Chapter 3 - Impact

Sam sat, chewing absently on a piece of bread, staring at the mockery of a fire.  Night had fallen, cold, clammy and without comfort.  Pippin and he had continued on to the limit of their endurance, then nestled themselves inside a close- set copse of trees several dozen feet from the East road.  Sam tore his mind away from thoughts of Frodo as he raised his eyes to his pitiful companion.

Pippin sat, his face pinched in pain, his body tilted at an awkward angle as if no part of him was with without hurt.  In the firelight, he seemed breathtakingly young, like a small hobbitlad sitting by a campfire.  But Pippin was no longer a small lad and this was no camping trip.  The past two weeks had ripped every last stitch of innocence from Pippin and Sam wondered if he would ever again hear the young hobbit’s impish laugh.  Sam came back to himself and found that he was staring at Pippin and that Pippin was staring back.

“Sam?” said Pippin quietly.  “Are you alright?”

“I was ripe to ask the same of you, Mr.  Pippin.”

A small grin glided across Pippin pale face.  “Just “Pippin” Sam.  No more “Mister” after what we’ve been though, I think.”

“I reckon not,” sighed Sam.

“Why Mister Pippin again all of the sudden?”

Sam threw the bread into the fire and watched it blacken with detached curiosity.

“Sam?”

“Because, lad, you’ve started acting less like little Pip and more like my Mr.  Frodo.  So the ‘mister” just came natural, I guess.”

“Do you really think so, Sam?’ asked Pippin with childlike eagerness.  “That I act like Frodo, I mean.”

“A little more each day, Pip.” said Sam, flushing as he watched the other hobbit swell with pride.  "At least Mr.  Frodo before--"

 Pippin's face fell.  "Before we broke him," he said.  He wiped one, then two, then a silent wash of tears from his eyes.

 "Aye," answered Sam.

 They stared into the fire again, a silence sitting heavy and thick upon the air.  At last Pippin struggled to his feet and stiffly removed his jacket in preparation for bed.

 "Pippin!" said Sam, catching sight of the dark, brown stain seeping through the back of Pippin's shirt.  "You'll not lie down until I've had a chance to tend to your wounds."

 Sam leapt to his feet and stepped toward Pippin to place a gentle hand upon his shoulder.  Sam was taken aback when he saw that a look of pure panic had filled Pippin's eyes and he flinched as if to avoid a blow.  Sam yanked his hand back as from an open flame.

 "Pip, it's just Sam,” he gasped.  “Those welts will turn nasty unless you let me get them clean."

 “I'm sorry Sam,” said Pippin.  The fear passed from his eyes even as his muscles tightened.

 "Are you alright, Pip?"

"I'm fine."

"Are you su--"

“I'm fine!"

"Then sit down.  Faster we get this done, the faster you can sleep."

 Pippin sighed in resignation and sunk down into the wet grass.

 "I'm sorry," he mumbled.

 "Well, there's something else you share with Mr.  Frodo," said Sam.  "Stubborn as mules you lot."

 Pippin winced as Sam carefully pulled the sodden linen strips from his back.  Sam knew better than to comment aloud on the state of Pippin's back or to decry the maker of these wounds, so they sat in silence, the night noises surrounding them punctuated by Pippin's occasionally sharp intake of breath.

 Once in a while, a twig would seem to snap, or branch seemed to rustle unnaturally loudly.  They both found themselves nervous and edgy.  When Sam had put new dressings on the wounds and tenderly pulled the blanket over Pippin, the injured hobbit again glanced up at Sam.

 "Thank you," he said, closing his eyes, and, after a pause muttered, "for not hating me."

"Ah," said Sam in simultaneous surprise and comprehension.  He nodded sadly.  

 "Sam?"

 "Yes Pip?"

 "Do you ever get the feeling we are being watched?"

 Sam did not answer but stared uneasily into the starless night.

VVVV

Merry fought the urge to sleep.  His wrists were bound fast, as were his ankles, but the ropes were no real barrier to a hobbit whose whole being was now geared to escape.  Merry considered the cords as he waited for the three men to fall asleep.  He thought them dolts for binding his hands in front where he might, given half an opportunity, pick steadily at his leg bonds with his fingers.

