The story which developed from the following thread:
https://www.alternatehistory.com/discussion/showthread.php?t=278497
Part 1 – An Unexpected Journey
When he came to himself again, for a moment he could recall nothing except a sense of dread. Then suddenly he knew that he was imprisoned, caught hopelessly, he was in a barrow. As he lay there, thinking and getting a hold of himself, he noticed all at once that the darkness was slowly giving way; a pale greenish light was growing round him. He turned, and there in the cold glow he saw lying beside him Sam, Pippin, and Merry.
Suddenly a song began: a cold murmur, rising and falling. The voice seemed far away and immeasurably dreary, sometimes high in the air and thin, sometimes like a low moan from the ground. Frodo was chilled to the marrow. After a while the song became clearer, and with dread in his heart he perceived that it had changed into an incantation.
All at once back into his mind, from which it had disappeared with the first coming of the fog, came the memory of the house down under the Hill, and of Tom singing. He remembered the rhyme that Tom had taught them. In a small desperate voice he began: Ho! Tom Bombadil! and with that name his voice seemed to grow strong: it had a full and lively sound, and the dark chamber echoed as if to drum and trumpet.
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!
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“Cerebro certainly sent us to the middle of nowhere.”
“Kansas is not the middle of nowhere Rogue.”
“Well you grew up on the savannahs of Africa. Pretty much the same things as here Storm. So you are clearly prejudiced. What do you think Kitty.”
“I’m on my first recruiting mission, I’m not saying anything that will make Jean or Storm think twice about asking me again.”
“Coward!”
“I’d say ‘tactically smart’ Rogue. Now everybody tidy up, I think this is the driveway to the Trask family farm. And best behavior young ladies.”
“Yes Jean.” “Yes Jean.”
Two minutes later the rental car pulled to a stop in front of a large farm house flanked by two silos on the left and two silos on the right. Two female adults and two female adolescents from the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters stepped out, proceeded up the walk and rang the doorbell.
“Getting anything Jean?”
“Not really. A teenage girl, our candidate. One man, a bit anxious, a good job repressing it. Pretty normal if the daughter you’ve raised and love has started demonstrating unexplainable, mutant powers over the last couple of weeks. Why? Something about this bothering you?”
“I don’t know ... feels off somehow. Well, let’s get to it.”
The front door of the farm house opened to reveal a familiar looking middle aged man in an expensive suit looking at them through the glass of the storm door.
“Hello Mr. Trask, I’m Dr. Grey of the Xavier … wait. Excuse me. Aren’t you industrialist Bolivar Trask?”
“Yes, yes I am. And you are mutants. Dead mutants.” The man pressed something in his hand and the four silos on the property exploded to reveal the four sentinels hidden inside.
“Escape plan Bravo,” yelled Storm as Jean raised a telekinetic umbrella to protect them from the flying shrapnel of the silos.
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Goldberry was in the middle of a delightful two hour long song when Tom felt the vibrations of Frodo’s song through the quantum aether. The innocence, love of life, and appreciation for Goldberry displayed by his hobbit visitors had deeply touched Tom during their brief stay. When he’d given poor, doomed Frodo his audio key he fully intended to honor any trivial request for aid. But how could he leave Goldberry in the middle of this sublime recitation? It would be a crime against beauty.
Tom quickly hummed a tune on a low hertz based harmonic pitched to a higher range energy plane. The oscillations of Tom’s quantum level fishing trip were lower than Goldberry’s perception point. Her song continued uninterrupted. To return to full concentration on beauty, Tom satisfied himself with the first likely encounter in the flux, and altered the tune appropriately to create a one way micro-facture between realities. Tom smiled, then all thoughts of hobbits emptied from the Bombadil consciousness.
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“Kitty, don’t touch me!! You’re making me phase into the ground.”
“I’m not touching you Rogue. I’m way over here.”
Rogue stared at her arm, and saw a spectrum of light swirling through it. “Storm!?!?!” Rogue yelled very nervously.
“Not now child, occupied.” And another lightning bolt erupted from the heavens on to a sentinel.
“But I’m … I mean, we’re all ... evaporating!!!” She yelled.
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After a long slow moment he heard a high pitched shriek, but far away, as if it was coming down through the ground or through the thick walls. Then a voice: Storm!!!! There was a loud rumbling sound, as of stones rolling and falling, and suddenly light streamed in arcing throughout the chamber like a lightning bolt. Then disappearing, all returned to black, but quickly followed by voices.
“What the hell? Did they trap us in something?”
“I’ll hyper excite some air molecules. That should give us some light in just a fewwww ... seconds. There we go.”
“Looks like a mausoleum.”
As the light fell upon Frodo, his courage awakened in him again, and in a trembling whisper of a voice he asked, “Did Tom send you?”
“Holy crap, a midget.”
“Shush child. Hello little friend. Do you know where we are?”
Frodo gazed around at all four big persons now in the barrow, particularly at the woman talking to him. Her skin was ebony and her hair pure driven snow. That almost, but not quite, made him forget the globe of light hovering in the air in front of the red headed one.
“This is the den of a wight. It magicked me and my friends into a stupor and dragged us to its lair.”
“What’s a wight?”
“Thethethe … that” Frodo moaned as he pointed past the big persons and down the tunnel.
The women swiveled and saw a corpse like figure in a suit of chain mail shuffling toward them.
“Zombie!!!!” shrieked Kitty.
“Bolt?”
“Too enclosed.”
“Ok”, responded Jean and she split her concentration to maintain the light and also throw a telekinetic wall at the approaching monstrosity.
The Barrow wight slowed a bit, but kept coming forward.
“Can’t stop him. Something slippery about him. My TK just seems to flow around him.”
“Plan B” shouted Rogue. And she stooped to grab two daggers laying on the ground near the Halflings, and then tossed them to Storm. Storm turned at Rogue’s words, then snatched the daggers out of the air. Whirling back, she threw one straight into the chest of the creature.
There was a shriek, and the Wight started backing up, snarling as it groped at the dagger, slowly pulling it out of its decayed flesh.
“It appears to feel pain, Jean. If you can’t hit it directly with your TK, maybe you can pull a Darth on Luke in the Cloud City.”
“Sounds good,” responded Jean. Frodo saw a helmet, a dagger, and several large rocks lift off the floor of the barrow and whip down the tunnel at the Wight, pummeling it. Within a minute, the undead creature was a mass of ruptured flesh and rendered bones, laying unmoving on the tunnel floor.
