Deep in the night, Goldberry opened her eyes. The downpour pounded against the window, celebrating the last day of summer. The air smelt fresh and wet.
Curling under the blanket, dozing and comfortable, she listened to the lullaby of raindrops that pitter-pattered outside. It was the only sound that hummed throughout the night, for Tom's usual snoring was absent as he was away deep in the forest. She did not expect him to appear for breakfast.
Soon, her lids became heavy again, and she almost drifted into a deep slumber, when her keen hearing distinguished another sound amidst the rainfall - galloping on the road. As it drew nearer, it tempered into a slow, even deliberate walk. She expected the horse and its master to pass through the yard and knock at the door to ask for shelter, for they had always welcomed travellers, having hay in the stalls and a spare cot. No wicked folk would wander across these lands; the borders were protected by the rangers of the North. Inwardly she almost told herself to leave the warm bed to dress in her robe.
Yet, in spite of the weather and time, the mysterious guest preferred to dally outside and did not seem to come any closer, remaining on the road. Moreover, as time passed, the sound of the careful walking faded in the rain entirely. Whoever it might have been, left. Maybe a dunandan, she thought, it is common for them to travel alone. She lay for some minutes, straining her ears, but nothing could attract her attention again. All of sudden she recalled their recent visitors, Rob and Ogo, two hobbits, who had left two days ago heading north. 'I hope you are safe on the road, my friends', she whispered into the night, without giving much thought to the reason for this sudden wish. With that, she fell asleep at last, heedless to any sound from the outside.
'Rob, I would sell my soul for roasted corn. Or even for a roasted chestnut,' said Ogo.
'I don't see any cornfield in the vicinity. Only trees without chestnuts and bushes and whatnot. But I promise you, when we get there, my Grandma's pies won't disappoint you. Her hands are of gold when it comes to desserts. There will be no need for roasted chestnuts. But corn - as many as you wish.'
Listening to that, Ogo smiled in a dream-like manner, picturing Rob's Grandma's cornfields and delicacies in his head.
Rob still remembered spending his childhood at his Grandma's house near lake Evendim before his parents chose to move south to Cardolan. They walked this very path he was now walking with Ogo all the way back - to pay his Grandma a visit was his burning desire ever since they had left. He missed those lands. Now, having finally come of age, he thought it the best time to bring this desire to life. With his closest friend Augustus, he set forth. His parents, already too old to undertake such an adventure, bade him farewell and packed his bags with presents and souvenirs. Ogo, who had never wandered outside the village outskirts, was more than eager to keep him company.
Thus, two pairs of hobbit feet trod over the puddles on the path. A bit hungry, since they had left the hospitable house of Tom and Goldberry three days ago, yet still in high spirits. In the morning they would talk to each other, with Rob describing the beauty of Evendim or his Grandma's cooking skill, yet as hours passed both grew tired and just trod in silence. Deep in the forest, Rob could hear birds singing, but it seemed quite far away. The only other sound left for them was treetops rustling in the wind and their own puffing.
It was midday and hot and Rob's eyes wandered aimlessly across both sides of the road when he saw something under a tree.
'Ogo, look! What's there?'
Both hobbits stopped and then rushed to the tree Rob was pointing at. To their utter delight, the spot was covered by mushrooms. Kneeling down in the shadow of the oak, they began to gather them. Rob opened his bag and they put them carefully inside.
'Seems like there will be roasted mushrooms for supper, Mr. Rob, eh?' Ogo laughed.
'Seems so, sir.' Rob laughed in response but stopped, seeing Ogo's eyes widen a bit.
'Hush, Rob, do you hear?'
And in an instant, Rob heard - a horse was galloping; but behind or before them, he could not tell.
'Ogo, it's just a rider from somewhere going to somewhere on his business, there is nothing to worry about.' Yet, hearing how his own voice sounded way too uncertain, he added with more resolve. 'What about our manners? Shall we greet him?'
'If you are sure, Rob,' said Ogo, still a bit pale. 'I don't know why but I feel uneasy.'
"Whoever it may be he won't rob us of our mushrooms, after all. Let's go.'
They stood up and returned to the road, clinging to the edge of it lest the horse trample them in its haste, and waiting for the rider to show himself.
As it drew closer, the galloping turned into trotting, slower and more careful, as if the invisible rider sensed their presence from afar. They still did not see the horse but found themselves shrouded by a sudden chilliness in the air, despite the hotness of the midday. Every inhale brought ache as if the cold crept inside their very bones. To their silent surprise, their tongues turned numb as well, they could neither speak nor scream.
This is all unnatural, thought Rob, petrified as his heart sank deep inside and shrivelled in fear, perhaps we should have stayed outside of the road. Why didn't we? We have made a mistake.
