What are the Barrow-wights?  Why did the wight tell Frodo that they were “waiting” for him?  What did it plan for the hobbits, and why?  How were the hobbits lured up to the Great Barrow?  What explains why Frodo was treated differently than the other hobbits, awakened sooner, and found the strength to resist the call of the Ring in such a desperate situation?  This story is my own look at the events on the Barrow-downs from the chapter ‘The Fog on the Barrow-downs’, The Fellowship of the Ring.  The PG-13 rating is for serious themes, consistent with canon.

DISCLAIMER:  Of course. The characters don’t belong to me, I just get to think about them day and night.

___________________________

SPELLBOUND

Chapter 1 -- On Dangerous Ground

They were not unlike dragons.  They lusted for precious metals, glittering gems, and works of exquisite craft, and hoarded treasure beyond price or count.  Yet as the slow millenia passed, they could do no more than caress still-bright chains and weapons, or feel the weight of rings on cold fingers.  Amassing wealth they could not spend, and greedy for each new, shining trinket, they became trapped by it, and roamed no further than the lonely hills and their silent mounds.

They were not unlike the deathless king they once served.  They were immortal, without name or lineage, living as shadowy wraiths without true form or substance.  Yet when need arose, they absorbed strength from the bones and sinews of the earth, and took form.  They could incorporate the very air around them, using the power of dark winds to form breath -- to weave the ancient spells of cold and death-like sleep.

They were not unlike the trees of black heart in the Old Forest to the west, existing only to trap the unwary traveler.  Yet once their prey was enspelled, and their wealth stolen, the captives were sacrificed to a Dark Lord who no longer knew of or required such proof of fealty.

They were the Barrow-wights, known by many names, and in the farthest corners of Middle-earth whispered rumors passed from generation to generation, dark and fearsome in the telling.  And truly, none knew the truth of the legends that passed among Elves, Men, and even the Shire-dwellers, for those who came under the spell of the Barrow-wights were never seen again.

Until now.

*~*~*~*~*

Tom Bombadil had told them it would be a day’s journey, as the crow flies, from his house north to the Great East Road that would take them to Bree -- but the hobbits were not crows, and their ponies were not flying.  In all their lives, they had never seen land like this.  The downs east of the Old Forest were a maze of valleys and ridges, treeless and seemingly endless.  As the sun grew high and hot, the steady plodding -- up each hill and down into the inevitable hollow before the next hill -- grew wearying.  The mid-day rest stop was welcomed by all, and the ponies were set loose to graze in the high, bowl-like hollow in which the hobbits found themselves.

“I don’t like it,” Sam announced, peering critically at the hills to the east.  On their peaks could be seen stones tall and lonely, set to mark the thousand-year-old mounds beneath which rested the Dúnedain of Arnor.  “We shouldn’t stay here.”

“We won’t stay long,” Frodo replied, stretching tiredly.  “The ponies need to rest, and so do we.  Look.”  He pointed north.  “Can you see it?  That must be the Road, at last.”

“Finally,” Merry sighed.  He peered at the dark line far ahead.  “I agree with Sam.  There’s something nasty about this place, and not just because of the old stories.  The air is strange here -- like how the Old Forest felt so stifling and seemed to want us to stay.”

“What old stories?” Pippin asked.  He drew from a pack the bread, cheese, fruit, and honeyed cakes that Tom and Goldberry had given them.

“Ghost stories,” Merry admitted.  The hobbits spread their cloaks at the base of a tall, straight, standing-stone and sat down to eat.  “At Brandy Hall, Frodo and I used to listen to folks telling the old tales -- late at night, after the children had gone to bed.”

“Why did they let you listen to such things?” Sam asked.

“They didn’t exactly let us,” Frodo admitted.  “No one knew we were hiding and listening.”

“Tell us,” Pippin urged, his eyes shining.  “Are there real ghosts here?”

“There really are,” Frodo said quietly, in a tone that made Pippin inch closer to Merry.  “Remember Tom’s warnings?  He said we must not approach the barrows, under any circumstances.”  He looked to the eastern hills and frowned.  “The North was a kingdom, once, called Arnor.  Somewhere near here was Cardolan, where the last descendants of the Sea Kings fought and died in a great battle.  They lie in those barrows, as do their ancestors from many an Age ago.”

“But not alone,” Merry whispered.

“Why not?” Pippin squeaked.

“Something dreadful occurred in the North,” Frodo said, trying to remember the stories.  “A dark power spread and overcame Arnor, and the valiant Men of Cardolan made their last stand here, in these hills.  The Witch-king of Angmar, they called the worst of their enemy, a servant of the Enemy in the south.”  He looked uneasy, but continued.  “When the great lords and their people died...” He sighed.

“Even then they weren’t allowed to rest in peace,” Merry continued, scowling at the barrows.  “The Witch-king put forth his power and set loose evil wights that came to inhabit these hills.”

“Forever?” Sam asked, appalled.

“I suppose so,” Frodo said.  “There is said to be great treasure in the barrows -- the treasure of kings and princes of old -- but no one dares search for it.”

“I don’t blame them,” Merry declared.  “And we have enough to contend with, with those black riders sniffing for us, and Gandalf nowhere to be found.”

“That was wonderful,” Pippin said, patting his stomach contentedly.  “Poor wights, never able to enjoy a feast.”

“Silly Took,” Frodo said fondly.  One could never stay somber long, with Pippin around.  He looked about the flat, grassy hill on which they sat.  Something was making him feel uneasy, but he assumed it was caused by remembering the old, frightening stories to which he and Merry had listened in secret.  He found himself yawning, even though it was but midday, with a long day’s ride still ahead.  We must leave soon, he thought groggily, closing his eyes against the bright sun.

*~*~*~*~*

From the cold, deep confines of the largest barrow, an ancient creature stirred, growing aware and conscious for the first time in many years.  It stretched out through earth and rock, seeking the source of what had awakened it.

The Great Barrow contained glittering treasures, objects holding much power yet within them.  But the wight sensed something not far away -- unlooked-for, pulsating with the Dark Lord’s presence.  Thought quickened and flared as ancient memories and promises grew strong and clear.  The Dark Lord expects fealty, the Witch-king had intoned.  Let none pass.  Gather and guard objects of craft and power, and He will reward you. 

Four small beings lay asleep beneath the nearby sentinal stone.  Another wight, it realized, had sensed them first, whispering to them of rest and sleep, and halting the intruders’ journey.  But this prize would not be claimed by a lesser presence.  The wight of the Great Barrow sent a message to the other, grim and cold: They are not for you.  I claim these four.

One of the small ones carried Power with him.  He would be lured closer, made captive, and what he bore safeguarded.  The Dark Lord’s captain would come for him, and that which he carried -- and reward would be given.  Even now, the earth conveyed a faint echo of the Witch-king, far off and searching.  He had returned.  And he would come.

** TBC **

Some dialogue in this chapter is taken directly from ‘Fog on the Barrow-downs’ from The Fellowship of the Ring.

DISCLAIMER:  Of course. The characters don’t belong to me, I just get to think about them day and night.

___________________________

SPELLBOUND

Chapter 2 -- Snared

Sam awoke suddenly, shivering.  A thick fog had settled on the downs, and the sun had already begun to sink westward, shining weakly through the mists.  He was relieved to see that the four ponies stood nearby and had not run off.  Frodo, Pippin, and Merry lay fast asleep.  Something about his sleeping companions reminded Sam a bit too much of the Old Forest, when Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin had fallen asleep and been swallowed up, and Mr. Frodo had been...

“Sir!” Sam shook Frodo’s shoulder.  “Mr. Frodo, wake up!”

Frodo opened his eyes and yawned.  “What is the time?” he asked, startled to see the fog.  He quickly shook Merry awake, then Pippin.

“It’s gettin’ late,” Sam said.  “I don’t even remember fallin’ asleep.”  He went to see to the ponies.

“Neither do I,” Merry frowned, getting to his feet.  He touched a finger to the standing stone, which was now ice cold.