Broga snored first, then Scur, then, when the last embers of the fire has turned to ash, Grimbold.  Merry smiled wickedly.  These bog men were too incompetent to keep a night watch.  It was not an error Merry would have made and though it was not an oversight he respected, it was certainly one he appreciated.

As Merry silently picked and worried at his leg bonds, he turned to Frodo.  The other hobbit had turned away from him, perhaps even purposefully- though Merry could not account for it.  Surely his cousin understood the extent to which Merry had been willing to sacrifice himself to insure Frodo's well- being.  And now, with the change in circumstances, he was now Frodo's only hope, his only possible savior.

Merry thought on this situation for a moment and steeled his will.  Merry knew he must succeed for Frodo's sake.  And once they were free, together they could seek after It.  Even now, the Shire need not fall to ruin, not while Merry still drew breath.  He regretted letting himself fall to despair outside Crickhollow.  It did not befit a leader such as himself.

The night was beginning to grey around the edges by the time Merry had managed to loosen the third knot binding his feet.  His heart thumped wildly as he pulled the rope free at last.  Now, at least, he could move about, seek out a way to free his hands, then unbind Frodo and slip away.  Merry scanned the campsite for any glint of possibility.

Broga, you magnificent fool! he thought.  His eyes alighted upon Broga's belt knife, stuck in the gristle of a haunch of venison, just waiting for to be picked up.  It lay beside the dead fire, a few steps away from Broga's feet.  A calculated risk, but well worth it.  Merry crept foreword, using all the powers of hobbit stealth he could muster.  Inch by inch he crawled, until he was just inches from his captor.

Steady now, he thought as he reached his hand out to claim the implement of his freedom.  Broga stirred a moment, grumbled in his sleep, then fell back into booming snores.  Merry sucked in his breath and continued to stretch out his hand.  There!  He grasped the knife and drew it forth slowly, then backed away as quietly as he had come.  When he was a safe distance, he cut his wrist bonds and crept back to his cousin.

He slowly peeled back Frodo’s blanket and cut the cords binding his ankles.  "Frodo! Frodo!" he called in a low but insistent voice.  "Look at me!"

His cousin did not stir.  Merry shook him gently, and then rolled him over to face him.  Frodo's head drooped.  "Frodo!" he repeated.

Frodo stirred at last to lift his weary head.  Merry’s heart leapt as he watched Frodo's eyes flutter open and seem to focus upon him.   He cupped his cousin’s face to command his full attention.  "Frodo, I've managed to free myself and I will save us!"

He sliced through the cords binding Frodo’s wrists ignoring the fact that those hands fell limp to the ground.  "Frodo!" Merry said urgently, "Now follow your Merry!  We must go!" 

Frodo stared at him but made no move.  The huge, moonlit eyes ranged over Merry’s face, then drifted lazily to focus on something above him.

"Fro--?"

Merry gasped in shock as a meaty hand closed around his collar and lifted him roughly off the ground.  Merry found himself starring into the eyes of Scur.

VVVV

Pippin was being held by something menacing and unseen.  Blows rained down on every corner of his body.  He was in agony but the worst part of the ordeal was that he could not stop it.  He was powerless.  No bargain could be struck with this malevolence.  Even yielding would not prevent this violation.  He felt cold and suddenly exposed and though he cried out in protest, the assault came as relentlessly as a downpour in an open field.  He felt as if he was being savagely cleaved in two.  He screamed in his outrage and torment, but there was no restraint in this menace.  It tore at his innermost being, ripping the fragile fabric of his self-worth and taking its cruel pleasure at his pain.  Pippin clenched his hands, trying in vain to strike out and stop this, but it held them in place as well.  He could do nothing but scream as the evil befouled him.  Darkness swirled about him accompanied by a feeling of utter soul-quenching humiliation.

“No!” he cried, continuing to struggle wildly.  “No! No! Stop! No!”

His sleep fogged eyes shot open and he found himself staring at a dark figure looming over him.  The contours of his nightmare deepened.  He screamed, "NO! NO!"

His hands could move again.

"NO! Merry! NO!"

Clawing frantically at the dirt, Pippin's fingers latched on to the first solid object they found and he swung violently at his attacker.  The poorly wielded cookpan found its mark with a sickening thump.  Sam cried out, clutching at his head and reeling backwards. Through the mists of his rattled brain he saw his attacker dash off into the forest.  "Pippin!" he cried.  "Pippin!  Come back!" 

