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Big People Are Bad	By : Marblez Category: Lord of the Rings Movies > Slash - Male/Male Views: 5072 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I don't own LOTR and I won't be making any money from writing it.

Chapter List
- 1-Big People Are Bad
- 1
Disclaimer: I own nothing…
Summary: Pippin is extremely jumpy around non-hobbit folk, going out of his way to remain un-noticed by them. Sadly that is not possible on the Quest and he finds himself having to trust the people he fears with his life. Will he ever get over the past horrors that haunt his dreams and plague his waking thoughts?
A/N: So many people have reviewed wanting this story to continue but I wrote it so long ago that, for an update to happen, I will have to completely re-write it as my style has changed dramatically. Hopefully you’ll still like the new and improved version.

Big People Are Bad – Re-Write

Chapter One - Strider

                The four Hobbit’s were sat together at one of the many tables in the Prancing Pony, their little legs dangling off the human sized benches. Merry had just returned from the bar with an enormous looking mug of ale which he announced was called a pint.
                “It comes in pints?” Pippin asked softly, his voice tinged with amazement and longing, looking down at his own empty half-pint mug which Sam had gotten him earlier.
                Merry grunted in agreement as his face all but disappeared inside the rim of the mug, his throat working as he chugged down some of the delicious ale that was on sale at the human inn. It was very different from the ale back home, Pippin had to admit, stronger and slightly bitter. They must different ingredients than they did back in the Shire.
                “Could you get me one?” he asked hopefully, wanting to try drinking out of the big mug for himself, despite the fact that his head was already a little fuzzy, similar to how he would be after four hobbit sized pints of ale back home.
                “Pip, you can go to the bar and ask for one yourself, you know?” Merry answered a little impatiently, his words slurring slightly. Obviously the strong ale was affecting him as well because Pippin knew his best-friend would never normally be so short with him.
                “Um…no, I’ll just…” he muttered, biting his lip and pushing his half-pint away.
                “It’s all right, Pip, I’ll get you one,” Frodo offered in his kind was as per usual.
                Pippin noticed that unlike his three companions the leader of their little group had barely touched his own drink which wasn’t all that surprising as Frodo was the type of Hobbit who only liked to drink on special occasions and even then never drank to excess.
Frodo hopped down off of the bench and made his way up to the bar, politely asking a group of humans to let him through before pulling himself up onto one of the tall chairs at the bad so that he could be seen by the innkeeper.
                “I’ll have a pint of the house ale,” he told the innkeeper, reaching into his waistcoat for his coin purse when he heard someone saying his name. Baggins. Sucking in a sharp breath he turned to look back at their table, knowing that he needed to keep his identity a secret.
“B-Baggins…sure I know a…a…Baggins…” it was Pippin, stuttering hopelessly as he stared at the man leaning on the end of their table with fear filled eyes. In his panic the youngest member of their group had forgotten that they were to go incognito and was answering the mans questions a quickly as possible just so that the terrifying man would leave him alone. “He’s over there. F-Frodo Baggins…he’s my s-second cousin once removed on my…my mothers side…” he rambled on, pointing toward the hobbit sat at the bar. “And…and my third cousin t-twice removed on his f-fathers side…if…if you follow me…”
                “Pippin!” Frodo shouted in protest as the mans eyes, along with many others, turned to him. Stumbling down from the stool he hurried back to the table, dodging his way around the inn’s other patrons, intent on pulling his friends away and getting out of this place.
                “Watch it, Frodo!” Merry snapped as the panicked hobbits smashed into him, causing him to splash some of his pint, elbowing Frodo in the ribs. This move was so un-expected that Frodo fell to one side, the ring he had been ordered to protect flying out of his pocket and spinning in the air.
                All eyes were on the ring glinting in the candlelight as it fell down towards his outstretched hand…and then he was gone. Pippin let out a fearful cry, staring at the spot where his friend had just lain. What was going on?
                A general outcry of surprise spread around the inn as word spread about the disappearing hobbit and thankfully, when he looked away from the ground, the threatening man had gone and the three hobbits were alone at their table.
                “W-Where’s Frodo?” he asked in his usual voice, timid and slightly afraid.
                “Come on,” Merry ordered, pulling Pippin from the table by his arm, his grip a little too tight thanks to all the ale flowing through his system. At least the shock seemed to have gotten him back to his normal, caring self though.
                “There!” Same gasped all of a sudden as he spotted something, hurrying across the room to where Pippin saw a tall man in dark clothing shoving a bewildered looking Frodo up the stairs.
No!
Pippin began to hyperventilate as his friends armed themselves with a candlestick and a stool. This couldn’t be happening…not to Frodo…not because of him…not…not again…
“Take this,” Sam ordered, shoving the stool in Pippin’s trembling hands as the eldest hobbit amongst them led the way up the winding staircase in pursuit of the man who had taken their friend.
As they reached the top of the stairs they saw the tall man disappearing into of the man rooms on this floor, slamming the door shut behind him. Tears began to build up in Pippin’s eyes as his mind flashed through all the possible things that could be happening to his friend behind that closed door…unwillingly imagined images intertwining with memories of the past…
“Mr Frodo!” Sam cried out angrily as he rushed at the door, twisting the handle and shoving the door open as hard as he could, allowing the three of them to rush into the small room. They found the man with his sword drawn facing the now open door and Frodo had backed himself against the far well. “Let him go! Or I'll have you Longshanks!” he screamed, threatening the man with his fists.
                Pippin let out a whimper of fear, suddenly finding it very difficult to breath.
                “You have a stout heart little hobbit! But that will not save you,” the man said, his voice deep and gravely but Pippin barely heard him, one hand leaving the stool to rub at his increasingly painful chest. His body was shaking. “You can no longer wait for the wizard, Frodo. They're coming.”
                And that was the last thing that Pippin heard before he let out a strangled gasp, the stool falling from his hand as his eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed, completely unconscious even before his head struck the floor with an almighty bang.

