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Dreams Of The Ancient Ones
The Hedge was old, quite old. Indeed, no hobbit yet alive could remember when,
or even quite why, it had been planted. But it was undeniably reassuring to the
Bucklanders who lived near it, a stout wall of densely grown yew that allowed no
penetration. Rumor had it that there was a brick wall behind that, as well, but
it was not anywhere visible, and whether or not it still stood, none could say.
But there were openings, the location of which were known to a very few of the
more adventurous nearby inhabitants. They were not obvious, but rather consisted
of slight gaps, where perhaps a tree had once died, and the resulting gap had
not been entirely grown over by the trees at either side; where it was possible
for a smallish body, such as that of a hobbit, to force its way through. There
was a forest beyond the Hedge, the Old Forest, and there were none so brave as
to make a habit of going there, for it was said that there was something
decidedly wrong about those woods.
But Frodo felt as though they had no choice. He’d rather brave the Old Forest,
with its mysterious and undefined dangers, than face those Black Riders once
again. So it was that the four hobbits made their way through the woods that
bordered the Hedge, unseen on that cold grey morning, until they neared the
impenetrable Hedge itself. Here Frodo stopped, and tried to remember the
directions that he had been given once, long ago, by a playmate who had dared
him to go through the opening. He had not been brave enough, then, but neither
had his playmate.
The old oak in the field past Crickhollow was there yet, stately and solitary in
the midst of the grass, which was still wet with dew. And then there were the
line of alders, planted long ago as a sort of divider between the fields of
farmers now generations gone. And if the row was followed, why, then there was
the ancient fir, with its top lopped off once in a lightning storm. And near
that, three spruce, and somewhere past them, the opening.
The oak and alder had been easy enough to locate, as was the fir, but the spruce
proved more difficult. But at last, with the help of Sam’s practiced eye, he
found them, nearly overgrown in a stand of pine. The Hedge was behind, and the
tight thicket of yew was visible, beyond the trees, as far as could be seen in
either direction.
“What if the opening’s grown over since then?” Pippin voiced the doubt they were
all considering, poking cautiously at the vegetation with a long stick he had
picked up from the floor of the woods.
Frodo frowned at that thought. “Then we have to backtrack alongside of the
Brandywine, and that could definitely get nasty.”
No one needed to ask why, and all four intensified their efforts. It was Merry
who found it. “Hoy!” he called out with excitement, after they had been
searching for nearly half an hour. “There does appear to be some sort of gap
over here.”
The others hurried over to where he stood, and, as they crouched down and peered
through the opening in the brush, it seemed that a dim filtered light could be
seen on the other side. “Well, let me try,” Pippin announced determinedly. “I’m
the smallest. If I can’t get through, there’s no use the rest of you trying.”
“Don’t go too far,” Merry said quickly, with a worried frown. “Don’t get out of
sight. You don’t want to get stuck where we can’t get at you.”
“I wouldn’t do that, silly Merry,” Pippin chuckled, and gave him a swift kiss on
the cheek. Then before any other objections could be raised, he was down on his
hands and knees, and crawled under the yew in the direction of the light. It was
not nearly as long as it seemed, before they could hear rustling, and saw
Pippin, pushing the branches from his face, reappear, scratched and dirty, but
triumphant.
“That’s the opening, no doubt about it,” he grinned to Frodo, as Merry brushed
the debris of the forest floor off of him. “Really, Merry, I’m perfectly fine,”
he added quietly, placing a soothing hand on Merry’s arm.
“Of course you are,” Merry gave him a reluctant grin, and then turned to pick up
his pack. “But can we all get through, and what of our packs?”
“Getting through’s not the problem, as long as we don’t have anything on our
backs,” Pippin turned to Frodo. “The opening is only narrow at the front; it
widens straight away after that.”
“We’ll have to shove the packs through in front of us,” Frodo declared. “Pippin,
you lead the way again, and I’ll follow you. I’d like to see where we’re coming
out. And then, Sam, when you hear me whistle, start shoving our packs through,
and Pippin and I will catch them at the other end. Then you come through, and
Merry, when you come through last, try to draw the bushes together back behind
you as you come. I’d rather not leave a sign we came through if we can.”
Sam and Merry nodded, and Pippin crawled back into the opening again.
&&&&&
The Old Forest grew close to, but not directly up against the Hedge. Indeed,
there was only grass directly behind the high thick barrier of yew, and crumbled
remnants of brick wall, and there seemed to be a faintly trodden path alongside
of it, running parallel and off into the distance in either direction. Up above,
a strip of grey sky could be seen before the forest canopy began.
Frodo looked down the faint path, toward the north. “If we follow this,” he
said, somewhat hesitantly, “I suppose we would reach the East Road, just outside
of the Shire.”
“Seems simple enough,” Merry looked in the same direction. “I’d imagine that
we’d hit the Road by nightfall.”
“Who,” mentioned Pippin, in a very quiet voice, “do you suppose made this
trail?”
“Not Bucklanders,” replied Merry, immediately. “I know I would have known of
it.”
“I rather think you are right,” Frodo replied slowly, still gazing to the north.
“And I wouldn’t think that hobbits had anything to do with it at all.”
Sam quietly touched his arm then. But when Frodo turned to him, questioningly,
Sam said nothing at first, but just nodded his head back at the Hedge, above
where they had exited the Shire. Frodo noticed nothing out of the way at first,
until he became aware of three large ravens perched high overhead, nearly hidden
in the Hedge’s twisting and gnarled branches. “They’ve been watchin’ us, ever
since we got out,” Sam said then, in a low voice, not taking his eyes off of
them. “An’ there’s something about them that just doesn’t seem right to me, if
you take my meaning.”
But at Sam’s words, quiet as they were, the ravens suddenly flapped their wings
and circled high into the sky, cawing harshly as they rose, and flew off, to the
north.
