creak as the wizard turned it, but soundlessly moved. The door slid open, letting a strange, shifting light pour out into the room. Oleron slipped into the next room and quietly shut the door behind him.
* * * * * *
Sam opened his eyes, awakened by a strange dream he had been having. A feeling of urgency filled him and the silence in the room was disquieting.
"Do you feel it too?"
Sam turned suddenly and saw Frodo awake as well, leaning against the wall and staring out the window into the depths of the now-black sky. The stars had disappeared, leaving a faint moon to dimly light the night. A strange keening noise echoed from down below. The dark trees rustled and shuddered as a cold wind circled through the forest and up through the window. The fire shivered, the outside wind disturbing its dance.
"I was having the most peculiar dream, Mr. Frodo," Sam said quietly as he walked towards the window, careful not to disturb the others. "There was wind and fog...."
"And a path," Frodo whispered. "With two trees guarding the way."
"It was cold," another voice added. Merry was sitting up on the couch as well. "And..."
"There was a voice." Pippin joined Sam and Frodo by the window. "It was calling me."
"I wonder what it means," Frodo said quietly.
"Come to me..."
A shaft of quivering light fell across the window. Sam turned and saw an open door at the end of a long tunnel of bookcases. Something was shining within the room it led to, something that seemed to dance and bob the longer he looked at it. Drawn against his will, Sam started to walk to the door. He was barely aware of Frodo, Merry, and Pippin with him. The light winked playfully at him, seeming to beckon the hobbits closer.
Merry passed Sam as he walked faster. He reached out a hand toward the light. His hand hit the doorframe. Surprised, Merry looked away from the light. How had they reached the door so quickly?
"Do we want to go in?" Pippin whispered. But his question didn't matter. Without hesitation, Frodo stepped in the door, his form blurring away as he walked further into the room. Sam followed him, with Merry close behind. Pippin stood staring for a moment into a room that seemed to have no dimension at all, hesitating. But then he remembered the last time he hesitated and hurried past the doorframe, disappearing without a sound.
The door slammed shut.
* * * * * *
A winding staircase stood in the middle of an empty courtyard, reaching higher and higher into the sky with no end. The ground was a lush green, shaggy and soft with grass. The grass circled the staircase and reached out to the dull grey stones of the courtyard walls, stopping suddenly before it could actually touch the walls. The sun shone brightly in a bright blue sky that had wispy clouds floating. High up on the staircase, a dark speck appeared. The speck was winding down the staircase rapidly and as it neared the bottom, a voice could be heard mumbling.
"Rimor does not like this, oh no, not like this at all. Strangers pass the doorways, reach Master's home. What do they bring with them, what do they bring to show thanks for Master's hospitality? Goblins! Goblins is no way to thank poor Blue Oleron. Now little hobbits are leaving, poor little hobbits."
The dark shape, no longer a shape, paused for a moment on the stairs. Purple eyes flashed and squinted against the sun.
"Must follow hobbits, says Master. Guide them along, says Master. Take them to the Tree Path, says Master. Well, if Rimor must he must. As long as filthy goblins don't follow our travels, mayhaps Blue Master's plans work. As long as filthy monster - " Silver teeth flashed in a hiss and long, nimble fingers wrung together. "As long as filthy monster stays away, does not disturb Rimor with its howls and slime and nasty, whipping tail, Rimor will most happily lead poor, silly hobbits far, far away."
Rimor slid like a shadow off the towering staircase, green robes swishing against the grass as he slithered toward the courtyard walls. Glancing only for a moment at the sun as he paused at the wall, he brushed one grey finger against a stone. There was a groaning heave as a small, circular tunnel appeared at the base of the wall. Still muttering quietly to himself, Rimor crouched down and scurried into the tunnel.
"Silly hobbits better get here quicklike. Rimor does not like to be kept waiting."
* * * * * *
*Wow! That wasn't ALL that bad, I think. Took forever to write, mwhahaha. Enjoy it while it lasts. Always love to hear input. At least I think I do.*
Chapter 7: The Dream
There was fog. The whispering wind hissed through the trees, making leaves flutter wildly to the ground in sudden bursts. The sky was dark, pitch black above the canopy of grey-green trees. A tiny sliver of moon shone weakly out from the heavens, its light blocked by the fog. A feel of dreadful foreshadowing fell over the forest like a cold blanket.
Frodo could feel spine-chilling cold, but it seemed distant, its groping fingers unable to reach him. The wind circled round him, pulling him irresistibly farther into the dreary fog. Something was calling him, a small voice that got stronger with each step the hobbit took. Frodo ducked between looming trees and flitted like an unseen shadow, though he didn't know what he was hiding from.
"Come to me...come to me...."
The wind pushed Frodo insistently forward, almost urgently. He stumbled over a crooked root, catching himself roughly on the ground.