“Have you ever seen fog this thick?”  Pippin looked around, amazed.  Beyond where the ponies stood, just a short distance away, nothing could be seen through the white mists.  The fog blocked out all but the dimmest sunlight.

“Once,” Frodo said, helping Pippin gather the remains of their luncheon.  “I was walking from Bywater to Bag End years ago, when a sudden fog settled down on Hobbiton.  By the time I reached Bagshot Row, it was so thick I could scarcely see two feet in front of me.  I wanted to stop by the Gamgees’ on the way home, but I couldn’t find Number 3!”

“What did you do?”

Frodo laughed.  “I followed my nose.  Luckily, Mrs. Gamgee was baking cherry pies.”

“I remember that,” Sam said, coming back to help them.  “Mum took one look at you, all damp and chilled, and insisted you stay and have a piece.”

“Or several,” Frodo grinned.

“Which way do we go?” Pippin asked.  “How do we find the Road, if we can’t see anything?”

“North is that way,” Frodo said, pointing.  “As long as we keep the sun to our left, we can’t miss it.”  But at that very moment, the sun disappeared, obscured completely by the fog that now curled above their heads like a roof.

“Come on,” Merry said.  “The sooner we leave this place, the better I’ll like it.”

They led their ponies down to the bottom of the slope, where the air was cold and damp.

“Here, sir,” Sam said, pulling Frodo’s cloak from one of the saddlebags.  “Never thought we’d need these when it was so hot just a few hours ago.”  He put on his own cloak and hood, as did Merry and Pippin.  Soon the hobbits mounted, and began riding slowly in what they hoped was a northward direction, their hair, hands, and faces soon soaked and dripping.

*~*~*~*~*

Halflings.  The Witch-king had accorded them no notice during his rule of Angmar, and the wight wondered how one of them had come to possess an object of such strong, ancient Power.

The wights knew many spells, and the rock, earth, and grasses of the downs were theirs to use and manipulate.  Indeed, the very air and winds of this small realm were subject to their voice and command, and it proved quite easy to shroud the halflings’ path.  But fog could be used for many purposes, confusion of sight not the least.

“Come on!  Follow me!” Frodo shouted, seeing a dark patch begin to loom through the mist in front of him.  Was it the trees lining the Road, at last?  He rode forward eagerly, but suddenly found himself in the midst of two towering standing stones such as the one next to which they had rested. 

The wight had not been surprised to see the halfling it sought leading the small party.  Bearers of Power were not cowards, and could be most formidable in their will and strength.  It whispered into the air, causing the fog to thicken behind the first pony.  The gap between Frodo and his three companions widened suddenly, and he was lost to their sight. 

As soon as the halflings’ vision was obscured, the wight crafted the fog to a new purpose -- to divert sound.  Any shouts coming from the bottom of the hill would be drawn upward, and echo back down.  The halflings would hear the cries of their companions, but they would seem to be coming from the top of the hill.  The trap was set.

As Frodo passed between the stones, the air about him grew dark, and his pony reared up suddenly.  Frodo fell to the ground, and was startled to see that he was alone.  Bewildered, he looked around, then back.  Where was everyone?

“Sam!” Frodo called.  “Pippin!  Merry!  Come along!  Why don’t you keep up?”  The pony ran off into the mist, and Frodo felt a chill of fear come over him.

“I hear him!” Merry cried.  “Come on Sam, Pippin.  He’s up there!”  He pointed upwards -- to the top of the hill on which the Great Barrow sat.

“Why would Mr. Frodo be up there?” Sam asked urgently.  “That’s the very place we’re not supposed to go!”

“I know,” Merry said grimly, dismounting.

“Hoy!  Frodo!  Hoy!”  Pippin yelled.  When there was no answer, the three hobbits had no choice but to leave their ponies and begin climbing the steep slope.

Frodo heard faint cries which seemed to come from high above him, and moved as quickly as he could in their direction.  How could they all have become separated, and so quickly?

Merry reached the top of the hill, and stopped to catch his breath.  “Frodo!” he cried, looking around.  The fog was nearly as dense at the top of the steep hill as it had been at the bottom.

“Mr. Frodo?”  Sam roamed over the hilltop, keeping as far as he could from the barrow that sat nearby, massive and ancient.  More standing stones dotted the area, but Frodo was nowhere to be seen.

Pippin yelled and searched, but finally, confused and frustrated, he plopped down in the grass.  Nothing made sense.  Where had Frodo gone?

Frodo began to climb the slope, calling for his companions.  But the wight had reshaped and thickened the mists once again, and his cries went unheard, swallowed by the fog.

*~*~*~*~*

He approaches.  The trap had been sprung, the bait successful.  The three halflings had served their purpose, and now could take their places in the ancient ritual.  The wight briefly considered taking form and capturing them individually, but there was a chance that one or two might escape.  It therefore began to chant, a pulse of sound that traveled through the hill.  The smallest, seated on the ground, was caught first, as the spell whispered through the grasses and filled his consciousness.  Caught unawares, Pippin could struggle only briefly against the relentless waves of drowsiness.  There was no time to call out before he slowly lay back, his eyes already closing as the enspelled sleep overpowered him.

Merry gasped in fear and started toward Pippin, but after only a few steps, his limbs grew heavy.

“Help!” Merry cried out.  “Sam, don’t...”  He tried to reach Pippin’s side, but the increasing sluggishness of body and mind could not be fought; he slumped to the ground and knew no more.

“Mr. Frodo!”  Sam yelled again, then realized that he could no longer see Pippin or Merry.  “Help!”  he cried.  “Where are you?”  He tried to shake off a sudden wave of dizziness that made his senses reel.

The wight continued to sing, sensing that one of the small ones had not yet fully succumbed.  It wove the spell deeper, stronger...  and closed it around the third halfling, wrapping him tightly.

Sam staggered and fell to the ground, falling into darkness.

When all three halflings lay still, drawn deeply into enchanted sleep, the wight rose up through the earth.  Speaking the Words that embodied it, two long arms pushed aside the massive stone blocking the entrance to the barrow.  The wight dragged its captives inside, then once again sank deeply into the earth, waiting.

*~*~*~*~*

As Frodo continued to climb, the last remnants of pale sunlight faded and night fell.  It grew darker and darker until, when he finally stumbled to the top of the hill, he could see nothing.  It was cold and dreary.

“Sam!  Merry, Pippin!  Where are you?” he cried out miserably.  A cold wind began to blow, scattering the fog and making it easier to see.  Stars glittered overhead, and the dark, looming shape of the Great Barrow was close.  Too close.  Anger mixed with fear began to rise in him.  Where were his friends?  Were they in danger, needing his help?  How would he find them?

“Where are you?” he cried again.

“Here!” said a voice.  Startled, Frodo thought it had come from the ground beneath his feet.  “I am waiting for you!” came a cold, grim voice.

“No!” Frodo whispered, but he felt suddenly rooted to the earth.  Falling to his knees, he sensed a dark presence rise above him, with eyes that gleamed.  There was a strange, low murmur, and barely visible arms flickered into view -- reaching for him.  He felt himself caught in a grip of iron and unable to scream, as a paralyzing cold seemed to freeze his very blood and bones.  Then everything went black.

Even as it grasped its prize, the small one shuddered, then went limp.  The wight carried the unconscious halfling into the Barrow, and placed him on the large, flat stone next to his three companions.  There would be no need to weave a sleep spell for this fourth and most special one -- not yet; the freezing touch of grave and foul craft had temporarily drained warmth and thought, rendering him senseless.

The massive stone was rolled back into place, and the barrow was shut.

** TBC **

Ainu Laire:  And it’s just going to get chillier!

Althea:  “Creepily wonderful” -- I like that!

Andrea:  Thanks, Andrea!  I’m so glad my ‘logic’ seems sound.  :)

Anso the Hobbit:  Oooh, the chill of the barrow.  I’m afraid it will get even chillier as we progress!