Frodo turned his gaze to the Old Forest then. He had not taken a good look at it
when they had exited the Hedge, being more drawn to the open grassy pathway, but
now he studied it more carefully. “I don’t think we should take the quick way
north,” he said suddenly, coming to his decision. “It seems too exposed, and
watched. I don’t know anything about the Old Forest, really, but I think we’d
best take our chances there. It will be far harder to follow us, at any rate. As
long as we generally head north and east, we should strike the Road at some
point.”
Sam and Pippin couldn’t both help feeling relief at this decision. But Merry
frowned, trying to recollect the strange tales of the Old Forest he had heard in
his childhood. He could remember no details, but he couldn’t help feeling a
sense of foreboding regarding this choice. However, he remained silent, and
followed Frodo, Pippin and Sam into the dark woods.
&&&&&
The Forest was lush, carpeted with thick grass, and only filtered light
penetrated the thick branches overhead. There was a path of sorts, near the
opening, and since it seemed to lead in the desired direction, Frodo decided
that they should follow it, at least for awhile, before trying to make their way
through the vegetation on their own. Far off, in the shadowed distance, there
appeared to be a clearing, and it was toward that that Frodo wished to go,
hoping to be able to have a better look around, and catch his bearings.
Sam walked closely beside him, and was intently examining the Forest as they
went. “What do you think of it, Sam?” Frodo asked quietly, anxious to know what
Sam’s more practiced eye might have noticed.
“That’d there be no birds in this Forest,” Sam replied softly. “I’ve heard no
song, since we came in, and surely it’s mid-morning by now.”
“You’re right,” Frodo suddenly realized. “But there are animals about, I do hear
them.”
“Aye, there’s something runnin’ underfoot, to be sure,” Sam agreed. “Mayhap
there’s not enough sun for the birds.”
Frodo took a quick glance over his shoulder at Merry and Pippin, quietly
following behind. “We can take a break when we reach that clearing up ahead,” he
told them, reassuringly. “I think I’d rather see some sunlight before we stop.”
“What clearing?” Merry frowned, gazing up ahead.
“Why, that one…” Frodo responded, turning back around and then stopping in
surprise. The wood was just as thick ahead, and the clearing that had been so
visible a moment ago was now gone, although the path was still quite clear.
“That’s odd,” Frodo said slowly, “But I expect it’s just around a bend. You did
see it, too, didn’t you, Sam?” he asked, uncertainly.
“Aye, that I did,” Sam replied, hesitantly. “At least it seemed like.”
“Well, let’s go on a little further,” Frodo tried to sound a little more
confident, adjusting his pack. “I’m sure it was not that far ahead.” But after
nearly another hour’s walk, he had to admit that if the path had lead to a
clearing, they had definitely wandered from it by now.
“Well, let’s just stop here, then. It must be nearly noon, though without seeing
the sun, it’s difficult to say,” Frodo sighed, somewhat dejectedly, letting his
pack fall from his shoulders under an ancient moss-covered oak.
“What I’m more worried about,” mentioned Merry, gratefully dropping his pack
down as well, “is that it will be hard to keep track of our direction, without
being able to see the sun.”
“You’re right,” Frodo admitted, drawing some bread and cheese out of his pack
for them all to share. “But these woods can’t go on forever. If we keep walking
long enough, we’ll reach the end of them, and then figure out the proper
direction from there.”
“Well, there’s no point in thinking of going back,” Pippin remarked, handing
each of them an apple from his pack, “for there appears to be no trail behind
us.”
With surprise, the other three looked back the way they had come, and Pippin was
quite right. There was no trace of the trail they had been walking on, only what
still led ahead of them.
“None of these leaves appear to have turned colors in this forest,” Merry
remarked, after they had eaten in silence for several moments. “It’s autumn, but
you certainly wouldn’t know it in here.”
“Well, now, that’s the first living thing as I’ve seen here,” Sam said quietly,
unobtrusively picking up a small stone next to where he sat. “But it won’t do to
let a chance at some meat go by.”
But Pippin had noticed the large hare near the gnarled tree trunk as well, and
impulsively reached out, staying Sam’s hand.
“Look at it, Sam,” he said quietly. And Sam did, letting the rock fall from his
hand.
“You’re right,” Sam said then, sounding disturbed. “That coney’s watching us,
and no mistake.”
Frodo turned to catch just a glimpse of the animal before it bounded away, but
it certainly seemed as though its bright black eyes met his for just an instant
with a sinister intent. Shaking himself slightly, he stood up again,
re-shouldering his pack. “I think these tales of the Old Forest may be giving us
all sorts of odd thoughts,” he declared with a forced cheer, “and I, for one,
will be more than glad to be out of it. Let’s see how far we can get by
nightfall. I do assume we will be able to tell, even in here, when that
happens.”
Night did come, even to the Old Forest, but it was an uncomfortable and restless
one. They dared not make a campfire, and only dozed fitfully, curled closely
together for reassurance. Frodo had picked up a stout stick, as they had entered
the Forest, and kept it close at hand, but they were disturbed only by the sound
of rustling leaves, and the occasional scurry of a small animal.
&&&&&
Somehow they had fallen asleep more deeply than they thought, for the light was
already a deeply filtered shadowy green when Sam yawned, stretched, and softly
shook Frodo, who had unaccountably fallen asleep in his lap. Pippin, tightly
tucked between Merry and Sam’s side, stirred as well, and sitting up, looked
about with an initial bit of confusion. That, of course, jolted Merry awake, and
the whole party rose to their feet, yawning, and stretching out stiff limbs.
“What I wouldn’t give for some tea,” Pippin sighed plaintively, shaking out his
cloak, which he’d been using as a blanket. “I know, I know, not until we’re out
of these woods,” he added hastily, catching Merry’s eye. Merry gave him a still
rather sleepy smile, and silently held out his waterskin as a compromise.
“At least it seems to be warmer in here,” Sam mentioned, drawing off his jacket.
“I don’t think I’ll be needin’ this today.”
