For Naledi- belated birthday gift. And for Earthdragon and Nina (thank you both for the endless encouragment and lovely reviews- wish I could reply to you) and freddie and Tobiramamara (for the same)

Beta: the very lovely Anarithilien who may even be persuaded to start writing again herself. Check out her page at ffnet

Notes:

The treasure described in this was inspired by the Sutton Hoo burial. The helm is based on the very enigmatic helm found in the Sutton Hoo ship burial. The Draken is also based upon the ship burial.

References to Khamûl and the Ghoul are to Where the Shadows Lie, the story before this one. Legolas was captured by the Ghoul, which was a Man corrupted and possessed by Khamûl essentially.

Summary: The Hobbits have come to the Barrow Downs to find out why there are bonfires being lit and Black Riders seen. They are helped by Baranor and Elrohir, who have found the Palantir of Amon Sul as Aragorn asked them to so that he legitimises his claim to the throne of Arnor as prophesied by Malbeth the Seer (who also foretold that the King would pass through the Paths of the Dead and come to the Stone of Erech.) Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas have come North to help find Merry (not knowing that he has already been returned) and once they get to the barrow Downs, Legolas is taken by the Barrow Wights. Aragorn and Gimli find Maglor, who agrees to help them, and everyone meets up in the Iaun-Gynd where they fight the bones of the Orcs that were slain in the Angmar Wars which destroyed the Kingdom of Arnor and especially wiped out the People of Cardolan. Baranor is also taken by the Barrow Wights. Legolas is with the Prince of Cardolan. The Hobbits, Gimli and Aragorn are fighting the skeletons. Elrohir and Maglor are on the tumulus fighting the Barrow Wights. The Black Riders arrived at that point and are revealed to be Elladan and Erestor.

Tharkghêsh – a sort of sarsen – like the huge sarsen stones of Stonehenge

Sulûnûl-zaram- the Khuzdul name for the Great Flood that came at the end of the First Age and drowned Beleriand.

Chapter 27 The Burial Chamber

Elrohir clutched at his injured hand and looked up towards the summit of the tumulus expecting to see Maglor fighting the two remaining Úmaiar. But there was no sign of them. Warm blood pulsed over his fingers, and he pulled his tunic up and cut a long end off with one of the knives. Then he bunched up the material over the wound and pressed it down over the wound, ignoring the intense pain that stabbed unbearably through his arm and up into his shoulder. But it is only pain, he told himself and began to stumble towards the top of the hill. He thrust the dagger back into his boot for safe keeping alongside its twin. Two of the Mergyll-Dagnir; one that he had been given by Maglor himself and one that Maglor had hurled into the vortex that was Grippsenar. Maglor was unarmed against the Úmaiar.

Heavy raindrops splashed onto his face as he made his way to the summit of the hill. The storm finally broke and snatched away his attempts to shout for Maglor. Cold rain drenched his hair, his face and he pulled his cloak around him. He buried his injured hand against his chest, knowing he needed to keep it elevated and wanting to hug the pain to him at the same time. As he did, his fingers brushed the pendant Maglor had given him, and he felt a tingling in his fingertips and a hushed whisper. He did not know what the words were, but a strange comfort stole over him as if someone stood with him.

He breathed in and drew on his crimson power, let it fill him as Galadriel had taught him since he had admitted he needed her help.

'Maglor! Makalurë Kanafinwë Fëanorian!' He let the words resonate and carry through the air, on the wind. But even then, there was no answering cry.

He stumbled over the summit of the tumulus, searching for a sign of Maglor, afraid that he had lost him, that Maglor had sacrificed himself so that Elrohir would survive. There was nothing but the storm driving rain into his face and the wind tearing at his hair and cloak. He skidded to a halt as the grass dome gave way to the gleaming chalk walls of the tumulus. He peered over the edge to the ground fifty feet or so below and thought he could not simply leap down there. And nor could Maglor.

Suddenly a dark figure lurched out of the fog. Not tall enough for Maglor, lighter. Another, taller, behind him.

'Elrohir!'

It was Elladan and Erestor close behind.

Elladan immediately saw that Elrohir nursed his hand and drew it out from under his cloak. He gently pulled away the makeshift bandage and then swore quietly.

'This is deep. Is it poisoned? Ensorcelled?' he asked anxiously. He looked into Elrohir's eyes searchingly. 'Not a morgûl blade?'