Aratlithiel:  Thank you so much.  I like exploring the wights’ motivations and thoughts (who knew they had any?) and try to bring logic and ‘reason’ to what they feel is their sole duty and purpose.

Athril:  Thank you!  Pip is such a fun character, and I love writing about him.

Auntiemeesh:  Prof. Tolkien left us so many places to “fill in the blanks” in the Tale!  How lucky we are to have his world to play in.

Breon Briarwood:  Believe me, I’m going to have to come up with a real fluff-o-rama after this story is finished.  And I already know what it will be...  :D

Clever Hobbit:  Eeee, you’re already hooked!  How thrilling!

cpsingsforhim:  I’m excited about this story, too!  I’ve been thinking about it for a long time.

cuthalion:  “Finally!” is right.  It took me a long time to finally take the plunge and start this.  After getting into the mind of a wraith, Saruman, and now a wight, I don’t even want to think about what might want to be written someday.  (Although I suspect I’ll have to write a very fluffy story when this one is finished.)

Dreamflower:  I didn’t even realize how creepy this chapter was until I started reading it more closely for this fic.  It’s amazing the hobbits escaped with their lives.

easterlily41482:  Thank you!  I’ll try to maintain the intriguing creepiness!

elentari angel:  Frodo’s experience in the Barrow was so unusual, I just had to take a crack at ‘explaining’ it.  Hope you continue to enjoy this.

Elven Kitten:  And we’re off on a new adventure!

esamen:  The hobbits are heroes, and this situation was the first real testing (and strengthening) of it.  Thank you so much for coming along on another journey with me.

GamgeeFest:  Creepy is right!  What have I gotten myself into?

girlofring:  Oh, the trauma that befalls those hobbits!  Prof. Tolkien really put them in a dire situation in this chapter, and I hope I can do it justice.

Giu:  Thanks, Giu.  Here we go on another adventure together.

Grav:  I truly appreciate the support and encouragement you continually show.

Hai Took:  Thank you so much.  Yes, we should keep all the lights on when reading (and writing!) this spooky tale!

harrowcat:  I’ve been fascinated by this part of the Tale for a long time, mostly because of all the unanswered questions.  I hope I do a good job with some possible explanations.

illyria:  Ghosts and spooks and haunted barrows!  I’m just fascinated by this part of the Tale.

Inkling:  I’ve done a lot of research for this fic -- nearly as much as for “Sing Me Home” -- since I couldn’t start describing the wights’ actions without getting a feeling for why they take the actions they do, and whether there might be a conscious mind at work.  And I do love the Pippin-as-Pooh image!  Silly old Took.  :)

Iorhael:  Eeek, you’re right -- I’m writing an angsty, thrilling story!  How did that happen?

Larner:  Thank you very much.

LilyBaggins:  I never understood this part of the book very well, either -- which is why I’m compelled to try to figure it all out.  I’m glad you have your Frodoll close at hand to snuggle!  I think I’ll have to write a mega-fluff story after I finish this one... something with Aragorn in it...

Lily the Hobbit:  I’ve been waiting a long time for this story, too!  I just haven’t had the nerve to start writing it until recently.

lindahoyland:  I agree with you -- I think there’s almost nothing in LOTR as scary as the Barrow-downs and what happened there.  I hope I can do it justice.

Lindelea:  The sentence you highlight in your review is the very first sentence of this story that I wrote.  How such an innocent line about crows and ponies evolved into this dark tale... it’s just amazing.

little-old-me3:  The Barrow-downs and what goes on there are an incredibly eerie and strange part of FOTR, yet there are so few fanfics about them.  I hope other writers will give their ‘take’ on this part of the Tale.

lovethosehobbits:  This story will really stretch me, I can tell.  Thank you so much for coming along.

MagicalRachel:  Any time you can check in is wonderful, Rach.  I know that college pulls everyone in a thousand different directions.

Maura Labingi:  Things usually start with a question I have about something, that I’m just compelled to explain somehow.  And there are so many unanswered questions in the chapter about the Barrow-downs.

melilot hill:  Thanks, Mel!  I hope this is a fun ride.

my-fool-of-a-took:  Thank you!  Yes, this was a very spooky part of the book.

Mysterious Jedi:  I agree, this is quite eerie.  A very different type of story for me.

Nilmandra:  That’s exactly what I always wondered -- why do the wights do what they do?  Why do they stay in the Barrow-downs?  What are they doing there?  I love how Prof. Tolkien left so much room for us to imagine our own stories.

Pearl Took:  This is going to be a spooky one, Pearl -- but it’s such a challenge to try to fill in the blanks from this unusual chapter of the Tale.

pebbles66:  Creeeeeepy!

Permilea:  This surely is dark!  What a different type of story for me to attempt.

Pippinfan1988:  I never dreamed that I’d be the one to tell this story, Pip!  Hope I can do it justice.

Pipwise Brandygin:  You’re right -- so many frightening things happen to the hobbits on the way to Rivendell (Old Man Willow, the Black Riders, Weathertop, the Barrow-wight)... no wonder they grew so resilient in the face of everything that was still to happen to them.

Sandy K:  We’ll all have to bundle up together and share our chills.  Hope this continues to please!

SlightlyTookish:  I’m shivering, too!  This was such a frightening experience for our sweet hobbits.

smalldiver:  Frodo had such a different experience than the other hobbits did.  I can’t wait to give my ‘take’ on it (and hope other writers will give us their ideas, as well).

Spellings:  I can’t guarantee that this will be a long story (I never know until I write it), but I can guarantee that I have no intention on stopping writing fanfic.  I have more ideas than time to type them.  :)

T-Man:  Thanks, T-Man!  For months, the introduction to Chapter 1 was all I had of this story.  It’s a relief to finally be writing more,

Tathar:  I hope my explanations for all the goings-on in this part of the Tale continue to seem logical; it’s been fascinating coming up with them.

DISCLAIMER:  Of course. The characters don’t belong to me, I just get to think about them day and night.

___________________________

SPELLBOUND

Chapter 3 -- In the Barrow

No light penetrated the interior of the Great Barrow, but the wight needed none.  It reached unerringly into an inner pocket of Frodo’s weskit, seeking the object that burned with such power.  Its eager fingers touched... a ring.  The Ring.  How could this be?  Never before had such a thing come within the wight’s domain.  This was a matter beyond the fell creature’s experience.  It drew back from the One Ring and Frodo’s unconscious form, and considered.  The Dark Lord’s Ring of Power could not join the glittering heaps of gems and gold piled about the chamber.  It should not be handled at all... and perhaps its bearer should be left alone, as well.

The creature then studied the other three halflings and their garments.  They walked seemingly unarmed, without sword or bow; what manner of guardians were these?  Or perhaps their weaponry had been left with their mounts, now scattered and lost?  And where was any sign of rank or position?  The ancient ritual of sacrifice was more elaborate for nobility -- ceremony and song of greater length and complexity.  Did these three warrant such preparations?

The wight searched the minds of the halflings for clues.  All three were devoted to the safety of the fourth, but ah... the one lying farthest from the Ring-bearer was his sworn guardian, there could be no doubt.  Whatever power this one possessed to protect his Master lay hidden, but would be respected.  The others... yes.  The other two halflings were sons of ruling houses in their country, heirs to land and title.

All three, therefore, would be treated with high honor, the ritual played out as it would for any noble chieftain of men.

The wight returned its attention to Merry, and something it had sensed.  The ancient stories were known to this one, although incomplete and without detail.  Before death took him, he would learn much.

The creature touched Merry’s brow, allowing  him to dream.  Images, thoughts, emotions... in sleep, Merry lay helpless to resist the cascade of memories the wight had stolen from brave men who had fought their last battle on these downs.  He shuddered and moaned, his dreams vivid and terrifying.  Battle, hopeless despair... death...

“So it was, halfling,” the wight spoke out loud.  “So it shall ever be.  Even the most noble fall into darkness; none can escape.”  It turned from Merry and ghosted its fingers briefly over Pippin’s face.  “So young,” it murmured, “they fall in battle so young, so foolish.  Why do they fight?  The Dark Lord will prevail, in time.  In time, yes.”