The flying items dropped to the ground as Jean slumped to the floor. Kitty knelt next to Jean to keep her propped up.
“Nice work Jean. Splitting your concentration on that many things must have been tough.” Storm, turned to Frodo. “Little friend, do you know which way is out of here?”
“N..n..n..no.”
“That’s all right. We’ll get out of here. Rogue, keep watch on that … thing. I don’t want to be surprised. Kitty, help Jean lean against the wall, then go looking for the shortest way out of here. I’ll take a look at our friend here’s companions. If that’s ok with you, ….?”
“Frodo. My name is Frodo. And these are my friends Sam, Pippin, and Mer.” Frodo’s voice cut off abruptly as he saw Kitty walk into the tunnel wall and disappear.
As Storm knelt down to begin examining the three immobile hobbits, she said, “My name is Ororo, but people call me Storm. The young lady who just disappeared is Kitty. That one keeping an eye on our ghoulish pal is named Anna, but everyone calls her Rogue. And the tired one keeping this dungeon lit is Jean. We are … a bit special.”
“You’re like Gandalf. You’re wizards.”
“Wizards? Not quite. But I suppose that may be as good a definition as any.”
“We were on our way to Rivendell to meet Gandalf, when this Barrow wight ensorcelled us. How are my friends?”
“Alive. But they don’t seem to want to wake up.”
Kitty came back through a wall a bit down the tunnel and walked back toward the group. “I found a boulder that looks like it is designed to pivot. I gave it a shove, but no budging. We’ll need a TK punch from Jean to move it. It’s a sunny autumn morning outside. Lots of rolling hills and grass.”
“Jean?”
“I think I’m up for that. Then maybe I roll a large rock on to that thing to make sure he never goes anywhere again.”
“Smart. I think I’ll want to sleep soundly tonight ... after I get done wondering where the hell we are.”
After Kitty showed Jean the spot, she concentrated a bit. Then a stone rolled and light streamed in, real light, the plain light of day. The light fell upon the floor, and upon the faces of the hobbits lying on it. They did not stir, but the hue of their skin immediately improved. They looked now as if they were only very deeply asleep.
As Storm, Kitty, and Rogue each picked up one of the sleeping hobbits to take them to the surface, Jean walked back down the tunnel to the corpse. Finding a likely in the wall, her TK tugged and tugged till it came out. Then Jean pushed and lifted it just enough with her mind to settle it atop the Wight. As Jean turned to exit, Rogue came back into the barrow and started loading herself up with treasure scattered across the floor: things of gold, silver, copper, and bronze; many beads and chains and jeweled ornaments, and weapons.
“Rogue, what are you doing?”
“Jean, if we’re stuck like Thomas Covenant in a fantasy land where we have to fight off Lord Foul’s creatures, we are going to need some assets to help us. And these look like assets.”
“There weren’t any Halflings in the Land. This isn’t a book, this is a real place. And … well … smart planning. You never know when one of those things might prove useful.” As Jean climbed out of the barrow and into the sunshine, she saw Storm, wind in her hair, examining the three inert little people.
Storm noticed Jean’s approach. “They appear healthy, but can’t seem to awaken. Any chance you can take a look inside these little fellows heads for a clue?“
“I’m tired and telepathy as you well know is not my strong suit. Frodo, how far till this Rivendell place? Would there be anyone there who could help your friends?”
“If Gandalf was there, certainly. I’m sure the elves could too.”
“Elves?” asked Kitty.
“Elves. But Rivendell is far, at least a week or two’s journey. And when the Barrow wight took us, I don’t know what happened to our ponies.”
“Ponies, not cars. Elves, wizards, undead, and magic. Check. I suppose we don’t have any better options. I’ll take a look.” Jean crouched down next to Merry, and a look of intense concentration came over her face.
To Frodo’s great joy, Merry stirred, stretched his arms, rubbed his eyes, and then suddenly sprang up. He looked about in amazement, first at the four Big Persons and then at Frodo; and then at himself in thin white rags, crowned and belted with pale gold, and jingling with trinkets.
“What in the name of wonder?” began Merry.
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As Jean woke Sam and then Pippin, they each reacted much as Merry had, with amazement at their new companions, altered clothing, and escape from the Barrow wight’s lair. Once a small sense of calm returned to the hobbits and women alike, Frodo declared, “Let us think of what we are to do now.”
“Dressed up like this, sir? Where are my clothes?” Sam flung his circlet, belt, and rings on the grass, and looked round helplessly, as if he expected to find his cloak, jacket, and breeches lying somewhere to hand.
Merry chimed in, “Some clothes and a bit of food would be nice, Frodo.”
“Sam and Merry are right. I don’t feel much like going on without that first. Are our clothes back in there?” Asked Pippin, as he started to shiver thinking of how the Wight must have changed their clothing in preparation for some fierce ceremony to turn them into ghosts.
“Sorry,” responded Rogue. “Lots of treasure, as you can see, but no clothes for halflings.”
“We’re called ‘Hobbits’, not ‘halflings’. And where’d our ponies go? They had our packs and spare supplies.”
“We haven’t seen them. I learned a bit about tracking from a friend of ours. I suppose I could go looking. But what are your intentions? Do you still want to go to this Rivendell place?”
“Oh very much. We have to find Gandalf.”
“Well rest here a moment and let the sunlight warm your hearts and minds. I think my companions and I shall chat about what help we might offer you,” said Storm. And she motioned Kitty and Rogue to join her next to the exhausted Jean, who’d been lying on the grass with eyes closed since her raising of the hobbits.
“Thoughts?”
“We’ve been captured by the Sentinels and they’ve placed us in some Matrix like device to give us mass hallucinations while they drain our mutant abilities.”
“Get really Kitty, I think Storm meant ‘serious’ thoughts.”
Jean spoke up, “Some of the team has experienced mind control based illusions before, so Kitty isn’t necessarily unserious. But I’ve touched three of their minds, or at least I completely believe I have, so I’m voting this is real.”
“What did you happen to pick up from them Jean.”
“First, all three feel VERY protective of Frodo. Almost as if he has a mission to perform. Which may explain their obviously intense interest in getting to this Rivendell place. And they are worried about the danger involved.”
“Can’t blame them worrying if running into things like that zombie are run of the mill occurrences here.”
