It was the voices that distracted him from the piles of salvaged clothes and blankets he had been sorting. Merry looked up, puzzled. Something in the jungle was calling him... whispering to him... Was it the trees, themselves, or something he could not quite see? Before he could call out to one of his companions to ask if they heard it also, the soft, whispery voices triggered the command that Saruman had planted deeply into his subconscious mind: words gentle but compelling, overriding all logic and thought. Merry left what he was doing and walked into the thick jungle, unnoticed by anyone.
The path wasn’t easy to follow, but the voice -- familiar and trusted -- told him where to go, what obstacles to avoid. When it said to veer around a sandy patch of ground and wait on the other side, he did so. Merry had never disobeyed his father’s voice, and wasn’t about to start now. He circled around the clearing, and waited.
~*~
“Where is he going?” Pippin huffed, clambering over a tree root. “Merry would never---”
“Stay quiet,” Aragorn reminded him. The three hunters pressed deeper into the jungle, following Merry’s faint trail.
“He is just ahead,” Legolas said at last, breaking the silence. “The trees whisper of a small person in their midst; they sense no threat from him, and there is no one else nearby.”
Finally, Pippin thought. What is my silly cousin up to, out here? Unable to hold back any longer, he ran ahead, ducking through the last of the foliage fringing a fairly circular, open space. “Merry!” he cried, spotting his cousin standing quietly on the other side of the clearing. He ran towards Merry, who appeared not to see him. “Merry!”
Aragorn, close behind Pippin, ran towards the hobbits. Merry seemed unharmed, but in a trance-like state. He looked around swiftly, and confirmed that Legolas was correct -- there was no one else in the vicinity.
Just before he reached the spot where Merry was standing, Pippin suddenly found that he could no longer run. His feet seemed to be sinking deeply into the sand, which shifted like water as he tried to pull out. Aragorn, about halfway across the clearing, discovered the same -- he was sinking into the ground, as if it were thick mud.
“Legolas, stay back!” Aragorn yelled. The Elf, just emerging from the foliage, halted and tried to make sense of the scene before him. Merry, seemingly bespelled and oblivious to their presence, stood on the opposite side of what was most definitely a trap. Pippin, struggling wildly, had sunk past his waist in a watery substance that -- on the surface -- appeared to be harmless sand. Aragorn, perhaps a dozen feet behind Pippin, had gone very still, his legs sinking very slowly into the thick, cold ooze.
“Stop moving, Pippin!” Aragorn cried out. “The more you struggle, the faster you sink.” Pippin immediately obeyed, but the viscous sand continued to suck him under -- albeit more slowly. Soon it was up to his shoulders. He couldn’t believe his eyes -- Merry, standing just a few feet away, wasn’t helping him... and didn’t even seem to know he was there.
“I do not believe I am endangered by this substance,” Legolas declared, testing it with one foot. Satisfied, he walked slowly across the quicksand, his steps so light that they made hardly a mark on the watery expanse. Reaching Aragorn, he bent and slid his hands under the Man’s arms and pulled slightly -- but immediately stopped when the Ranger’s weight began to push his own feet into the sand. “Remain still,” he advised. “Pippin is close enough to the other side for me to pull him out, but I will need to find something with which to extricate you.” He quickly walked the rest of the way across the clearing until he stood next to Merry, on solid ground. Seeing the Elf so close, Pippin tried to pull an arm free of the muck, but the sudden movement shifted his precarious stability and he sank up to his chin. An incautious breath caused him to swallow some of the murky sand, and the young hobbit began to choke. Instantly, Legolas lay flat on his stomach and extended an arm as far out as he could. Straining and reaching, he grasped the fabric of Pippin’s shirt just as the youngster went under, and hauled the small body clear of the sand.
Covered in the thick, sticky earth, Pippin lay coughing and gasping for breath. Legolas bent to help him, but Pippin shook his head and pointed straight up. Legolas followed the youngster’s finger, and smiled.
“Well done, young one,” the Elf murmured. “I shall return in a moment.” So saying, he ran lightly to the nearest tree and scurried up until he reached the long, thick vine Pippin had seen. Detaching it with a murmured apology to the tree, Legolas leaped back down to solid ground and threw the end of the vine to Aragorn.
Pippin felt nauseous, and was starting to shake -- a combination of shock and the chill, thick sand clinging to him from head to toe. But he crawled to where Merry stood, still motionless, and pinched his cousin on the ankle -- hard.