“You’re right,” Frodo remarked with a bit of a frown. “It rather seems perpetual
summer in here, as if the seasons have no effect on these trees.”
“Well, I won’t be complaining about that,” Merry stated emphatically. “We’ll
probably be getting all the chilly weather we want and more, soon enough. But
what we will be needing, fairly soon, is some more water,” he added, shaking his
waterskin.
“There must be water about, as green as it is,” Sam replied, glancing around.
“We’ll just have to have a listen, now and again. But what I’m wondering is
where’s the path we were followin’ yesterday?”
At that remark, all four hobbits looked about, but Sam was right. There was no
path in any direction. “Well, now, I call that peculiar, indeed,” Merry said,
rather testily. “It certainly couldn’t have grown over in a night.”
Frodo gripped his stick a little tighter, but kept his voice calm. “There’s no
point worrying about that until after we’ve eaten breakfast,” he said smoothly.
“And then, we can use a little trick Bilbo showed me once, just to make sure we
aren’t walking in circles. You pick out some distinctive landmark in the
distance, a tree with a crooked branch, or an unusually shaped boulder, and make
for it. Then you pick another, but always making sure you leave your last
destination behind you.”
“Sounds reasonable enough,” Merry agreed. “And you’re right, Sam, it really does
seem warm in here. Almost stuffy, I’d say.”
They used this tactic while walking through most of the morning, but Frodo was
beginning to get the uncomfortable feeling that perhaps now they were just
walking in larger circles, when at last, Pippin, at his side, stopped short and
lifted up his hand. “Do you hear that?” he asked softly.
It was the sound of water, and following it, they soon came to the banks of a
broad, slowly moving stream. “It must be the Withywindle,” Frodo said,
recollecting the name of the river from one of Bilbo’s old maps. “It runs from
the hills to the south northward through the Forest. He looked up at the others,
relief clear in his expression. “This is a piece of luck. All we need to do is
follow it downstream and we’ll be out of this cursed place.”
“Well, that seems easy enough,” Pippin agreed, leaning over to fill up his
waterskin.
“And the banks seem level enough to walk alongside of it without a problem,”
Merry also seemed more cheerful. “At least there’s no chance of us walking about
in circles. May as well have lunch before we go on.”
&&&&&
Sam sat on the sandy riverbank with his knees drawn up and his arms around them,
after he had finished eating. He was uncomfortable about this place, but
couldn’t precisely say why. It was warmer than ever under the old moss covered
trees, but it was more than that. He was feeling stifled somehow, as if the
trees had taken all the air and there wasn’t enough left for him to breathe, but
he said nothing to the others, not wishing to seem fanciful. The water sparkled
gold in the diffused light, and ran by so lazily that it was nearly difficult to
tell which way the stream ran. He wished that the others would finish, so they
could go on, but there seemed to be no urgency on the part of the other
travelers.
Indeed, Pippin gave a hearty yawn, and murmured something about a nap. Merry got
up with a lazy chuckle, and agreed. “Just wake us up in a bit, Sam,” he
murmured. “You don’t seem sleepy at all, but that was an uncomfortable night,
and a little rest wouldn’t hurt, I think.” He got up then and walked to the edge
of the stream where an ancient willow trailed its lacy branches into the water.
“Ah, this does feel good,” he muttered happily, settling against its weathered
trunk, and dangling his feet in the cool water. “You ought to give it a try,
Pip.” Pippin did just that, and Frodo chuckled fondly at how fast his two
cousins fell asleep.
“I suppose we’re working the lads too hard,” he smiled over at Sam, as he rose
and stretched. “All the same, that water does look cool and inviting. It did
turn out rather warm today, didn’t it?”
He walked over to the river and slightly out into the water as Sam got up as
well. “I’ll just wait a bit here with them, Sam.” He bent over, scooping the
water up in his hands and splashing it on his face. “Why don’t you take a look a
little further downstream, and see if the river will be easy to follow?”
Sam hesitated for a moment. There was something that was nagging at him, but he
couldn’t say exactly what it was. But how could they come to harm in such a
tranquil place? Ignoring his uneasiness, he nodded, and agreed. “Just a little
ways, mayhap. But you just whistle, if you want me back, Frodo.”
“Of course, Sam,” Frodo said rather dreamily, swirling one foot around in the
placid current. “Just have a quick look around.”
&&&&&
Sam couldn’t help but notice, as he walked away from the others and further up
the river, the extreme age of the trees that lined the river. Without a doubt,
this must be the oldest part of the forest, he thought. Most of the trees along
the banks were gnarled and ancient willows, with their roots extending far out
into the water, although none seemed quite as old as the one by which they had
rested. But there were primordial banks of fern, and massive moss-choked oak,
and some plants whose names he did not know.
He walked slowly, not wishing to go too far, but there was a feeling nagging at
him still, and he stopped, next to the slowly rippling water, trying to pin down
his elusive thoughts, and then, suddenly he knew. It was the sensation of being
watched, not by something or someone in particular, but rather that the whole
Forest was immediately, intensely, aware of their presence.
It was then that he heard, or thought he had heard, a whistle, for the sound was
gone so quickly he could not tell if it had ever been, but his heart leapt up
suddenly, with fear for Frodo and the others clenching it tight. Heedlessly, he
turned to run back, but there was an animal on the path that had not been there
before.
Sam had never seen one before himself, but he immediately knew what it was, a
badger. Badgers were rare but not unknown in the Shire, and their strength,
ferocity, and unpredictability were all notorious to hobbits who encountered
them unexpectedly in the remoter woods. It was nearly as high as Sam’s waist,
brown, with black and white stripes and a broad tawny streak down its back.
Warily, it regarded Sam for just a moment with its dark brown eyes, balanced
mid-stride on its powerful, bowed legs, and then, rather unexpectedly, left the
riverbank and disappeared into the brush back beyond the trees. Sam wasted no
further thought on it, but ran, as fast as he could, back to where he had left
the others.