“I don’t think they are. These little ones come from a place called the Shire, an idyllic English country side sort of place filled with others of their kind. Their identities are all deeply, deeply rooted in being ‘hobbits’ of the Shire. And that’s about all the surface level read I got off them. Well the one called Sam can’t seem to stop thinking about elves. He just met some for the first time very recently.”
“So what do we do?” asked Kitty. “Stay around this dump and hope the event that brought us here somehow reverses itself? We might get very hungry waiting for THAT to happen.”
“We could go looking for help?” responded Rogue. “These hobbits seem to think this wizard Gandalf would be a great fit for Oz. Same with the elves. If we are in a parallel, alternate universe, maybe they’d offer the best chance for getting back over the rainbow.”
While listening to the others, Storm watched while the hobbits removed their barrow garments and began scampering around the grass covered barrow hill. “These little people are frightfully adorable and terribly vulnerable appearing. I can’t imagine one in a fight. Since it seems they are expected at Rivendell, perhaps acting as their body guards and getting them there safely would generate goodwill with the powers that be. Not much of a hope for us I suppose, but my soul will feel better knowing we are guarding true innocents while we try to help ourselves. Jean?”
After a longish pause, “Agreed.”
“Are we going to get home?” asked Kitty with a whisper.
“I don’t know child. The odds look low. But there is always hope. Always. Now go tell our new friends we will help them. And I will go see if I can track their ponies done. I can’t imagine they move very fast on just their two hairy, thick feet. Hopefully Logan taught me well.” And with that, Storm started walking off the barrow hill in a wide circular pattern, searching for tracks.
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The air was growing very warm again. After being told by Jean that they would help them get to Rivendell, the hobbits happily ran about for a while on the grass. Then they lay basking in the sun with the delight of those that have been wafted suddenly from bitter winter to a friendly clime, or of people that, after being long ill and bedridden, wake one day to find that they are unexpectedly well and the day is again full of promise.
By the time that Storm returned, they were feeling strong and hungry. “Here are your ponies now,” she said. “They were with a sixth one on the edge of the forest west of here. That one didn’t have gear and slipped deeper into the tree line while I gathered these up. Swear I heard a distant voice calling ‘Fatty Lumpkin,’ when he disappeared all together.
At that mention, all four hobbits stopped a moment from drawing spare garments from their packs on the ponies and looked at each other. With a shrug they returned to clothing themselves. The sun was mid-sky as the hobbits next turned their minds to food. It was not a large meal, especially as they shared with ladies, but they felt much better for it. While eating, they talked to better acquaint themselves.
“This Rivendell, you said it’s a week or more’s journey. There clearly aren’t any roads here. Do you know where to go?” inquired Storm.
“Well …” replied Merry. “My folks, the Brandybucks, have a bit of dealings near these parts. A little ways to the east we should come across a road of the old Kingdom of men, called the Greenway. When we hit it, we should turn north to bring us to Bree. That’s a village of Hobbits and Men sitting at the crossroads of the Greenway and the East-West Road. “
Frodo cut in, “The East-West Road runs from the Grey Havens on the coast in the West through the Shire, past Bree, and on to Rivendell which sits in the foothills of the Misty Mountains. Least that’s the way Bilbo described it.”
“Do many hobbits go to Rivendell?” asked Kitty.
All four hobbits laughed. “Just Bilbo,” Pippin answered first. “He’s the only Hobbit could ever be described as well travelled. Farthest east most ever get is Bree, and those hobbits are the ones from Buckland, the most eastern part of the Shire.”
“Bilbo sounds like quite the adventurous fellow,” said Rogue.
“You have no idea Ms. Rogue. Why we all near grew up in Bags End listening to his tales of traveling over the Misty Mountains with Gandalf and a bunch of dwarves to fight the dragon Smaug.”
“Dragon? Add another one to your list Jean. And did they encounter any other nasty surprises?”
“Well they fought with goblins, but got rescued by the Eagles. Then they rested at Boern’s house. Bilbo said he could turn himself into a giant bear when angered. They travelled through Mirkwood forest and got captured by Giant Spiders and then by the wood elves.”
“Hey, I thought elves were good guys.”
“Oh they are, they are. It’s just elves and dwarves don’t necessarily always get along. And Gandalf had wandered off somewhere at that point in the journey. But it was just a misunderstanding, the dwarves escaped and made it to the Lonely Mountain where Smaug got killed. Then dwarves, men, and elves joined together to defeat an army of goblins and wargs who showed up wanting to take the dwarven treasure inside the mountain. Bilbo got hit on the noggin in that shindy, but he came out all right.”
“And wargs are …”
“Giant wolves. Sometimes goblins ride on their backs.”
“Ok. So we are looking at Narnia on steroids. Good to know.” muttered Rogue.
“And Gandalf is human, not an elf?” asked Storm.
“Yes. An old and wise Big Person.” answered Merry.
“He looks old, but he never ages.” Interrupted Pippin.
“The hobbits of the Shire have known him for … ?
“Hundreds of years I guess.” said Sam. “He’s always just been. Sometimes decades go by without him dropping by the Shire, important stuff to do being a wizard I should imagine. Then wham, there he is. Shows up just for a day or two for a birthday party. Or sometimes he stays an entire season walking everywhere, blowing rings with his pipe weed, talking to anyone who’s path he crosses.”
“What wizarding have any of you ever seen him do? Anything like one of us?” asked Jean.
Frodo answered. “Not exactly. Gandalf … knows … things. He sometimes knows what you’re thinking before you do. Or you know he isn’t watching and you go to do some minor tomfoolery and suddenly you see him looking at you and you don’t feel like doing it no more. Nothing earth shattering see, but you can just tell there is a lot more going on under his cloak and you surely don’t ever want to rile that up.”
“Telepathy.” murmured Rogue.
“Definitely.” Responded Jean. “Probably with compulsion, coercion abilities. Anything of a more spectacular nature?”
“He makes the most interesting shapes out of his pipe weed smoke.” said Merry. “He makes bang up fireworks. A decade or so ago he created a firework of that Smaug dragon and had it fly over the party field. Near scared me half to death. Mostly though it’s old Bilbo’s stories of what Gandalf did on their trip with the dwarves.”
“Such as …”
“Well he talked with the Eagles and got them to fly the group of them out of a goblin trap. And the magic sword that glows when goblins are around that he took from those Trolls he tricked into turning into stone.”
“There are Trolls too?” broke in Kitty with an aggravated tone. “Very big and strong and like to eat anything smaller than they are?”
Four small heads nodded in unison.
“Add that to the list of what we don’t want to meet. The list is getting a tad long for my liking. What else?”
