Chapter 121. An eye-opener, and no mistake! 

‘Not that long until the Sun will be kicking off her bedcovers, Pip,’ the more-wary-than-Merry hobbit says to Youngest, whom he has drawn close to his side, pulling his cloak over the both of them as they sit by the fire. 

The Master is sleeping, and I would have thought Youngest asleep, as well, but for his answering murmur. ‘And the Moon is pulling his bedcovers up to his chin.’ I look westward, to see the Moon gleaming fitfully through the breaking clouds. But Youngest nestles closer to the older cousin, closing his eyes once more and tucking his own chin under the sheltering cloak. Then I see him yawn, and as he settles again, he says sleepily, ‘He’ll be warm and cosy by the time the stars begin to seek their own beds...’

For a few blessed breaths, silence reigns, save the crackling of the fire and the low grumbling of the Dwarf under his breath as he takes his turn on guard.

A sudden storm of howls and shrieks startles us all, sounding as if the wolves are already in our midst. Though we did not hear their approach as they gathered silently on the hilltop, just beyond the reach of the firelight, they are here! And they are attacking in force!

Master jumps to his feet, and the other hobbits are close behind. I fight my restraints, but I am tied to a sturdy if ancient tree with tight knots, and I cannot win free.

Tall Hat shouts to throw wood on the fire and tells my hobbits to stand back-to-back. My Sam and the Master are quick to obey, and the light from the blazing freshened fire reveals a host flowing over the ring of stones, a fearsome cataract of grey hides with gleaming eyes and teeth.

In the instant before they reach me, I have a confused glimpse of Our two Big Men slashing and stabbing and swinging their weapons, while the Dwarf hefts his axe and brings it down upon a snarling head, cleaving the skull in two. I hear the Fair One’s bow twang again and again... but I am surrounded by snarling beasts, jumping at me and seeking to pull me down. I rear and plunge! I strike out with my front hoofs, hobbled as I am, then plant them firmly in the rocky soil that I might keep my balance as I kick out behind me and hear a satisfying yelp before I turn to meet the onslaught from another quarter.

A wolf leaps and fastens its jaws upon my throat, but an arrow comes out of seemingly nowhere; its grasp tightens convulsively and then slackens, and it falls to the ground at my feet. I have not time to feel relief, for I shall be pulled down at any second – but I will fight – we shall fight together, my comrades and I – to our ending. They shall not find us easy prey!

With a roar and a crackle, the trees above us burst into flame. I am dimly aware of Tall Hat shouting – he has been shouting, his voice a distant thunder in the chaos surrounding me, but I cannot pause to hear and heed him lest my attackers pull me down to my doom. I plunge, I whirl, I strike, I kick...!

...and suddenly, the wolves are gone, all but a great wolf-chieftain that lies in the space between me and the Master. The trees above us burn like torches, illuminating the empty hilltop. Empty, that is, except for myself and my companions.

‘Is it well with you, Mr Frodo?’ I hear my Sam say.

‘Never better, Sam!’ Master returns, and at this good news, my Sam clouts him on the shoulder, then turns away and hurries to my side. 

He pulls at the knot anchoring me to the tree. I do not know how such knots work, for the rope held me fast, yet the knot uncoils smoothly at his pull. Avoiding the sword in his hand, I press my head against his breast in my relief. He smells of the sweat of terror and determination, though it is rapidly being overlaid by the scent of wonder. Youngest frees himself from the Merry hobbit’s hold as the latter seeks to determine he is unhurt, and comes to join us. ‘Poor Bill!’ he says. ‘I saw that great brute worrying at your throat, and I thought we’d lost you!’

I raise my head, then rub it against Youngest’s arm. I’m well, I try to tell him. At least, things turned out much better for me than for the “great brute”! The creature lies where it fell nearby, the shadow of the shaft of the Fair One’s arrow dancing on the ground in the light from the burning trees.

‘Come, Bill, let’s get you away from here,’ my Sam says with a gentle tug at my rope, ‘for the trees are all alight! I wouldn’t have you struck by a burning branch as it falls, not for anything! And you too, Mr Pippin. Come out from under the trees!’ His sword he does not sheathe but holds at his side, as if he is ready to lift it at any moment in our defence.

Youngest, too, holds his sword low but ready. Together, they walk me to a clear space, where we stop and survey our surroundings, even as our companions do the same, bracing themselves for a renewal of the nightmarish onslaught. But only dead wolves remain; the living have fled.

As we wait through what remains of the night, no howls shatter the night air. The only sound is that of the flames that are slowly consuming the ancient trees. The burning tree trunks also pop, emitting sparks that come to rest on the ground, bringing to my weary mind the memory of soft summer evenings when glow-worms would shine from the grass and hedgerows. 

The Fair One shakes himself free of his frozen stance and begins to move from one side of the hilltop to the other, collecting a few loose arrows from the ground. When he passes close to our little group, I seem to feel a sense of sorrow weighing upon him, and I remember that he is a Wood Elf who counts trees amongst his companions.

Meanwhile, my hobbits surround me, sheathing their swords to run their hands over my hide and exclaiming to find little damage. ‘His heavy winter coat has saved him, Samwise,’ the more exhausted-than-merry hobbit says to my Sam, and Master agrees.

‘When their jaws closed upon him, they came away with mouthfuls of hair, and only hair,’ the Master says, gesturing to the ground where so recently I fought my part of the battle. And yes, a few clumps of hair can be seen in the firelight, stirred slightly by the night breeze, which has dropped to a mere whisper of wind.

Once satisfied I have taken no harm, my hobbits pull out their swords again to be ready, though my Sam retains my rope with his free hand. We shall have to trust to my hobbles when – do I dare to think if? – the battle resumes, for the trunks of the trees are burning away as the night draws to its end.

The first light of dawn reveals only blackened stumps standing in drifts of ashes where once the small grove of trees stood. A bitter, smoky smell hangs in the air, and smoke curls above our heads and blows from the hilltop in the freshening breeze. 

‘Dawn,’ Youngest hobbit whispers, his sword drooping in his hand. ‘At last.’ He has continued to stand with my Sam and me this past hour. Indeed, I am surprised that he did not follow his cousins to the other side of the hilltop, where they had questions for Our Big Man, it seems. They remained in low-voiced conversation with him for some time. I see Master turn back towards us; the so-called-Merry hobbit lingers for a few words more, then follows the oldest cousin.

As if their returning to us marks some sort of signal, my Sam sheathes his sword. ‘It’s as I said, Mr Pippin!’ he says, reaching past me to clap the youngster on his shoulder. ‘What did I tell you? Wolves won’t get him, just as I said.’

‘You did,’ Youngest affirms, his voice barely audible. He fumbles his own sword towards its sheath.

As if sensing the need to mask the young one’s immense weariness, my Sam moves quickly to his side, wrapping his hand over Youngest’s hand on the hilt to help him safely stow the blade away again without an unfortunate happenstance. Then, as if to distract the others from his actions, lest the older cousins should unintentionally shame the youngster with expressions of concern, he adds in a louder, heartier voice, ‘That was an eye-opener, and no mistake! Nearly singed the hair off my head!’

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Author notes:

Some thoughts here are derived from “A Journey in the Dark” in The Fellowship of the Ring by J.R.R. Tolkien.

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