~ * ~ * ~

                Pippin awoke to the feeling of someone pressing a cloth to the back of his head, right where the throbbing pain was coming from. He let out a whimper of pain, trying to jerk away from the unwanted pressure but froze when he heard a horrifyingly familiar voice murmur too close to him,
                “It’s alright, Master Hobbit. I am just trying to clean your wound…”
                “No!” Pippin cried out, his eyes snapping open and finding the mans face only inches from his own. A terrified scream escaped his lips as his hands pushed at the mans chest, catching him off guard and sending him tumbling backwards as Pippin scrambled away from him as quickly as he could.
                “Pippin!” Merry cried out, his voice heavy with sleep but soon the panicking hobbit found himself encased in familiar arms and being rocked soothingly back and forth. Another pair of little hands rubbed soothingly up and down his back, most probably Sam’s.
                “I’m sorry, I was merely trying to clean the dirt from his wound,” the man apologised.
                “Well don’t!” Merry snapped angrily. “Don’t touch him!”
                “All right little master, I won’t,” the man said, holding up his hands in a sign of surrender. Sam moved away from his friends slowly, reaching out to take the damp cloth from the human before returned to his spot on the large bed.
                “Pippin? Is it all right if I clean the blood out of your hair?” he asked softly.
                “B-Blood?” Pippin asked shakily from where his face was pressed into Merry’s shoulder.
                “You hit your head pretty hard when you fainted,” Sam explained softly. “Can I clean it?”
                “Hurts…” Pippin mumbled.
                “I know it does but I’ll be as gentle as I can,” Sam promised.
                “Kay…”
                So Sam set about carefully cleaning the wound to the back of Pippin’s head, wincing in sympathy every time his friend let out a pained whimper or a hiss.
It had terrified his three friends when he’d fainted earlier, the sight of a pool of blood slowly appearing beneath their friend head. None of them had moved quick enough to stop the human getting their first but they had been surprised by how gentle he was in pressing a cloth to the back of the injured hobbits head, staunching the bleeding before checking on the wound. He’d declared it was superficial, despite the amount of blood, and would heal fine given time.
“Your friend is afraid of me,” the human murmured to Frodo, his eyes watching the scene on the other side of the bed. Reluctantly the young hobbit nodded, looking away from the man who had called himself Strider. “Why? I wish only to help you.”
                “It’s…it’s not you,” Frodo answered softly. “It’s…complicated and…and it’s not my story to tell but…I promise it’s not just you…”
                “What do you–” Striders confused voice was cut of by an inhuman scream echoing through the night air, penetrating the room despite the thick walls, the bolted door and the glass windows.
It had come from the inn, the Prancing Pony, and all at once Frodo was thankful that the man had insisted that they move to a different inn across the street.
                “What are they?” Frodo asked softly.
                “They were once men, Great Kings of Men,” Strider answered sadly, looking at the three faces now staring at him fearfully. Pippin’s face was still buried in Merry’s shoulder and his body was still trembling though where it was because of what had happened with human or the sound that those things had made no one could tell. “Then Sauron the Deceiver gave them nine rings of power. Blinded by their greed they took them without question, one by one falling into darkness. Now they are slaves to his will. They are the Nazgûl. Ringwraiths. Neither living nor dead. At all times they feel the presence of the Ring, drawn to the power of the One.” His eyes locked with Frodo’s as he murmured one final terrifying phrase, “They will never stop hunting you.”
                “What do we do?” Frodo asked softly.
                “We must leave this place at first light,” Strider said, rising from his seat on the edge of the bed and going over to the chair by the window. “I would get some sleep, little Hobbits, for we have a long journey ahead of us come the morning.”
                Frodo turned to look at his friends, sharing their fearful gaze before pushing the covers out from under him and slipping in underneath them. Sam followed suite after having leant over his best friend to place the now blood stained cloth on the bedside table.
                “Come on, Pip, let’s get into bed,” Merry murmured softly.
                “No…not with h-him here…” Pippin whimpered. Strider frowned.
                “It’s ok, Pip,” Merry said reassuringly, rubbing his friends back as Sam had done earlier. “You’ll be between me and Sam, nothing can happen to you when you’re between us. I mean come on, can you see anyone getting past Sam? He’s huge!”
                “Hey!” Sam protested with a smile as Pippin giggled softly. “I am not huge.”
                “Of course you’re not, Sam,” Frodo murmured, turning towards his friend and actually moving closer to him. Soon enough they were snuggling, Sam lying flat on his back with his right arm around Frodo’s waist as the dark hair hobbit used his shoulder as a pillow.
                “Let’s get some sleep, Pip,” Merry ordered gently, moving them so that they were lying underneath the covers. Pippin whimpered softly when Merry released him, eagerly turning to Sam who gathered him close to his side in a mirror image of what Frodo was doing. “Sweet dreams, Pip,” Merry murmured as he pressed up against his best friends back, his arm moving across the trembling hobbit to rest on Sam’s chest.
                Strider watched them from across the room as they each fell asleep, considering what strange creature’s hobbits were and wondering if all hobbits were this close or if it was something special about these four. Pippin was the last to drop off, his breath finally evening out and that was when the human turned away from them, fixing his gaze out the window as he prepared to keep watch through the rest of the night.