“He turned pinecones into balls of fire and threw them.”
“And …”
“Well that’s all I can remember.” answered Pippin. “Anybody else?”
“He knows a lot and he knows everybody, but that’s about all of it.” replied Frodo.
“Ok, thanks. So maybe illusion generation, possible minor telekinesis, and a bit of pyrokinesis.”
“Don’t forget longevity. Might have regeneration with that too.”
“Now the question is does he, or anyone else, have this in strength, or is it just wow the locals stuff mixed in with some alchemy and knowing to predict eclipses.”
“What about elves?”
Sam piped up, “Elves are wonderful. I saw my first ones just days ago. Beautiful.”
“Yes,” interrupted Storm. “But what Gandalf like things can they do?”
Four hobbits scratched their heads. Frodo finally spoke, “We don’t honestly know exactly. There songs are something to hear. They can put courage in the faint of heart and chase away dark things. They are great healers and craftsmen and story tellers. The mightiest of them are awesome warriors and magic wielders. But what precisely … I don’t think any hobbit other than Bilbo could honestly tell you.”
“Thank you for all this information my new friends.” said Storm. “Now as it appears we are nearly done with our meal, perhaps we should get moving so we are off these barrows before night falls.”
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As the hobbits began packing their ponies to restart the trip toward Rivendell, Rogue took it upon herself to find places in their belongings for the treasures extracted from the Barrow. For each of the hobbits she gave a dagger, long, leaf-shaped, and keen, of marvelous workmanship, damasked with serpent-forms in red and gold. “Now Merry,” Rogue said. “This knife looks long enough as a sword for a hobbit. If we walk into dark and danger, I imagine a sharp blade is good to have.” She drew one from its black sheath, wrought of some strange metal, light and strong, and set with many fiery stones. The blade seemed untouched by time, unrusted, sharp, glittering in the sun.
At last they set off. They led the ponies down the hill, and then the hobbit mounted and started to trot quickly along the valley. They 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.
“I hope we are making the right choice,” Storm whispered to Jean.
“Me too. I wish we had some hiking boots or tennis shoes though. Looks like we have a LOT of walking ahead of us.”
“Cheer up, at least none of us wore heels.”
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They went forward steadily, but they soon saw that the Road was further away than they had imagined. As hours passed and the sun began sinking low, they realized the dark line they had seen was not a line of trees but a line of bushes growing on the edge of a deep dike with a steep wall on the further side. It was not the Road.
“Frodo, this will probably do for making a safe camp for the night. If we make our fire small and in the ditch, it probably wouldn’t be seen by anyone.”
“Sounds like we could do a lot worse, Mr. Frodo,” replied Sam on behalf of the hobbits.
As the sun finally set, the group worked to cut brush for shelter and fuel, as well as gather long grass for bedding. The hobbits shared out what spare clothes they had so the ladies could fashion blankets of a sort to keep the chill night air out.
Once the ponies were picketed, Storm left the ditch alone, looking for food. Within an hour she was back holding two fat coneys. “I don’t think these fellas have encountered people for a very long time. They let me get close enough I could accurately throw a stone at them.”
“Those are beauties, Ms. Storm. Here, let me cook them up for us. They will be big addition to our provisions.”
Later, with partially satisfied tummies, the Hobbits began asking what sort of country the ladies came from. They heard tales of carts moving without horses, of flying machines, water that came out of pipes in every home, of buildings as tall as the sky. They also learned that the powers their new companions had were as rare as wizards in their own country. They were saddened to find out there were no hobbits, or elves, or dwarves. But gladdened that at least goblins, wargs, and dragons were missing too. Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin slept that night accompanied by dreams trying to process all the wonderous stories they had heard. Dark thoughts about Barrow wights and other nightmares didn’t intrude even once.
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The next morning, after much grumbling at the meagerness of their first repast, they climbed out of the dike and through a gap in the wall. The land was now open and fairly level, and they quickened their pace. Within a few hours they saw a line of tall trees ahead, and they knew that they had come back to the Road. When they halted under the long shadows of the trees, they were on the top of a sloping bank, and the Road would away below them. It was rutted and bore many signs of the recent heavy rain.
They rode and walked down the bank and looked up and down. There was nothing to be seen. “Well, here we are at last.” said Frodo. “I suppose we haven’t lost more than a few days. Perhaps the delay may prove useful …”
Everyone looked at Frodo as his voice trailed off. The shadow of the fear of the Black Riders came suddenly over the hobbits again. Only now, when the Road lay beneath their feet did the hobbits remember the danger which pursued them, and was more than likely to be lying in wait for them upon the Road itself.
“They’re suddenly frightened to death about something,” Kitty muttered to Jean.
Jean slowly nodded her head. She coughed enough to gather everyone’s attention. “My friends, is there something you should tell us?”
After hemming and hawing sounds came out of the hobbits for several moments, Frodo finally spoke. “There are … or there may be Black Riders looking for us. We’ve encountered them several times since almost the moment we left Bag End. Once one got very close, but ran away at the approach of the band of elves we told you about.”
“Well what are Black Riders? I don’t remember them from the long list of fantastical creatures you’ve already told us about,” said Rogue.
“I suppose they must be men. They are shaped like Big People at least. They all wear black and ride great huge black horses,” said Pippin.
“And when they get near you Ms. Jean, it feels like a sheet of ice lays cross your heart,” added Sam. “I want nothing to do with them.”
“And they are looking for you?” asked Storm.
“We don’t know,” responded Frodo. “The first we ever saw one was below Bag End when it asked Sam’s Gaffer whether a Baggins lived there. Then we kept crossing them as we travelled. Each time we hid, or were rescued, like by the elves. They were the reason we moved off the roads. And now we’re back on one.”
“I’ll admit I’m scared. Killer zombie Barrow wights wanting to eat my brain, being kidnapped between Worlds, not knowing where home is, and now about to get chased by mysterious Black Riders,” rattled off Kitty. “I’m scared, but I’m not worried, cause we got Storm and Jean to protect us. They’re more than tough enough to drive off any Black Rider trying to mess with us mutants.”