Or to where he thought he had left the others. For a moment, he glanced around
bewildered, and would have thought that it was entirely the wrong place, if it
had not been for the pile of their packs at the side of the river. The ancient
willow was there, but no sign of Merry and Pippin, who had been dozing against
it. And Frodo, too, was nowhere to be seen at first. It wasn’t until he had
frantically whirled around, calling out their names in fear, that he saw the
dark shape in the water, wedged under one of the willow’s roots.
With a gasp of terror, he realized it was the body of a hobbit, and by the dark
hair, he knew it to be Frodo. Desperately, he dashed into the stream, and
frantically pulled and tugged at the limp form. But somehow, Frodo had become
wedged under the root, and it wasn’t until Sam stuck his head under the water,
flinging his arms around Frodo and giving a frantic tug, that he felt the grip
that held Frodo loosen, and the both of them surfaced. He was gasping for air,
but Frodo lay in his arms, still and with eyes closed.
Quickly, he lay Frodo down onto the sand, and brushed his face with a trembling
hand. Frodo was breathing, but gave no sign of response. “Frodo, oh, Frodo,” Sam
gasped out, tears beginning to stream down his face, but he knew the other two
might still be in the water as well. Reluctantly but dutifully, he turned back
to search the stream for any sign of them, but there was none. He frantically
called their names, but there was no answering shout, only the still murmur of
the idle stream, and the slight rustle of the willow branches. Only once, did he
think he almost heard an oddly remote call, but the sound vanished and did not
reoccur.
With an anguished heart, he turned back to Frodo, but Frodo had not stirred,
lying on the sandy bank, nearly motionless save only for the very faint
occasional lift of his chest, with a calmness that Sam found terrifying.
He had only been gone a few moments, how could everything have gone suddenly so
very wrong? Pippin and Merry had vanished, and Frodo lay as one in an enchanted
sleep. Despairing, he brushed the wet curls back from Frodo’s pale forehead,
gently stroking his damp cheeks, and calling Frodo’s name over and over, as his
own tears ran heedlessly down his face, but there was no change in Frodo’s
expression.
And then, suddenly, the horror of his situation was too much for Sam. He leapt
to his feet, and running mindlessly down the path along the river, cried out in
despair, “Oh, who will help us now? Please, please, won’t anyone help us?” With
a final, grief-stricken cry, he sank to his knees on the ground, and covered his
face, with a tormented sob.
&&&&&
“You and your companions have indeed been reckless.” Sam jerked his
tear-reddened face up in amazement at the unexpected deep voice. The speaker was
standing before him, next to the river, and Sam blinked, wiping his eyes
hastily, and trying to make sense of what he was seeing.
The figure before him was sturdy and tall, but not as tall as a Big Person. His
face was a dark brown, and he was likewise suited all in brown and green, with a
wide-brimmed dark brown hat upon his head, so that he nearly seemed part of the
Forest. But his dark eyes were keen, and studied Sam thoughtfully.
Without thinking, Sam rose to his feet, and instinctively bowed to the stranger,
with an innate sense that somehow, there might be assistance here that he had
not looked for. “Sam Gamgee, sir,” he whispered, immediately returning to kneel
at Frodo’s side. “Please, is there anything you can do to help him?” he implored
plaintively, as he looked up at the commanding stranger, his hand unconsciously,
gently, stroking the side of Frodo’s still face.
The stranger regarded him in silence for a moment, in which Sam felt that he was
somehow being judged, although on what basis, he knew not. Then, with a short
grunt, the brown figure knelt at Frodo’s side, and lightly passed a large hand
over Frodo’s face. “Awake, young hobbit,” Sam heard him murmur. “Sleep no more.”
And to Sam’s vast joy, Frodo gasped suddenly, and slowly blinked his dazed eyes
open.
“Frodo!” Sam gave a choked cry, and without another thought, threw his arms
around Frodo and, lifting him up into a sitting position, clasped Frodo tightly
to his breast, with his tears once again running heedlessly down his cheeks.
“Sam?” came Frodo’s confused voice, as he gently drew back from Sam, still
holding on lightly to his arms, and then looked up at the stranger in wonder.
“You were almost lost to this Forest,” the stranger said gruffly. “It is not a
place for hobbits.” He gave Frodo a searching look, and then added softly, “But
it is not an idle pleasure trip into the Forest that brings you both here, is
it.”
Frodo started to stand up somewhat shakily, his normal color starting to come
back to his face. “Frodo Baggins, at your service,” he said, using Sam’s sturdy
arm to help himself to his feet, and giving his rescuer a brief, slightly
unsteady bow.
The stranger gave a quick nod, but then looked around with a frown. “There were
more of you,” he mentioned tersely.
“Merry and Pippin, sir,” Sam hesitantly answered, watching him, but with an arm
still tight around Frodo. “I’ve not seen them; I don’t know where they’d be.”
Frodo gave him a questioning look, and Sam shook his head. “They weren’t here
when I got back, just…” and his voice stopped suddenly, with a gulp.
But the stranger paid no heed, lifting up his head and continuing to give a
sharp glance around. “Tom Bombadil, if you need a name,” he said over his
shoulder, as he rose and walked over to the ancient willow by the water, eyeing
it closely. And then with a sudden deep chuckle, he gave the side of the tree an
unexpectedly hearty kick. “Old Man Willow!” he roared out. “Let them be. You’ve
no need of them.” To Sam and Frodo’s astonishment, the tree groaned and gave out
a sustained crack, as Tom Bombadil watched it sternly, his hands resting on his
hips. “That’s it,” he continued, amusement thick in his voice. “Let them go, and
dig your roots deep in the earth instead.”
The leafy limbs of the willow seemed to shake briefly, and then the trunk
twisted around, and Merry and Pippin were suddenly discovered curled at its
base, looking as confused as if they had just awoken from a deep sleep. Sam
hurried to the tree, not even thinking to wonder at what had just happened, and
reached out to grab an arm from each cousin. Giving a quick yank, he tugged
them, neither resisting, from the tree and over to where Frodo stood, still
shaky with the reaction to his own ordeal.
