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Chapter 20: A timely meeting

Pippin stared at the riders who had pulled up and regarded them silently. The fog poured around them, shrouding them in a grey pall like smoke. The deep moan that he had heard came from the misshapen rider, and he seemed, horribly, to writhe and twist until the hump on its back seemed to curl away from the torso and wriggle until it fell away from the rider, moaning as it did so.

Pippin felt his stomach roil and a sharp bile came into his throat.

Slowly the hump drew itself upright and stood in the fog. The axe glimmered where Pippin thought a hand should be.

'Speak, strangers!' Elrohir demanded in a loud and commanding voice that stirred Pippin's blood and made him feel strong enough to stand against these riders who set bonfires and released the Wights from their barrows. 'What is your errand upon these hills?'

'I might ask the same of you, Master,' came a rich voice from the hump.

Pippin felt a leap in his chest and shouted 'Gimli!' at the same moment the rider shouted, 'Elrohir!'

'Aragorn?' That was Elrohir, and the rider, obviously, Aragorn, urged his horse forwards, and Pippin recognised as Aragorn's big, patient horse, Roheryn.

'Gimli! Aragorn!' Pippin cried out in delight and then turned to the other rider and shouted, 'Legolas! Hurrah! You are all here!' He was so pleased that he threw himself off Flash and hurled himself at Gimli, who lifted him off his feet in a bear hug.

'And where are the rest of you, Pippin? Surely you and Elrohir are not up here on your own?' That was Aragorn, and Pippin danced over to the Man and threw his arms about the Man's waist, he was so pleased.

'Frodo, Sam and Merry are just back that way a bit,' Pippin said squeezing Aragorn. 'Oh Aragorn, you feel quite Hobbity,' he exclaimed in delight for the Man was a little softer and rounder in places where he used to be all hard muscle and bone. He could hear Elrohir speaking anxiously to Gimli, but his words floated over Pippin's head he was so happy.

'Merry? Merry is found?' Aragorn asked, as if barely able to contain his relief.

'Yes, oh I forgot. Sam found him ages ago. Well, it feels like that anyway.' Pippin did a little dance, hugging Aragorn.

'Gimli, they have found Merry,' Aragorn called over and Pippin grinned at the Dwarf, but he was talking to Elrohir, and he did not see Pippin's grin.

'We sent you a message but thought it might have missed you,' Pippin explained to Aragorn. He turned towards Gimli again and saw that Elrohir was almost looming over the Dwarf. He probably didn't realise how alarming that could feel, thought Pippin. But Gimli was never going to be intimidated by Elrohir, he comforted himself cheerily, expecting that any moment now, Legolas would throw himself from his horse and into his lover's arms. In fact, Pippin was rather surprised they hadn't both fallen over themselves in doing so yet.

'If you have found Merry, what are you all doing up here?'

'Oh, that's because of the bonfires and riders,' Pippin answered but he was distracted because Elrohir had moved away from Gimli and was striding towards Arod, so Pippin waved at Legolas, who was still astride Arod.

And then he realised that the rider was not Legolas. This Elf had long dark hair, his face was longer, a little gaunt. Nothing like Legolas in fact. Elrohir rested his hand upon Arod's neck, and the horse dipped his nose to rest it on Elrohir's shoulder. The rider was leaning slightly towards Elrohir and speaking very quietly. Pippin could not see Elrohir's face, but his head was bent, and his shoulders slumped.

Pippin felt suddenly cold. 'Aragorn, who is this? Where is Legolas?' He looked up at Aragorn, whose face was very grave. Pippin felt a panic in his chest and turned towards Gimli.

'Ah Pippin,' Gimli sighed deeply and reached a hand to Pippin, gripping his shoulder. 'We have lost him; he has been taken by the Barrow Wights.'

'No! He can't be. Not Legolas!' Pippin cried out as if the words burst from him and he had no control over them. Surely he…' But he couldn't say it; he wanted to say surely Legolas could not have been taken? He was so agile and quick, so dangerous. But he had been taken by the Ghoul in Minas Tirith. He had been kept there until Elrohir and Glorfindel had found him. 'But how?'

Pippin listened aghast as Gimli told him how they had emerged into dense fog on the Barrow Downs and made their way to the Rangers' hut where Legolas had taken first watch. When Gimli told him how they had heard a cry and ran out to find Legolas gone, Pippin could not help himself.