“We will certainly try our best,” added Storm. “Now this village of Bree, shall we reach it today? And will we be able to acquire more suitable big person clothing there? I suspect I stick out like an elf in a room full of dwarves. ”
The brief laughter that followed seemed to hearten the party. They quickly resumed travelling. Within a few more hours Bree-hill rose before them. No Black Riders had been seen that day … yet.
https://www.alternatehistory.com/discussion/showthread.php?t=278497
Part 1 – An Unexpected Journey
When he came to himself again, for a moment he could recall nothing except a sense of dread. Then suddenly he knew that he was imprisoned, caught hopelessly, he was in a barrow. As he lay there, thinking and getting a hold of himself, he noticed all at once that the darkness was slowly giving way; a pale greenish light was growing round him. He turned, and there in the cold glow he saw lying beside him Sam, Pippin, and Merry.
Suddenly a song began: a cold murmur, rising and falling. The voice seemed far away and immeasurably dreary, sometimes high in the air and thin, sometimes like a low moan from the ground. Frodo was chilled to the marrow. After a while the song became clearer, and with dread in his heart he perceived that it had changed into an incantation.
All at once back into his mind, from which it had disappeared with the first coming of the fog, came the memory of the house down under the Hill, and of Tom singing. He remembered the rhyme that Tom had taught them. In a small desperate voice he began: Ho! Tom Bombadil! and with that name his voice seemed to grow strong: it had a full and lively sound, and the dark chamber echoed as if to drum and trumpet.
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!
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“Cerebro certainly sent us to the middle of nowhere.”
“Kansas is not the middle of nowhere Rogue.”
“Well you grew up on the savannahs of Africa. Pretty much the same things as here Storm. So you are clearly prejudiced. What do you think Kitty.”
“I’m on my first recruiting mission, I’m not saying anything that will make Jean or Storm think twice about asking me again.”
“Coward!”
“I’d say ‘tactically smart’ Rogue. Now everybody tidy up, I think this is the driveway to the Trask family farm. And best behavior young ladies.”
“Yes Jean.” “Yes Jean.”
Two minutes later the rental car pulled to a stop in front of a large farm house flanked by two silos on the left and two silos on the right. Two female adults and two female adolescents from the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters stepped out, proceeded up the walk and rang the doorbell.
“Getting anything Jean?”
“Not really. A teenage girl, our candidate. One man, a bit anxious, a good job repressing it. Pretty normal if the daughter you’ve raised and love has started demonstrating unexplainable, mutant powers over the last couple of weeks. Why? Something about this bothering you?”
“I don’t know ... feels off somehow. Well, let’s get to it.”
The front door of the farm house opened to reveal a familiar looking middle aged man in an expensive suit looking at them through the glass of the storm door.
“Hello Mr. Trask, I’m Dr. Grey of the Xavier … wait. Excuse me. Aren’t you industrialist Bolivar Trask?”
“Yes, yes I am. And you are mutants. Dead mutants.” The man pressed something in his hand and the four silos on the property exploded to reveal the four sentinels hidden inside.
“Escape plan Bravo,” yelled Storm as Jean raised a telekinetic umbrella to protect them from the flying shrapnel of the silos.
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Goldberry was in the middle of a delightful two hour long song when Tom felt the vibrations of Frodo’s song through the quantum aether. The innocence, love of life, and appreciation for Goldberry displayed by his hobbit visitors had deeply touched Tom during their brief stay. When he’d given poor, doomed Frodo his audio key he fully intended to honor any trivial request for aid. But how could he leave Goldberry in the middle of this sublime recitation? It would be a crime against beauty.
Tom quickly hummed a tune on a low hertz based harmonic pitched to a higher range energy plane. The oscillations of Tom’s quantum level fishing trip were lower than Goldberry’s perception point. Her song continued uninterrupted. To return to full concentration on beauty, Tom satisfied himself with the first likely encounter in the flux, and altered the tune appropriately to create a one way micro-facture between realities. Tom smiled, then all thoughts of hobbits emptied from the Bombadil consciousness.
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“Kitty, don’t touch me!! You’re making me phase into the ground.”
“I’m not touching you Rogue. I’m way over here.”
Rogue stared at her arm, and saw a spectrum of light swirling through it. “Storm!?!?!” Rogue yelled very nervously.
“Not now child, occupied.” And another lightning bolt erupted from the heavens on to a sentinel.
“But I’m … I mean, we’re all ... evaporating!!!” She yelled.
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After a long slow moment he heard a high pitched shriek, but far away, as if it was coming down through the ground or through the thick walls. Then a voice: Storm!!!! There was a loud rumbling sound, as of stones rolling and falling, and suddenly light streamed in arcing throughout the chamber like a lightning bolt. Then disappearing, all returned to black, but quickly followed by voices.
“What the hell? Did they trap us in something?”
“I’ll hyper excite some air molecules. That should give us some light in just a fewwww ... seconds. There we go.”
“Looks like a mausoleum.”
As the light fell upon Frodo, his courage awakened in him again, and in a trembling whisper of a voice he asked, “Did Tom send you?”
“Holy crap, a midget.”
“Shush child. Hello little friend. Do you know where we are?”
Frodo gazed around at all four big persons now in the barrow, particularly at the woman talking to him. Her skin was ebony and her hair pure driven snow. That almost, but not quite, made him forget the globe of light hovering in the air in front of the red headed one.
“This is the den of a wight. It magicked me and my friends into a stupor and dragged us to its lair.”
“What’s a wight?”
“Thethethe … that” Frodo moaned as he pointed past the big persons and down the tunnel.
The women swiveled and saw a corpse like figure in a suit of chain mail shuffling toward them.
“Zombie!!!!” shrieked Kitty.
“Bolt?”
“Too enclosed.”
“Ok”, responded Jean and she split her concentration to maintain the light and also throw a telekinetic wall at the approaching monstrosity.
The Barrow wight slowed a bit, but kept coming forward.
“Can’t stop him. Something slippery about him. My TK just seems to flow around him.”
“Plan B” shouted Rogue. And she stooped to grab two daggers laying on the ground near the Halflings, and then tossed them to Storm. Storm turned at Rogue’s words, then snatched the daggers out of the air. Whirling back, she threw one straight into the chest of the creature.
There was a shriek, and the Wight started backing up, snarling as it groped at the dagger, slowly pulling it out of its decayed flesh.
“It appears to feel pain, Jean. If you can’t hit it directly with your TK, maybe you can pull a Darth on Luke in the Cloud City.”
“Sounds good,” responded Jean. Frodo saw a helmet, a dagger, and several large rocks lift off the floor of the barrow and whip down the tunnel at the Wight, pummeling it. Within a minute, the undead creature was a mass of ruptured flesh and rendered bones, laying unmoving on the tunnel floor.