When the rider appeared at last, the hobbits could only stare at him like paralysed rabbits, being frozen into the ground. Any move or squeak was impossible. The spell held them tight, barely allowing them to breathe. At the sound of a blade leaving its sheath, Rob closed his eyes. This isn't real, he thought in despair, my Grandma is waiting for me and when I wake up everything will be alright.
When the hindrance on the road was dealt with, the rider took the turn to Tyrn Gorthad. Standing on a high hill, he contemplated the scenery before him. A vast sea of tall grass that unfolded up to the horizon, and cairns on the silent barrows, serving as the last stop for the bones of those who dared to oppose him. Nothing but a light breeze dared to disturb their grassy tops.
He intended to change this. Not even in death would they find their peace as long as they had not yet paid the full price for their deeds. From the icy wastes of Angmar, he brought them a fine gift. He had spent countless ages studying ancient tomes and scrolls of sorcery, so with a spell of binding, he could set a trap in Carn Dum for wandering, homeless spirits of those who had refused to depart this world. In their greed and malice, these spirits were lured and captured in enchanted vials, serving as a prison for them and turning them into servants of his will. Now the time had come to set these hapless ghosts free to do his bidding and to show them their place.
Having descended the grassy slope, the rider dismounted near the largest cairn and stepped inside, into the cold darkness of the barrow.
There in the depths, at the grave of the prince of Cardolan, he stopped and his lips curved in a cold smirk.
How low did the lineage fall, that such insects were deemed worthy of the title, he thought with contempt, before uncorking the vial to release the trapped spirit in the form of a dark vapour. As soon as it gained freedom, the evil spirit assaulted the bones, shrouding them and making them its new home. Bound by magic, the skeletal presence stirred. rattled and knelt before its new master, heeding to his orders.
After he issued his command, the rider weakened his magic grip on the wight and it shook with all its bones and gave out a thin wail as two minds mingled in its brainless head, the one of the prince and that one of an elf. The memory drawn out of the old bones and the recollections of the spirit fought for dominance within the rotten remains of a man. Knowing that none would prevail, the rider's lips twitched slightly.
The wight bent over its sepulchre to grab its precious possessions with shaking hands, a goblet of gold, a necklace, an ornate dagger. With its bony fingers, it caressed these useless things and wept, overwhelmed by the long lost visions. The homeless one longed for the physicality long lost, while the remnants of the human for his riches as a reminder of his once royal life. Expressionless, the rider contemplated the creature's bitter woe over the past.
"Be aware of thieves, you, wretch,' the rider uttered at last. "Grave robbers, marauders, they will not disregard your dear trash here.'
At these words the wight growled in anger, trampling the stony ground of the tomb, ready to attack anyone who would dare to trespass these boundaries to the realm of the dead.
Having finished his business near the tomb of the prince, the rider headed outside. At the entrance, he stopped again as if pondering upon his plan. In an ancient language, he whispered another incantation and when the last word was uttered, currents of fog arose out of grass and ground, coiling like serpents. The rider pointed at the barrow.
Obediently, the fog crept inside, waiting for the foot of an unwary traveller to step into this quiet domain, whether by greed or by the desire of finding shelter. Without turning back the rider moved to the next barrow, unwilling to tarry. Eventually, he had to visit them all.
From the forest, Tom returned with a hideous find. They lay on the road. Covered with dust and dirt their mushrooms scattered all across the road from an open bag, some trampled by a horse's hoof. Listening to Tom's grim account, Goldberry turned pale. She did not say a word, yet her lips trembled.
In the glade, under an old oak tree, Tom dug two small graves for the hobbits to find peace. Goldberry adorned the gravestones with lilies from the river, singing her mournful lullaby for their merry guests to bid them her last farewell. When she ceased singing, Tom embraced her as silent tears streamed down her cheeks. Grim was their walk home - this time Tom forgot about his merry songs, merely holding her hand.
The next night Goldberry woke up amidst the night, alone again, for Tom had departed for the town to bring ill tidings about the disaster on the road. The quiet sound of hooves disturbed the night again. This time she got up and peered out of the window to glance at the visitor on the road. However, before she could discern anything in the dark, a frost from the grave tainted the window. She frowned at this spell, for bold she was - the daughter of the river - and she did not fear dark creatures and ill magic. And yet, it was a clear forewarning from a force that would dare challenge her now, aware that Tom could not come to her aid.
She did not go out. Instead, she only bit her lip and clenched her fists, glaring at the pattern of cold that had obscured the view from the window. At last, it disappeared, together with the sound of the rider never to be heard again. The night became quiet.