Frodo's tired feet dragged him to a stop and he sighed heavily. Shifting his pack higher up on his back, he waited for Merry to catch up.
"Well!" Merry moved to a stop by his side, and they took in the top of the hill and the long slope down the trees that led to yet another endless stretch of ups and downs to be walked.
"'The road goes ever on and on,'" Frodo quoted with a sigh.
Merry grinned. "Look on the bright side, cousin. Evil is chasing us, somewhere back in the West Farthing. Here we are in the woods making an unknown path to a strange elven city, leaving behind those we knew would protect us."
Frodo waited. "And? What's the bright side?"
Merry shot him a look. "I rather thought that was the bright side. It's like old Bilbo's stories come to life. Gandalf the wizard once again setting reasonable hobbits off on an entirely unreasonable adventure."
Frodo shrugged his pack off and let it fall. "I need a rest." He dragged heavy feet to a nearby tree and sat, leaning back against it with a sigh.
Merry dropped his pack and opened it, rummaging through to find a little square of cheese he'd put in for the journey. He broke it in half, handing one out to Frodo.
Frodo took it with a nod of thanks. "Gandalf didn't create what's happening," he pointed out after a minute. "He's helping us."
"Well, from now on remind me to avoid helpful wizards." Merry sat back against his pack, looking up at the stars and chewing thoughtfully. "What do you think they'll say when they find we've gone?"
"Sam and Pip?"
He nodded. "If I recall correctly, Gandalf did tell them they'd not be left behind."
"But that was before he knew the true nature of the ring." He frowned to himself, thinking of solid, dependable Sam. He would have wished to have him there on the journey. No doubt as much as Merry wished for Pip to be there. But there they were, just the two of them.
Frodo hesitated, reminded of Pippin leaving so sullenly when Gandalf ordered it. He doubted the young, rash hobbit had gone home. He'd probably gone right out to fetch Sam, or else stayed and tried to listen in.
The question wasn't what would they say, the question was what would they do? What were they doing now?
He didn't speak up about his fears, though. One more uncertainty might be one too much for poor Merry, forced into this against his will because of a random decision of Bilbo's.
He looked at his quiet cousin, and days came back to him. Old days of walking for mindless hours through the paths of the Shire, venturing further and further on borrowed courage that came from taunting each other. First it had been Frodo alone, because none of the older cousins at Buckland had wanted to go exploring with him. But Merry had come along, bright-eyed and curious and always in search of a dare. And they had gone together for days at a time, sleeping under the stars and talking aimlessly about old tales and nothing important at all.
Frodo liked time to himself. He always had. He had grown up a serious hobbit compared to his cousins, but he got along with himself and spent days walking the borders of the land. But Merry – bright and curious and always eager to listen to a story, if not always to learn the lessons the stories taught – had been good company. Later Pip had joined them for a time, but he hadn't been old at all when Frodo took on with Bilbo and moved to Bag End. For a time his cousins were deemed to young to visit as often as they wanted, and so Frodo took up with the son of his uncle's gardener.
Sam was a regular visitor at Bag End even before Frodo arrived. Frodo first met him wide-eyed and young, absorbing the tales Bilbo enjoyed telling with every little shred of his attention. He listened to everything that came from Bilbo's mouth with eyes wide and body leaned in, careful not to miss a thing. Bilbo taught him his letters so Sam could look at some of the books of lore filling shelves at Bag End, and Frodo had been amused at first at how much the little grubby son of a gardener doted on Bilbo.
Of course very soon he learned to adore his uncle as well, and he and Sam got along quite well as they grew to know each other.
So many years of history, old memories and stories and thoughts. Every corner of Hobbiton held a memory, and every Farthing had its stories from his past. He felt like he was walking away from it all, though they hadn't even left the borders of the Shire yet.
It was strange how even with so many nights spent under stars after days of walking strange paths, this night felt truly foreign to him. He'd liked to pretend he was in the middle of an adventure during those earlier treks, telling Merry and a breathless Pip to keep their voices down, to watch for trolls. They had giggled then and obeyed.
There was no laughter in this. There was only the nervous toss of a worried stomach, and a body full of apprehension. Every sound made him jump, every shadow held some faceless enemy.
"I wonder if we will ever come back." He sat up then, frowning out at the path they'd left behind them.