"Quickly, before you are lost..."
An unnatural calm fell over the misty world. Frodo looked up from the ground, blinking rapidly. Before him stood two trees old and crooked from their years of standing against the wind. They stood barely six feet above the black dirt, but commanded respect with their presence. A barely used path carved its way between the old trees, uncertainly fading into the distance. Frodo could see nothing beyond the trees except darkness. He felt quiet but powerful words beckoning him, calling him to the path. He found himself standing and at the gates before he realized what he was doing.
"Come to me..."
* * * * * *
Oleron walked away from the fire quietly, seeing that almost all of the Fellowship was sleeping peacefully. Passing between bookcases, he made his way toward a tall, thin, rather nondescript door that stood looming in the shadows. The rusty brass knob didn't creak as the wizard turned it, but soundlessly moved. The door slid open, letting a strange, shifting light pour out into the room. Oleron slipped into the next room and quietly shut the door behind him.
* * * * * *
Sam opened his eyes, awakened by a strange dream he had been having. A feeling of urgency filled him and the silence in the room was disquieting.
"Do you feel it too?"
Sam turned suddenly and saw Frodo awake as well, leaning against the wall and staring out the window into the depths of the now-black sky. The stars had disappeared, leaving a faint moon to dimly light the night. A strange keening noise echoed from down below. The dark trees rustled and shuddered as a cold wind circled through the forest and up through the window. The fire shivered, the outside wind disturbing its dance.
"I was having the most peculiar dream, Mr. Frodo," Sam said quietly as he walked towards the window, careful not to disturb the others. "There was wind and fog...."
"And a path," Frodo whispered. "With two trees guarding the way."
"It was cold," another voice added. Merry was sitting up on the couch as well. "And..."
"There was a voice." Pippin joined Sam and Frodo by the window. "It was calling me."
"I wonder what it means," Frodo said quietly.
"Come to me..."
A shaft of quivering light fell across the window. Sam turned and saw an open door at the end of a long tunnel of bookcases. Something was shining within the room it led to, something that seemed to dance and bob the longer he looked at it. Drawn against his will, Sam started to walk to the door. He was barely aware of Frodo, Merry, and Pippin with him. The light winked playfully at him, seeming to beckon the hobbits closer.
Merry passed Sam as he walked faster. He reached out a hand toward the light. His hand hit the doorframe. Surprised, Merry looked away from the light. How had they reached the door so quickly?
"Do we want to go in?" Pippin whispered. But his question didn't matter. Without hesitation, Frodo stepped in the door, his form blurring away as he walked further into the room. Sam followed him, with Merry close behind. Pippin stood staring for a moment into a room that seemed to have no dimension at all, hesitating. But then he remembered the last time he hesitated and hurried past the doorframe, disappearing without a sound.
The door slammed shut.
* * * * * *
A winding staircase stood in the middle of an empty courtyard, reaching higher and higher into the sky with no end. The ground was a lush green, shaggy and soft with grass. The grass circled the staircase and reached out to the dull grey stones of the courtyard walls, stopping suddenly before it could actually touch the walls. The sun shone brightly in a bright blue sky that had wispy clouds floating. High up on the staircase, a dark speck appeared. The speck was winding down the staircase rapidly and as it neared the bottom, a voice could be heard mumbling.
"Rimor does not like this, oh no, not like this at all. Strangers pass the doorways, reach Master's home. What do they bring with them, what do they bring to show thanks for Master's hospitality? Goblins! Goblins is no way to thank poor Blue Oleron. Now little hobbits are leaving, poor little hobbits."
The dark shape, no longer a shape, paused for a moment on the stairs. Purple eyes flashed and squinted against the sun.
"Must follow hobbits, says Master. Guide them along, says Master. Take them to the Tree Path, says Master. Well, if Rimor must he must. As long as filthy goblins don't follow our travels, mayhaps Blue Master's plans work. As long as filthy monster - " Silver teeth flashed in a hiss and long, nimble fingers wrung together. "As long as filthy monster stays away, does not disturb Rimor with its howls and slime and nasty, whipping tail, Rimor will most happily lead poor, silly hobbits far, far away."
Rimor slid like a shadow off the towering staircase, green robes swishing against the grass as he slithered toward the courtyard walls. Glancing only for a moment at the sun as he paused at the wall, he brushed one grey finger against a stone. There was a groaning heave as a small, circular tunnel appeared at the base of the wall. Still muttering quietly to himself, Rimor crouched down and scurried into the tunnel.
"Silly hobbits better get here quicklike. Rimor does not like to be kept waiting."
* * * * * *
*Wow! That wasn't ALL that bad, I think. Took forever to write, mwhahaha. Enjoy it while it lasts. Always love to hear input. At least I think I do.*