Night deepened, the stars wheeling slowly overhead as the creature began its work -- deliberately and without haste -- long arms still the only aspect of itself embodied and solid.  It ripped the clothing from each of the three sleeping hobbits, then pulled the garments apart, searching for wealth or hidden gems.  Coins were found, several small knives, a curiously-shaped key from Merry’s pocket...  all were tossed in a corner, as were the shredded garments.  The wight brought out silken shirts  taken from past victims.  The cloth was ragged with age, but serviceable -- and large enough to be used as shrouds for these small ones.  It clothed Sam, Merry, and Pippin in ritual garb -- white, girdled with the finest gold chains.

Soon all was prepared save adornment of the three halflings.  Thin golden bands, once worn on the upper arms of great warriors, would serve as circlets on bright curls.  Rings of gold and silver, some sparkling with gems beyond price, were slid onto small, limp fingers.  Long swords of ancient lineage were placed between Merry, Pippin, and Sam, and shields decorated with emblems of the northern kingdom of Arnor were laid at their feet.  The wight then lay one long, glittering sword across their throats as a symbol of its dominion over their lives and their helplessness in the face of their deaths.

“I claim you.”  The wight intoned the ritual words it had spoken so many times before.  “This realm and all who enter it are mine.”

Frodo it left alone, save to cross the small hands over his breast as was done for chieftains who lay in death.  This one would be safeguarded for the Witch-king’s arrival -- untouched, and unspoiled.  He still lay unconscious -- pale, with breaths as deep and slow as his companions -- and the wight still felt no need to speak enchantment over him.  Should the Ring-bearer show signs of waking, a sleep spell could be easily and quickly woven, as it had been for his unwary guardians.  But even if allowed to regain consciousness, there was no escape.  The barrow was shut, and the wight did not perceive that this or any halfling had the power -- in strength or spell -- to move the massive stone guarding the entrance.

The wight surveyed the readied halflings, and cast its thoughts about the barrow and all it held.  Swords and glittering knives of great power hung on the earthen walls and leaned against treasure-laden chests.   The Men of Westernesse, foreseeing a need, had learned the craft of forging and enspelling weapons, several intended to be wielded against even the Witch-king himself.  But that chance had never come, and now the blades rested here, safeguarded against discovery and use.

With all else prepared, the wight found amusement in a sudden thought.  From a chest it drew forth a long knife which instantly began to glow and brighten.  Such weapons, with the ability to flare with light, were rare and precious.  They warned of fell creatures nearby -- blue for orcs, green for wights -- and had been crafted by ancient ones long gone. 

“You carry power still,” the creature murmured to the glowing sword it held.  “You would alert the halflings to my presence, but they will not wake again... and your warning they will never see.”  It lay the weapon between Frodo and Merry, and the chamber was cast in a pale, greenish light.

** TBC **

Alabrith Gaiamoon:  I think a toilet brush would make a formidable weapon!  I’ll hide one in the barrow in case it’s needed...

Andrea:  Thank you for the link.  John Howe’s art is fascinating.

aprilkat:  I’m so glad the “why’s” and “how’s” I’m coming up with seem believable.  This is one of the most mysterious events that befell the hobbits on the whole Quest, and it’s fascinating to try to decipher everything.

Aratlithiel:  That was one of the challenges of this fic -- how could there possibly be any suspense, when we all know how it will end?  I truly appreciate your kind words; they mean the world to me.

Breon Briarwood:  It’s so odd to be writing something “creepy”, Breon!  Wish I could toss a rubber duckie into that barrow somehow...

Budgielover:  You can probably imagine how difficult it was for me to start (and and immerse myself into) this type of story, Budgie... but I had so many questions of my own about this chapter of FOTR, I was just compelled to try to figure out the “why’s and “how’s”.  Thank you!

Connie B:  As you can see, I didn’t forget about Merry’s dream.  It was a very strange experience for him, that will be elaborated on further, later on.

cpsings4him:  It’s odd to swing from fluff to dark, but thank you so much for saying that they both seem to work!  I suspect I’ll be writing major fluff once this story is finished, to shake off all the creepies.

cuthalion:  Thank you, my friend.  Very much.

Dreamflower:  Eeek, I’m making people shiver!  It’s so fascinating to try to figure out this part of the Tale.

Elendiari22:  I suppose the wight could be seen to be pitiable, since it’s compelled to forever haunt deserted mounds and is only obeying orders.

elentari angel:  I’m so grateful that this eerie tale is finding an audience.  Thank you so much.

Elf Friend:  Thank you so much for the encouragement.  This part of the Tale has so many mysteries, and I wanted to take a crack at filling in the blanks.  I’m so happy you’re enjoying the story.

Elven Kitten:  As always, your enthusiasm is much appreciated.

GamgeeFest:  I don’t think I’ll ever think about fog in quite the same way again!

Gaya:  It’s chilling and scary to me, as well!  I’m glad we all know how it finally turns out.

girlofring:  I think the best explanation of why the wight wants Frodo was at the end of Chapter 1 -- the Witch-king had ordered that all objects of craft and power be held and guarded -- and Frodo was carrying something of great power.  The wight takes his duties very seriously, apparently.

illyria:  The key to getting into the mind of a wight, wraith, or other evil being is (for me) realizing that they probably see all people as disposable ‘objects’ -- to be ignored, used, or discarded.  It’s truly a chilling notion.

Inkling:  It’s fascinating to try to get into the “mind” of a Barrow-wight, and assign motivations for its actions.  And you are so right -- it has no idea what a “halfling” can do, does it?

Jeodo Brandybuck:  I’m writing scary and creepy!  But my goodness, those barrow-wights are awesomely chilling creatures.

Larner:  I’m so happy to hear that you can ‘see’ the fog, faces, etc., since I’ve never felt that I write descriptions that well.  Thank you so much.

Lily the Hobbit:  I feel “bound” by this story, as well!  I need to get us all to a satisfying resolution.

lindahoyland:  My “explanations” for these events are my own, and others will write these things differently (I hope!) -- but I’m so very glad that what I’m coming up with seems logical.  Thank you.

lovethosehobbits:  I’m glad there’s some ‘cool’ to balance out the ‘creepy’!

Maura Labingi:  It’s such a compliment when a reader knows exactly what’s going to happen -- but holds on for the ride anyway!

my-fool-of-a-took:  Thank you!  Although this chapter of FOTR doesn’t center on Pippin, I’m trying to make sure he isn’t ignored in this story.

Mysterious Jedi:  As you know, I have quite a soft spot for Aragorn-hobbit interactions, as well.  I don’t think there will be one in this story, however, since in FOTR Frodo told Gandalf in Rivendell that he hadn’t talked to anyone else about what happened in the barrow.

Pippinfan1988:  It is a hobbit ghost story!  And we know they all live to tell it, so that’s a comforting thought.

Pipwise Brandygin:  Those hobbitses truly need hugs about now, don’t they?  I’ll have to write a fluffy story for them next.

Quiet Infinity:  The next time a thick fog rolls in, I’m going to be a bit nervous, I think!  Thank you so much for loving this so much.

Sandy K:  Thanks so much, Sandy!

Scifirogue Kane:  More spookiness, at your service!

ShireElf:  Waits by computer, staring lifelessly...  Eeeps, I hope you’re still with us!  Must write faster...

Slightly Tookish:  It really creeps me out to get into the “mind” of a Barrow wight.  What a challenge.

smalldiver:  “I do hope that many more writers explore this part of the book” -- So do I!!!

Soledad:  I was also surprised to find so little fanfiction about the Barrow-downs.  It’s a challenge to delve into this part of the Tale.

Tathar:  I’m looking forward to tackling the part where Frodo awakens -- and the wight realizes that it has underestimated this particular halfling.

Parts of this chapter are taken directly from ‘Fog on the Barrow-downs’ from The Fellowship of the Ring, and ‘Flies and Spiders’ from The Hobbit.