~ * ~ * ~

                “Pip? Pip? It’s time to wake up,” Merry’s voice broke through his remarkably peaceful dreams. He’d been expecting to have one of his usual nightmares, to wake screaming in the middle of the night but obviously having the others so close to him had helped. “We have to leave now.”
                “Go where?” Pippin mumbled, sitting up in the bed and rubbing at his eyes sleepily.
                “I don’t know but as long as it’s far away from those things that we saw last night I don’t really care,” Merry answered, pulling the covers off of the younger hobbit and helping him down from the high bed. Pippin let out a wide yawn, standing still as Merry fixed his cloak around his shoulders.
                “Make sure you have everything you need, we will not be coming back here,” the human’s voce made Pippin yelp and jump around to stare at the man leaning against the door frame.
                “W-We’re going with him?” he all but squeaked.
                “He seems to know what he’s doing and…and he knows about those Ringwraith things,” Frodo explained his decision to trust the human softly, pulling his pack onto his back. Beside him Sam did the same thing, the pans hanging from his own pack clanging loudly.
                “It’s ok, Pip,” Merry reassured his friend, taking the younger hobbits trembling hand in his own. “We won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”
                “O-Ok,” Pippin mumbled. “Is…Is there anything to eat for breakfast?”
                “We’ll be stopping for breakfast in an hour or so, Master Hobbit, once we’re far enough away from the town,” the human explained, making Pippin jump once more. “Now we should get going before the rest of the town begins to awaken. If those who reported your presence to the Ringwraiths realise that you are still alive…”
                The four hobbits shuddered in response to his statement and willingly followed him out of the room, Pippin staying close to Merry’s side and clutching at his hand. It turned out that Strider had bought a pony and plenty of supplies for their travels and Sam willingly volunteered to care for the animal, stroking it’s nose as they began their journey.
To the four Halflings it felt like they walked much longer than an hour before they stopped for breakfast, Sam frying some of the sausages and bacon from his pack and making thick sandwiches for all of them from the bread that Strider had bought in the town.
And then after that short respite they set off once more, keeping away from all the roads and the known routes. Strider led the group, followed a little way behind by Frodo and then Merry guiding a reluctant Pippin. Sam and the pony, named Bill by his carer, brought up the rear of the group.
“Where are you taking us?” Frodo eventually asked.
                “Into the wild,” the human answered vaguely, turning into woods they had been walking along the edge of for some time now. Pippin found himself once again trembling with fear and clutching at Merry’s hand, a hand he’d hardly let go of since starting this journey.
                “How do we know this Strider is a friend of Gandalf?” Merry asked softly.
                “I think a servant of the enemy would look fairer, but feel fouler,” Frodo answered softly.
                “He’s foul enough,” Merry muttered.
                “We have no choice but to trust him,” Frodo reminded them with a sigh.
                “But where is he leading us?” Sam asked, pulling gently on Bill the pony’s reigns to make the beast keep up with the humans pace. It wasn’t Frodo who answered his question, though; it was the human himself from all the way at the front of the group,
                “To Rivendell, Master Gamgee. To the House of Elrond.”
                “D’you hear that?” Sam gasped, forgetting his worries as he allowed his excitement to take over for a moment. “Rivendell! We’re going to see the elves!”
                Slowly the group made their way through the dense woodland, emerging on the other side just as it began to rain, soaking them to the bone as they continued their journey. The rain slowly eased off as they made their way up a large hill but they were given no respite for by that time the ground was covered in a fresh layer of snow.
                “I’m hungry,” Pippin sighed as they rounded yet another group of snow covered boulders and found themselves in a little clearing of sorts. “Isn’t it time for second breakfast, yet?”
                “I reckon it’s gone past the time for second breakfast,” Merry agreed.
                So the four of them stopped in the little clearing and began gathering what they would need to start a fire, the food they were going to cook and the many cooking utensils they would need. It was at this time that Strider returned to see what had happened to them.
                “Gentlemen! We do not stop ‘til nightfall,” he told them.
                “What about breakfast?” Pippin blurted out before he could stop himself, biting his lips as Striders attention moved to him. The tall man looked confused as he answered,
                “You’re already had it.”
                “W-We’ve had one, yes, but…but what about second breakfast?” Pippin stumbled over his words, his eyes blinking furiously as he forced himself to keep looking at the human.
                Eventually Strider left with a frown on his dirty face.
                “Don’t think he knows about second breakfast, Pip,” Merry sighed sadly.
                “What about elevenses? Luncheon…Afternoon Tea…Dinner…Supper…he knows about them, doesn’t he?” Pippin asked his friend desperately, needing to hold onto some sense of normalcy now that their lives had taken a turn for the worse.
                “I wouldn’t count on it,” Merry muttered, just as a juicy looking apple came flying over the top of a bush. He caught it in his hand with a small smile and handed it over to Pippin, patting him on the shoulder before following the path the human had taken.
                Just then another apple came flying through the air but this one landed on the top of his head, making him yelp in both surprise and pain.
                “Pippin!” Merry called out from the other side of the bush. “Come on!”
                Picking up the other apple he hurried to catch up with the others, taking a huge bite out of the first of the apples, smiling at the rich flavour and the way the juice burst out a spilt down his chin. Merry smiled at him, shaking his head in mock disappointment as Pippin made a loud slurping noise before wiping the back of his hand across his mouth and chin.
                Neither of them noticed Strider smiling back at them.