'No, I think it is just a cut but deep.'

But Erestor, who had carried on past Elrohir and looked over the top of the hill and had been looking down the chalk walls with increasing urgency, now strode back down to Elrohir and demanded, 'Where is he?'

Elladan was bent over Elrohir's hand and did not even glance up at Erestor, so he did not see the devastation in his eyes, the loss. The furious grief. 'It needs to be sutured,' Elladan said but Elrohir ignored his brother and turned and glanced at Erestor, knowing his Oath sworn long Ages past, that he would find Maglor, his long-time lord.

'He WAS here,' Elrohir said urgently. 'He was with me or I with him. We sought the Umaiar and then they attacked us. Grippsenar had me and I would have been destroyed had not we not recovered two of the Mergyll-Dagnir. Maglor threw his dagger into Grippsenar and vanquished him. But now Maglor is unarmed, and I cannot find him. There were two more up here. They announced themselves as Thorendaw and Þráinn.'

Erestor nodded as if he recognised the names, and he threw his cloak back over his shoulder as if determining an action.

Elrohir gasped as Elladan sloshed miruvor over the wound and, ignoring him, tore strips from his own shirt to bind the wound. 'I have looked all over, but I can see no sign of where he went.' Elrohir knew he sounded desperate. He felt hysteria edge into his voice. 'And Legolas too is lost.' A sob almost burst from him now that Elladan and Erestor were here. Help. Aid.

Erestor glanced own at Elrohir's hand. 'You cannot hold a sword in that hand, nor do anything. Are you still capable of fighting if needed?' He held Elrohir's gaze in warm amber.

'Of course.' Elrohir recovered in the cold practicality of Erestor's question. He shifted his sword belt with his good hand so that he could easily reach his sword.

'You have two of the Mergyll-Dagnir?' asked Erestor and guilt flooded Elrohir, but Erestor lay a hand on his arm. 'Stop that,' he said briskly. 'Who are you to judge my lord? He did what he had to do knowing the risk and we do not have time to explore your overexercised sense of guilt and obligation. Give one of those to Elladan.' He nodded at the Mergyll-Dagnir and without seeing that his instruction was obeyed, he turned away and began walking swiftly across the summit of the hill.

Elrohir did not question Erestor but gave one of the daggers to Elladan who took it and looked at it intensely. The red jewels glittered hungrily and he thrust it quickly back into its sheath and, like Elrohir, stuck it into his boot for safekeeping. He threw an arm around Elrohir.

'Are you strong enough for this? How much blood did you lose?'

Elrohir shrugged and gently pulled away from his brother for he knew they would move more quickly apart. 'Not enough to slow me down. Come on. Every moment lost, Maglor draws away from us, and I think he pursues the Úmaiar into the barrow. And that is where Legolas is.'

Grimly, Elladan nodded, and they both turned to follow after Erestor who was already striding along the top of the ancient chalk cliffs that encircled the entire tumulus like a ring of mithril.

Below them there was a sudden blaze of flame and an explosion of sound from below. Smoke drifted over the battlefield, and he could not see anything then in the darkness and rain.

'That will be Gimli throwing one of Erestor's bombs,' Elladan shouted over the wind. Elrohir knew not to be surprised by anything that Erestor was concerned with and just kept on following. He had wondered if Aragorn had found the way to use the Palantír, but these bombs seemed just as effective, and the Orc skeletons had lost their impetus and Elrohir wondered if the defeat of Grippsenar had affected them somehow. Perhaps the Umaiar had been watching the battle, marshalling their army, and now that they had fled the field, their Orc skeleton troops had lost their form and impetus. He hoped that was the case. But then, where had the Umaiar fled?

From so high, they could see the storm raged over the whole of the Tyrn Gorthad from Bree Hill in the far distance to the South Downs where the rain and lightning did not seem to strike.

'This is no ordinary storm,' Erestor threw over his shoulder and the words were snatched away by the wind as if indeed there were a malice behind it.

Behind him, Elrohir leaned into the wind and screwed up his eyes against the rain, pulling the hood of his cloak over his head. 'Is this the doing of the Úmaiar?' he shouted and saw Erestor nod.

'Undoubtedly.' Erestor's pace increased as if anxious, for they were walking along the edge of the cliff into the storm and away from the mouth of the barrow. But there was no way down it seemed, and yet Elrohir could still not see Maglor.