The flying items dropped to the ground as Jean slumped to the floor. Kitty knelt next to Jean to keep her propped up.
“Nice work Jean. Splitting your concentration on that many things must have been tough.” Storm, turned to Frodo. “Little friend, do you know which way is out of here?”
“N..n..n..no.”
“That’s all right. We’ll get out of here. Rogue, keep watch on that … thing. I don’t want to be surprised. Kitty, help Jean lean against the wall, then go looking for the shortest way out of here. I’ll take a look at our friend here’s companions. If that’s ok with you, ….?”
“Frodo. My name is Frodo. And these are my friends Sam, Pippin, and Mer.” Frodo’s voice cut off abruptly as he saw Kitty walk into the tunnel wall and disappear.
As Storm knelt down to begin examining the three immobile hobbits, she said, “My name is Ororo, but people call me Storm. The young lady who just disappeared is Kitty. That one keeping an eye on our ghoulish pal is named Anna, but everyone calls her Rogue. And the tired one keeping this dungeon lit is Jean. We are … a bit special.”
“You’re like Gandalf. You’re wizards.”
“Wizards? Not quite. But I suppose that may be as good a definition as any.”
“We were on our way to Rivendell to meet Gandalf, when this Barrow wight ensorcelled us. How are my friends?”
“Alive. But they don’t seem to want to wake up.”
Kitty came back through a wall a bit down the tunnel and walked back toward the group. “I found a boulder that looks like it is designed to pivot. I gave it a shove, but no budging. We’ll need a TK punch from Jean to move it. It’s a sunny autumn morning outside. Lots of rolling hills and grass.”
“Jean?”
“I think I’m up for that. Then maybe I roll a large rock on to that thing to make sure he never goes anywhere again.”
“Smart. I think I’ll want to sleep soundly tonight ... after I get done wondering where the hell we are.”
After Kitty showed Jean the spot, she concentrated a bit. Then a stone rolled and light streamed in, real light, the plain light of day. The light fell upon the floor, and upon the faces of the hobbits lying on it. They did not stir, but the hue of their skin immediately improved. They looked now as if they were only very deeply asleep.
As Storm, Kitty, and Rogue each picked up one of the sleeping hobbits to take them to the surface, Jean walked back down the tunnel to the corpse. Finding a likely in the wall, her TK tugged and tugged till it came out. Then Jean pushed and lifted it just enough with her mind to settle it atop the Wight. As Jean turned to exit, Rogue came back into the barrow and started loading herself up with treasure scattered across the floor: things of gold, silver, copper, and bronze; many beads and chains and jeweled ornaments, and weapons.
“Rogue, what are you doing?”
“Jean, if we’re stuck like Thomas Covenant in a fantasy land where we have to fight off Lord Foul’s creatures, we are going to need some assets to help us. And these look like assets.”
“There weren’t any Halflings in the Land. This isn’t a book, this is a real place. And … well … smart planning. You never know when one of those things might prove useful.” As Jean climbed out of the barrow and into the sunshine, she saw Storm, wind in her hair, examining the three inert little people.
Storm noticed Jean’s approach. “They appear healthy, but can’t seem to awaken. Any chance you can take a look inside these little fellows heads for a clue?“
“I’m tired and telepathy as you well know is not my strong suit. Frodo, how far till this Rivendell place? Would there be anyone there who could help your friends?”
“If Gandalf was there, certainly. I’m sure the elves could too.”
“Elves?” asked Kitty.
“Elves. But Rivendell is far, at least a week or two’s journey. And when the Barrow wight took us, I don’t know what happened to our ponies.”
“Ponies, not cars. Elves, wizards, undead, and magic. Check. I suppose we don’t have any better options. I’ll take a look.” Jean crouched down next to Merry, and a look of intense concentration came over her face.
To Frodo’s great joy, Merry stirred, stretched his arms, rubbed his eyes, and then suddenly sprang up. He looked about in amazement, first at the four Big Persons and then at Frodo; and then at himself in thin white rags, crowned and belted with pale gold, and jingling with trinkets.
“What in the name of wonder?” began Merry.
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As Jean woke Sam and then Pippin, they each reacted much as Merry had, with amazement at their new companions, altered clothing, and escape from the Barrow wight’s lair. Once a small sense of calm returned to the hobbits and women alike, Frodo declared, “Let us think of what we are to do now.”
“Dressed up like this, sir? Where are my clothes?” Sam flung his circlet, belt, and rings on the grass, and looked round helplessly, as if he expected to find his cloak, jacket, and breeches lying somewhere to hand.
Merry chimed in, “Some clothes and a bit of food would be nice, Frodo.”
“Sam and Merry are right. I don’t feel much like going on without that first. Are our clothes back in there?” Asked Pippin, as he started to shiver thinking of how the Wight must have changed their clothing in preparation for some fierce ceremony to turn them into ghosts.
“Sorry,” responded Rogue. “Lots of treasure, as you can see, but no clothes for halflings.”
“We’re called ‘Hobbits’, not ‘halflings’. And where’d our ponies go? They had our packs and spare supplies.”
“We haven’t seen them. I learned a bit about tracking from a friend of ours. I suppose I could go looking. But what are your intentions? Do you still want to go to this Rivendell place?”
“Oh very much. We have to find Gandalf.”
“Well rest here a moment and let the sunlight warm your hearts and minds. I think my companions and I shall chat about what help we might offer you,” said Storm. And she motioned Kitty and Rogue to join her next to the exhausted Jean, who’d been lying on the grass with eyes closed since her raising of the hobbits.
“Thoughts?”
“We’ve been captured by the Sentinels and they’ve placed us in some Matrix like device to give us mass hallucinations while they drain our mutant abilities.”
“Get really Kitty, I think Storm meant ‘serious’ thoughts.”
Jean spoke up, “Some of the team has experienced mind control based illusions before, so Kitty isn’t necessarily unserious. But I’ve touched three of their minds, or at least I completely believe I have, so I’m voting this is real.”
“What did you happen to pick up from them Jean.”
“First, all three feel VERY protective of Frodo. Almost as if he has a mission to perform. Which may explain their obviously intense interest in getting to this Rivendell place. And they are worried about the danger involved.”
“Can’t blame them worrying if running into things like that zombie are run of the mill occurrences here.”
“I don’t think they are. These little ones come from a place called the Shire, an idyllic English country side sort of place filled with others of their kind. Their identities are all deeply, deeply rooted in being ‘hobbits’ of the Shire. And that’s about all the surface level read I got off them. Well the one called Sam can’t seem to stop thinking about elves. He just met some for the first time very recently.”