~ * ~ * ~

                “What do they eat when they can’t get hobbit?” Merry grumbled loudly, swatting at another midge that had decided to take a bite out of him.
For the last two hours the group of travellers had been making their way through some think Marshland, the four hobbits stumbling through the water and trying to stick to the grass hillocks as much as possible. It was alright for Strider, he was a human and had legs long enough to step over all the bumps and dips in the ground.
                Pippin was about to answer his friend when Sam pushed his lightly in an attempt to make him go faster, fearful that the pony was going to get stuck in the marsh if they didn’t move faster. Sadly however the youngest hobbit was unprepared for the contact and stumbled, tripping over a clump of grass and sending him tumbling face down into the water, soaking him from top to bottom.
                “Pippin! Oh, I’m sorry Pippin!” Sam cried out, torn between helping his friend and keeping a hold of the nervous pony’s reigns. “I didn’t mean to push you so hard!”
                “S’ok, Sam, was just an a-accident,” Pippin murmured, shivering from the cold as he attempted to get up. Unfortunately he couldn’t seem to get his footing, the ground under the water was slippery with mud and he ended up just falling back into the water.
                Merry looked back just in time to see Strider walk past him, take hold of Pippin by his upper arms and pulled him up out of the water, setting him back on his feet. Pippin let out a cry of terror, cringing away from the strong hands gripping his thin arms.
                “Oi! Leave him alone!”
                Strider was surprised when he found himself being attacked by one of his charges, receiving a kick to his shins until he released the now whimpering hobbit he’d only been trying to help. Merry immediately abandoned his attack, pulling Pippin into his arms and stroking his damp hair to calm him down. Pippin clung to him, lost in his memories.
                “Calm down, little masters, I meant no harm,” Strider said softly, stepping back in an attempt to seem less threatening to the hobbit currently lost in a panic attack. “I’m sorry if I frightened you, young Master Took, I only wished to help you.”
                “It’s…It’s alright…” Pippin mumbled.
                “We’ll be stopping for the night soon,” Strider told them, “As soon as we find somewhere suitable to set up camp we’ll build a fire and get you warm and dry again.”
                “Th-Thank you…” Pippin mumbled.
                So they walked a little further until they found a clearing the middle of the Marshland just big enough for them to build their camp on.
Strider left them to set up the camp, going off to see if he could catch them some fresh meat.
Frodo and Sam got a fire going and dragged the still wet and pulled shivering Pippin over to it, stripping him of his clothes which Merry took and hung over a nearby tree, hoping that the heat from the fire would dry them out reasonably quickly.
Unfortunately Pippin didn’t have any spare clothes so he was left in just his damp underwear so Merry stripped off his own cloak and wrapped it tightly around his best friend’s body, rubbing his arms and holding him close so that he could share Merry’s body heat.
                Strider returned nearly an hour later with a dead deer slung over his shoulders, by which time Pippin was dozing with his head in Merry’s lap. Frowning at the sight of the hobbit shivering slightly in the cloak, his clothes still drying on the tree, he left it to Frodo and Sam to prepare the deer and opened his own pack.
                “Here,” he said, offering a thick shirt to Merry. “To keep him warm while his own things dry.”
                “Oh, thank you…” Merry murmured, obviously surprised by the kind gesture.
                Turning away to allow them some privacy he listened as Merry coaxed Pippin into putting the shirt on. The youngest hobbit was reluctant at first, mumbling about not wanting to wear something owned by a human but he gave in when Merry pleaded with him, not wanting him to get ill from getting too cold. So Pippin pulled on the large shirt, wearing it like a nightshirt and allowed Merry to wrap the cloak back around his shoulders.
