Chapter 6. The next chapter may be delayed as well. Midterms are this week, and I have quite a bit of work to catch up on. Please enjoy.

– – –

The dirt road was sopping wet and muddy from the deluge that pounded down upon the small town of Bree. Though it was only late afternoon, most of the citizenry had taken refuge indoors from the pouring rain. No work could be done today due to the weather anyway.

Kendrick made his way to the Prancing Pony Inn. Though there were other inns in Bree, Kendrick remembered hearing his cousins talk about this particular inn as the one they met Strider. Whom was later discovered to be Aragon, later to become King Elessar. Kendrick was fond of his cousins' adventures. The prospect of staying a night or two at a place of great significance to them brightened his spirits a bit. Though he felt despair at his cousins' plights, it didn't temper his enthusiasm for adventure and history.

The Prancing Pony was old, but clean and well kept. Kendrick felt a bit guilty for tracking mud all over the wooden floor. He had done his best to wash his feet with the rain water outside, but he had only seemed to make more of a mess.

He bought himself a half pint and sat down in the corner of the inn. The seat he took was ill lit, which suited him fine. He wasn't in a sociable mood. He wondered how Pearl and the Watch were holding up. He hoped that things would work as he figured. Frodo and the others would follow him to the ends of Middle Earth, leaving the Shire alone.

He took out his journal and began writing down the last two visions he had. What was the wraith like creature that attacked Frodo? Would knowing help him find a remedy, or were his cousins permanently twisted, corrupt darklings?

"Did you here? They found another body near the mill. Third one this month. The healer's having trouble figuring out who it is. The poor bloke's face was ripped off." said a Middle Aged Patron. Kendrick focused in on the conversation, hoping in some small way that he could gain more information from the Bree-folk.

"Heard that it was a Shire Hobbit. Farmer Maggot seemed to have gone missing a week or so ago. Could have been him. Could have also been Rory Stilton. The lad was always going places he shouldn't have. Always givin' his mother heartache," replied the Bartender.

Kendrick felt the pang of loss deep. Though he was barely acquainted with Farmer Maggot, and completely unacquainted with the Bree boy, he felt in some way responsible for their deaths. Irrational, he thought, but he could not help it. Kendrick nursed his ale in silence. As the alcohol worked it's way to his brain, the chatter became an unintelligible dull roar. The white noise was beginning to make him drowsy. He swallowed his last gulp of ale before retiring to his room.

Another vision came to him that night. He saw them standing on a knoll blanketed in emerald grass. Two trees of brilliant splendor. One gilded gold, the other shimmering silver. Light shined from the trees as bright as the sun and moon. The light from these trees drove away the weariness from the last few months. The dark thoughts dispersed, as the light acted like a soothing balm over Kendrick's mind.

–

Frodo bit back a roar as Sam tended to his bloody stump of an arm. He cursed Kendrick a thousand times for cutting his arm off. He imagined his cousin's body broken and bloody beneath his feet. Kendrick's chest popping and cracking from each labored breath. The sound of his cousin's screams as he dined upon his sweet blood.

"It looks far worse than it is Mister Frodo. I figure that your arm will be healed up in a day or two. Maybe sooner if you get a good meal in you." Sam's voice broke Frodo out of his fantasy.

"Thank you Sam. Speaking of meals, where is dinner?" Frodo asked. Sam flinched under his Master's gaze.

"Three of them got away. Rufus was wasted," Sam couldn't meet Frodo's eyes. He could feel his Master's ire as if it were a blanket upon him.

"Wasted?" Frodo inquired.

"Run through with the Gaffer's shears. Couldn't even get a taste," Sam replied sheepishly. He felt Frodo's hand upon his face. His grip was gentle as he brought Sam's eyes to his own. He felt his Master's gaze pierce into his soul.

"Merry, why did you waste Rufus? You know I don't like to waste food," Frodo's voice was soft, but commanding.