'Just like that? Disappeared and no trace?' he asked almost disbelieving. But then he remembered how the fog had come down so suddenly as he had ridden with Frodo over the Downs towards Bree, and they had lost their way, and each other.

'We are pursuing him.' Gimli looked at Pippin with the same determination Pippin had seen so many times before, when facing danger. 'We think he is in the Great Barrow.'

In shock, Pippin remembered waking in the burial chamber with the Barrow Wight about to cut their throats. He had been so scared, but at least he had Merry and Sam and Frodo with him. Legolas had no one, he was alone in the dark. 'Like we were?' he asked. 'We need to find him! He will be in danger!'

The strange Elf spoke up now. 'Forgive me, lord Periannath but your friend is unlikely to be taken to the barrow to which you were taken.' His voice was rich, resonant, Pippin thought, he could listen to him forever, but he spoke as if the words were strange in his mouth, as if he did not speak often and his accent was not the soft consonants and lilting vowels of Legolas, nor the more clipped tones of Elrohir's tongue. 'That barrow was broken open by the one you call Tom Bombadil, and the Elves call Iarwain-Ben-Adar,' he continued and something about it reminded Pippin of Elrond, an intonation perhaps? 'The Úmaiar, the Barrow Wights as you call them, were cast out and their treasure scattered as I understand,' the Elf said gravely.

'Yes. That is true,' Pippin said suspiciously. 'And if you don't mind me asking, who are you?' he demanded, knowing he sounded more like Sam than himself right now. 'And how do you know all this?'

A slight smile touched the Elf's lips. 'I am called Vanwë in these parts.'

Elrohir looked up then. 'He is one of father's my kin,' he said to Pippin. And then, fixing his grey eyes on Vanwë's face, he said slowly, emphatically, 'Most beloved, and most longed for.'

Pippin did not miss the way Vanwë flinched at Elrohir's words, and he thought they were odd. Almost a reproach.

Gimli suddenly said, crossly, 'Right. Well I don't know how all this talking is helping. We need to get on and find Legolas. You know what he's like, if he can't find trouble, it'll find him and who knows what might be happening while we stand about talking.' He swung his axe and brought the haft down on the palm of his clever, square hands and stamped his feet impatiently. 'Elrohir, you will accompany Vanwë and me of course,' he said firmly.

Elrohir nodded. 'Angmar himself could not stop me from going,' he muttered tightly.

'Nor me.' Aragorn turned and looked at Gimli pointedly. 'And just in case anyone thinks differently, I do not think there is anyone here who can command me otherwise.'

'I agree with Aragorn,' Pippin said quite loudly. 'In that no one can command me either. And as I am the only person here who has been in a Barrow Wight's chamber, I am actually the only person who knows what to expect.'

At that however, Elrohir shifted and shook his head. 'Frodo agreed that you would all return to Bree.' His eyes rested upon Pippin, concerned. 'The Úmaiar have been hunting you, first Merry, then Sam. You said too that Frodo saw something near Brandybuck Hall. There is something you have that they want, for I do not think it is revenge they seek on behalf of the Nazgûl.'

'But they have Legolas,' Pippin protested, 'so maybe it's not just us Hobbits they want but the Fellowship.' He put his foot in the stirrup and swung astride the pony. 'I will find Frodo and let him know what is happening. I am certain he will agree with me. There are, after all, six of us and Baranor,' he said practically. 'That makes a good size company to fight the Barrow Wights.'

He pulled Flash's head up from the grass, but now Vanwë stepped in front of Flash and put his hand on the pony's nose and raised his eyes to Pippin's. Later, Pippin would think it had been like looking into a very dark pool that held moonlight and starlight, memories of both anguish, and ecstasy. It moved Pippin in a way that he could not describe, and he stared in wonder and pity perhaps.

'There is indeed something that you have that they seek,' Vanwë said earnestly, and his focus was all upon Pippin. 'You know what this is.' He drew a long knife from his belt, still sheathed, and held it out towards Pippin. The sheath was black and adorned with fiery stones and Pippin knew exactly what the blade looked like for he had its twin at his own belt.

Everything clicked into place for Pippin then and he beamed warmly at the Elf. 'That's Merry's sword!' he exclaimed, pleased. 'Was it you that rescued him? Well, he'll be glad to have it back. He couldn't remember what had happened to it and it did strike the Witchking of Angmar though the blade dissolved of course. Luckily, I found the hilt and Gimli made the new blade for it, exactly the same as the old.'