                For some reason these hobbits had a very low opinion of humans, especially Pippin who was obviously afraid of them…terrified even. Something had happened to them to make them distrust his race, something which involved Pippin and some humans.
                Something bad.
                They ate their fill of the delicious stew Frodo and Sam had made, the hobbits having three bowls each whilst Strider was happy with only the one helping.
And then with their hunger satisfied, the hobbits snuggled up together just like they had the night before, Pippin safely surrounded by his friends and using Sam’s chest as a pillow. They also made sure to be on the other side of the fire to their human travelling companion.
                Not long after they fell asleep Strider noticed that Merry had begun to shiver, the only one of the three not wrapped up in a travelling cloak. Rising slowly so as not to wake any of them he checked on the cloak hanging from the tree, finding it still far too damp to be of any use to the little hobbit. Sighing he resigned himself to a cold night and shrugged off his own overcoat, laying it atop the Halflings shivering body.
                “Thank you,” the soft voice startled him and he looked down to find Pippin still awake.
                “You’re welcome,” he murmured softly. “Sleep well, Master Took.”
                Watching as the man returned to his spot on the other side of the fire Pippin found himself thinking about everything that had happened over the last couple of days. Maybe…maybe this human wasn’t like other humans.
He hadn’t tried to…to hurt any of them and so far he’d only tried to help them. When he’d fallen earlier the man hadn’t laughed at him, hadn’t taunted him…he’d helped him, picked him up and put him on his feet. And back in the inn he could have let those…those Ringwraith things kill them but he chose to help them. And now…now he gave up his own coat to help Merry stay warm.
Could it be that…that not all humans were bad?
                Filled with confusion Pippin finally drifted off to sleep, his dreams filled with a confusing rush of memories…memories of humans…of Strider and of Gandalf who he was wary of but reasonably comfortable with and of…and of those men…
                “Hello little boy….why don’t we have some fun?”
                “N-N-No…please…”
                “Don’t be like that…we won’t hurt you…too much…”
                “Please…don’t…don’t…”
                Pippin woke with a soft cry, his hands clutching at the fabric of Sam’s shirt as his body trembles within the protective circle of his friends arms. Behind him Merry sighed in his sleep, tightening his hold on him and rubbing his cheek against the back of Pippin’s shoulder.
                “Pip?” Frodo’s soft voice came from the other side of Sam. “You ok?”
                “Y-Yes…just…just memories…” Pippin whispered shakily.
                Frodo smiled across at him, his eyes filled with sympathy as he reached out and took one of Pippin’s hands in his own, holding it tightly as his thumb stroked the soft skin soothingly.
                “Wh-What’s that?” Pippin asked suddenly, hearing something strange that disturbed the natural sounds of the night – someone was…singing?
                “It’s Strider,” Frodo answered softly.
                “Tinúviel elvanui, Elleth alfirin ethelhael, O hon ring finnil fuinui, A renc gelebrin thiliol.” ¹
                “What’s he singing about?” Pippin asked with a frown, finding the song strangely beautiful but also extremely sad, despite the fact that he could understand a word of it.
                “A woman…I think. I’ll ask him,” Frodo whispered, sitting up slowly and looking across the fire. Strider was sat with his back to them, gazing up at the stars as he smoked on his pipe. “Who is she? The woman you sing of?”
                “Tis the Lady of Lúthien,” he explained softly, still sitting with his back to them and gazing up at the sky. “The Elf Maiden who gave her love to Beren...a mortal.”
                “What happened to her?” Frodo asked.
                “She died,” he sighed sadly, turning slowly to look back at the hobbits. He saw at once that while Frodo was obviously awake sitting upright beside his friends there was also another pair of eyes blinking at him in the firelight. “Get some sleep, little hobbits. We still have a long way to go.”