"It wasn't my fault that we lost dinner. If Pippin hadn't attacked Sam the four of them on a platter by now," Merry's reply was met by the sting of claws across his face.

"Three of those four are our siblings! Sam's brother and sister. My sister! YOU THINK I WOULD ALLOW YOU TO MAKE MEALS OUT OF THEM!?" Pippin roared. The young Darkling fell to the ground from the force of Merry's backhand. He roared as he swung wildly back at his cousin. Merry caught his hand. He tried to break free, but Merry was too strong.

"They aren't us Pip. Not yet anyway," Merry said.

"WORSE EVEN! I WON'T LET YOU CONDEMN MY SISTER TO THIS UNLIFE!" Pippin roared. He swung wildly at Merry. He felt rocks and branches dig into his back as Merry slammed him into the earth. He felt Merry's hand constrict around his throat. Had it been necessary to breathe, he surely would have panicked. All he could think about was tearing his cousin's eyes out. When did Merry become such a bastard.

"Merry, enough. It's of no fault of Pippin's. He can't help himself, as he still has light about him. It'll soon pass, but we must be patient with him until it does," Sam chastised. Pippin felt Merry's grip loosen. He felt no pressing need to rise after the last of his cousin's weight lifted from him. Pippin stared at the canopy of the grotto they were taking refuge in. The thick, leafy branches wove tightly to prevent any ray of sunlight from entering their abode. Light which would surely kill him should he step into it. He had thought about waiting for the dawn to take him. He had even tried the night before, but a presence in his mind would not allow himself to step into the light.

Thoughts of the night before flooded his mind. The excruciating pain as his friends drained the life from him. The coppery taste of Frodo's blood on his tongue. The feeling of repulsion as he greedily drank from his friend. Unable to will himself to pull away. Unable to stop until Frodo forced him to. The darkness of unconsciousness taking him; and later waking, screaming, at the monster he had become. He had tried to crawl into the sunlight. Somehow knowing that the light would end his miserable existence. Yet as he reached the barrier between shadow and light, he was unable to force so much as a fingertip into the ray.

He cried as Frodo explained to him what would happen to him. The light he had, the light that kept him the Hobbit he was, would fade in time. He would no longer care about his mortal bonds. Those Hobbits he had called family would cease to be nothing more than food. He thought about all of those Hobbits he had found with the watch. The anguish on their families' faces as he had to inform them of their loved ones' passing. He could not bear to cause such sorrow, as his friends had done.

Gentle fingers traced through his curly hair. Pippin turned away from Frodo's touch. Tears fell from his eyes. Sobs wracked his body as the weight of the last day and night took its toll. Frodo continued to run his fingers through his hair. The gesture was comforting, despite the hand it came from. Pippin felt soothing darkness fall upon him, allowing him to enter a dreamless sleep.

–

The Watch took a table in the corner, far removed from their usual spot. The Green Dragon Inn was busy this evening. Like it had been before the murders. The inn was bustling with cheerful banter, song, and dance. Patrons drank merrily, as if unaware, or perhaps uncaring of the darkness crawling through the Shire.

Pearl did her best to steady her shaking hand as he rose her tankard to her lips. It had been a week since that fateful night in Pincup. A week since Merry had thrown her around like a rag doll. His face twisted and feral. In his eyes, the enjoyment of causing her pain. His smile marred by sinister fangs as he ran Rufus through with the Gaffer's gardening shears. A week since she had last seen her Pipsqueak. Her brother snarling and lashing at Samwise, who likewise lashed back with fang and claw. The lot of them now monsters. Monsters that thrived on the fear and pain of the living. Pearl closed her eyes and remembered her dear Pipsqueak looking back to her. Unimaginable sorrow filled his eyes.

Pearl?

"Pearl?! Are you alright?" Halfred asked. Pearl returned her focus onto reality. Halfred's face was lined with worry.