Vanwë tilted his head to one side and although Pippin held out his hand for the sword, the Elf seemed in no hurry to return it.

'Oh.' It dawned upon Pippin suddenly. 'Are you saying that this is what they want from us? The swords?'

'I believe that, yes. That is why they hunt you. You also have one of these blades.'

The words made Pippin suddenly more than a little uncomfortable for he now understood; Merry had been alone upon the Beacon, Sam alone in the Woods. But they had not been alone in Brandybuck Hall. 'They have become more desperate,' he said.

'Or bolder,' Aragorn said and rubbed a hand over his beard. 'Where is Frodo?' He looked around. 'He has Sting of course, but he too had a knife like this. And Sam.'

'He'll be here in a moment,' Pippin explained but he glanced back the way he had come, along the path between the hills and wondered why Frodo was not already here. 'Frodo gave his knife to Merry since he lost his.'

'Why do they want these knives so much?' Aragorn wondered.

Vanwë cast him an oblique glance and did not answer. Instead, he turned back to Pippin. 'You have yours with you?'

Pippin drew his sword from its black sheath and placed it across Vanwë's upturned hands, so it lay beside Merry's. It no longer looked like a sword of course, but merely a long knife. But it was beautifully made, its blade long, leaf-shaped blade, damasked with serpent-forms in red and gold. Merry's reforged blade was perfectly matched, the same pattern, runes and shape with its elegant addition of the sigil of the Fellowship. Pippin's hand went unconsciously to the black metal sheath still at his side, light and strong, adorned with fiery stones. That too gave him comfort.

Elrohir moved to stand beside Vanwë and stared down at the knife with intensity. Aragorn too craned his neck to see it although it was hardly unfamiliar to him, thought Pippin. But Elrohir spoke in an elvish that was different from Sindarin, thought Pippin frowning for he knew enough now to recognise Sindarin and enough words to make himself understood.

Vanwë replied in the same fluid tongue and Aragorn interrupted.

Gimli made a snorting noise that perfectly expressed Pippin's own feeling. 'Speak so we can all understand,' the Dwarf snapped. 'Trust me when I tell you my patience is thin. How can this help us get Legolas back, I want to know?'

Vanwë hefted the blade in his hand, considering it. Then he handed it back to Pippin. 'Keep it for now,' he said. And then said to Gimli, 'Here are two of the Mergyll-Dagnir. They were made to counter those morgûl blades made by the Enemy, Bauglir.' He said the name like he would spit.

Pippin looked at his blade in wonder. So it was more than just some knife picked randomly by Tom Bombadil. This was made by Morgoth himself, Sauron's Master. Tom must have known, thought Pippin, and remembered the gleam in Tom's eye as he passed them over to the Hobbits.

Elrohir lifted a hand and stroked one finger along the dark blade of Merry's long knife. 'These are a great treasure indeed.' He looked up at Vanwë and, more urgently, spoke more Sindarin, too quickly and the words too unfamiliar to Pippin and he could not follow. Vanwë was nodding but he glanced at Gimli, who was beginning to grow impatient once more and the Elf said quickly, 'They were made to Undo spells of Morgoth, and Sauron. That is why when Merry struck the Witchking of Angmar, it broke the spell cleaving his undead flesh and sinew from his Will. It sent him into the Absolute Dark where he waits for the End of Time. These,' he added, holding up the daggers, 'these should be waiting for Angmar when he emerges again from the Dark on the Last Day, for on that day, the Dunédain of Cardolan will ride out of their barrows, following their Prince, and they will vanquish their old enemies and reclaim all that was theirs

'They can destroy those ghosties?' Gimli said brightly. 'Well come on then! That's the best news I've had all day. Now. Where's Frodo and Sam so we can get those other daggers and then we'll go and get Legolas.'

Elrohir had walked a little way from the group and was staring back down the way Pippin had come. He turned his head and said, over his shoulder with some alarm, 'Where is Frodo? I cannot hear any ponies coming this way.'

'I hope they didn't take the other path,' Pippin said, and he pulled up Flash's head and put his foot in the stirrup, swinging into the saddle.

Suddenly Elrohir stiffened and looked upwards, toward the ridge that lead not back down towards the Road, but deeper into the Downs. He stood, frozen for a moment., and then he started running towards his black horse and nearby, whatever had alarmed Elrohir had alerted Vanwë too for he leapt lightly astride Arod, and reaching down in a shockingly familiar move, he pulled the dwarf up behind him.