Merry looked up at him and laughed. "Well, surely. You don't think a little trip into the woods to find the elves will prove fatal, Frodo?"
Frodo looked ahead now at the endless trees. "You said it yourself. Evil is chasing us."
Merry laughed. "Oh, that's just left-over exaggerations from Gandalf's visit. This evil he's talking about is hundreds of miles away, and I doubt Sauron knows where the Shire is, does he? I think Gandalf means to get us out in a hurry because he thinks being hobbits we'd have never left otherwise. But honestly, what are the chances that evil has found its way here on the very day Gandalf returned?"
Frodo didn't feel any better for that answer. "Gandalf was worried, Merry. Scared, almost. That's enough to make a small hobbit like me afraid."
"Oh, Gandalf was just telling a story, like Bilbo used to. What good is a story without embellishments and a bit of playacting?"
"I pray you're right."
Merry tsked, sitting back and drawing in a deep breath. "Relax, Baggins. Smell the air. It's the perfect season for a walk. You've gotten far too serious in your years away from Pip and I's influences. You're going to learn to become a proper thoughtless hobbit again if I have anything to say about it."
"Maybe," Frodo said with a sigh, looking out into the night. "But I doubt it will be this walk that teaches me."
The night was stretching on, and Frodo was starting to think about stopping and resting despite his urgency. His feet were refusing to lift more than a few inches, and he was stumbling over large roots and stones in his way. In front of him Merry seemed a bit slow, but he was bearing up better than his cousin.
Too much time spent listening to adventures and not enough time going out in search, Frodo thought to himself. He hardly walked the Shire as much as he used to, and this was the most exercise he'd gotten in some time.
He was just about to stop and ask for mercy when a shout, hoarse and nearby, sounded behind him.
"Sam!"
He halted, and ahead of him Merry spun around and was by his side in an instant, scanning the pathless trail behind. "That sounded like Pippin!"
Frodo knew Pippin's voice almost as well as Merry, and whatever had caused that cry in the dark behind them could not be good. "He's in trouble."
Merry took off without a pause, the tiredness leaving his legs as he barreled through the trees back to where Pip's voice had come from.
Frodo moved after him hurriedly, unable to shake his weariness; but the memory of who Pip had been calling for made him race further. Sam and Pippin. He had feared as much.
Another cry, a different voice, and Frodo put on speed. Had the danger tracking them found Sam and Pippin, or were the two addle-pated hobbits just lost?
They ran until the voices were more audible, and the sounds of scuffling and struggle became clear. A snap, like heavy feet on dried leaves and twigs, made Frodo's blood run cold. That was no hobbit foot.
Ahead of him Merry suddenly dove behind a tree, and Frodo scurried to catch up with him, panting and alert. He moved round the large trunk with a silence that only hobbits could achieve. What he saw planted fear inside of him deeper than he had ever felt before.
A man. A figure, at least, tall as a man, but all in black with every feature hidden from view. Shrouded in midnight robes that billowed in the night breeze to make him appear even bigger, he sat mounted upon a steed – black as well, matted, eyes blazing in a feral, wild glare Frodo had never seen on horse or pony before.
One robe-covered hand was clenched in the fabric of Pippin's shirt, and the terrified hobbit was dangling from his grasp six feet off the ground.
Sam stood white-faced but defiant, yelling at the figure and throwing well-aimed rocks to no effect.
Frodo drew in a breath, terror making his pause, but behind him Merry saw the same scene and was not frozen because of it. He moved out into the open instantly, face red with anger and youthful recklessness making him stride right out towards the rider. "Let him go!"
"Merry!" Pip's high-pitched voice yelped his cousin's name in panic, and he was suddenly writhing in the rider's grasp, struggling with everything he had to break free.
"Back, Mr. Merry!" Sam yelled at the same time. "Stay back!"
If Merry heard Sam he didn't show it. He moved straight to the horse and set to pummeling the black flank with small fists. "Let him go!"
The hood-covered head swung in his direction, and a faint sound like sniffing came through the hood. The grip on Pippin never eased, and a low hiss came out, identifiable only barely as a voice sounding a word. "Baggins."
Frodo jerked, and knew instantly what he had to do. He wouldn't let Merry fight alone, and he wouldn't let Pippin be carried off by some large rider in black. He moved from behind the safety of the tree determinedly.