“Drink water, and bury your roots in the earth, where they belong, Old Man,”
growled Bombadil to the tree, paying no attention to the hobbits. “Sleep again,
and don’t trifle with that which concerns you not.” Giving the tree a final
vigorous tap with his powerful foot, he then turned and eyed the silent hobbits
with clear doubt. “Well, you’d better be coming with me, then,” he sighed at
last, obviously coming to a decision. “Evidently, you are not safe here. Perhaps
Goldberry will have some thoughts on the matter.” Giving them no time to
consider either acceptance or a decline of his offer, he turned to depart,
leaving the hobbits to follow as they would. But as he did so, he pushed back
his hat for a moment, in the sultry, still air, and Sam gave a start. There was
a distinct tawny streak through the center of his dark brown hair.
&&&&&
It seemed a long and wearisome way to the exhausted hobbits, but they followed
Tom Bombadil without a word. They left the valley of the Withywindle behind
quickly, and the air immediately seemed cooler, and more wholesome. The Forest,
too, began to change, and started to seem more like the woods of the Shire. The
leaves of the oaks here were yellow, and the maple shone a brilliant red and
gold in the light of the lowering sun. Merry and Pippin had given Frodo and Sam
a quick bewildered look behind Bombadil’s back, as they had started, but Frodo
had shaken his head and given them back a fierce glance, and they had, with
uncharacteristic wisdom, forborne any question of either Frodo or Sam, or
Bombadil himself.
But just when Sam felt that he was not going to be able to go a step further,
not to mention his growing concern for the shadows on Frodo’s tired face, or for
the sound of the steps of the two hobbits behind him becoming more uneven and
dragging, Bombadil stopped, and bent over a stand of wildflowers growing at the
edge of a clearing in the woods. “I must have flowers for my fair Goldberry,” he
murmured, as if to himself, “even though none are as fine as she.” Stooping for
a moment, he gathered an armful of goldenrod and asters, and turned back to the
hobbits with the hint of a smile on his face. “Courage, my brave hobbits, you
will rest well this night and come to no harm. Goldberry awaits us.”
Looking past him in the dim light, the hobbits could indeed see, in the growing
dusk, a low, comforting home, not far off, atop a small hill that rose free from
the Forest. It was built of stone and timber, with smoke rising from a chimney,
and light from within shining from the round windows. Heartened, they trudged up
the grassy hill behind Bombadil, and waited humbly before the carved door as it
opened, and Goldberry stepped out.
She was as tall as Bombadil, but slender, and as pale as he was dark. Her hair
flowed loosely about her shoulders, the color of white gold, and she was dressed
in a graceful robe of light spring green and silver. Only in her eyes did she
match Bombadil, for they were dark brown also, and warmly welcoming. She gave
him a quick glance first, full of private merriment, and took up the flowers in
her arms. Then she turned to her guests, and spoke to them in a low musical
voice.
“Welcome to our home, friends. You have been wearied and frightened, I see, but
there will be no harm to you here. Please come in and refresh yourselves.” And
with a graceful gesture, she held open the door for them and bade them enter.
The door opened into a long, wood-paneled room, with warm woven carpets with
curious designs and soft colors underfoot. There was a long table, in the middle
of the room, and several benches about the walls, heaped with soft pillows, and
at the far end was a great hearth, with a merrily burning fire. But most of all,
throughout the room, there were flowers. Wide bowls, filled with every kind of
blossom, were set down the middle of the table, and great vases were heaped
full, in every corner of the great room, with a riotous assortment of bloom.
There was not a drooping head or fading flower to be seen anywhere, but all
looked as if they had been but freshly picked only moments ago. Yet Sam knew, as
he gazed about in wonder, that he saw spring and summer blossoms here, as well
as what bloomed in the autumn.
But there was no time to think of that now, for Goldberry was drawing them down
a hallway, and opening a door for them. “I think you’ll find this room
comfortable,” she laughed merrily, showing them into a cozy bedroom with the
open door of a bath room just beyond. “Come and join us after you’ve had a
chance to wash up. I expect you could use something warm inside of you.” She
gave another laugh as they all thanked her most sincerely, and closed the door
behind her. And they were alone.
&&&&&
For a moment, they stood frozen together in the center of the room, gazing at
each other speechlessly, with the packs still on their backs. Then Pippin
suddenly let his slide down, and with an exhausted sigh, sat heavily on it, and
looked up at the others. “I can’t think of anything, at the moment, that could
possibly be better than a hot bath and a bite to eat, but there’s one thing I
have to know, first off. What exactly happened to us, out there?”
Merry said nothing, but let his pack drop next to Pippin’s, and stood next to
him, with a hand resting firmly on Pippin’s shoulder, and joined him in watching
the other two expectantly. Frodo shook his head, and sank wearily down on the
floor, against the side of a high bed, his pack still on his back. Sam gave him
the ghost of a smile, and walking over to Frodo, gently lifted Frodo’s pack off
of his shoulders before removing his own, as well, and setting them down
together.
“I’ll tell you what it was I saw,” he said slowly, sitting down next to Frodo,
“even if some of it makes not a bit of sense to me.” He paused for a moment,
collecting his thoughts and memories, and staring at his hands. “The both of
you,” he started, looking up briefly at Pippin and Merry, “were leanin’ against
that tree, gettin’ a bit of rest. Frodo was standin’ in the river. And I went on
a bit, t’see what was up ahead. I thought I heard a whistle, so I came back as
fast as ever I could. An’ the pair o’you were gone, and Frodo was in the water,
bein’ held down by the root, or so it seemed. I got you out, all right,” and it
was then that Sam’s hand found Frodo’s, and clutched it tightly. “But it’s as
though you were fast asleep, and wouldn’t wake up, no ways.”