Aragorn looked about himself in alarm and then ran towards his own big, kindly horse and Pippin was suddenly scared. 'What is it?' he called. Aragorn was still trying to get up into the saddle and his horse's head was up and watching Arod and Barakhir charge off up the steep slope. Flash snorted and surged forwards, his short legs bursting into a gallop over the turf. Moments later Pippin heard Roheryn's big hoofs behind him and he was glad that he was not last for Arod and Barakhir had already disappeared over the top of the ridge.

O0o0o0o

The fog drifted over them without any of them realising and Frodo cursed himself for not being more aware, not keeping a lookout, being too concerned about where Pippin had got to.

They had been calling for their cousin for longer than any of them would have liked and reluctantly, Frodo had agreed with Sam and Baranor to retrace their steps to see if there was any sign of Pippin. Walking back along the bottom of the ditch that curved around the hill fort above, he had been too intent on looking for traces of Pippin to notice how the fog had crept silently down the edges of the slopes and drifted over the top.

Iberic suddenly said, 'Look, the mist has come down.' He nodded towards the top of the cleft.

It was a shroud of white, suffocating, closing down upon them.

Frodo pressed his hand over his mouth for he felt a scream struggling out of his chest; Shelob's suffocating web was closed around him, tight over his eyes and mouth and ears and he couldn't breathe and…

'Frodo?' Sam. It was Sam, his hand on Frodo's arm. He was safe. He was always safe with Sam there. Swallowing hard, Frodo blinked and forced himself to see.

It was still the fog of the Barrow wights, but he was here with Merry and Dods and Iberic and Baranor. And Sam.

Nodding to Sam that he had recovered, Frodo looked about himself. The ponies were nervous now too and stood stock-still, heads thrown up, ears pricked, and nostrils flared, all looking the same way- back along the tunnel of fog that stretched before them.

'I don't think we should go the way it wants us to,' Sam said definitely. 'It's trying to take us along that path.'

Baranor nodded. 'Draw your swords,' he said softly. 'Be alert. We head upwards, towards the old fort.' There was a sharp, metallic shriiing as each Hobbit drew his sword, Frodo had Sting and Sam clasped the long knife that had been taken from the Barrow hoard by Tom Bombadil. Glinting in its own light, the serpents damasked along the blade seemed to undulate along the blade. Frodo stared for a moment; he had never noticed that before. He glanced down at Sting. The blade glittered but it was not illuminated like Sam's, and it did not have the blue glow that signalled goblins and Orcs.

'What about Pippin?' Merry whispered angrily. 'We can't just leave him.' The blade Frodo had given Merry, who had lost his own, had the same strange pattern as Sam's. Flames seemed to lick along the blade, the serpents black and crimson, writhing over the blade though there was little light for the fog had cut out the sun completely. It was more like twilight than afternoon.

'Elrohir will be with him,' Sam said. 'He will find him.'

Merry looked at Baranor. 'You don't think that,' he said slightly accusingly for Baranor had made it clear that he and Elrohir had not reconciled whatever their differences were.

Baranor glanced briefly at Merry. 'Whatever I may think of Elrohir, I do know that he never leaves anyone behind. Ever. So we will trust him in this.'

'Merry,' Frodo said gently. 'I do not think we have any choice.' He pointed to Sam's sword. 'I think that is a sign that the Barrow Wights are here already, and we have not the strength to defeat them.'

'Come on!' Dods was already urging his pony upwards, Iberic close behind when Sam cried out.

'Wait! Are you sure it's this way?' He turned his head and looked back over his shoulder. 'I thought it was up there.'

'No, it's definitely this way.' Dods' voice disappeared in the mist that suddenly rolled down over the bank. Frodo heard Iberic calling after him and urged his own pony forwards, but Sam threw his arm out as if to stop Frodo.

'Wait!' he cried. 'Iberic! Dods!'

If they called back, their voices were swallowed by the mist for it was silent.

Baranor turned anxiously towards the three remaining hobbits. His face was distressed. 'Do not follow blindly,' he said. 'Sam, why do you think it is this other way?'

'I had been thinking as it was time for tea and that when we found Pippin, there was that nice flat rock to sit on. It was below the fort.' He pointed to a large flat rock that looked like it had once been part of the fort and now lay flat on its side like a table. It was on the opposite side to where Dods and Iberic had gone.