“So what do we do?” asked Kitty. “Stay around this dump and hope the event that brought us here somehow reverses itself? We might get very hungry waiting for THAT to happen.”
“We could go looking for help?” responded Rogue. “These hobbits seem to think this wizard Gandalf would be a great fit for Oz. Same with the elves. If we are in a parallel, alternate universe, maybe they’d offer the best chance for getting back over the rainbow.”
While listening to the others, Storm watched while the hobbits removed their barrow garments and began scampering around the grass covered barrow hill. “These little people are frightfully adorable and terribly vulnerable appearing. I can’t imagine one in a fight. Since it seems they are expected at Rivendell, perhaps acting as their body guards and getting them there safely would generate goodwill with the powers that be. Not much of a hope for us I suppose, but my soul will feel better knowing we are guarding true innocents while we try to help ourselves. Jean?”
After a longish pause, “Agreed.”
“Are we going to get home?” asked Kitty with a whisper.
“I don’t know child. The odds look low. But there is always hope. Always. Now go tell our new friends we will help them. And I will go see if I can track their ponies done. I can’t imagine they move very fast on just their two hairy, thick feet. Hopefully Logan taught me well.” And with that, Storm started walking off the barrow hill in a wide circular pattern, searching for tracks.
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The air was growing very warm again. After being told by Jean that they would help them get to Rivendell, the hobbits happily ran about for a while on the grass. Then they lay basking in the sun with the delight of those that have been wafted suddenly from bitter winter to a friendly clime, or of people that, after being long ill and bedridden, wake one day to find that they are unexpectedly well and the day is again full of promise.
By the time that Storm returned, they were feeling strong and hungry. “Here are your ponies now,” she said. “They were with a sixth one on the edge of the forest west of here. That one didn’t have gear and slipped deeper into the tree line while I gathered these up. Swear I heard a distant voice calling ‘Fatty Lumpkin,’ when he disappeared all together.
At that mention, all four hobbits stopped a moment from drawing spare garments from their packs on the ponies and looked at each other. With a shrug they returned to clothing themselves. The sun was mid-sky as the hobbits next turned their minds to food. It was not a large meal, especially as they shared with ladies, but they felt much better for it. While eating, they talked to better acquaint themselves.
“This Rivendell, you said it’s a week or more’s journey. There clearly aren’t any roads here. Do you know where to go?” inquired Storm.
“Well …” replied Merry. “My folks, the Brandybucks, have a bit of dealings near these parts. A little ways to the east we should come across a road of the old Kingdom of men, called the Greenway. When we hit it, we should turn north to bring us to Bree. That’s a village of Hobbits and Men sitting at the crossroads of the Greenway and the East-West Road. “
Frodo cut in, “The East-West Road runs from the Grey Havens on the coast in the West through the Shire, past Bree, and on to Rivendell which sits in the foothills of the Misty Mountains. Least that’s the way Bilbo described it.”
“Do many hobbits go to Rivendell?” asked Kitty.
All four hobbits laughed. “Just Bilbo,” Pippin answered first. “He’s the only Hobbit could ever be described as well travelled. Farthest east most ever get is Bree, and those hobbits are the ones from Buckland, the most eastern part of the Shire.”
“Bilbo sounds like quite the adventurous fellow,” said Rogue.
“You have no idea Ms. Rogue. Why we all near grew up in Bags End listening to his tales of traveling over the Misty Mountains with Gandalf and a bunch of dwarves to fight the dragon Smaug.”
“Dragon? Add another one to your list Jean. And did they encounter any other nasty surprises?”
“Well they fought with goblins, but got rescued by the Eagles. Then they rested at Boern’s house. Bilbo said he could turn himself into a giant bear when angered. They travelled through Mirkwood forest and got captured by Giant Spiders and then by the wood elves.”
“Hey, I thought elves were good guys.”
“Oh they are, they are. It’s just elves and dwarves don’t necessarily always get along. And Gandalf had wandered off somewhere at that point in the journey. But it was just a misunderstanding, the dwarves escaped and made it to the Lonely Mountain where Smaug got killed. Then dwarves, men, and elves joined together to defeat an army of goblins and wargs who showed up wanting to take the dwarven treasure inside the mountain. Bilbo got hit on the noggin in that shindy, but he came out all right.”
“And wargs are …”
“Giant wolves. Sometimes goblins ride on their backs.”
“Ok. So we are looking at Narnia on steroids. Good to know.” muttered Rogue.
“And Gandalf is human, not an elf?” asked Storm.
“Yes. An old and wise Big Person.” answered Merry.
“He looks old, but he never ages.” Interrupted Pippin.
“The hobbits of the Shire have known him for … ?
“Hundreds of years I guess.” said Sam. “He’s always just been. Sometimes decades go by without him dropping by the Shire, important stuff to do being a wizard I should imagine. Then wham, there he is. Shows up just for a day or two for a birthday party. Or sometimes he stays an entire season walking everywhere, blowing rings with his pipe weed, talking to anyone who’s path he crosses.”
“What wizarding have any of you ever seen him do? Anything like one of us?” asked Jean.
Frodo answered. “Not exactly. Gandalf … knows … things. He sometimes knows what you’re thinking before you do. Or you know he isn’t watching and you go to do some minor tomfoolery and suddenly you see him looking at you and you don’t feel like doing it no more. Nothing earth shattering see, but you can just tell there is a lot more going on under his cloak and you surely don’t ever want to rile that up.”
“Telepathy.” murmured Rogue.
“Definitely.” Responded Jean. “Probably with compulsion, coercion abilities. Anything of a more spectacular nature?”
“He makes the most interesting shapes out of his pipe weed smoke.” said Merry. “He makes bang up fireworks. A decade or so ago he created a firework of that Smaug dragon and had it fly over the party field. Near scared me half to death. Mostly though it’s old Bilbo’s stories of what Gandalf did on their trip with the dwarves.”
“Such as …”
“Well he talked with the Eagles and got them to fly the group of them out of a goblin trap. And the magic sword that glows when goblins are around that he took from those Trolls he tricked into turning into stone.”
“There are Trolls too?” broke in Kitty with an aggravated tone. “Very big and strong and like to eat anything smaller than they are?”
Four small heads nodded in unison.
“Add that to the list of what we don’t want to meet. The list is getting a tad long for my liking. What else?”