Pippin did not heed him.  Sam straightened dizzily, muttered "panswinger," then, weaving drunkenly, he lurched forward shouting Pippin's name.

VVVV

"Hoy!  Look what I got here!" Scur snarled, waking his slumbering companions. 

Merry was dangling by the ruff like a naughty kitten for all the camp to see.  Scur shook him as he spoke.  "He was pestering my imp!"

"He was making to escape, you idiot!" grumbled Broga as he got to his feet.  He stumbled toward Scur.  "And now he's woke me out of a nice sound sleep! I can't wait to take that out on your soft little back, rat." His sleep puffed eyes glinted with irritation.   “I got one word for you!  The.  Greenway."

"That's two words," spat Merry, earning him a snicker from Scur and a stinging slap from Broga.  Broga drew his hand back to slap again, but stopped.  The suspended Halfling suddenly brandished a weapon.

"That's my knife, runt!" cried Broga.

Merry smiled wickedly, even as Scur growled and shook his dangling body.

"Of course it's your knife, dolt!" yelled Grimbold as he approached.  "Who else would leave a weapon lying about?"  Grimbold motioned to Scur to set Merry down.  Merry’s feet touched, though the ruffian still held his collar tight enough to choke him.  Grimbold glowered down at the hobbit, wiping the blood off Merry's nose with an ungentle finger.  "And I would not smile so wide, master halfling,” he snarled.  “Just because my man's an ass does not mean you won't pay."

Grimbold unsheathed his sword and pressed the tip into Merry's neck.  "Now drop the knife." 

Merry knew who he could taunt, and who he could not.  He dropped the knife.  Grimbold took it up and hurled it toward Broga.  It sank into a tree a foot over the man's head.  

"That coulda hit me!" Broga cried in an injured tone.

"Indeed," snarled Grimbold.  "You watch your knife; I'll watch my aim."

Even in his dire situation, Merry found a smile threatening to surface at his keeper's misfortune. Scur dropped him on the grass and held him there with a massive boot while Grimbold retied his hands. "Scur, set your charge to rights," ordered Grimbold.  "Broga, put your damn knife away and go back to sleep."

"Don't you want me to--?"

"I'll handle him," said Grimbold gruffly as he stood Merry up.  "You've helped quite enough for one evening."

VVVV

Pippin ran blindly, his mind panic-stricken by the nightmare and the memories it recalled. 

Away! Away! Was the only thought in his mind. Fly! Fly!  Never let that happen to you again!

He leapt into a second copse of trees while a familiar voice echoed behind   Pippin! Pippin! Pippin!

His mind rebelled.  No! Fly! Go!

He wove through the trees paying no mind to what lay ahead, only fleeing the menace behind.  A solid mass rose up suddenly in his path and he crashed headlong into it and fell back.  It was the tallest Big person he had ever seen and he stared up with fear- rounded eyes into its face.  The imposing figure bent down, extending its enormous hand.

"Where are you off to in such a state, master Halfling?" asked the voice.

Pippin froze, immobile for a moment, but then his scream rent the still night air.

"You need not fear me, little one."  The voice was calm.

The hobbit crabbed back, breathing hard.

"I mean you no harm."

He stumbled to his feet but the huge figure still came on.

"I did not mean to frighten you."

Pippin screamed again and without looking back, dashed through the trees the way he had come.

VVVV

Grimbold kept a talon-like grip on Merry's forearms as he marshaled him to a small birch tree beside his own pallet.

"Sit," he ordered.  Merry sat.  Grimbold bound Merry's ankles together and drew out a small knife.  Merry winced in anticipation but Grimbold only sliced his wrist bonds.  Then the man drew Merry's hands behind him and tied them around the trunk.  He knelt in front of the hobbit, observing him with appraising eyes.

"That was unwise,” he said flatly.  "And you will find out how unwise tomorrow evening, I expect."

"Would you have done any different?" asked Merry sullenly.

Grimbold did not answer and Merry guessed he had disarmed the man with his unexpected honesty.  Grimbold stuck his knife back in his belt.  "Are you reasonably comfortable?"

"Reasonably," sighed Merry.  "Considering."