'Then they are heading towards the Barrows,' Frodo said urgently. 'Dods!' he shouted. 'Come back!'

Merry joined him. ' Dods! Iberic! You are going the wrong way!'

Baranor turned his horse around and looked down at Frodo. 'Go to the fort,' he said urgently. 'It is said that Gandalf put warding spells upon those huts still used by the Rangers to guard against the Barrow Wights, they cannot enter, though it cannot prevent Orcs and Wargs. Perhaps the same is true of the forts. Either way, it is away from the Barrows and closer to the Road. As soon as you can, head back down to the Road as straight and as quickly as you can.'

'Where are you going?' Sam shouted as Baranor's horse surged up the slope where Dods and Iberic had gone.

'I will find our friends,' Baranor shouted back.

For a moment, Frodo, Sam and Merry looked at each other. And then they too, kicked their ponies forwards and followed Baranor. 'Not without us!' Merry cried.

0o0o0o

They managed to keep sight of Baranor even though his horse was pale and seemed ghostly in the mist, flickering into sight and out again. Steel flashed but dimly now and again from his drawn sword, but he reined in and waited when he realised, they followed.

'I think this is very unwise,' he said, 'but if you will come, then let us at least stay together.'

At last Frodo felt the ground beneath his pony's feet level out and he knew they were on the top of the ridge. And that meant they were close to the Barrows. A wind whistled about him, catching in his hair and tugging at his cloak like it would pull it off and hurl it away over the hills. His pony spooked and shied a little and he saw that even Bill was alert and nervous.

'I think I'll get off and lead mine,' said Merry a little nervously and Frodo thought he would do the same, but Sam looked determined.

Out of the mist rose the avenue of tall grey stones that Frodo had seen earlier, and he thought again how the stones up here on the Downs seemed to lean in as if listening to a Song that no one else heard. Beyond the stones, high grassy mounds rose up like islands in a grey sea. These were the burial mounds of long-dead princes, haunted now by the Barrow Wights raised by the Witchking of Angmar. There were three barrows that he could see but he knew there were more beyond that and swathed in the grey mist that crept about their feet and curled up towards them.

'I don't think you should dismount, Merry. I don't like this mist,' Sam said, looking down at the billowing grey. 'Bill here knows something's up- he can feel it. Look at him.'

Bill was very alert, nostrils flared and eyes wide. Frodo was certain that had he not been carrying Sam, the pony would have turned tail and fled. Suddenly Bill started to back up, bumping into Merry's Breeland pony who was also nervous and agitated.

Then Frodo heard it.

The murmuring wind found its way through his cloak, bitter-cold against his skin. He felt suddenly afraid, imagining the wind's cold fingers had left black fingerprints pressed on his skin like a mark.

He glanced down.

There was nothing.

But the fog had coiled upwards and now it touched his face like a cold, dead hand trailing its limp fingers over his eyes, his lips, his cheek and he felt the hair on his scalp rise up and stiffen in horror. There were words in the wind, he knew but he could not recognise any at first though he listened to them.

'….don't listen!' a voice cried but it was very far away and he was already lost.

The wind wrapped itself around him like a shroud, swaddling him so his arm was bound to his side, and he could not lift Sting. He fell from his pony with a heavy thump, barely feeling how hard he hit the stony ground.

The horrid, unbearable whining wind was in his ears and nose. It was in the air he gulped and then it was in his lungs and fingers and feet, filling him with an intolerable prickling as his nerves were jangled and pulled. It became pain, crushing….and the words filled his head and swelled his heart so it felt like it would burst. A curse of hatred and bitter cruelty….

He was back on the dry, grey and cracked slopes of Mount Doom, and he could not remember water or tree or grass or flower. There was only the unravelling of his spirit and the Ring filling him with its own demands and desires.

Lifting his eyes heavily, he saw a tall standing stone ahead of him at first, and then it was above him. Was it leaning over him? Not a stone. A ghoulish horror. There was no face, only the pale, starving lights of its eyes. Frodo knew he screamed as it stooped over him. He had no Will left of his own. He was dissolving. The earth pulled at him, and he was sinking.

Somewhere nearby, the sound of shouting and clashing of swords… and he heard Sam calling to him, but when Frodo opened his mouth to answer, soil filled his mouth and ears and nose. He couldn't breathe. A crushing pressure was on his chest, pushing him down, down and down into the earth.