A heaviness settled in his chest, and he thought now that perhaps Maglor had not made it down the cliff. Perhaps he was no longer on the summit either. Perhaps indeed, the Úmaiar had succeeded where Morgoth and Sauron and all the enemies of the Elves had failed. Perhaps Maglor had been devoured by the dreadful emptiness and hunger of the Umaiar. It would be my fault, Elrohir thought guiltily. How could he live with that? How could he tell Erestor? Elrond? He trudged miserably in the wake of the man who had sworn to find Maglor, in an Oath as terrible as that which Maglor himself had sworn for the Silmarils, for to Erestor, Maglor was as precious.

0o0o

The wind howled and screamed over the Great Barrow, and when the lightning flashed over the sky, it lit up the high white chalk walls that encircled the tumulus like a gleaming silver ring. Thunder cracked and roared like some huge and terrible beast raged over the Moor and there had been a moment when Pippin and Merry were certain they had seen a whirlwind funnelling upwards into the clouds, but when they pointed it out to Aragorn, it had gone.

'Whatever it was,' Aragorn said, 'it will have been the Barrow Wights' sorcery.'

Pippin shivered and not only because it was raining very hard now. They were hurrying westwards along the edge of the Great Barrow, crouching away from the wind that tore through the Iaun-Gynd, and through the avenue of grey menhirs that marked the westerly approach to the entrance of the Barrow.

'Look out, Orcs ahead!' cried Frodo, and Gimli fumbled in the satchel that Erestor had thrown him and drew out one of the small metal bombs. Merry quickly struck his tinder box and Gimli held the fuse of the bomb to it, sheltering it from the wind and rain.

'Quick!' shouted Pippin for the Orcs were leaping over the tussocks and stones, their jaws clacking horribly and empty eye sockets staring at them.

'Stay back!' shouted Gimli, throwing his hand out to hold Aragorn back and he lobbed the bomb just in front of the Orcs. There was a horrible moment where nothing happened and Pippin thought that the driving, drenching rain had put out the flame, and then, BOOM.

The Orcs shot into the air, bones scattering and then slowly falling, buffeted and thrown towards Pippin by the strong wind that howled and screamed over them.

'Run!' shouted Aragorn, pushing Pippin ahead of him.

Pippin could hear Merry behind him, urging Sam and Frodo on. He almost stumbled then over a fallen stone but managed to keep his feet. The Palantir bumped against his thigh as he ran. Now that he was aware again of it, Pippin could not help thinking about it as he ran, the smooth black glass and the way his fingers had sunk a little into the surface, how sparks had seemed to go off in his brain and the throb under his fingers; a beguiling whisper compelling him to slip his hand between the flaps of the bag.

He remembered the strange relief he had felt as if he had found something he had been searching for a long while. It had been like rain after years of drought when the earth is but dust and nothing green grows.

He knew now of course that he had foreseen these dreadful bones, animated by the Barrow Wights and sent against Pippin and his friends. And the wind had not been wind at all but the Barrow Wights themselves, grim, cold, hard, cursing against the light, hating the warmth of blood and flesh. Devourers.

Distracted, he stumbled and threw his hand out to catch himself against a standing stone. In doing so, he grazed his hand, and the rough stone tore his skin. There was blood. Looking up, he saw the top of the stone shrouded by fog and mist and the markings almost seemed to be a face looking down at him, grim and cold.

Pippin scrambled back and felt a hand grasp him firmly by the collar. His heart pounded in his chest.

'There now, Pippin my lad, keep your calm.' Warmth suffused him and Gimli's square hand caught him and hauled him to his feet. Pippin blinked and took a breath. The standing stone was just a standing stone.

But the shrill wind was very cold and still tore at them, pulling their hair and cloaks, snatching at the breath from their mouths…

Pippin stopped suddenly, staring around him. He saw that Frodo was barely able to walk, his face like ash, clutching at the wound in his shoulder from where the Witchking had plunged a knife into him over a year ago.

'It's the Barrow Wights,' Pippin said, and then he shouted more loudly. 'The Barrow Wights! They are in the wind! They are stealing our breath and our warmth! They are trying to kill us that way! Cover your ears! Don't listen, and don't breathe in the wind!'

The others stared at him for a moment and then Frodo's face cleared. 'He's right. Do as he says! Cover your mouths and your ears.'