"I'm alright. Just remembering last week," Pearl replied. The three of them bore some scar from Pincup. Marigold had seemed to suffer the worst of the three. The Hobbit lass was fighting to stay awake. The poor thing had barely slept this week. Halfred and mentioned that the events of that night had been haunting his sister's sleep. She had even been crying out Sam's name in her fits.

"I still can't comprehend it myself. Sam...He isn't my brother anymore, is he Pearl?" Halfred's voice cracked. Pearl bit back her tears.

"I know this will seem like bad form, but they needed replacing nonetheless," Pearl said as she placed a box onto the table. "I made them myself. They'll probably be a bit heavy, but they'll get through any tough job for it."

Halfred removed the box top to reveal a new pair of gardening shears. As Pearl said they were rather heavy, almost unwieldy they were so heavy. Halfred could barely manage to remove the shears from the box.

"Oy, you weren't kidding when you said they were heavy. When did you learn smithing?" Halfred asked. The silliness of trying to lift these shears drove away the dark memory of the shears that did poor Rufus in. Halfred watched in mild irritation and veiled amusement as Pearl handily wielded these shears.

"I took to learning smithing a few years ago after I started doing handy work around the inn. Rosie had needed an extra hand when you wrote that you would be out sick for a week. I started out by chopping firewood. By the end of the week, she had given me your old job," Pearl replied.

"I remember that. I was so angry at that. I still am to be honest, but it seems so trivial compared to all that's happened. Why did you take up smithing, and wood chopping, and other handy work? It's hardly work for a lass," Halfred asked. Pearl's eyes darkened as she mulled her answer.

"Hardly work for a lass? Perhaps, for one with prospects of marriage," Pearl replied. Her eyes distant as she answered.

"I don't get what you mean," Halfred waited for Pearl to clarify.

"I'm unsociable. I have no notion of what is going on in the Shire. I might as well be a stranger for what I know. I hardly have suitors lining up for my hand anyway. A lass like me has to know how to do lads' work to survive," Pearl said. She took another sip of her drink as she allowed Halfred to make sense of her statement.

Halfred felt shame and guilt as he thought about Pearl's confession. He knew what she said was true. He had seen it himself over the years. The last time he had seen Pearl attend a party was Bilbo's eleventy first birthday party. Whenever he chanced to see her in public, her greetings would always be courteous, but short. No gossip, no flirting, not even idle chat about the weather. Her dealings with other lasses were even shorter. Normally he'd hear them giggling about fashion, social events, and eligible lads.

He recalled that chatter would die whenever Pearl was near by, but would roar up again the moment she left. Rumors had circulated about how she had broken Meriadoc's foot by dropping a wagon on it, or how she had caused Frodo a beauty of a black eye by striking him with the butt end of an ax. The worst rumor was that she had willfully caused Lalia the Great's death, but rolling her off a hill and leaving her to die. The official story was that the wheelchair had slipped her grip and Lalia's death was an unfortunate accident. Most of the Shire believed otherwise, but since it is recorded as such, nothing could be done to punish the Took lass. Nothing save shunning her.

"Pearl...I'm sorry...I..." Halfred began, but was cut off by Pearl.

"It's not your fault. It's not really anyone's fault. Anyone living that is," Pearl comforted.

"Pearl, what happened with Lalia?" Halfred asked quietly.

"I don't wish to talk about it..." Pearl replied. The two sat in silence for some minutes. Marigold was all but forgotten as she seemed to have fallen asleep. Pearl looked closer to her fellow Watchman. Marigold's complexion looked pale and waxy. Her breathing was ragged and faint.

"Halfred, Marigold! She's not well," Pearl stated. Halfred turned to his sister. Marigold was beginning to gasp for every breath she could take. Her lips turning blue from lack of air.

"Marigold! MARIGOLD!" Halfred screamed. He shook Marigold, hoping to get a response from her. A few patrons gathered around to see what the commotion was. "DON'T JUST STAND THERE, GET A HEALER!"