Sam ducked his head down at this point, obviously fighting off tears, and Frodo
leaned against him slightly, as if to reassure him by touch. “I think I called
out for help, but I’m not sure. But he came, this Tom Bombadil, and woke you,
Frodo,” Sam continued, with only a slight gulp. “And then he gave that tree a
fearsome kick, and there the two of you were. So that was it.” Any other private
suspicions that he had as to their rescuer, he kept to himself, for the time
being.
“Well,” sighed Merry, “this world beyond the Shire is a lot stranger than we
ever knew, I suppose, and I’m sure we haven’t seen the end of it. However, I
think a bath would go a long way to making me feel more like myself, right now.
And if the both of you won’t mind,” he added, nodding toward Frodo and Sam, “Pip
and I will just wash a bit of the dust off, first.” He touched Pippin’s cheek
briefly, as Pippin got up, and they headed toward the bathroom with Merry’s arm
firmly around Pippin’s shoulders. “Don’t worry, really, that’s all I want to do
at the moment,” he threw back to Frodo and Sam, with a slight grin. “Probably
wouldn’t do to keep them waiting, I’m thinking.”
&&&&&
The hobbits hesitantly presented themselves back in the wood-paneled room before
very long, and were warmly greeted by Goldberry. “We have so little company,”
she smiled at them, slightly wistfully, or at least so Frodo thought. “And never
hobbits. I hope the baths weren’t too large for you?”
Actually, they had fit two hobbits quite comfortably, but none of the visitors
felt it quite prudent to mention that. Instead, they all politely assured her
that they couldn’t have asked for better. She laughed at that, and mentioned, so
merrily, that they might just be needing pillows to reach the table properly,
that they couldn’t help but find the prospect amusing as well. And before long,
they were all perched on piles of the softest pillows, with a most delicious
bowl of soup before each of them, as well as baskets of a finer bread than any
they had ever tasted. Tom had also rejoined them, and served them a wine that,
in Frodo’s opinion, far surpassed any vintage of Old Winyards. Both Tom and his
lady Goldberry, in short, were so kind and cheerful, that soon enough, the
hobbits, even including Frodo, the most cautious by nature, were feeling quite
at home and comfortable.
So it was not surprising that, after their dinner, as they all were comfortably
seated about the hearth, pipes in hand (Tom had insisted), and their host
mentioned the purpose of their travels, Frodo felt no necessity to hide it from
him. He drew the box out of his pocket, and handed it trustingly to Tom.
“Gandalf says that it cannot stay in the Shire,” he said simply, watching Tom
steadily. “We are taking it to Rivendell.” Sam felt his breath catch suddenly in
his throat at Frodo’s boldness, but he watched Tom slowly open the box, and
trusted, as always, Frodo’s instincts.
Tom gazed for a moment at the simple gold band within, and then, with a sound of
amusement, plucked it from the box and sent it spinning, shining, into the air.
“A pretty bauble, indeed, my lady,” he chuckled, glancing at Goldberry, with his
dark eyes glittering. “Would you fancy it, perhaps?”
Goldberry sipped from her goblet, and shrugged lightly. “I can’t say it suits my
tastes,” she quietly commented. “It’s not alive, and has no beauty in my eyes.”
“Quite so, my Goldberry,” he gave her a shrewd glance. “Yet I suspect that there
are some who would give a good deal to have this.” Thoughtfully, he looked back
at Frodo, the Ring still resting lightly on his palm. “And what else did Gandalf
tell you of it?”
“That it is evil,” Frodo answered immediately, “and dangerous.”
“To most, perhaps,” Tom answered slowly, the corner of his mouth crooking up at
that. Idly, he flicked the Ring up again, and this time stretched out his hand
as it descended. The Ring slipped onto his finger, without resistance, but Tom
sat there, as visible as ever, with a wry smile. “An amusing trinket, but I’m
afraid its power is not unlimited,” he mentioned calmly, his dark eyes studying
them carefully. “Have you ever put it on, Frodo?”
“No,” Frodo whispered, still stunned by the apparent failure of the Ring to
affect Tom Bombadil in any way.
“Good,” Bombadil gave him another careful look as he, seemingly careless, slid
the Ring off of his fingers without another look, and back into the box again,
snapping the lid firmly shut. “Yes, I can see that you have not. It is in your
eyes. Be very careful, young hobbit, for its damage can never be undone on a
mortal such as yourself.”
But at that remark, Pippin could restrain his curiosity no longer. “Are you a
wizard, sir?” he asked suddenly, his pipe forgotten in his lap.
Both Tom and Goldberry burst into laughter at the thought. “Why, no, my dear
hobbit, that I am not,” Tom gave another merry chuckle at the notion. “We were
here long before wanderers such as they passed through Middle Earth. I do not
doubt we’ll be here long after them, as well. An odd lot, although Gandalf, with
whom you appear to be acquainted, is rather decent. You could do worse than be
guided by him.”
&&&&&
There had been no more discussion of the purpose for their journey after that,
and it wasn’t long before, in the warm, flower-scented room, the hobbits found
themselves unsuccessfully trying to stifle yawns. Goldberry, giving them a
compassionate look, escorted them back to their bedroom despite their polite
protests. “No, my dear guests,” she shook her head with a smile. “It has been a
wearying day, and you need rest more now than I need company. Tomorrow will be a
fair new day, and there will be time enough then.” She turned to leave, but then
gave them a last look. “You are no longer in your Shire, and there is much about
you that you do not understand,” she said gravely, searching their eyes, each
one in turn. “Within these walls, you are perfectly safe. Within these walls,”
she repeated, with careful emphasis, and was gone.
Once again, the four travelers stared at each other, and, as usual, Pippin spoke
first. “The Ring, Frodo,” he turned to his cousin with a frown. “Why didn’t it
work on Tom Bombadil? And if he isn’t a wizard, what is he anyway?”