DISCLAIMER:  Of course. The characters don’t belong to me, I just get to think about them day and night.

___________________________

SPELLBOUND

Chapter 4 -- Voices in the Dark

It was nearly dawn, and Goldberry lay wondering what had awakened her.  She quietly left the house and walked a bit in the garden, sensing something strange.  The River Daughter closed her eyes and reached out into the moist, heavy air.  Turning east, she felt the fog drifting... directed from its natural course, a plaything for something with no respect for nature... no respect for living things...

“Aye, my pretty lady, the mists bring their warning.  I’m off to find the hobbit lads, and cannot wait for morning.”

Goldberry was unsurprised to find Tom next to her, frowning in the direction of the downs.  But before she could speak, there was a commotion and sound of light hooves.  Tom’s horse, Fatty Lumpkin, trotted into view from where he had been grazing, followed by five riderless ponies.

*~*~*~*~*~*

All is lost...

Frodo opened his eyes, at first aware only of a feeling of dread.  The air about him was dark and musty.  He heard a low, ceaseless murmur, and felt cold stone beneath him.  His last conscious thought had been despair -- that their journey had ended in disaster.  He had been taken by a Barrow-wight, and was now imprisoned in the darkness.

“Was it truly so dark, Bilbo?”

“Frodo lad, I could scarce see my hand in front of my own eyes.”

Bilbo.  Frodo’s thoughts flew back, unbidden, to a far off time -- sitting in front of the hearth at Bag End, listening raptly to stories that made his uncle’s eyes sparkle and gleam.  The real stories, grim and serious, when he and Bilbo were alone, and his uncle wasn’t embellishing anything for his uppity relations or making his Adventure sound jolly for the children.

Just the thought of Bilbo made Frodo’s heart pound less frantically.  As he lay quietly, he became aware that the darkness was lifting.  A pale, green light filled the chamber, emanating from somewhere near him.  His realized that his hands were crossed upon his breast, and at first he dared not move anything other than his head.  Turning to the left, saw his friends.  Pale, still as death, Merry, Pippin, and Sam lay next to him, dressed in rags and adorned with jewels.  Were they dead?  But no... Frodo could see that they breathed slowly, deeply, as if in sleep.  Merry whimpered softly, caught in a nightmare from which he could not wake.  A long sword lay across the throats of his friends, swords hung on the walls... there were weapons everywhere.  Jewels, coins, glittering gold and silver were heaped and scattered wherever he looked, glittering coldly in the pale, green light.

The low murmur that filled his ears slowly resolved into words, words into song, song into incantation.

Cold be hand and heart and bone,
And cold be sleep under stone...

It went on and on, singing of despair and death; darkness without sun, misery without hope, endless thirst, endless cold...

Frodo held his breath, wondering if he was being turned to stone.  He felt something brush his mind, then withdraw.  The chanting stopped.

The Ringbearer has awakened, the wight realized, in time to witness the conclusion of the ritual.  It is fitting for this halfling to watch his guardians die before I cast him into sleep.  His heart will fall into darkness along with his thoughts, and then I will send out a message through the earth, and the Witch king will come for his prize.  Let death be the last thing he sees before awakening again -- as prisoner of the one he will serve for as long as He finds it amusing.  The One Ring will be returned to He who forged it, and the Dark Lord’s hand will extend a shadow that will blot out the very stars themselves.  The Dark Lord’s hand... Observe what one hand can do, small one.

The wight once again embodied itself, in the shape of a long arm and hand.  It crept slowly along the side passage and entered the large chamber, toward the stone where the Ringbearer and his friends lay.

Frodo, his ears attuned to even the smallest sound, heard behind his head a creaking and scraping sound.  Raising himself up slightly, he saw an arm inching forwards, the fingers reaching for the hilt of the sword that lay across Sam’s throat.

There’s no escape, Frodo thought wildly.  What can I do?  With a gasp, he realized that his own fingers were reaching for something -- the Ring in his pocket.  A vision came to him of freedom -- his friends dead and entombed forever, but he would see the sun again, feel cool grass under his feet.  He could put on the Ring, and the wight might miss him in the dark, as Gollum had missed Bilbo.  If there was a way into this barrow, there was surely a way out.  He could find it... escape... Gandalf would understand.  Bilbo would...

Bilbo would understand only one thing, Frodo thought grimly, and leaving his friends to die was not it.  He swiftly banished all thoughts of the Ring and reached instead for a small sword he had discovered by his side.  He got to his knees, then stooped low, trembling, but resolved to save his friends or die with them.  The groping fingers reached out toward Sam, and at that moment Frodo lunged forward, hacking at the arm.  The hand was severed, and Frodo fell on top of Merry just as the blade he held shattered, and the greenish light went out.  The barrow was plunged into darkness and a shrill scream echoed throughout the chamber.  Then there was a snarl of rage, and a growing malice that filled the air.

I’ve done my best, Frodo thought desperately.  What else can I...

Here am I, naughty little fly;
You are fat and lazy.
You cannot trap me, though you try,
In your cobwebs crazy.

Frodo could nearly hear Bilbo’s voice, singing to distract the spiders from making a meal of the dwarves.  How many times had he asked to hear the stories?  How had Bilbo found such courage, again and again?

“Can you imagine, Frodo, how enormous that dragon was?  How long was that tunnel, with just one scared hobbit all alone in the dark?”

“How could you go on, Bilbo?  I would have been frightened to death.”

“I think not,” Bilbo had said with a curious smile that Frodo had not understood at the time.  “You underestimate yourself, my boy.  If you ever find yourself alone in the dark, facing something no one else dares face... I think you might surprise yourself.”

“Bilbo,” Frodo whispered now, “what must I do?”

Old fat spider spinning in a tree!
Old fat spider can’t see me!

Such a silly rhyme... And then Frodo felt a sudden, wild hope, even as the smothering darkness begin to thicken around him.

"Ho!  Tom Bombadil, Tom Bombadillo!
By water, wood and hill, by the reed and willow,
By fire, sun and moon, harken now and hear us!
Come, Tom Bombadil, for our need is near us!"

And faintly, from far away through earth and stone, there was an answering voice.

** TBC **

Anso the Hobbit:  My goodness, what a compliment!  Many thanks, Anso.  (And I didn’t think too many folks would ‘get’ that the key was the Old Forest gate key.  Go you!)

aprilkat:  I can’t remember anyone ever referring to my writing as ‘stately’ before!  Thank you.

Ariel:  Thank you so much.  I’m trying very hard to do a good job on this story.

Auntiemeesh:  I’m so amazed at how folks can have four or five stories going at once -- two is more than enough for me

Breon Briarwood:  I can compare my bitten nails to yours!  Luckily, we’re finally getting to the more hopeful part of the story.

Claudia:  For me, the key to the wight’s POV (or the Witch-king’s, or maybe even Saruman or Sauron) is that they consider all people as ‘objects’ to be ignored, used, or discarded.  That’s about as chilling as it gets.

Clever Hobbit:  We’re coming out of the “chilly” part of the story, at last!

Connie B:  I’m not sure my story will go far enough to look at any long-term effects on Merry, but I’d sure love to read a story that does.  One of the things I love most about hobbits is their resilience in the face of truly unthinkable experiences.

cpsings4him:  One of the most interesting things about writing this was trying to see the hobbits as the wight might see them.  I doubt it has had much contact with people who weren’t ‘soldiers’.

cuthalion:  I never thought I could write anything ‘frightening’ -- I think it’s only possible because I know the hobbits will be all right!

Dreamflower:  “Why did Merry seem to have knowledge of the past? (And on that last one, I have a theory of my own.)”  Oooooh, write it!!!

easterlily41482:  Thank you so much.  You can imagine how many times I’ve read this chapter, doing research.

Elven Kitten:  That chapter always intrigued me with all the stuff that wasn’t explained.  I have no idea why I feel compelled to try to explain it, but I’m relieved my logic seems sound.