"No!" Sam moved across the forest floor faster than Frodo had ever seen him move, and he grabbed Frodo. "You stay away from it!"
Merry's hands dropped and he backed away from the horse.
Frodo hesitated, indecisive. He looked from Sam's fiercely protective face to Pip's terror-filled features.
Before he could make up his mind whether to shove Sam away or not, Merry spoke in a low voice. "Sam. Keep to the east. Buckleberry Ferry is less than a mile."
Sam hesitated. "I don't know these-"
"Listen to me! Go east. Pippin knows where it is, he'll get you there. Once we get across we can get to Bree."
Frodo looked at Merry's fierce expression and a dread swept over him. "Merry, what-"
Merry backed up another step, moving back towards the path they'd come in on, away from Sam and Frodo and the trail ahead. His hands were still fists, and he squared his shoulders. "Baggins you're looking for," he cried out, his voice high but clear. "And Baggins you've found!"
The rider spun towards him, rearing his horse back. Pippin fell to the ground with a small cry and barely avoided the horse's rear legs as it turned. A sound erupted through the clearing then, a sound that for the rest of Frodo's days he never found proper words to describe – high and loud and terrible, sending shudders through his body and making his feet stick to the floor of the woods in terror. His hands covered his ears without him even realizing, but still he felt the pain of it.
Sam let out a pained cry, but darted out and gripped Pippin, hauling him to his feet and dragging him to safety by the trees.
"Merry!" Frodo cried out through his pain, terrified now for his cousin, who stood locked in place thanks to that high shriek.
"Merry, run!" Pippin recovered his voice suddenly.
Merry backed up instantly, feet stumbling. "Pippin! Take them to the ferry! Get it ready to cross."
"No! We're not going to-"
"Go! I'll be right behind, I promise!" Merry took off suddenly, spinning one moment and gone the next, into the shadows of the trees.
The horse reared, and with a neigh like a growl it tore through the darkness after him.
"Merry!" Pippin took a step forward as if to follow, then stopped in indecision. He had always obeyed his cousin, though he sometimes made a show of argument.
Beside Frodo Same was muttering a few dark words under his breath fiercely, and he grabbed Pippin's arm. "Let's go!"
"No!"
"Over that hill, Mr. Frodo! That's east!"
Frodo nodded jerkily and grabbed Pippin's other arm. His eyes stayed locked on the spot he last saw his cousin and that dreadful rider.
"Mr. Frodo!"
His lips pressed together tightly and he nodded. He tugged at Pippin, and between he and Sam they got the frantic young hobbit turned around and off down the path towards the ferry.
Aside from a more distant but just as alarming second howl in the air, they met no one on their run to the ferry. Sam and Pippin weren't burdened with packs, since their small and hastily packed bundles had been left behind. They moved fast through the darkness, and sheer fear helped Frodo keep up with them.
The calm of the Brandywine River and the stillness of the crisp night air was an odd contrast to the panic and chaos left behind them. The racing of their hearts and their breathless gasps were the only elements that made it to the small wooden pier leading to the wooden planks of the small ferry.
Frodo boarded first, carefully, turning instantly to search the forest behind them for any sign of someone coming. Sam moved on a moment later, leading Pippin first and releasing him for the first time since leaving the clearing, and then edging a paranoid and reluctant foot onto the shifting wood of the ferry.
Once he was on and staring at the surrounding water in worry, Frodo let himself relax just the slightest bit. Everything felt calm and normal, and it might have been easy to dismiss the rider as a dream, or a vision.
Pippin stood still on the ferry for a long moment, then turned abruptly and moved back to the dock, stepping back up.
"Pip, wait!"
But he wasn't trying to run back after Merry. He crouched instead by the rope tying the ferry to shore and began unraveling it. "Merry said get ready to cross," he said, his voice odd.
Frodo and Sam exchanged glances, and Frodo's thoughts were dark and swirling. They never should have let Merry go off that way. They should have stopped him. The entire thing was pointless without him, and the ring he carried.
Would Merry make it to the ferry at all? Would he be caught, or have to hide and find another way to go? How long were they to wait there? And if they left without him, where would they go? Back home? To Bree? On to Rivendell to confess their complete failure to Gandalf? None were pleasant thoughts.