Grimbold shuffled among his bedding and tossed one of his blankets hastily over Merry's lap.  "You should sleep well as you can now," he said.  “After tomorrow, I doubt you'll be comfortable for some time."

Merry nodded and shut his eyes against the night and his dread, trying to calm his mind.  Frodo had focused on him.  He tried to think about that hopeful sign rather than Grimbold’s grimly assertive prediction.  Frodo had looked and seen his face and tracked movement with his eyes.  He  was beginning to come back into his mind.  Merry squeezed his eyelids tightly closed.  Frodo was returning from the abyss and when he was himself again, Merry would be able to depend upon him to become a party to his own rescue.  He would be back and Merry would be ready for him.  He promised himself that he would not let his dearest cousin down.

VVVV

"Pippin!  Pippin!" 

Sam continued to call wildly into the trees, the last place he has seen his companion.  He was shocked at how quickly he had managed to lose the lad.  His head throbbed, but his concern over Pippin’s welfare was outweighing the pain.  What if he had lost him for good?  What if he had been taken?  On a more selfish level, Sam was terrified he had lost his partner in this desperate quest.  He did not want to continue on this road alone.  

A scream.  The rustle of bushes.   He flew toward the sounds in both hope and terror.

"Pippin!  I'm here!  Pip----!"

The hobbit in question suddenly emerged racing out of the trees at full speed.  Sam was knocked flat as the youngster crashed headlong into him.

"Oof!" Sam gasped when he could breathe again.  "Pip! You're a right menace and no mistake!”

Pippin scrambled to his feet, still wide-eyed and staring frantically about him.

"Big…Man!" he huffed.  "Big man …in…THERE!"  He thrust a quivering finger toward the thicket.  "He almost got me, Sam!  !"

“Ruffians?” gasped Sam, and instinctively grasped at his knife.

"One…only…one," gasped Pippin.  "But he was horrible!"

"Well, you got your cursed pan, so I’d say we're safe enough!" snarled Sam, rubbing the growing bump on the side of his head.  He got to his feet.  "Was he one of the ones that--?"

"No," said Pippin.  "His voice was different."

Sam’s shoulders immediately sagged.  "I don’t think he's got a mind to catch us, Pip," he said peering dejectedly into the trees.  "Or he'd be on us by now.  Best we break camp and put a few miles between us before we settle down again." 

The two hobbits began moving quickly back to their encampment, all the while casting nervous glances about them and readying themselves to break into a run if the situation required.  Sam glanced at Pippin as they walked.

"Why did you run off like that?  It's not safe to go haring off on your own!"

Pippin hurried ahead a little ways.  "I don’t want to talk about it," he said without looking back. 

"Fine," snorted Sam.  "Just let Master Pan do all the talking!"

Pippin whirled around, his eyes wet with hurt.  "It was a nightmare!  I didn't mean to hit you!"

"But you did, Pip,” growled Sam. “And what is to keep you from hitting me over the head every time you have a bad dream?"

"I didn't know it was you!  And what were you doing, leaning over me in the dark like a wolf over its kill?” 

"Like a wolf o'er its kill?" sputtered Sam.  "Well, that’s a fine note!  You were screaming to wake the dead!  I thought you were being attacked.  What would you have me do?"

Pippin folded his arms sullenly across his chest.  "I'm sorry then, Sam.  I thought you were…someone else."

The two hobbits walked in silence back to the gradually growing point of light that was their campfire, all the while keeping watch for the big man.  When they at last arrived, Sam stomped out the fire and took a look about to see if they had been followed.  Nothing stirred in the darkness.  Pippin packed his belongings, save the infamous pan, into his backpack and by the time Sam had his things in order, the other hobbit was saddling his pony.  Pippin didn’t look at him even when Sam began loading his own animal, but instead began riding quietly up the road. 

They rode on several quiet miles until Sam felt his head nodding and pulled his pony up.  Pippin, hearing him halt, stopped and looked back.

"I haven’t heard a peep nor crack of twig that I didn’t make since we set off,” Sam said, trying not to yawn.  “I say we get off the road and get some sleep till first light at least.  I’m near ready to sleep in the saddle.”  Pippin looked down the road they had just travelled.  Still nothing stirred.  Without acknowledging Sam had spoken by any other sign, he reined his pony off the road behind a copse of trees that in the darkness seemed to give some kind of cover.  He dismounted, still not speaking, and Sam, growing more concerned, followed him.