Gayalondiel:  No worries, Gaya!  Whatever I’ve ‘done’ to our hobbitses, courageous Frodo (and that Bombadil fellow) will set it to rights.  That’ll teach me.

Gentle Hobbit:  I like the way you say that --“slow, deliberate preparations and thoughts” -- and why not?  I suspect we’re seeing the only thoughts and activities a Barrow-wight ever experiences, and there would certainly be no reason to hurry.

girlofring:  What a lovely compliment.  Thank you.

Hai Took:  I’m glad you’re enjoying the story so much.  I haven’t written pure “book verse” for awhile, and it’s a fun challenge to figure all this out.

Illyria:  I love how you say that -- that the wight “tried to classify them, understand them in his own terms”... wonderful!  I’m so thrilled these details seem to make sense.

Inkling:  A “dutiful minion” is a great way to describe the wight.  It truly is trapped by its duty and rituals.

Iorhael:  It’s dreadful to imagine what would have happened if the hobbits hadn’t escaped from that barrow, isn’t it?  That’s not a story I’d ever write, though.

Larner:  Thank you so much.  Sting’s “mate” (glowing green instead of blue) seemed a reasonable explanation for the green light in the barrow, and why the light went out when the sword Frodo was using splintered.

Lily the Hobbit:  I’m sending you hugs for your speechless self!

lindahoyland: It’s been fascinating to weave all this together.  I’ve learned a lot!

Lindelea:  Thank you so much!  And I had to figure out some explanation for that greenish light.  What a relief that it all seems to be making sense.  I was trying to think all this through for a long time before I started writing.

little-old-me3:  I’m so glad you’re still enjoying this.  I like thinking that even a Barrow wight would sense that Sam is Frodo’s sworn guardian.

lovethosehobbits:  It is a stretch, tree!  But how exciting.

Meethrill:  Thank you!  What a challenge to try to explain the mysteries of this part of the Tale.

my-fool-of-a-took:  Who knew the wight had a perspective?  It’s been fun to try to find it.

Mysterious Jedi:  Sam is so worthy of respect; even a Barrow-wight can sense it!

Nilmandra:  That’s an interesting point about what Gandalf would have thought about all this when he heard about it.  What a close call for Middle-earth... and the hobbits.

Pipwise Brandygin:  Oooh, thank you for highlighting the parts you enjoyed.  That means a lot.  And you ‘got’ the part about the key!  I wasn’t sure too many folks would understand that little reference.

smalldiver:  The ‘green light’ for wights is entirely my invention -- I’m very proud of it!  I needed to come up with an explanation for the greenish light in the barrow when Frodo awoke, and why the light went out when the sword he was using splintered.

Tathar:  And finally Frodo awakens!  I’ve been eagerly waiting for this part myself, but that awful wight isn’t going to be too pleased.

tintinnabulation:  I never thought I’d be writing a fic that folks shouldn’t read late at night, or with the lights out, but I guess this qualifies!

Parts of this chapter are taken directly from ‘Fog on the Barrow-downs’ from The Fellowship of the Ring.

DISCLAIMER:  Of course. The characters don’t belong to me, I just get to think about them day and night.

___________________________

SPELLBOUND

Chapter 5 -- Out of Deep Water

There is a seed of courage hidden (often deeply, it is true) in the heart of the fattest and most timid hobbit, waiting for some final and desperate danger to make it grow.  Frodo was neither very fat nor very timid; indeed, though he did not know it, Bilbo (and Gandalf) had thought him the best hobbit in the Shire.  The Fellowship of the Ring, ‘Fog on the Barrow-downs’

*~*~*~*~*

An incantation not its own filled the Barrow, followed by a fierce light.  Ever shrouded in darkness -- of earth or barrow, fog or mist -- the sudden, blazing light of the hated sun was agonizing.

Get out, you old Wight!  Vanish in the sunlight!
Shrivel like the cold mist, like the winds go wailing,
Out into the barren lands far beyond the mountains!
Come never here again!  Leave your barrow empty!
Lost and forgotten be, darker than the darkness,
Where gates stand for ever shut, till the world is mended.

The wight screamed as it began to weaken, its very essence being unmade as its hold on consciousness thinned and shredded.  The fell hand twitched convulsively, blinded by light and a force beyond its understanding.  The Barrow itself seemed to groan under the weight of Tom’s simple words, spoken with a power more ancient than ancient.

As part of the Barrow behind Frodo caved in with a crash, Tom stepped into the cold chamber.  The hobbit, blinking in the light from the rising sun that now flooded the Barrow, stood over his enspelled friends -- the hilt of an ancient dagger in his hands.  In an instant, Tom guessed most of what had happened here, and his respect for the Ring-bearer’s strength and courage grew even stronger than it had been before.

Shaking, Frodo let the weapon drop and fell to his knees, throwing the long sword away from his friends’ throats.

“Thank you,” he whispered to Tom, somewhat in shock at what had nearly occurred.  “Will they awaken?”

Tom saw that Frodo needed something to warm his limbs and redirect his thoughts.  “Come, friend Frodo!” he said briskly.  “Let us get out on to clean grass!  You must help me bear them.  I will call them back from sleep, but you must be near them.”

“Merry first,” Frodo insisted.  “He needs to be out of this place.”

Tom nodded, and he stooped to grasp Merry under the shoulders.  Frodo took his cousin’s legs, and together they bore him out of the Barrow and out into the sunlight.  They did the same for Sam, then Pippin.

“Back there,” Frodo said, pointing to the entrance.  “I saw---”

Tom nodded.  He, too, had seen the fell hand, groping blindly forward.  “Stay with them,” he said simply, and disappeared into the Barrow.  Frodo heard a great stomping and stamping, then Tom reappeared, his arms laden with glittering treasure.  Tom climbed to the top of the Great Barrow and spread the gems, weapons, and ornaments upon the grass.  Then he gazed into the quickly-rising sun, the clean wind in his hair.

Frodo touched Merry’s face, relieved to see that his cousin no longer seemed caught in a nightmare; he now lay in the same peaceful sleep as the others.  Why did I wake, Frodo wondered, and what would have happened had I not?  Just then, a clear, commanding voice cut through his thoughts.

Wake now, my merry lads!  Wake and hear my calling!
Warm now be heart and limb!  The cold stone is fallen;
Dark door is standing wide; dead hand is broken.
Night under Night is flown, and the Gate is open!

Pippin yawned and stretched, as did Merry and Sam, and to Frodo’s joy, they opened their eyes.  Almost as one, the three hobbits leaped to their feet, trying to comprehend where they were, and what had happened.

“It’s morning!” Sam gasped in amazement.  He stared at the way Merry and Pippin were dressed, then suddenly realized that he was wearing the same strange, ragged cloth, girdled with golden chains.  To his relief, his master stood before them, no longer lost and apparently unharmed.  “Mr. Frodo, are you all right?  How did you find us?”

Pippin was gazing in astonishment at the opened Barrow, completely confused.  His last memory had been sitting in the grass, looking up at the stars and wondering where Frodo had got to, then feeling drowsy...

“Merry!” Frodo cried, catching his cousin’s arm as Merry suddenly paled, his knees starting to buckle beneath him.

“I remember,” Merry whispered, a cold, dark memory assailing him.  “The men of Carn Dûm came on us at night, and we were worsted.  A spear... in my heart!”  He moaned and clutched at his chest, his breaths coming in harsh gasps.

“Who?” Pippin asked, puzzled.

“Merry, you were dreaming,” Frodo said urgently, wrapping his arms around his shaking cousin.

“Just a dream?” Merry murmured.  “I thought... I thought I was...”  He looked into Frodo’s clear, anxious eyes.  “Where were you, Frodo?  We looked and looked.”

“That’s what I want to know.  And what does ‘worsted’ mean?” Pippin persisted.

“Overcome,” Frodo explained softly, his eyes never leaving Merry’s face.  “Merry, everything’s all right.  Tom found us.  We need to think of what we are to do now.  We need to go on.”