~ * ~ * ~

                “This was the great tower of Amon Sûl,” Strider announced as they paused at the base of a hill on top of which were the ruins of what looked like a temple. The hobbits had been grateful when they’d left the Marshland earlier that day but since then it had been up and down hill after hill after hill and their poor little legs were aching. “We shall rest here tonight.”
                “Not another hill…” Merry groaned as they began yet another ascent.
                Finally the group reached the watch tower, stopping in what used to be a room but now resembled little more than a cave. After tying off the pony as far away from the edge as they could the four hobbits dropped their packs and collapsed to the ground, rubbing at their aching legs and feet. They had never walked so far in their lives!
                “There are for you,” Strider said suddenly, unwrapping a pieces of rough cloth he’d taken from the pack slung over the pony’s back, revealing four small swords which he then proceeded to hand to each of the hobbits. Pippin nearly dropped his when his fingers accidentally touched Striders. “Keep them close, I’m going to have a look round,” he told them as they stared fearfully at the swords they now held. “Stay here.”
                Frodo yawned, stretching his arms above his head as their human guide disappeared back the way they had come. Leaning back against the wall he pulled his cloak tightly around himself and let his eyes flutter closed, needing a few minutes rest.
                “Merry, I’m hungry,” Pippin complained quietly.
                “Yeah, I am too,” Merry agreed, turning to look at Sam. “Is there anything to eat?”
                “Nothing we can eat without cooking it first,” Sam answered as he had a quick look through his pack, setting it aside with a sigh. He was extremely hungry as well, having only had one breakfast and only lunch too keep them going to through the long day.
How did humans survive on so little food?
                “Well…couldn’t we cook something then?” Pippin asked innocently.
                Sam and Merry shared a look, both thinking the same thing and then nodded. Gathering some firewood from around the room they built up a little fire and set about cooking enough food to satisfy the four of them, the delicious smells making the stomach rumble.
                “My tomato’s burst!” Merry complained unhappily as they finally began to tuck in.
                “Can I have some bacon?” Pippin asked softly, holding out his plate.
                “Ok. Want a tomato, Sam?” Merry asked as he carefully transferred a nice looking piece of bacon onto his best friend’s plate. Sam nodded, accepting the tomato with a thankful smile.
                “What are you doing?” Frodo gasped as he woke suddenly.
                “Tomatoes, sausages and some nice crispy bacon,” Merry answered with a smile, gesturing to everything they’d cooked in the large pan. Frodo scrambled to his feet looking ridiculously worried. An uneasy feeling started to settle in the pit of Pippin’s stomach.
                “We saved some for you, Mr Frodo,” Sam said, holding out the fourth plate they’d filled.
                “Put it out you fools!” Frodo cried out, stamping on the fire. “Put it out!”
                “Well that’s nice!” Merry cried out angrily. “That’s nice! Ash on my tomatoes!”
                The four of them froze when they heard the sickeningly familiar screech come from the bottom of the hill, scrambling to edge to peer out into the darkness. Four terrifyingly tall figures dressed in long black robes were visible in the moonlight, seeming to glide up the hill towards them. Frodo was the first to draw his sword, screaming at the others,
                “Go!”
                Pippin couldn’t move. He found himself trembling on the spot, staring down at the giant monsters surging up the hill towards them like the shadows from his nightmares. One of his friends grabbed his arm roughly and yanked, forcing him to run with them.
                They reached the top of the tower, coming to a halt in the centre of a circle of pillars and it wasn’t long before those…those monsters reached them, stepping round the pillars. Each of their steps sounded like metal shaking, each breath they drew was deep and filled with evil.
                They had no faces.
                “I’m sorry…” Pippin gasped. “I’m sorry…I’m sorry…I’m sorry…”
                What he was apologising for he didn’t know but he couldn’t make himself stop as the four of them stood facing the evil creatures, their swords shaking in their hands. He couldn’t even remember drawing his and now that it was he had no idea what to do with it.
                One of the Nazgûl stepped apart from the others, advancing on them as he drew his long sword, holding it before his face in some sickening sort of salute. The monsters behind him copied his move, each of them saluting the hobbits as they slowly moved to surround them. As they began to advanced, their moves synchronised, their swords lowered and the points were soon aiming at the hobbits chests as they backed away as much as they could.
                “I’m sorry…I’m sorry…I’m sorry…I’m sorry…”
                “Back!” Sam suddenly cried out, rushing foreword with his tiny sword held out in front of him. His three friends could hardly believe their eyes. “Back you devils!”
He took a swipe at the leader of the Nazgûl but he was no match for the monstrous creature who swept him aside easily, sending the brave hobbit crashing into a piece of the ruined watch tower.
