1. an ornament, 2. a key, 3. a hard-boiled egg

Summary:  After the Conspirators meet with Frodo at Crickhollow and the evening wanes, each of the hobbits has their own thoughts about the Old Forest...

Disclaimer:  All hobbits and Middle-earth belong to JRR Tolkien, but in my dreams they belong to me.  Nevertheless, nobody in their right mind would pay me for this.

Betas Extraordinaire: Llinos and Marigold -- thank you!

Thoughts About the Old Forest

Buckland, Crickhollow, Halimath 25, 1418, S.R.

Merry

With one hand in his pocket and the other holding a lantern, Merry walked toward the stables behind Crickhollow to check on the ponies before he went to bed.  He had not stepped ten feet away from the house when a chill breeze swept past him, causing him to shiver.  Merry had left his jacket on the peg near the door, telling himself he’d only be a few minutes outdoors and wouldn’t need it.  As the warm kitchen grew distant behind him, Merry began to feel the night chill seep into his bones.   The days were still warm, however, the nights had been turning cooler as the last days of Halimath waned.  Still, Merry knew he’d be fine as soon as his body heat rose from the brisk walk.

Merry absent-mindedly walked the path to the stables while holding two keys inside his trouser pocket.  One belonged to Crickhollow and the other to the tunnel gate.  The realisation that they would not need the house key on their journey stunned Merry back into the present.

“I ought to give the house key directly to Fredegar when I return,” Merry said to himself, then added that task to his list of things to do before retiring.  He had much to do!

Proceeding towards the stables, Merry tried recalling every tittle of information regarding the paths in the Old Forest.  No one had dared to map it due to the hostile air that emanated from the trees.  Ever since the trees attacked the Hedge long ago, few hobbits other than certain Brandybucks ever ventured into the Forest.  Merry himself had been inside the Old Forest only a few times, and that was years ago when he was a young, seemingly invincible tween.  Hobbits change over the years...as do the paths inside that place - or so said the reports he’d heard.

Merry opened the door to the stable and stepped inside.  “Hello, Biscuit!” Merry greeted one of the ponies in the stall nearest to the door.  “Hello, lass,” Merry said as he stroked her muzzle, “Are you ready for tomorrow?”  The brown mare nickered at the soft touch of her master.  “You’ll be just fine,” said Merry, smiling affectionately.

Next, Merry checked inside all of the stalls to ensure each pony would be comfortable throughout the night.  While he did this, Merry continued to concentrate on digging out of memory every bit of information he had about the paths inside the Old Forest.  What if he got the group lost?  He wasn’t overjoyed about traipsing through an area unfamiliar to him, yet there was no other way to consider.  Indeed, the Old Forest was undeniably the only practical means of concealing Frodo’s departure without being immediately followed.

“Looks as if you’re all taken care of, Spark,” Merry said to the last pony.  “I’ll leave you all to get your rest,” he said to  them, “We all have a big adventure before us in the morning.” 

Stepping out of the stable and once again into the chill night Merry took a deep breath, then closing the door behind him he walked back to the house.

Fredegar

Fredegar rolled the hard-boiled egg back and forth atop the kitchen table and then commenced to peel it.  He salted it well before shoving it into his mouth whole; the shell he tossed into the refuse pail to be taken to the compost heap tomorrow.  They wouldn’t miss the egg.  They wouldn’t miss him.

Fredegar almost wished he were going along with the others on this great adventure, if only to make sure those errant cousins of his didn’t forget him.  But someone had to stay behind to keep people thinking that Frodo was occupying his new house.  And then when they decided on going through the Old Forest Fredegar was relieved that his task lay here at Crickhollow. 

“Some task!” he thought to himself.  “There’s no enormous amount of danger in pretending to be Frodo.” 

Then Fredegar remembered Pippin describing the Black Riders earlier that had hunted them across the Shire, which sobered Fredegar’s thinking.  He realised that perhaps his role was more perilous than he thought.  What did they look like and what could they do?  Would he show any courage when the time came?  He wondered about that.

Taking an apple from the fruit bowl on the table, Fredegar sunk his teeth deeply into the sweet flesh and then leaned forward, head resting against his propped up arm.  He chewed thoughtfully as he pondered the days to come. 

At length, a mischievous grin spread across Fredegar’s face; at least he had been able to corner Pippin and tell him a few scary tales about the Forest.

Pippin

Pippin had just finished drying the dishes in the kitchen and then decided to go to his room and be alone with his thoughts.  He felt the house seemed rather quiet for a group of lads about to embark on a very long journey the following morning.  Pippin lay prone upon his bed in his dimly lit room while the others were performing the last of their own tasks.  Merry had gone to look at the ponies one last time, Freddie was in the kitchen boiling the eggs, and Sam was with Frodo washing a few clothes. 

The tween used his pillow and arms to prop himself up to gaze at a wooden music box sitting upon his bedside table.  Pippin let his fingers glide over the ornate carving around the edges before opening the lid, revealing a little brown pony reared on its hind legs upon a wheel that turned while the music played.  The music box had been given to Frodo by Bilbo long ago and Pippin often played with it while staying at Bag End.  Pippin spied it on the knick-knack shelf then brought it into his bedroom to look at.