He gives me all credit for their rescue, Tom thought, hearing Frodo’s words.  Humility rules his heart; he speaks not even to his friends of his brave deeds in the dark.  Or of the struggle with the Ring that I sense he fought and won.  He will do well, and find friends and aid, in unexpected paths beneath the sun.

“Dressed up like this, sir?” asked Sam.  “Where are our clothes?”  The three hobbits pulled off the jewels, belts, and ornaments, then looked about them.  Pippin started back inside the Barrow, but Tom’s booming voice stopped him.

“You won’t find your clothes again,” Tom laughed, leaping down from the top of the mound.  He had seen what was left of the hobbits’ garments, scattered about the chamber and shredded almost beyond recognition.  “But what of it?  You’ve found yourselves again, out of the deep water.  Cast off these cold rags, and let the sunlight warm you.  Run naked on the grass, while Tom goes a-hunting!” He sprang away down the hill, whistling and calling.

“Deep water,” Merry murmured to himself, flinging away the circlet on his head.  Yes.  He had heard the mocking laughter of the enemy, felt the spear pierce his breast, his sight fading, the cold, dark waters drowning him...

“Merry,” Frodo said quietly, still holding onto him, “it wasn’t real.”

Merry nodded and, taking a deep breath, forced away the cold, lingering presence of his nightmare.  He turned his back on the Barrow, but saw that Pippin’s attention was still drawn toward the gaping entrance and what lay within the chamber.  Tom is right, he thought.  We need to get away from this loathesome Barrow.

Throwing off the foul cloth covering him, Merry smiled at Pippin and Frodo.  “Race you to the edge of the hill, you lazy Took and Baggins!  You too, Sam Gamgee!”

Instantly diverted, Pippin pulled off his white rags, the gleam of competition in his eyes.

“Well, Sam?” Frodo asked with a grin, “are you going to defend the Gamgee name?”

The bright morning sun had begun to warm Sam’s limbs and heart, and the smell and feel of the foul rags covering him was suddenly almost too much to bear.  He ripped them away in disgust.

“Eldest gets a headstart!” Frodo cried out, and raced off -- his three companions close at his heels.

** TBC **

Andrea:  The wight is pure evil, as I understand evil -- he sees his victims as ‘things’ to be dispatched, and not as ‘people’ to be understood or communicated with.  And whew! I was terrified to try to write Tom Bombadil’s speech.  I’m relieved it sounds plausible.

Anso the Hobbit:  Bilbo is a fascinating character, and truly one of the most amazing hobbits who ever lived.  Frodo’s life was influenced greatly by him.

aprilkat:  I think Bilbo had an enormous influence on Frodo -- possibly the greatest influence of anyone in his life.  It’s fascinating to try to see the threads that weave throughout the entire LOTR tale.

Armariel:  I’m honored that this seems suspenseful, even though I’m following the book!  It’s fascinating to delve more deeply into possible reasons behind these unusual events.

Auntiemeesh:  It took me awhile to come up with a plausible reason for the wight to only manifest one hand; what a relief that it seemed logical.  And thank you so much for highlighting passages you particularly liked.

Azaelia:  Thank you so much.  At last we’re into the lighter, brighter parts of the story, and you can get some sleep!

Breon Briarwood:  Free at last, Breon!

Connie B:  You’re right -- even after the rescue, there are things to be explored and explained.  I hope I do a good job!

cpsings4him:  It was agony writing those dark, despairing chapters before I could get to the more hopeful parts.  Whew!

cuthalion:  It’s such a pleasure to finally get this story back into the sunshine and free of the confining barrow!  But what a fascinating exploration this has been.

Dreamflower:  Good old Bilbo, indeed.  Frodo’s entire life and destiny were shaped by that wonderful old hobbit.

eiluj:  I have the strangest compulsion to find explanations for things... and this book chapter really caught my attention.  I’m so happy you feel that what I’m coming up with is logical.

Elven Kitten:  The chapter of the book was so odd, I felt compelled to investigate it more thoroughly!

Elwen:  I find Goldberry as difficult to know and understand as anyone in the Trilogy.  Maybe someday I’ll do some serious thinking about what part she played in the larger picture...

Gentle Hobbit:  I, too, see Bilbo’s stories as a form of “training” for Frodo, especially since Bilbo trusted Frodo enough to tell him the truth about everything, and keep no secrets.  It’s as if he thought that Frodo would need to know the stories... as much as he would someday need mithril and Sting.

Inkling:  “time and again Tolkien showed this solitary courage “alone in the dark,” even while gripped by cold-blooded fear, as the more difficult and greater form of heroism.”  I love how you say that!  What a perceptive way to look at the courage of our beloved characters, especially Frodo.

Julia:  I never dreamed I’d write anything that gave anyone shivers, but for this particular story, I appreciate the compliment!

Larner:  Many thanks.  I didn’t originally plan to bring The Hobbit into this story, but everything seems to be interwoven when we get to the heart of things.

Lily the Hobbit:  Frodo’s courage is beyond description; he is truly amazing.  What a pity the Shire didn’t see him for what he truly was.

lndahoyland:  Thank you.  This was such a terrifying ordeal for Frodo, which he faced with true spirit and courage.

lovethosehobbits:  I never cared for Tom Bombadil either, and really couldn’t imagine why he was in FOTR at all.  It’s been fascinating trying to weave him into this story and see him in different ways.

my-fool-of-a-took:  Goldberry is such a mysterious character.  I think she and Tom make an interesting couple, with each having ‘magic’ that is very unusual.

Mysterious Jedi:  Prof. Tolkien described the three hobbits as being clad in “thin white rags”, so I went with it!  I suppose that the fabric the wight had to work with would have been quite old.  Interesting to think of possible symbolism, though...

pebbles66:  Thank you, pebbles!

Scifirogue Kane:  And Tom to the rescue!

SlightlyTookish:  I found it fascinating, in FOTR, that Bilbo had told Frodo everything about his adventures, and the Ring, and that there were no secrets between them.  Bless that old hobbit!

smalldiver:  Thank you!  I had to figure out some reason for the green light, and why it went out, and I’m relieved that my explanations seem logical.

smaugs mommy:  I never thought I’d be trying to write Tom Bombadil; he’s as much of a challenge to me as the Barrow-wight!

Parts of this chapter are taken directly from ‘Fog on the Barrow-downs’ from The Fellowship of the Ring.

DISCLAIMER:  Of course. The characters don’t belong to me, I just get to think about them day and night.

___________________________

SPELLBOUND

Chapter 6 -- Behold the King

But before all went Aragorn with the Flame of the West, Anduril like a new fire kindled, Narsil re-forged as deadly as of old; and upon his brow was the Star of Elendil.  The Return of the King, ‘The Battle of the Pelennor Fields’

Of all the sounds to echo through the Barrow-downs over the years -- grief and despair, fear or defiance -- surely this was the strangest.  Tom appeared over the crest of the hill, leading the hobbits’ five ponies and his own -- and smiled as he was enveloped in laughter.  The hobbits lay in the soft grass, talking quietly and sharing jests, and their resilience warmed his heart.  As he approached, his shrewd eyes saw that no gems or gold had been gathered by the hobbits, nor had they apparently even approached the pile of glittering treasure atop the Barrow.  Greed did not rule them, and he recognized anew that the Ringbearer was accompanied by worthy companions.

The hobbits greeted Tom joyfully; they had feared they would never find their ponies, and marveled that their gear had been returned to them.  The unexpected news that Tom planned to ride with them to the Road delighted them, and they thanked him many times.

“I’m starving,” Pippin declared.  “We haven’t eaten since luncheon yesterday!”

“We’re fortunate to be eating again at all,” Frodo said.  Seeing Pippin look back soberly at the gaping Barrow, Frodo laughed and pushed his young cousin toward his pony.  “Get dressed,” he advised, “and we’ll see what food is left.”