Frantically, they began to pull collars up and cloaks and scarves over their mouths and heads. Pippin clapped his hands over his ears and sang loudly to himself and they hurried over the remaining few yards towards the dark entrance of the Barrow.

'Should we go in? Isn't this what they want us to do?' yelled Sam.

Frodo turned and looked at them in desperation. 'We have to find our friends and that's where they are.'

Across the gaping mouth of the Barrow lay a huge block of white stone, the kerbstone, carved with spirals and labyrinthine patterns. Pippin glanced briefly up at the high white chalk walls, fifty feet high at least, and wondered that anyone should care so much as to build this immense tomb right out here on these wild moors. But he supposed they had not always been like this. He hurried past the kerbstone, for the wind had grown stronger, whining around them, and Pippin felt like its cold, icy fingers were tearing away little bits of him, reaching through his skin and into his heart and belly and blood. His teeth started chattering.

He glanced back over his shoulder once and saw the eastern sky. Night was closing in and the clouds were thick and heavy over the Barrow Downs, and then he turned and followed Frodo, plunging into the darkness of the barrow, which seemed to close over them like a fist.

It's like being swallowed, he thought as they hurried along the dark passageway, deeper into the tumulus. But the wind had died to a murmur and after a short while, they stopped and looked at each other in the faint light that still penetrated the barrow.

'The wind has dropped,' Aragorn said at last, and he turned to Pippin. 'You still have the blade of Westernesse, the Mergyll-Dagnir, Pippin? Frodo, Sam, do you have yours?'

'Not me,' Sam replied quietly. 'Mine was taken by an Orc. I saw it running up towards the top of the tumulus.'

There was a moment of quiet realisation that Sam's dagger must be lost then, and the Barrow Wights must have it.

'Vanwë had taken Merry's, so I gave mine to Merry, for I have Sting,' said Frodo.

'Which I gave it to Baranor when he went to help Dods and Iberic,' added Merry.

'So we only have one blade that can defeat the Barrow Wights,' Frodo said. 'Unless we find Baranor.'

'Until we find Baranor,' Sam corrected him stoutly.

Frodo smiled. 'Yes Sam. You are right. We are going to find him.'

'And Legolas,' added Merry.

'Both of them,' agreed Frodo.

'And we have the Palantír. What did Vanwë call it? The Aska-tar-axo?' Gimli said grimly, cracking the consonants of the Palantir's name as if it were Khuzdul. He hefted his axe. 'I for one will be pleased to see those Barrow Wights blasted into pieces by the stone. Aragorn, perhaps now is the time to use it? Get those ghosties on the run and then chop 'em up with my axe!'

Pippin realised his hand had closed over the satchel and he pressed it more tightly against his thigh. But he forced himself to say to Aragorn, 'I have it here when you need it.'

Aragorn glanced at Pippin. 'Let us find a place within the barrow where I can use it. I do not feel we have quite escaped the Orcs and they could come after us at any moment. There will be smaller antechambers off the main passage if this barrow is like others I have seen. I have used the Stone of Orthanc to see far and to challenge Sauron. We wrestled for power. I am certain I can challenge the Barrow Wights in the same way.'

Pippin shifted a little uncomfortably and wondered if that was really what Vanwë had meant by a weapon; he had rather expected something a bit more spectacular if he were honest. But what he really wanted was to explore the stone himself, to look at it carefully, examine it from every angle, look deeply into its dark obsidian depths and stare at the solid darkness, to press his hands against the soft warmth, and to… to …

'I can do it.' The words were out of his mouth before he knew he had even thought them. 'Let me.'

'No, Pippin!' Merry said anxiously. 'No. Look at what it did to you last time. You don't know what might be in there. It might be…' He broke off abruptly, but Pippin knew what he feared. Sauron.

'Sauron never touched the Amon Sûl stone,' Aragorn said gently, glancing at Pippin. But he looked away again quickly and licked his lips as if they were dry, and Pippin wondered if Aragorn too suffered as he, that he too wanted to slide his hands over the obsidian surface and watch the flare of power in the darkness.

'Pippin and I will go in front,' said Gimli with a firm look at Aragorn and although the King raised a quizzical eyebrow, he did not argue. 'I have the light and the superior senses of my folk, and Pippin has the only weapon the Barrow Wights are afraid of. So you can bring up the rear,' he told Aragorn.