Pippin let out a cry of fear as the monsters attention shifted to him and Merry, his hands clutching desperately at his friends arm. The monsters hand reached out towards him, a hand covered in a metal glove, glinting in the moonlight.
                “Pippin!” Merry let out a cry as he was knocked aside just as the hand grabbed him by the front of his waistcoat, lifting him up off his feet…
                …he hung there helpless in the grip of the man so much bigger than him…
                “No! Please!” he screamed as the Nazgûl held him there for a long moment, bringing him close to where his face should have been. The terrified hobbit could feel the foul smelling breath of the monster on his cheeks…
                …the mans breath smelled out strong alcohol as he leaned in close, capturing his lips in a painful, bruising kiss that starved him of his breath and sent his tears tumbling down his cheeks…
                A terrified scream left his mouth as he was thrown roughly to the side, crashing into one of the ruined pillars. Crumpling to the ground he scrambled backwards into the shadows, pulled his knees up to his chests and sobbed uncontrollably, rocking back and forth as he tried to escape the memories the monster had brought to the front of his mind.
                He wasn’t even aware of the horrible things happening before him – he didn’t hear Frodo’s cry of pain nor was he aware of Strider coming to their rescue.
All he could hear was the laughter from long ago…the taunting words…the lewd suggestions…all he could smell was the alcohol…the stench of the men’s sweat…all he could feel were their hands bruising his skin…striking him…squeezing him…and worst of all the pain between his…
                “Pippin?”
                “…please…leave me alone…” he begged, pressing his face deeper into his folded arms.
                “Pippin? It’s me, Merry…”
                “…I’m sorry…I’m sorry…” he whimpered, shaking his head as he sobbed uncontrollably.
                “Pippin? It’s ok…”
                He let out a scream as he felt a gentle hand squeezing his shoulder, pressing back against the crumbled wall in the hopes of escaping even such a gentle touch.
                Merry let out a sob at the sight of his friend, looking over his shoulder to see Strider kneeling over Frodo’s fallen form. How could this be happening? Frodo had been stabbed and…and it was bad…he could see it was bad by the look on Strider’s face. Sam was near to tears.
                “Help him, Strider!” the loyal hobbit cried out tearfully.
                “He’s been stabbed by a Morgul blade,” Strider growled seriously, picking up the blade from the ground and watching as it crumbled into dust. Throwing what remained of the blade aside he examined Frodo’s wound. “This is beyond my skill to heal. He need Elvish medicine.”
                “Pippin…please come back to us,” Merry begged his friend. “We need to leave. Frodo…Frodo needs help…he’s been hurt…”
                “F-Frodo?” Pippin stuttered, the shocking news finally penetrating his tortured thoughts.
                “He was…he was stabbed. He needs help…” Merry explained shakily, looking back once more as Strider picked up their whimpering friend. “We need to leave this place…”
                “I…I can’t move…” Pippin whimpered, his entire body shaking. “I…I…”
                “I’ll help you…” Merry offered softly, holding out his hands to his closest friend. Seeing him like this brought back so many bad memories for himself, memories of how traumatised his friends was for months after that horrible day when they were children. “Come on, we need to gather our things and then we need to get some help for…for Frodo…”
                “We must move quickly,” Strider warned them seriously. “They will return.”
                “Come on, Pippin,” Merry said, slowly taking Pippin’s shaking hands in his own and helping him get to his feet. He held him close to his side as they hurried back to the cave, gathering their things and releasing Bill, the pony.
                The group hurried away from the ruined watch tower, stumbling down the hill and into the thick woods that began on the other side of it. Merry kept Pippin close to him, worried about the fact that Pippin was still sobbing even after they’d been running for nearly an hour.
                He was sure that the screeches of the Nazgûl following them weren’t helping.
                “Hurry!” Strider ordered sharply.
                “It’s six days from Rivendell!” Sam protested tearfully as he tried to get the pony to move faster, remembering what Strider had told them all earlier that day. “He’ll never make it!”
                “I know…” Strider sighed fearfully, cradling the injured hobbit closer to his chest.
                It wasn’t long after that that Frodo became delirious, crying out for Gandalf and for Bilbo, his desperate cries bringing tears to his friend’s eyes…well, more tears in Pippin’s case.
They didn’t stop for another couple of hours, Strider carefully lowering Frodo to the ground at the base of some huge stone trolls. Pippin gazed up at them fearfully, wiping at his eyes as he tried to stop himself sobbing, stop himself shaking…his fear wasn’t helping his friend…
“Look, Frodo. It’s Mr Bilbo’s trolls,” Sam said, forcing his tone to be light.
                Frodo was gasping for breath, his eyes vacant as Sam placed his hand on his forehead.
                “He’s going cold!” he cried out fearfully.
                “Is…Is he going to die?” Pippin asked fearfully, looking up at Strider through his tears. The human was standing between two of the trolls, holding a burning torch his above his head.