Pippin pulled a spare shirt and extra breeches out of his pack -- heavy woolens, thick and well made.  Sam and Merry were likewise forced to don the spare clothes they had packed against the crisper days that would soon be upon them, and the three hobbits soon felt too warm as the sun rose higher in the sky.

“Come, eat with us,” Frodo urged Tom as he took provisions from the saddlebags.  “It is the least we can offer for all you’ve done for us.”

Tom had brought bread, cheese, and sweet fruits with him, and -- added to the hobbits’ remaining provisions -- the five had a merry meal.  While the hobbits were still eating, he climbed back atop the mound and surveyed the weapons, priceless jewels, and gold that he had placed there, “free to all finders, birds, beasts, Elves, or Men, and all kindly creatures” -- for so the spell of the mound should be broken and scattered, and no wight return to it.  One beautiful and ancient brooch he took, for his lady, but nothing for himself.

When Tom returned, the hobbits were startled when their friend knelt before them, four leaf-shaped daggers in his hands.  They were beautiful -- light and strong, and set with fiery gems -- and seemingly untouched by time.  Pulled from their black sheaths, they were sharp and glittered in the sun, and Frodo and Sam looked at one another uneasily.  Fighting -- especially with blade or bow -- had not occurred to any of them until this moment.  But Pippin felt quite adult with a weapon at his side, and Merry took his dagger -- long enough for a hobbit’s sword -- with grim face, his dream still clear in his mind.

As Tom spoke to the hobbits of the blades that now hung on their belts under their jackets, and the Men who had forged them, he realized that all four had ceased to hear him.  They were staring, spellbound, at something over his shoulder that only they could see.

“Do you see that?” Sam asked, wonderstruck, and his companions nodded wordlessly.

At last they set off.  They led their ponies down the hill; and then mounting they trotted quickly along the valley.  The looked back and saw the top of the old mound on the hill, and from it the sunlight on the gold went up like a yellow flame.  Then they turned a shoulder of the Downs and it was hidden from view.

*~*~*~*~*

Mid-year’s Day, S.R. 1419

The wedding banquet was well underway when King Elessar approached the table where the hobbits sat, laughing and feasting.  The four friends raised their goblets in salute as the King approached.

“To your health, Strider!” Pippin declared.

“Thank you,” Aragorn smiled.  “And now, my friends, you must satisfy my curiosity.  I noticed, just before the ceremony, that several of you were pointing at me, and whispering together.  May I ask what drew your attention so raptly?”

“That,” Merry replied, motioning to the diamond Aragorn wore at his brow.  “We’ve seen it before.  You were wearing... I mean, it didn’t look like you, exactly, but it could have been you.  Or someone who---”

“What he’s trying to say is, all four of us saw something of a... vision, back before we met you in Bree,” Frodo explained.  “It was at the Barrow, where we got our swords.  Tom Bombadil was telling us about the Men of Westernesse, and---”

”Aye, it was strange,” Sam agreed.  “There was a line of Men... ever so many, Strider.  And the last wore a star, just as you do now.”

“Did he?” Aragorn asked softly.  He knelt and looked at the hobbits, each in turn.  “You didn’t happen to see any further, did you?  Children, perhaps, to carry on the line?”

“No,” Pippin said.  “But of course there will be children!”  He blushed suddenly.

“I hope you are correct,” Aragorn laughed.  “And someday perhaps they will meet the brave hobbits who helped win peace for the West.”

“Will you name them after us?” Pippin asked.

“Good heavens, Pip, of course he won’t,” Merry declared, horrified.

“Meriadoc Telcontar,” Aragorn mused.

“Don’t you dare burden a helpless child with such a name,” Merry groaned.  “Promise?”

“If you insist, we will choose something else.”  Aragorn smiled and rose to his feet, bowing slightly.  “I must return to my queen.  Enjoy the feast, my friends; we will speak again tomorrow.”

Frodo watched Aragorn walk back to where Arwen sat with her father and brothers.

“Sons of forgotten kings walking in loneliness,” he murmured.  “Remember what Tom said?  He was talking about the Rangers, but we didn’t know what he meant at the time.”

“Strider won’t be lonely any longer,” Merry said with satisfaction.

“Do you suppose Tom knows all that’s happened?” Sam asked.

“Yes,” Frodo replied softly, “I have no doubt of it.  He knew then, Sam.  When he gave us the swords, he said we might go walking ‘far away into dark and danger’.

“And that’s just what we did,” Sam marveled.

“And soon we’ll be able to tell Cousin Bilbo all about it,” Pippin grinned at Frodo.  “And wait until old Butterbur finds out who the king is!  He won’t believe it!”

A sudden burst of laughter from the hobbits’ table brought smiles to all who heard it.  And the King’s joy shone as brightly as the gem he wore, as he drank a silent toast to his friends.

** END **

Andrea:  Frodo, as the elder cousin, would naturally fall into a ‘protector’ role with Merry, I think.

aprilkat:  When I started this story, I never thought about what Tom might be thinking about!  It’s been fascinating to try to get into his head.

Ariel:  I find the vague and mysterious characters (Tom, Celeborn, Goldberry, and others) the most tantalizing!

Auntiemeesh:  I’m honored to be weaving any threads within the Professor’s tapestry, and thrilled that they don’t seem to clash with his pattern.  What a compliment.

Connie B.:  One of the themes I tried to bring out in “Mind to Mind” (especially in chapters 8-10), was how the hobbits had unique abilities (including Merry).  I’d love to see other authors  further explore these things at which Prof. Tolkien only hinted.

cpsings4him:  You rascal.  But it’s my hope (as always) that others will write about these scenes as they interpret them, with different explanations and points of view.

cuthalion:  I love writing “strong and loving Frodo”!

Dreamflower:  Thank you so much!  I love “filling in the corners” of the Professor’s amazing world.

Elven Kitten:  Thank you!

Elwen:  Writing Tom Bombadil is nearly as difficult as writing Barrow wights!  If he’s as old as Elrond says he is, he must have great wisdom and perception.

Eruanna:  I think Merry endured (emotionally) more than a lot of authors give him credit for.  He spent a lot of the Quest alone (in Rohan, and in Minas Tirith), and had a lot of time to think and reflect on things that the others didn’t.

Gentle Hobbit:  “Only you can turn lingering horror into instant fluff and hobbity challenges and races on the grass.”  May it always be so!  :D

Illyria:  I couldn’t imagine hobbits being downhearted for long, even after such a harrowing experience.  They really have quite a bit in common with seemingly-carefree Tom Bombadil -- more than I even realized before I started writing this.

Larner:  Thank you.  I wasn’t sure what would come of my attempts to “fill in the gaps” for this chapter of the Tale, but it’s been fascinating (and challenging).

Lily the Hobbit:  One of the things I most love to write about is seeing Frodo through the eyes and perceptions of others -- especially those who respect and honor him.

lindahoyland:  I’ve been looking forward to writing about that ‘vision of the true King’!

lovethosehobbits:  I had to do a bit of thinking about Tom, and whether his thoughts were as (seemingly) lighthearted as his words.  Others will write him differently, but I like to think that there’s more to him -- and all these characters -- than meets the eye.

Pearl Took:  Thank you, my friend!  (And I ADORE my new wallpaper.)

Pipwise Brandygin:  I wasn’t sure how to approach Tom in this story (or any story!), and am quite relieved that he seems to be coming across well.  What a truly enigmatic and mysterious figure he is.

Scifirogue Kane:  I never used to love Tom, but he’s starting to grow on me.

SlightlyTookish:  Frodo spent most of his journey in a humble manner, deflecting praise and seemingly unaware of his own strength and worth.  What a joy to show it through the eyes of other characters (like Tom).  And Pippin going back inside the Barrow -- there’s a plot bunny for someone!

smalldiver:  I’m always relieved when a fic emerges from darkness back into the sunshine!

Tathar:  We need more Frodo-praise!  Much more!  What could be better?

tiggi:  Tiggi!  (waves hello)  It’s so challenging to try to bring this part of the Tale to life; I’ve really worked hard on this story.