But Frodo sighed, and gave Pippin a quick hug. “I don’t know the first, Pip, and
I don’t know the other one either. But I do know I am tired, right down to the
bone, and sleep sounds absolutely wonderful to me right now. And really, the
rest can all wait until tomorrow to be puzzled out.”
Merry, rubbing his eyes sleepily, had been surveying the room. “These beds are
huge,” he remarked. “Clearly, they don’t have many hobbits out this way. We
could, all four, fit on one with room to spare. But,” he added quickly, catching
Sam’s expression and giving him a mischievous grin, “since there are two beds, I
expect we could split up, as well.”
Sam gave a slight huff, and determinedly walked over to one of them, hoisting
himself on it with a bit of effort. “Here you go, Frodo,” he held out his hand,
“and don’t forget the light, Merry.” Frodo gave him a thankful smile and,
grasping his hand tightly, pulled himself up on the bed as well.
Merry laughed, and seeing Pippin had already clambered up on the other bed, gave
Sam a mock bow. “As you wish, Master Samwise,” he announced solemnly, and
pinched out the two fragrant candles that had been burning in sconces of either
side of the door, and joined Pippin, guided by the moonlight that shone brightly
through the open-shuttered window.
It was the work of a moment for Merry and Pippin to shed their clothing, and
drop it by the side of the bed, and burrow deeply under the coverings. Then
there was some rustling, and low murmurs, and some quiet gasps and laughs, and
finally they were still. It wasn’t long before their peaceful breathing
indicated to the other two that sleep had overtaken them at last.
Frodo and Sam waited patiently in the other bed until then, and then Sam turned
to Frodo, raising himself up on an elbow, and lightly brushing Frodo’s curls
back from his forehead. “There was something else as I didn’t mention,” he said
softly, and told Frodo of his encounter with the badger, and his suspicions.
Frodo looked up at him thoughtfully, when he was finished, and quietly said,
“Whoever he is, or whatever he is, he must be powerful indeed, not to be
affected by the Ring. But I think that we do not need to fear him.” He was
silent for a moment, and then asked slowly, lifting a hand to touch the side of
Sam’s face, “How did he find you, anyway, Sam?”
Sam gulped at the memory, and lowered his head. “I was that scared,” he
whispered, closing his eyes and bringing his hand up to cover Frodo’s. “I
couldn’t wake you, do what I would, and I think I called out for someone as
could help. And then when I opened my eyes, there he was.”
“Oh, Sam,” Frodo murmured tenderly, and drew Sam down into his embrace. “But as
you said the other night to me, it didn’t happen, and you are with me now. The
road ahead is too dangerous to think of what could have happened. Every night,
when I have you in my arms again, is a gift, and there’s nothing else I could
ever want.”
But Sam had no words to say to that, finding Frodo’s mouth instead, and that was
answer enough.
&&&&&
They slept deeply, but dreams came, as dreams will, and Pippin found himself in
a beautiful sunlit meadow. Merry was there, too, and there was food spread out
upon a blanket. There were bowls of strawberries, and a dish of sweet cream, and
those scones that Sam made especially well. Somehow, he knew that Frodo and Sam
were there as well, but right now, there was only Merry in the meadow with him.
Merry was lying on the grass, next to the blanket, and his shirt was off, and
the sun was lighting up his curls, until they shone like spun gold. He was
tossing the strawberries up into the air, trying to catch them in his mouth, but
was laughing too much to be entirely successful about it.
Pippin knelt next to him, feeling his heart catch as Merry turned to him with
that look that only he ever saw in those blue-grey eyes. Stretching his hand up,
he touched Pippin’s nose, and laughed. “There’s cream on your nose, Pip, just
like a cat’s. Have you been licking the dish then?”
“Well, if there is, I suppose you’ll just have to kiss it off.” Pippin bent
down, but somehow, Merry’s mouth missed his nose, and found his mouth instead,
which was a very good thing. Lifting himself up again, after thoroughly kissing
Merry and finding that he tasted just like he always did, but with strawberry
flavor as well, which was quite tasty and deserved another sampling, he took a
quick look around, to see if the others were about, because, fine as kisses
were, there was better to be had from Merry.
“Oh, they’re off,” he heard Merry’s warm chuckle. “I don’t expect to see them
for a while; Sam was looking quite determined.”
“Ah,” Pippin approved, but just before he bent over Merry again, he thought he
heard the faintest wisp of a song. It was sweet, and beautiful, and so faint he
hardly was sure that he heard it at all, but it distracted him for the moment,
and he looked up. There were graceful willow trees at the edge of the meadow, he
noticed, and a gentle stream that rippled past them.
Rising to his feet, he laughed at Merry’s annoyance, and said, “I’ll be back in
a moment, Merry, love, but I just thought I heard something.” The music became
stronger as he slowly walked over to the stream, and now, looking down into the
clear water, just past where the willow branches lightly stroked the undulating
water, something seemed to be catching the light. The music was swelling in a
haunting melody as he leaned forward, reaching out to touch the water. But just
then, he heard Merry.
“Come along, Pip,” Merry’s voice was amused, but with a rich undercurrent of a
stronger emotion. “Frodo and Sam will be back anytime now, and there’s better
things that you could be doing than mucking about in the water.”
With a laugh, Pippin agreed, and turned back to Merry, leaving the stream
behind.
&&&&&
Merry tossed restlessly in his sleep. He was on horseback, somehow he knew that.
He was familiar enough with ponies, but this was unmistakably a horse, a Big
Person’s mount. The horse was keeping up a steady pace, and it was all he could
do to wrap his arms around the powerful neck, the coarse hair of the mane
hitting him in the face with the rhythm of the animal’s gait, and try to
maintain his position But he did not think of getting off, for there was a
reason to the horse’s urgency, and he didn’t have much time.
They flew, the graceful horse, and the hobbit desperately clinging on, under a
cold grey sky, and over grassy fields that stretched out towards mountains on
the very far horizon, and Merry suddenly realized that it was Pippin he was
searching for.