In the distance came another high, howling scream, chilling his blood and casting out all illusions about dreams or visions. Pip froze, the last bit of rope ready to be unraveled. Together they waited, breathless and listening for any sign of someone approaching.
Finally, minutes after the last shriek, there came the crash of footsteps through the trees near the dock. Louder than hobbits normally made, but hobbits moving in a panicked run made more noise than normal.
And indeed Merry appeared, head first and then body rising over the crest of the last hill, tearing towards them without bothering to be quiet about it. "Go!" he shouted as soon as his feet hit the wood of the dock.
Pippin threw the last bit of rope off the hook binding it to the ferry, and the ferry was set loose in the water.
A huge figure leaped through the brush, seeming to top the hill in one long stride of horse legs, charging after the approaching hobbit.
"Merry! Hurry!" Pip moved onto the ferry as it broke away from the dock.
"Jump!" Frodo steadied himself and grabbed the back row in case it got too far away from shore.
Merry thundered down the dock and leapt high into the air, coming down with a crash on the ferry and into Pippin's arms. The two were nearly knocked back into the water, but Sam and Frodo moved fast to brace them, to pull Merry straight on his feet.
Merry regained his balance quickly, being a Brandybuck and used to the water and the legs it gave a hobbit. He turned, staring at the rider with round eyes.
"Where is the nearest crossing?" Frodo asked as he awkwardly tried to steer the ferry across.
Merry swallowed, and drew in a breath. "Brandywine Bridge. Twenty miles." Panic stilted his words, and he tore his eyes from the river's edge with difficulty. He gathered himself with surprising speed, moving surefooted to his cousin and taking over control of the ferry.
Frodo let him more than readily, but it didn't stop him glaring at Merry now that the fear of his never returning was gone. "What on earth were you trying to do?"
Merry glanced back at him, surprised. "What?"
"You should have known better than that!" Frodo shifted to catch the roll of the ferry. "What if they had caught you?"
"In these woods? In my own back yard?" Merry grinned, but there was something wild in it, primal fear still keeping hold. "There was never a chance of that."
"Merry! This is no time for jokes! If we had lost you what would we have done? You can't allow yourself to get into danger that way!"
"And what was the alternative, Frodo? I didn't ask for bloody great figures on black horses to grab wayward hobbits, did I? I suppose I should have let him take Pippin and just waved goodbye as they left?"
Frodo frowned at him sternly, but couldn't manage an argument. His eyes went to Pippin, who had paled a bit at the words.
Sam looked up from where he was sitting on the floor of the ferry, hands bracing at his sides as if the water was going to try to buckle him off any moment. "If me and Mr. Pippin have caused any trouble, we're sorry."
Frodo frowned at him and Pip both in turn, reminded suddenly that they were stowaways on this apparently truly deadly journey. "Why else did you follow us if not to cause trouble?"
Pip flashed him a shaky smile, trying to recover his normal light-heartedness. His eyes fixed on Merry, though, and stayed there blazing in relief.
Sam had the sense to at least look sheepish. "Well. Mr. Frodo. We just assumed that…I mean, the way we saw it…listen. Mr. Gandalf already said we weren't to be left behind, and so we figured that you just knew we'd be coming along behind you. We didn't consider it sneaking or anything."
Frodo raised his eyebrows, easier now that the shore where the riders had been stopped was being left steadily behind. "Then why didn't you join us, rather than following behind out of our knowing?"
Sam flushed. "Well. We thought…That is, Mr. Pippin said that…and I agreed, you know, that…"
"Oh, stop picking on Sam." Merry glanced over with a smile. "You know he's never done a dishonest thing in his life. Relax, Master Gamgee. This is just Frodo's way of saying he cares. He loves us with lectures."
Sam stayed red and lowered his eyes.
Frodo turned his gaze to Pippin.
Pip had recovered most of his wits, and grinned back at him. "Don't you tell me you thought I'd turn around and head to Tuckburough, Cousin Frodo. You knew full well I'd be hanging around, so the way I see it you could have stopped us yourself, but you didn't."
Frodo sighed. "I give up. I wish you hadn't come, though. Either of you. You have no idea what sort of danger we're all in now."
"Actually." Despite his good humour, Pippin's gaze turned to the departing shore and his eyes were serious. "I think we do."