And abruptly, it stopped.

For a moment, he lay suffocating, still bound and heavy with the Barrow Wight's spell and then suddenly he could move. Struggling like a swimmer against the riptide, he had broken free from the earth, and he was lying, gasping for breath in the air again. He lay on his back, sucking in the great lungfuls of air and around him were voices shouting, hoofs beating the turf and the sound of steel clashing. But Sam's voice was at his ear.

Sam. His voice panicked and distressed called Frodo from the heaviness of whatever it was that had been happening to him. 'Frodo, don't you dare leave me now. Not when we've done everything an' I'm getting married and everything.'

Frodo blinked awake and saw Sam's dear, frightened face. 'S…Sam…' He heard his voice, shaky and frightened, but Sam turned and shouted over his shoulder. 'He's all right. He's awake.'

Instantly, Merry was there too and Sam supported Frodo to sit up while Merry held a flask of cold, clear water to his lips. Hands shaking, Frodo clutched at the flask and let the water trickle into his throat. The parched, dryness eased, quenched and he thought, as he always did, how precious was water.

'They've gone. All of them.' That was Merry, Frodo thought. His voice was full of relief so he must mean the Barrow Wights had gone. But what had driven them off? Frodo struggled to sit up. Surely some great elven warrior had joined them? Perhaps the same Elf who had saved Sam and Merry?

He looked about. Merry and Sam were beside him and Baranor stood nearby, sword still drawn. His horse cropped the grass a little way from him, and the ponies stood huddled together, nose to nose and tails swishing.

'Where did they go?' Merry asked, fearfully. 'Did they take Dods and Iberic? Why did they leave?' he asked Baranor.

Baranor glanced over his shoulder at the hobbits and then came over to where they sat but he remained on his feet and alert. 'They fled from you and Sam,' he said. 'They had Frodo, and they nearly had me too. But when you charged at them, they fell back.' He frowned. 'I just do not know why. I mean no disrespect, Sam.' He paused, frowning. 'Do they know you slew the Witchking perhaps?' he said to Merry. Then he looked at Sam. 'Maybe they know you are a hero of the War too, but Frodo was the Ring bearer,' he said puzzled.

Sam shifted and helped Frodo to his feet. 'Well, whatever it is, we can't stay here,' he said practically. 'We have to find Dods and Iberic, and where are Pippin, and Elrohir?' He sighed. 'This is all going wrong.'

Merry caught Frodo's pony and led him back to where Frodo was standing. The ponies, it seemed, had been frightened but had not run off. They were sturdy little Breeland ponies, bred from ancient Cardolan stock, thought Frodo. And indeed, his pony had a rather determined look in its eye as he patted it.

Merry put his foot in the stirrup of his own saddle and swung up onto his own pony. 'Baranor is right. They really did fall back when we charged them, Sam.'

Frodo looked at his friends with curiosity. He never doubted for a minute their valour, or their friendship. But if they had driven off the Barrow Wights, then that was strange.

Baranor was staring at something. He had dropped his gaze to Sam's waist and then he leaned forwards. 'Your knife.' He reached for it and Sam looked down too.

'This is one of the blades from the Barrow that Tom opened,' Sam said, and he lifted it so Baranor could see. 'He brought all the treasure out and gave us these blades each.'

'And why hasn't Frodo got one?' Baranor looked towards Frodo, who was carefully mounting his pony while Sam held its bridle tightly. Frodo groaned as he found his position in the saddle, feeling his shoulder crack a little. He rolled his shoulder and swung his arm experimentally and found himself bruised but otherwise unhurt.

Frodo said, 'I have Sting, an elvish blade and Merry has lost his so I have given him mine.'

Baranor nodded in understanding. 'Then it could be the blades have some sort of power over the Barrow Wights.' He mounted his own horse now and turned its head towards the avenue of standing stones that led deeper into the Barrow Downs, away from Bree, from the Road and towards the Great Barrows. 'That is useful to know.'

'Pippin has one as well,' said Sam, turning his own pony's head to follow Baranor.

'That is good,' said Baranor grimly. 'I think we will need them all.'

Ahead of them, the mist lay more thinly over the moor, curling around the grey stones that led them deeper into the Downs and towards the grassy tumuli that rose from the mist. In the distance, they could see one rose higher than the others, like an entry into the depths of the earth itself and Frodo knew instinctively that this was where they headed.

0o0o

tbc