'I will bring up the rear,' said Sam firmly. 'I am not afraid of a few Wights or Orc bones.'

The passage they walked through now was far wider than Pippin expected, enough for three or four to walk abreast with ease and he could not tell how high the roof was. The walls were strange, not chalk but smooth stone, though carved and richly decorated with the same spirals and curlicues that he had seen on the kerbstone at the mouth of the barrow.

'We are right under that huge hill,' Sam whispered, and Pippin thought to himself that the white chalk walls encircling the barrow were fifty feet high and the tumulus looked as big as The Hill itself.

Gimli peered at the stones. 'I thought so,' he said softly. 'This is tharkghêsh.' He stroked his clever fingers over the carvings, and Pippin knew that he was feeling the stone, letting it tell him its story. 'This stone has been here for a long time. Before even the Sulûnûl-zaram, the flood that destroyed Beleriand. They are the same as those great standing stones. What are they for? I wonder what these carvings mean?'

Aragorn glanced at them. 'These are very ancient symbols,' he said. 'I have seen them in Minhiriath. There are barrows there too, and near Fornost.' He peered at them closely and then said, 'I think that this symbol may be of the people who became the Haladin.' He frowned. 'They dwelt here first before they crossed into Beleriand.'

In silence, they walked further into the tumulus. The light from the mouth of the barrow dwindled until there was none. Soon it was pitch black and Pippin could not see even his own hand, only hear the breathing of his companions over the quiet whine of the wind that came through the tunnel.

'This reminds me of going into Moria,' Merry whispered to Pippin.

Yes, Pippin thought, they had crept through the dark, almost afraid to breathe. It was like that now. The darkness was absolute, almost pressing against his eyes and they moved very slowly, treading carefully and trusting to Gimli's unerring instincts.

Gimli must have been thinking the same for he paused briefly and struck his cunning little tinder box that Pippin remembered from their travels. The flame flared briefly, and Gimli lit a splint and settled it into the groove cut for the purpose, transforming the tinder box into a lamp.

Pippin was about the strike his own tinderbox, but Frodo stopped him.

'Let us save our lights,' Frodo murmured softly. 'We don't know how far this goes and we may need longer than even Gimli's tinderbox gives us. Besides,' Frodo added in an even quieter voice, 'we do not know what else is down there.'

There was a sudden icy blast of cold, cold wind coming from the mouth of the barrow and it snatched at Frodo's words and seemed to throw them into the dark, down and down, into depths of the earth.

0o0o

Gimli walked swiftly now, his fear for Legolas hastening his steps, and Pippin found it hard to keep up. He felt tired. Weary, as if he had to fight against something that was trying to hold him back. The cold wind moaned over them once again and teased the flame of Gimli's light, so it streamed black smoke and flickered and flared, suddenly sending grotesque shadows leaping ahead of them. But for the constant whine of the wind, there was only the sound of Gimli's iron capped boots and the occasional scuff of leather on stone from one of the Hobbits or Aragorn for they all walked very quietly now.

Crept, if Pippin had been asked to find the word.

Several times, Pippin thought he heard someone far away was screaming, and he had stopped, afraid that it was Legolas and Baranor. But it was only the wind.

Suddenly something flashed ahead of them. A bright spear of light. And then it was gone.

Gimli threw his hand out to stop Pippin from going any further, and there was a flutter of fear in Pippin's belly.

It flashed again and this time, there was a low rumble too.

Every one of the erstwhile Fellowship froze, eyes wide, and stared ahead into the darkness. Gimli's tinder box showed only the densely carved walls of the tunnel and a little way ahead. Pippin wanted to douse the flame and hide, but Gimli shook his head and made a little pattern with his hand that Pippin knew was the Dwarves' silent language. Glancing at Pippin, the Dwarf murmured very quietly, 'Lightning.'

There was another flash of light and a rumble, and Pippin almost laughed with relief. For high above them in the storm-ridden skies above the moor, came the sound of distant thunder and he saw that indeed, lightning pierced this infernal dark. Aragorn made a small noise of relief too and turned back to the other Hobbits to relay Gimli's message. There was a soft murmur from the other hobbits.

They stared up at the roof of the tumulus as they passed it by, and Pippin thought there must be a hole somewhere… a crack in the chalk, eroded by water maybe?