Looking at the ornament Pippin imagined himself a valiant warrior on the pony’s back; a Knight to fight off all danger to rescue Frodo and take him to safety.  Pippin frowned at his fanciful thought; at twenty-eight Pippin had put his childish notions behind him a long time ago.  Or so he had thought.

If he had put away his childish reasoning, then why did he have such a bad foreboding about the Old Forest?  After all, there were only trees and undergrowth inside there. 

“I ought to just get ready for bed,” he said to himself, and then yawned.  “What I need is a good night’s sleep.”

As he undressed, the haunted feeling came over him once again.  Was it the stories Fredegar had told him about the hobbit-eating trees that frightened him?  Or perhaps how the Withywindle could change its course in the blink of an eye and leave a hobbit lost and forever stranded inside the Forest.

“Perhaps it was the fifth helping of cheese you had at supper,” Pippin chided himself nervously.

Pippin put on his nightshirt and then turned the blankets down on the bed, crawling between the sheets.  He surveyed the room uneasily from one end to the other to ensure everything was where he had placed it, then quickly blew out the candle.

Within the dark room, a muffled voice came from under the covers.  “I’m going to get you back, Fredegar Bolger!”

Sam

Sam and Frodo were in the bathroom that also served as the laundry.  The hobbits had washed a few last-minute items after their meeting and now Sam and Frodo stood near the hearth hanging the wet items over a clothespony to dry.

Sam mused upon their journey across the Shire over the last few days.  They had been very exciting for him; both in a good way - such as with meeting the Elves, and also in a bad way.  With the Black Riders chasing them, Mr. Frodo was now in even more trouble than when they had started from Bag End.  Mr. Frodo had been so desperate about the Riders and not seeing Gandalf that not only would he consider going through the Old Forest - he was actually going to do it.

Pausing from his reflections, Sam had noticed lines of care were drawn across his master’s brow.  “Why don’t you go on t’ bed, Mr. Frodo?  I can finish this.”

Frodo smiled, albeit wearily, as he hung his shirt.  “Because coming ‘to do’ for me was a ruse, remember?”  Sam observed the lines of care deepened when Frodo added, “I can do for myself, Sam, but thank you.”

“But...well,” Sam stammered, “I figured you had much t’ think on before morning.  I thought if you went on t’ bed you’d have some quiet time t’ yourself.”

Frodo gave Sam a sincere smile.  “I do have much to think on, Sam,” he replied, sighing as if in deep thought.  “I suppose you’re right.  I shall accept your offer and retire early to bed.”

“It’s not early, Mr. Frodo,” Sam answered seriously, “when you consider we’re planning t’ get up before the cock crows.”

Frodo gave his friend a gentle squeeze on the shoulder.  “Thank you, Sam,” he said, and then left to go to his room.

“I’m not so sure about this Old Forest, though,” Sam muttered well after his master had left the room.  He would always stick by Mr. Frodo through thick and thin, but his hair stood on end whenever his mind strayed to the Forest.  “Its full o’ its own trouble and queer things t’ be sure.  My old Gaffer would have a thing or two t’ say on it, that’s certain!”

Frodo

Having changed into his nightshirt and slipped into bed, Frodo lay back on his pillow with his fingers laced behind his head.

The Old Forest.

He’d been inside only once before, and that was because he did it for a dare.  All Frodo could recall of that adventure was escaping Farmer Kibbles’ garden through a narrow opening in the hedge, then running like the wind until he came to the tunnel gate where his friends let him and his plunder back inside Buckland.

This would be no escapade of scrumping fruits and vegetables from hapless farmers.  This would be a journey that would not lead back home.  They would find no friends in the Old Forest, for it was notoriously unfriendly to anyone travelling within.  Well, ‘that’s that!’, as Pippin would say.  It had already been decided and Frodo was committed to secrecy.

He turned over onto his side to get more comfortable, and as he did so, he felt his legs begin to throb.  Frodo was glad that he was riding tomorrow; as fortune had it, Merry owned six ponies and had volunteered five of them for the jaunt to Rivendell.  Even though exhausted, Frodo found the energy to smile contentedly in the darkness of his room.  That wonderful and dear scoundrel, Merry!  This younger and exceptionally organised cousin had already packed everything needed and was ready to go off and follow him into the unknown within an hour after revealing the members of the Conspiracy.  All Frodo could do was sit there and marvel at his beloved cousin. 

Nonetheless, Pippin and Fredegar were a couple of rascals in their own right and undoubtedly were just as determined in their efforts.  Frodo was truly happy now that there was a group of travellers rather than just he and Sam.

Frodo next mused on the Elves that lived in Rivendell and then moved on to one he had recently met within the borders of the Shire: Gildor.  Pondering the worry the Elf had expressed upon learning of Gandalf’s unplanned delay, Frodo began to conjure up his own ideas of what hindered the wizard.

Considering the history of the Ring which Gandalf himself had related to him and of all the notions that crossed his mind, Frodo knew that indeed Gandalf would not simply shirk something so important as getting It to the Last Homely House.  Surely Gandalf wouldn’t be in any trouble that he couldn’t get out of - after all, he was a wizard.  Yet wizards weren’t invincible.

Anxiously, Frodo tossed onto his other side, but rest seemed to elude him.  “Well, no sense in mulling further on it,” he said to himself and then allowed his mind to wander on to more pleasant thoughts. 

At last, Frodo’s eyes blinked heavily with fatigue...and then sleep finally claimed him.

 The End