Strider looked down at the youngest hobbit in their group, shocked by the state he found the poor young man to be in. What with his worry for the ring bearer he’d barely noticed the state that the others were in but now, looking around at them, he realised he should have been just as worried about them. Especially poor Pippin…
“He’s passing into the Shadow world,” he answered. “He’ll soon become a wraith like them.”
                Frodo gasped loudly just as more screeches were heard through the woodland.
                “They’re close!” Merry gasped fearfully.
                “Sam!” Strider called out. “Do you know the Athelas plant?”
                “Athelas?” Sam repeated the word, confused.
                “Kingsfoil.”
                “Kingsfoil, aye…it’s a weed!” Sam cried out triumphantly.
                “It may help to slow the poison,” Strider explained. “Hurry!”
                “We’ll stay with Frodo,” Merry offered when Sam looked torn between helping Strider search for the weed or staying with his friend. Merry’s offer seemed to reassure him and both he and Strider disappeared into the woods, their eyes fixed on the ground as they searched desperately.
                “I don’t want him to die…” Pippin moaned tearfully.
                “Come and help me keep him warm,” Merry ordered, pulling Pippin over to Frodo and forcing him to lie down beside his friend, mirroring him on Frodo’s other side and snuggling close, offering them what little heat he could take from their bodies.
                Pippin saw the vision first when she arrived at the trolls, his eyes going wide as the woman, literally glowing in the moonlight, slide gracefully down from the back of her white horse. He and Merry scrambled away as she slid down from her horse as graceful as if she were dancing and hurried across to kneel beside their friend.
                “Frodo Im Arwen. Telin le thaed. Lasto beth nin. Tolo dan na galad.” ²
                Her voice was beautiful, filled with an ethereal quality that combined with the beautiful language completely captivated the two hobbits who had slowly moved to stand with Sam and their human guide, watching from a distance as the beautiful woman helped their friend.
                “Who is she?” Merry asked softly, looking up at Strider but he didn’t answer. Instead he hurried to their friends side, kneeling opposite the beautiful woman.
                “Frodo…” she called out to their friend as Strider chewed up some of the herbs in his hand.
                “She’s an elf…” Sam answered instead.
                “He’s fading,” she announced, pulling Frodo’s shirt aside to examine the nasty looking wound. Strider carefully applied the herbs he’d chewed up into the oozing wound. Frodo’s cry of pain made them all wince, Pippin grabbing Merry’s hand for support.
                “He’s not going to last,” her voice was filled with worry as she warned Strider, her hands still moving soothingly across their friends chest and brow. “We must get him to my father.”
                Strider nodded, lifting the injured hobbit into his arms once more.
                “I’ve been looking for you for two days,” the beautiful woman told him as he carried Frodo over to her horse. “There are five wraiths behind you – where the other four are I do not know.”
                “Dartho guin perian. Rych le ad tolthathon,” ³ Strider told the woman as he carefully placed their wounded friend onto the horse, taking holding of the reigns as if he were preparing to mount the beautiful animal.
                “Hon mabathon. Rochon ellint im,” �� she said, her voice firmer than before as she placed her hands over Striders on the reigns. By now the poor hobbits were completely confused, looking back and forth between the two people speaking hurriedly in the beautiful yet strange language.
                “Andelu i ven,” ⁵ Strider said with a shake of his head.
                “What are they saying?” Pippin asked worriedly.
                “Frodo fîr. Ae athradon i hir, tur gwaith nin beriatha hon,” ⁶ the beautiful woman told Strider, her voice deadly serious as she finally said something that the hobbits could understand, finishing her sentence in the common tongue, “I do not fear them.”
                “Be iest lîn,” ⁷ their human guise spoke softly, taking her hand in his and holding it for a moment before he stepped out of the way, allowing her smoothly mount her horse with Frodo positioned in front of her. “Ride hard. Don’t look back.”
                “Noro lim, Asfaloth, noro lim!” ⁸ the woman leant forwards, speaking to her horse rather than to anyone else and then the horse was off, galloping faster than Pippin had ever seen a horse move, disappearing into the woods.
                “What are you doing?” Sam cried out in shock. “Those wraiths are still out there!”

~ * ~ * ~

A/N I decided to end this chapter here because…well because I’m mean and I love a good cliff-hanger even if everyone knows what’s going to happen anyway. LOL. Anyway I hope you’re all enjoying the re-write or, those of you who are reading this for the first time, are just enjoying the story. As with all my stories reviews are always welcome, as are suggestions. I’ll try and get the next chapter up ASAP.

~ TRANSLATIONS ~

¹ Tinúviel the elven-fair, Immortal maiden elven-wise, About him cast her night-dark hair, And arms like silver glimmering.
² I am Arwen. I have come to help you. Hear my voice. Come back to the light.
³ Stay with the Hobbits. I will send horses back for you.
�� I’m the faster rider. I’ll take him.
⁵ The road is too dangerous
⁶ Frodo's dying. If I can get across the river, the power of my people will protect him.
⁷ As you wish.
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