“He turned pinecones into balls of fire and threw them.”
“And …”
“Well that’s all I can remember.” answered Pippin. “Anybody else?”
“He knows a lot and he knows everybody, but that’s about all of it.” replied Frodo.
“Ok, thanks. So maybe illusion generation, possible minor telekinesis, and a bit of pyrokinesis.”
“Don’t forget longevity. Might have regeneration with that too.”
“Now the question is does he, or anyone else, have this in strength, or is it just wow the locals stuff mixed in with some alchemy and knowing to predict eclipses.”
“What about elves?”
Sam piped up, “Elves are wonderful. I saw my first ones just days ago. Beautiful.”
“Yes,” interrupted Storm. “But what Gandalf like things can they do?”
Four hobbits scratched their heads. Frodo finally spoke, “We don’t honestly know exactly. There songs are something to hear. They can put courage in the faint of heart and chase away dark things. They are great healers and craftsmen and story tellers. The mightiest of them are awesome warriors and magic wielders. But what precisely … I don’t think any hobbit other than Bilbo could honestly tell you.”
“Thank you for all this information my new friends.” said Storm. “Now as it appears we are nearly done with our meal, perhaps we should get moving so we are off these barrows before night falls.”
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As the hobbits began packing their ponies to restart the trip toward Rivendell, Rogue took it upon herself to find places in their belongings for the treasures extracted from the Barrow. For each of the hobbits she gave a dagger, long, leaf-shaped, and keen, of marvelous workmanship, damasked with serpent-forms in red and gold. “Now Merry,” Rogue said. “This knife looks long enough as a sword for a hobbit. If we walk into dark and danger, I imagine a sharp blade is good to have.” She drew one from its black sheath, wrought of some strange metal, light and strong, and set with many fiery stones. The blade seemed untouched by time, unrusted, sharp, glittering in the sun.
At last they set off. They led the ponies down the hill, and then the hobbit mounted and started to trot quickly along the valley. They 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.
“I hope we are making the right choice,” Storm whispered to Jean.
“Me too. I wish we had some hiking boots or tennis shoes though. Looks like we have a LOT of walking ahead of us.”
“Cheer up, at least none of us wore heels.”
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They went forward steadily, but they soon saw that the Road was further away than they had imagined. As hours passed and the sun began sinking low, they realized the dark line they had seen was not a line of trees but a line of bushes growing on the edge of a deep dike with a steep wall on the further side. It was not the Road.
“Frodo, this will probably do for making a safe camp for the night. If we make our fire small and in the ditch, it probably wouldn’t be seen by anyone.”
“Sounds like we could do a lot worse, Mr. Frodo,” replied Sam on behalf of the hobbits.
As the sun finally set, the group worked to cut brush for shelter and fuel, as well as gather long grass for bedding. The hobbits shared out what spare clothes they had so the ladies could fashion blankets of a sort to keep the chill night air out.
Once the ponies were picketed, Storm left the ditch alone, looking for food. Within an hour she was back holding two fat coneys. “I don’t think these fellas have encountered people for a very long time. They let me get close enough I could accurately throw a stone at them.”
“Those are beauties, Ms. Storm. Here, let me cook them up for us. They will be big addition to our provisions.”
Later, with partially satisfied tummies, the Hobbits began asking what sort of country the ladies came from. They heard tales of carts moving without horses, of flying machines, water that came out of pipes in every home, of buildings as tall as the sky. They also learned that the powers their new companions had were as rare as wizards in their own country. They were saddened to find out there were no hobbits, or elves, or dwarves. But gladdened that at least goblins, wargs, and dragons were missing too. Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin slept that night accompanied by dreams trying to process all the wonderous stories they had heard. Dark thoughts about Barrow wights and other nightmares didn’t intrude even once.
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The next morning, after much grumbling at the meagerness of their first repast, they climbed out of the dike and through a gap in the wall. The land was now open and fairly level, and they quickened their pace. Within a few hours they saw a line of tall trees ahead, and they knew that they had come back to the Road. When they halted under the long shadows of the trees, they were on the top of a sloping bank, and the Road would away below them. It was rutted and bore many signs of the recent heavy rain.
They rode and walked down the bank and looked up and down. There was nothing to be seen. “Well, here we are at last.” said Frodo. “I suppose we haven’t lost more than a few days. Perhaps the delay may prove useful …”
Everyone looked at Frodo as his voice trailed off. The shadow of the fear of the Black Riders came suddenly over the hobbits again. Only now, when the Road lay beneath their feet did the hobbits remember the danger which pursued them, and was more than likely to be lying in wait for them upon the Road itself.
“They’re suddenly frightened to death about something,” Kitty muttered to Jean.
Jean slowly nodded her head. She coughed enough to gather everyone’s attention. “My friends, is there something you should tell us?”
After hemming and hawing sounds came out of the hobbits for several moments, Frodo finally spoke. “There are … or there may be Black Riders looking for us. We’ve encountered them several times since almost the moment we left Bag End. Once one got very close, but ran away at the approach of the band of elves we told you about.”
“Well what are Black Riders? I don’t remember them from the long list of fantastical creatures you’ve already told us about,” said Rogue.
“I suppose they must be men. They are shaped like Big People at least. They all wear black and ride great huge black horses,” said Pippin.
“And when they get near you Ms. Jean, it feels like a sheet of ice lays cross your heart,” added Sam. “I want nothing to do with them.”
“And they are looking for you?” asked Storm.
“We don’t know,” responded Frodo. “The first we ever saw one was below Bag End when it asked Sam’s Gaffer whether a Baggins lived there. Then we kept crossing them as we travelled. Each time we hid, or were rescued, like by the elves. They were the reason we moved off the roads. And now we’re back on one.”
“I’ll admit I’m scared. Killer zombie Barrow wights wanting to eat my brain, being kidnapped between Worlds, not knowing where home is, and now about to get chased by mysterious Black Riders,” rattled off Kitty. “I’m scared, but I’m not worried, cause we got Storm and Jean to protect us. They’re more than tough enough to drive off any Black Rider trying to mess with us mutants.”
“We will certainly try our best,” added Storm. “Now this village of Bree, shall we reach it today? And will we be able to acquire more suitable big person clothing there? I suspect I stick out like an elf in a room full of dwarves. ”
The brief laughter that followed seemed to hearten the party. They quickly resumed travelling. Within a few more hours Bree-hill rose before them. No Black Riders had been seen that day … yet.