'This must be the source of the air,' Frodo whispered very quietly, and Pippin felt Merry beside him give a slight huff as if he had been holding his breath, and he thought that Merry must have also been worried that the wind that murmured endlessly through the tunnel was the Barrow Wights.

We are all afraid, thought Pippin.

For a long time, it seemed they walked in the dark with only Gimli's torch, as if they walked into the Abyss itself. The cold wind moaned around them, and Pippin felt his feet dragging; he just wanted to sleep.

The light from Gimli's tinderbox was very small now and faint, enough for the Hobbits to see their way only and the wind grew colder, and louder. Again Pippin thought he heard something in the shrill whine, and he tilted his head and listened intently, thinking that perhaps it was the desolate and abandoned cries of souls devoured by the Barrow Wights.

He stood still for longer than he meant to and thought for a moment that something was streaming out of him, like mist. The whining wind became unbearable, and he wished it would stop. When Merry tugged at his sleeve, he shook his head wearily and thought that the energy of battle must have suddenly leached from his body for he suddenly felt very tired, as if his strength was being sucked away. He stumbled and fell into Aragorn, who would normally have caught him, but the Man staggered a little as if he were very tired too.

Pippin's hand fell upon the hilt of his sword for a moment, almost by accident and he felt a strange warmth in his hand. Looking down, he saw the red gemstones on the dagger were glittering hungrily, like little eyes searching the darkness for prey.

…Who shall sound the horn in the hills, ringing?...

The words appeared in his head unbidden, and he blinked and felt suddenly wide awake and looked about himself. They had stopped and were standing bunched and silent, and the wind that whined and moaned through the tunnel no longer seemed to come from behind them, but from somewhere ahead.

The light from Gimli's lamp flickered and the spiteful wind pulled black smoke from the taper, but the splint was dwarven made and burned steadily on in spite of it. Holding aloft the tinderbox, Gimli looked from side to side and Pippin saw them that there were small antechambers opening up on either side of the main tunnel.

'Come Aragorn, I think we should step into one of these chambers for a moment. Give us a chance to see what this Palantír can do,' said Gimli, peering into an opening and then he stepped inside. Pippin followed, hoping that they might even find Baranor and Legolas perhaps but glad to get away from the wind. 'I will stand guard at the entrance,' Gimli said. 'Sam and Merry with me, and Frodo and Pippin, the second rank, will guard you while you sort out that Palantir.'

It was a small chamber Pippin saw as he took his place alongside Frodo. The walls were lined with deep stone shelves, and at first, he thought it was just for storing things, maybe pots or weapons, but a glint of something caught his eye and he craned his neck to look more closely. He stumbled back in horror for an eyeless skull grinned back at him, a circlet of metal upon its bony cranium.

'Take care,' Aragorn warned quietly and caught Pippin as he stumbled. 'Do not fear, Pippin, these are no Orcs. These are the burial chambers of the great kings and leaders of the Men of Cardolan. We have nothing to fear from them.' A drift of cold air lifted Aragorn's hair as if it was searching for something and Pippin felt the same cold wind ruffle his own curls. It was not a friendly ruffle but a spiteful tugging, and he shivered.

Gimli peered at the bones that had startled Pippin. 'These have been carefully laid out here, and there is craftwork here too,' he said respectfully. He did not reach in, but Pippin could see by the light of his lamp that he looked carefully, cataloguing all he saw. 'Stone tools here. A few bronze implements too, mainly decorative and set with agate, quartz and amber for the most part. No iron anywhere.' He paused. 'But no sign that Legolas has been here. Or Baranor. We must go deeper it seems.'

Pippin bit his lip. 'Legolas will be so afraid being here in the dark, a captive again. He will think of… of the Ghoul.'

'Aye,' said Gimli solemnly, and lifted his lamp. 'Let us get this done, Aragorn, and quickly so we can find our friends and get them out of this haunted place.' Aragorn pulled his cloak more tightly about himself and Gimli took up his place at the entrance to the chamber and the hobbits ranged themselves about him as instructed.

Fighting the urge to look behind, Pippin listened as Aragorn cast the flaps of the leather satchel back and drew the Palantir forth. Pippin felt the thrill in the air like lighting had passed. His scalp tingled and the hairs on his arms and legs prickled with the knowledge that Aragorn was looking into those dark, obsidian depths. He could hear Aragorn's breathing, slower and deeper and then Pippin himself saw, as plainly as if he looked into it himself, the flare of fire over the obsidian surface; fingers, longer, thicker than his own, more calloused from holding a sword for more years than Pippin had, sank into the strange glass, pressed into it like flesh…He realised he was seeing through Aragorn's eyes….

