Chapter 3 - Movements

It was Pippin who awoke first; as always, his desire for food taking priority over his need for sleep. A fog had closed in around the sleeping hobbits sometime during the night, and now the air was damp and chill. Pippin moved to examine the contents of his pack and noted uncomfortably the way in which his clothes clung to his frame, and the beads of dew which seemed to sparkle, unheld, over his skin. It would be a cold, hard day, there was no mistaking that, and Pippin regretted that in their haste to leave he had not had time to pack a further, warmer cloak.

The three older hobbits awoke a short time later, and they sat silently and ate a meagre breakfast together before starting their walk for the day. The early walking start was an unpopular choice, but once Frodo pointed out that the earlier they started, the further they would go and the sooner they would get to Bree, there was little grumbling. Frodo, for one, was eager to leave the forest and taste fresh air again, for cloaked riders or no, there was a strong sense of dread and foreboding in the shelter of the trees, and Frodo did not wish to remain in there much longer to feel the forest's wrath.

"It cannot be much further!" exclaimed Pippin, taking another heavy step in the direction of the other hobbits. The four were growing increasingly weary, their moods affected no doubt by the atmosphere in the forest.

"Cheer up, cousin!" said Merry, placing his hand on Pippin's shoulder.

"But it's so dark here, and cold too.... and I'm hungry, Merry!"

"If you eat any more today, Pippin, you will end up bigger than these trees." Frodo laughed at his own attempt at a joke, and slowed down to walk next to his cousin, thankful of the broad path they were following for more than one reason. "I have another song you might like to hear, if that would distract you for a while."

Pippin nodded and Frodo sang, the lulling melody casting a feeling of calm over the walkers.

"Though far from home with long to go

They travelled on through leaf and gloam.

Hard did they walk and run and roam,

Far out into the world below.

The hobbits four, they wandered near

A village hidden by the clouds

An inn there was, they heard the sounds,

The clink of ale, the smells so dear.

The inn refreshed them but they learned

A tale to chill their hearts and ears,

A wooded grove of ancient years -

That takes folks' souls and leaves them burned.

As night drew close the air turned cold

And blindly did the trav'lers go

But forest trees just seemed to grow

Around them as the dark grew old.

The... the... trees..."

"I'm afraid I don't remember the rest," Frodo said as he stumbled over the first lines of the next verse.

"But what happened to the travellers?" said Pippin, eager to discover their fate.

"I wish I knew," Frodo replied. In truth, he did remember the final stanzas of the song, but he felt loath to admit that to his companions. The end that the travellers came to was not one that he felt he should tell to his friends when they themselves were in such a similar predicament, and he was now feeling sorry that he had even begun the tale.

"Perhaps you should make one up, Master Pippin," said Sam, moving forward to level with Frodo, who smiled gratefully at the fair haired hobbit.

"Rightly, Mr Frodo, I remember that tale, it bein' one of Mr Bilbo's an' all," whispered Sam to Frodo, "An' I think you did the right thing, forgettin' it around the youngun'"

Frodo could not help but chuckle at Sam's propensity to refer to Pippin as "the youngun'", and Sam looked at him strangely for it.

"I've got it!" Pippin announced proudly, as the four hobbits leant against the base of a particularly large tree to take a short rest.

"What, Pippin?" said Merry.

"The end of the song, silly!" said Pippin, pushing Merry gently.

Frodo, Sam and Merry looked expectantly at Pippin in between concentrating on not spilling water as they gulped it from the skins they carried.

"The trees they tried to harm the four,

As penance for the deeds of past,

But against brave hobbits could not last,

And fell like leaves upon the floor.

The hobbits cheered for winning the day,

And walked with laughter to the sun,

The fields of gold, where they could run,

And chase the darkness far away."

Pippin ended the poem with a small bow and took up his place once again against the three.

"That was very well done, my Pippin, but you should not talk of trees that way in a forest such as this."

A heavy silence seemed to fill the air as Merry's voice trailed off, and he turned to face Frodo and Sam, wary of the sudden mood change of the forest. They were slumped against the gnarled roots of the ancient tree, their faces peaceful in slumber.

"Merry!" Pippin cried in alarm, and Merry turned back to see his cousin entwined in strong roots that had moved themselves silently to a position of attack.

"Help me, Merry! It hurts..." Pippin whimpered, as the snakelike roots squeezed his limbs tight and Merry had a sudden vision of the tree breaking Pippin's arms and legs as easily as he could snap a slight twig.

Without taking more than half a second to think of the dangers he might be putting himself in, Merry shook his head to rid himself of the horror, and then leapt up, grasping the tree roots that were quickly taking a hold of Pippin's torso and neck. The bark was rough, and Merry's small hands struggled to grip the thick roots enough to pull them free of his cousin. Desperately, he stood back from the lethal tree and searched his pockets in hope of finding something that would help him. Matches would be useless in the damp conditions, and Merry knew better than to start a fire in a forest, but a knife would be just what he needed.

"A knife!" Merry said out loud, remembering the sharp knife Sam carried for cooking. Hope shining in his eyes, he rooted in the pack that lay at the sleeping hobbit's feet.

Moments later, Merry had procured the knife and stood poised to brandish it and draw the roots away from his cousin. Pippin had fallen silent sometime in those long minutes, and Merry knew that he was running out of time.

One hack: the roots drew tighter about the limp form.

Two hacks: Merry managed to chip off a piece of bark, and the tree lessened its grip on Pippin somewhat.

Three hacks: an almighty roar sounded from somewhere within the tree and Pippin was released; thrown, like a young hobbit would toss a ball, into the clearing.

Merry dropped the knife and turned to run to his now conscious but dazed cousin, but the tree, of a kind that none of the hobbits could easily name, focused its wrath now on its attacker and lashed its mobile roots out and around the hobbit's legs.

Ooof. Merry was pulled to the ground and then raised into the air, dangling by his ankles. Had the situation been less perilous, it would have been a sight to see, but that thought only appeared briefly in Frodo's mind as he looked blearily at the scene he was presented with as the enchanted sleep ended abruptly.

He stood up as quickly as he could, trying to shake off the odd heaviness that resided in his protesting limbs, and woke Sam with an urgent push. They would have to hack at the wayward roots, much as Merry had done, and hope to Elbereth that the tree released him gently and did not go on to do further damage to the hobbits.

"Mr Frodo?" Sam asked hazily, before seeing the desperate scene laid out before him and springing to his feet.

"We have to save Merry," Frodo said grimly, bending down and picking up the discarded knife. "Ready?"