Pearl loosened Marigold's bodice to give her chest more room to expand. She placed her ear to the Gamgee girl's chest in order to see if her lungs were taking in more air. Her eyes widened in terror.

"Halfred, she has no heartbeat," Pearl exclaimed. Tears threatened to fall from Halfred's eyes. Panic began to set in at the thought of losing another sibling.

"Why is the door locked" One of the Patrons asked. Pearl felt her heart leap into her throat at such a simple question. Her hand fell to Sting's handle.

"Halfred?" Pearl called. Her voice cracking with fear. Halfred barely heard Pearl call to him through his sobs. He pressed his forehead to Marigold's as he gently ran his fingers through her flaxen locks.

"Halfred?" Marigold rasped. Halfred looked at his sister. Her fingers gently brushed his face. Halfred grasped her hands in his. His tears of sorrow turning into tears of relief.

"Marigold, you're alright?" Halfred sobbed.

"Halfred?" Pearl called again.

"Everything will be alright Halfred. Trust me," Marigold comforted. Halfred's blood curdling scream filled the room. Agony surged through his body as Marigold's teeth tore into his throat.

"HALFRED NO!" Pearl screamed. Her mind was racing wildly. She didn't want to draw Sting on Marigold, but she needed to do something to dislodge her from Halfred. The shears still sat on the table. She bore her strength into the weight of the shears. Marigold was easily knocked back by the blow. Halfred gasped and coughed as his lungs struggled to draw in breath through the blood pouring into his windpipe. His gasps became fainter, and his eyes glassed over as life slipped from his body.

Pearl had no time for tears as screams filled the inn. Half of the patrons bore the same sharp fangs that her brother and cousin had bore the week before. Those who were still Hobbits desperately tried to run from their feral brethren, but to no avail. The inn had been a cleaver trap. The door was locked, and the windows were too small for any Hobbit to fit through. The monsters made short work of rounding up their prey. The floor was a sea of blood and screaming bodies.

Two of the monstrous Hobbits charged at Pearl. Willing herself through the shock, she swung the gardening shears in a mighty arch. The force of the blow was plenty to knock the creatures back a good four or five feet. Witnessing the commotion, more of the creatures advanced toward her. Wielding the shears as a weapon, Pearl knocked each of her attackers back. One creature jumped on her from behind, hoping to destabilize her and knock her to to the ground. Most living Hobbits underestimated her strength. They still did even when turned into these foul creatures. With little effort Pearl lifted her attacker high into the air. Using gravity as well as muscle, she slammed the creature hard into a oak wood table, splitting it in two.

Pearl's breath was heavy with fatigue. The monsters kept coming. It was all a matter of stamina now. They had far more than she. Eventually she would tire to much to fight, then she would be done for. Her forearm brushed against Sting as she willed herself to stand straight. How could she have forgotten Sting? The creatures fell back as she drew the Elvish blade from its sheath.

There were far too many of them for her to fight. Especially since she had no skill with swords. Sting did, however, provide her a clearing through the monsters. Pearl fell back towards the door to the inn. Sting in her left hand, and the shears in her right. The creatures followed, but dared not come within five feet of the blade. Pearl looked to the door. The door was locked with a heavy bolt lock. She pressed on the door. The door gave under the pressure, indicating that no barrier lay on the other side.

Pearl looked back to the horde of monstrous Hobbits. They gnashed their teeth at her, but dared not advance further. Pearl placed the blade of Sting between her teeth, taking care not to cut her tongue on the sharp blade. She took the shears and set to work on the lock. The weight of the shears made surprisingly quick work of the lock.

The door opened to a yawning darkness. Pearl dropped the shears to the floor, their usefulness fulfilled. The creatures advanced, but were again held at bay by Sting's light. Pearl pointed the blade straight at them, silently warning any of them what await them should they try to attack. Pearl took a moment to catch her breath and steel her nerves before running into the night.