…a ship was gliding out of silver mist, a dragon's head its prow. The thin forms of a ghostly army trembled in a stormy wind that raged over them, a hole opened in the storm and Legolas turned, his face pale and afraid…. Silhouetted and far away, three Elves struggled against the wind on the hilltop, lightning flashing over them, black and silver… A lonely figure stood on top of a hill, the howling wind dragging at his long, long hair and lightning reflecting in his grey-silver eyes. His lips moved, singing, chanting, into the wind, and the wind tore the words from his mouth in fury. A knife flashed and blood spattered onto the darkened grass... An altar and a Man lay upon it like one dead. A shadow moved in the darkness and Legolas stepped out of the shadows, a sword is in one hand and a dark blade in the other. He stared at Aragorn as if he did not know him… Behind Legolas, a great shadow loomed, a tall figure with a mane of darkness, pale luminous eyes and no mouth…It leaned over the Man and Elf and a mouth opened, a vortex and there was the screaming of the souls it had devoured, the wind sucked at both Man and Elf, fighting and clutching at the rock as they were dragged into the hell that was the Barrow Wight's gaping, hungry maw….

'Pippin! Pippin?'

Pippin turned blankly towards Frodo who was shaking him, his face pale with fear.

'Pip? Come back,' Frodo said as if he had said it many times.

At last, Pippin blinked awake and looked about himself, disorientated. What had he been thinking? Something about the wind… it was important…And then, the image of his two friends, fighting, struggling….

'Aragorn!' he cried aloud and then, gasping, said, 'Legolas… where…?'

'Pippin, it is all right.' It was Aragorn and he knelt now beside Pippin and put his hand on the hobbit's shoulder. Aragorn sighed. 'Did you see the same as I?' He held a small flask to Pippin's lips and Pippin recognised the sweet clear taste of miruvor. 'Just a sip,' Aragorn cautioned.

Pippin let his head drop back and he realised that Merry knelt behind him, cradling him anxiously. 'I am all right now,' he said and struggled to sit up. He met Aragorn's anxious gaze and they shared a look. 'Did you see…?' he began but Aragorn forestalled him.

'I saw that we will find both of our friends,' he said firmly. 'And that we must be on our guard, for the Barrow Wight stalks us.'

There was a muted silence for a moment and then Merry burst out, 'What did you see? Is it a way to defeat the Barrow Wights?'

Pippin was silent, looking at Aragorn and remembering how cold Legolas' face had been, the drawn sword, the dark knife. He saw the flicker of doubt on Aragorn's face and knew that he too was afraid.

'I am not sure yet,' Aragorn said quietly. He glanced at Pippin briefly. 'I do not quite know what we saw.'

'What did you see, Pip?' demanded Merry, but Pippin looked away and shrugged.

'It was very confusing,' he said evasively. 'I think we will find Legolas. But we will find the Barrow Wight too,' he said. Then he drew out the Mergyll-Dagnir and held it out to Aragorn. 'I think you need this,' he said.

Sam had found some rushlights in the chamber and quietly handed one to Aragorn and kept one himself although they did not light them yet, keeping them for when Gimli's taper went out.

Gimli watched them shrewdly but said nothing. But when he turned to lead them again out of the chamber, Pippin saw his face crease momentarily as if in grief.

0o0o

They had not walked much further when Gimli's hand was held up for silence and no body moved or spoke. Waiting. Pippin could hear his own breath and heart pounding slowly, ponderously in his chest.

Then, holding aloft his lamp, Gimli moved carefully forwards.

In the circle of light that was cast from the small, steady flame, Pippin could see about ten yards into a chamber that had opened up before them. Beyond that was utter darkness. But around the edges of the circle of torchlight was a soft golden glimmer and Gimli stood alert and wide-eyed, for Pippin knew that the Dwarf saw far better in the dark than any of the rest of the Fellowship, save Legolas.

'Where are we?' Pippin whispered.