Merry jumped, looked around wildly, then stared in amazement at his young cousin, who was covered in what looked like mud and retching convulsively. “Pippin, what’s wrong? How did you...” Legolas, using all his strength, pulled Aragorn the last few feet until he was clear of the sand, then dropped wearily to his knees. “Where did you all come from?” Merry asked desperately. “What’s happening?”
“Just a moment, Merry,” Aragorn said, crawling over to Pippin. He wrapped his arms around the hobbit’s small chest and tightened them, forcing a quantity of filthy water out of Pippin’s mouth. Pippin coughed and clung to him, feeling cold and sick.
“Merry, what is the last thing you remember?” Legolas asked.
“I was... I heard my father calling to me,” Merry said. “I... he said...” he shook his head in frustration.
“How did you avoid walking into this trap?” Legolas asked.
“He... the voice told me to walk around it,” Merry stammered. “I don’t remember anything else until just a few moments ago.” He covered his face with his hands and started to sob. “You all could have died! How could I have been fooled like this? Pippin...”
“Merry, you are not at fault,” Aragorn reassured him. “Saruman is a wizard, with powers beyond any of us. He knew that several of your companions would follow you, and believed we would be consumed by this substance.” He fingered the vine thoughtfully. “Luckily, Saruman’s arrogance did not take into account that an Elf would not be trapped thus -- or that a young hobbit could be so quick thinking -- when he lured us here.”
Pippin looked up at the Ranger. “Do you mean that?” he whispered, then resumed coughing.
“I do.” Aragorn smiled. He lifted the grit-covered hobbit off the ground. “We must return to the beach and get you warmed and tended.” Avoiding the clearing by a wide margin, he began to lead the group back along the route they had followed.
“What if I hear more voices?” Merry asked.
Legolas smiled down at his companion. “Gandalf believes that a ship will be here in only a few days’ time; we will not let you wander off again, Merry.”
“Pip, are you all right?” Merry looked up at his cousin, who was still coughing.
“He will be,” Aragorn assured him. “I fear that Pippin may feel a bit sick tonight, and his throat may be sore for a short time.”
“Aragorn,” Legolas said quietly, “you were correct -- we were lured here. There is no telling what may be happening back at camp. I will run ahead.” In seconds, he had disappeared down the faint trail.
“Frodo might be in danger!” Merry gasped. “We have to get back there, now!” He glanced at Aragorn, who nodded, before racing off after the Elf -- leaving Aragorn to follow more slowly, a shivering Pippin secure in his arms.
~*~
As Gandalf, Gimli, Frodo, and Sam watched, a bellowing noise grew in intensity and the jungle foliage parted -- but there was nothing to be seen.
“The invisible oliphaunt is back!” Sam whispered. “What do we do?”
“I can---”
“Frodo, do not put the Ring on again,” Gandalf said quickly, seizing the hobbit’s hand, “not under any circumstances. Gimli...” he motioned for the Dwarf to join them. “Stand ready.” So saying, the wizard aimed his staff at the invisible threat, and suddenly shouted words that the others couldn’t understand. The sunlight seemed to dim at the same time a blinding explosion of light and flame burst forth from the staff. Gimli and the hobbits watched, amazed, as a huge beast grew faintly visible, indistinct and flickering in the magical illumination. With a cry of frustration, the beast’s rider -- seeing that the Dwarf and hobbits stood within the wizard’s flaming protection -- threw a spear at Boromir, still wrapped in illusion at the water’s edge. With a cry, Gimli dashed forward, axe in hand. Moving more quickly than the hobbits had believed possible, he smashed the spear to splinters as it whizzed by him. The Man on the oliphaunt urged the beast forward, another spear in his hand.
“Boromir!” Frodo cried, “look out!” Thinking only of the danger to his new friend, Frodo stumbled away from the wizard’s side and ran towards Boromir in an effort to get his attention. Boromir turned, horrified at what he saw -- a spear, coming straight for him -- and Frodo...
“No!” Sam screamed, but it was too late. Gimli spun around and clove the second spear in two, but the momentum of the Man’s throw kept the sharp-tipped point speeding onwards. Frodo, now in its path, was struck in the back, which sent him sprawling on the sand at Boromir’s feet where he lay, unmoving. With an evil grin, the rider nodded, satisfied. He pulled the oliphaunt back into the jungle, and was gone.
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