"Pippin?"

"I'm fine."

"Stars!" blurted Sam.  "Enough with the pans and enough with the quiet and enough with the I'm fine's.  I've had it up to my ears with the lot!"

"Then just sleep, would you? I'll keep watch."

Sam grumbled as he tied his pony beside Pippin’s and loosened the girth.  He took his roll of bedding from behind the saddle and walked towards Pippin who was sitting in the darker shadows at the edge of the copse.  The young hobbit had drawn his knees up to his chest and clutched his blanket tight over his shoulders.  Sam sighed and sat down beside him. 

"You know what he done to me, Pippin. What’d he do to you?"

A heavy exhale of breath sounded from the shrouded figure.  "I'm fine."

"I know it ain’t my place.  I ain’t your kin, I ain’t your station,” chased Sam recklessly.  “But you’re lacking both at present - forcing Samwise to step in where he don’t belong.  But I don't want no more of your frying pan, nor of your saying 'I'm fine' when I can see you're not!  And I won’t have you get both of us skinned on account of the bad things in your head.”

"Go to sleep, Sam," sighed Pippin as if that were the only answer he could give.

"You still love him, I reckon," continued Sam.  "But he hurt you bad."

"Are you going to sleep, or should I take the first watch?"

"You stood up against him and that were a brave thing to do," continued Sam."

"Fine!  I'll sleep then!"

"But what he did still hurts —like as not, don’t it?"

Pippin gave no rejoinder.  Sam continued.  "I reckon you thought I was him tonight and it frightened you to the quick."  Pippin lay down and rolled his face away from Sam.  "You'll just dream of it again.  It’s no shame to see that he still has a hold on you.  You got deeper scars than those that's on your back."

"Leave me alone."

"You’ll not get back to yourself in a day, Pip."

Pippin screamed, "Leave me alone!" before turning his whole back to Sam and cocooning himself in his blanket.  After a time, Sam saw the shadows under the tree begin to shake with the rhythm of silent, heartbroken sobs. 

Sam’s heart nearly broke.  He wrapped his arms about the wretched creature beside him, comforting as best he could. 

"It weren't your fault, Pip,” he whispered.  “It turned him.  It made him mean.  It's what the Thing does."  He continued to rock Pippin, until the sobs eased and the younger hobbit quieted. 

Meanwhile a new voice was seeping into his thoughts.  The voice asked what the Ring might do in less corruptible hands.  Sam found himself fingering at the trinket in his pocket, unaware of how his hand had got there.  He removed it quickly and set it upon Pippins head in a comforting gesture. .

"Not your fault, Pippin.  Not your fault at all."

VVVV

Stars.

Dark branches waving in the night breeze, wood smoke and the occasional rattle of a horse’s harness. 

Frodo blinked. 

…Respite…

But there was also danger.  Not as black a peril as before, but he still needed to be wary.  His eyes roved the bejeweled sky.  Safety lay in keeping still and keeping silent.  The mists were still there cloying and possessive, but without the voices their strength faded.  He could occasionally see with his own eyes now, but the images made no sense.  A bird flying, a river, enormous arms holding him and the hypnotic wave of a flowing mane.  He was traveling.  Why? 

The other, less malevolent, but cruelly familiar betrayer was there too.   But he was not the same.  Something that twisted him was lost…. 

The mists reasserted as his mind lurched sickeningly.  Lost!  LOST!  They muffled his screams and closed his eyes and ears.  Still too dangerous to scream.  The sound emerged as a hitched sigh.   Lost, yes, but how?  Reason struggled with fear.  This was important.  Vitally.  It was lost, but how?  The mists had seen how, but their language was becoming strange to him.  Without It, he was alone in the greyness and his mind reached out, questing and unsatisfied.  Yes, it was gone, but not destroyed.  Someone had it and the mists knew who.  Need sharpened scattered wits and focused his mind through the closing shadows.  He had to get It back. 

And then he remembered why.

The stars continued to twinkle as their cold light settled into his belly and the mists closed over him again.  They smothered his fey laugher as effectively as they had swallowed his screams.

TBC