At first, Gimli did not answer, but instead he stepped forwards and Pippin saw that they stood at the entrance of a chamber, and it was very wide, and very high. The walls were not rough earth but smooth and perfect. The trademark spirals were heavily carved into the surfaces, very stylised with other markings interspersed; suns and crescent moons, a crown perhaps, and harps, Pippin thought. Here and there were stags leaping as if through and over the spirals, and boars and hares loped alongside them. Upon the walls were bronze sconces in the shape of those same animals, and old, burned brush torches remained from long, long ago. But there were other scenes too: ships, battles with men fighting. A tall woman wielding a great sword, and many enemies trodden beneath her feet.

Frodo gasped and Pippin followed his gaze and found himself staring in astonishment, but it was not the delicacy of the construction of the chamber or the artistry of the decoration that caused him to gasp; it was the gold and treasure stacked against the right hand.

There were open caskets stacked up against the wall and filled with gold coins and silver. Golden buckles and bracelets, necklaces set in gold and chased with silver, set with jewels draped over the caskets. Pippin stared open-mouthed.

Gimli held up his torch and slowly shone it over the treasure. It showed a fine table made of fine polished wood and inlaid with bronze and set with gemstones. It was laid out with bejewelled goblets, plates of gold and bowls of crystal as if for a feast. Behind the table and leaning against the wall were round shields, bucklers, but covered with gold and embedded with jewels.

'Who does all this treasure belong to?' Pippin asked in awe. 'Do you think the Barrow Wights brought it here?'

'It's like Théoden's burial,' Merry said. 'They put his greatest treasures in the barrow with him so he could use them in the Halls of Eorl. This must have been a great King like Théoden.'

'They did not have Kings in Cardolan,' Aragorn said thoughtfully. He picked up one of the exquisite bowls. It was bronze and inlaid with precious stones. 'But they had Princes. The Last Prince of Cardolan fell in the Angmar wars….I have been thinking oft of him of late.'

Pippin glanced at Aragorn. The Man held the bowl lightly in his hands, staring at it as if deep in thought.

Gimli moved into the chamber a little more, followed slowly by the Hobbits and then Aragorn. Now the torchlight shone upon a strange ivory frame draped with a horse's saddlery and battle harness. With a surprised breath, Pippin realised it was actually the bones of the horse itself crafted somehow so that it stood as it had in life, and he thought how the Rohirrim had buried Snowmane with Théoden. There were weapons too, spears of bronze, patterned with strange zigzags, spirals and runes Pippin did not recognise.

'This was all made in the same era,' Gimli said, peering at some of the bowls and then the brooches. 'This is made by the same method but not the same hand. Look how the garnets on this sword belt have been cut to a finest sliver and then placed over mithril so it gives an added translucence and light.' He glanced at Pippin who peered over his shoulder and nodded appreciatively. 'These are very great treasures indeed. There is no skimping on any of these pieces. Whoever owned these was very rich, very powerful indeed.'

Then he turned and held his torchlight up so that they could see the whole chamber.

In the centre of the chamber was a stone pedestal. Upon it lay a figure arranged in armour, unlike any armour that Pippin had seen before. It seemed very old, a mail shirt of gilded rings gleamed softly and about his waist was a sword belt, even richer than the one that Gimli had admired, gold and set with garnets and white gems. A great sword from the ancient days was laid between the figure's hands and pointed down towards his feet. The blade gleamed in the dim light, and runes were etched upon it. Pippin thought the warrior must have been very strong to have wielded such a blade.

'I think we have found your Prince,' said Gimli to Aragorn and Aragorn stared at the figure with a strange expression of regret.

Then Pippin saw that over one shoulder was a thin, worn, leather baldric and a horn hung from it. A knife was laid at his side, the dark blade glittered with red jewels and serpentine runes flowed over it. Over his head was a full-visaged helm, outlandish and fierce, covering the face as well as the skull, and gilded with silver and gold. Pippin peered at the figure and suddenly it dawned upon him.

'Wait!' Aragorn said, stepping towards the figure. 'This is no skeleton!'

'It's Baranor!' exclaimed Merry, delighted and concerned in equal measure. The light from the golden helm reflected onto his face as he looked down at the Man. 'Wake up, Baranor! It's us. We've come to get you out.' He gently shook him by the arm.

But the gilded figure did not move.

0o0o0o

TBC

I know this was a long time coming. Apologies but I have already got a fair bit of the next chapter done and I promise, Legolas and Elrohir in the same chapter (I think!)