Quite suddenly they had come to a city, however there was no other sign of life
about, no inhabitants of this proud imposing city. But the cold stone buildings
rose up and there were massive granite steps to be climbed, never meant for the
legs of a hobbit.
But climb them, Merry would, no matter the time or effort it took, for Pippin
needed him, and was somewhere ahead in this maze of rock. One step after
another, he hauled himself up, but always they loomed up, leading up farther
toward the sky, and time was running out. Pippin needed him, and he was too
slow, too clumsy; he would never be able to reach him in time.
Finally he had reached the top, though, and found himself on a wide stone
walkway, with high walls on either side. Pippin was not far off now, but the
walkway turned a corner, and there was something there, something evil and
horrible, and Merry woke, choking on a gasp of terror.
Quietly, he lay back, the moonlight filling the unfamiliar room, and let his
heartbeat gradually calm itself. A bad dream, he told himself sternly, just a
nightmare. Nothing to be making a fuss over. They were safe here, at least for
tonight. Frodo and Sam were just on the other side of the room, and here was
Pippin. Gratefully, he clasped Pippin tightly to his chest, and felt Pippin move
closer to him, even in his sleep, and instinctively thrust one of his long legs
between Merry’s. Kissing him thankfully on his forehead, Merry fell back to
sleep, this time a dreamless one.
&&&&&
Sam turned on his side, towards Frodo, reaching out in his dreams, but in his
sleep, he could see Frodo nowhere. Instead, it was foggy and the sky was dark.
Rain had begun to fall, a simple shower, but as the rain fell, it began to
collect in reflective puddles on the dark moist earth. And now the puddles were
growing, beginning to connect as the rain fell even harder. Sam was transfixed,
unable to move, as the water gradually collected into rivulets, growing into
small streams, joining together and ever increasing.
Frodo. He was somewhere ahead, and Sam needed to be with him. But he didn’t
move. He couldn’t move. His feet were rooted in the mud, useless to him, for the
water was beginning to flow over his toes, the stream still growing, and he
couldn’t get to Frodo.
Desperately, he looked ahead. There was a figure in the mist, and he knew it was
Frodo, but his mouth only opened soundlessly, and Frodo wouldn’t turn around.
And now it was a river between them, swift and fierce, and only then did Frodo
turn around and see him. Silently he held out his hand to Sam. It was only then
that Sam was released from the motionless state in which he had been trapped.
Now he could see Frodo’s face better, his dark hair plastered to his graceful
face by the rain, but he was smiling and he called out Sam’s name, his hand
still out-stretched. Sam began to walk forward, and his feet were now in the
river. Further he went, now up to his knees, and the river’s current pulled and
tugged at his legs, urging him in. Now he was up to his waist, but Frodo
laughed, and continued to hold out his hand, and called out his name again. The
water carried him forward, slapping up first under his arms, and now his chin,
and Frodo’s face was lit with happiness as Sam took one more step forward. Then
all he saw was water, cold and glassy all about him, and he only thought he
heard Frodo’s voice call his name once more.
&&&&&
Frodo had found himself in a green lovely land which he had never before seen.
The air was filled with an unusual fragrance, tangy and salty, and the wind
sighed through the pines. There was also a hushed, rhythmic sound, which did not
seem to come from that far away, and it was irresistible. Wonderingly, he walked
toward it, and saw how the grass under foot gradually mixed with sand, until
there was only sand left.
The sand was curiously warm under his feet, and he stopped, entranced with the
manner in which it covered his toes as he stepped into it. The strange cry of a
bird caught his attention, and he glanced up. Large white birds circled over
head, crying out as they glided in swooping figures above, held upon the breath
of the wind, and he suddenly knew that what he heard was the sound of the sea.
There was peace here, but there was loss as well. For he suddenly knew that his
arrival here had not come without cost, had not come without the greatest price
that could be paid. He was not alone, and yet he was, and there was emptiness
within him, even in the midst of the peace.
Then all at once, he felt rebellion and resistance surge up within him, for the
beauty here was purposeless, and without heart. He had no desire for the false
calm, the seductive serenity. Angrily, he looked around him, rejecting what he
saw. There was only one sight he wished to see now, and he could see him
nowhere.
It was then that he felt Sam’s arms tight around him, and heard Sam’s voice near
his ear, calling his name softly, but in tones of heartbreaking sadness. With
determination, he thrust the remnants of the dream from him, and opening his
eyes, touched Sam’s moonlit face. Sam’s eyes flew open at his touch, and stared
into his, momentarily bewildered and lost.
“I’m here, Sam love,” he murmured, brushing his fingers lightly down Sam’s
cheeks. “It was only a bad dream. I am here with you.”
Sam blinked, and then his voice caught as he whispered Frodo’s name. “Hush, now,
love,” Frodo smiled slowly, as he touched Sam’s lips lightly. And then moved by
an impulse that he didn’t understand, or perhaps a last fragment of his dream,
he quietly asked Sam, “If ever I were lost Sam, would you look for me?”
“For the rest of my life, me dear. If that’s what it took,” was Sam’s
instantaneous response, and Frodo smiled again.
“I know that should probably concern me,” he murmured, his hand now cradling
Sam’s face, “but my heart is glad.” Leaning forward, he nuzzled his face under
Sam’s jaw, kissing him lingeringly as Sam gave a soft moan, throwing his head
back. “It doesn’t sound like a pleasant dream you had at all, Sam love,” he
whispered, rolling himself over Sam, as Sam’s hands slowly stroked up his sides.
“Let me help you forget it.”
There was nothing Sam was more willing to do, as he stretched out longingly
under the delicious weight of Frodo, feeling his own heat and desire matched by
that of Frodo. Slowly, Frodo began to move over him, all the while kissing his
cheeks, his throat, his curve of his jaw, and finally finding his mouth. Then
his mouth parted and Sam’s met it eagerly, savoring the taste of him, the
sweetly familiar tongue meeting his own. Sam’s hands had curved eagerly around
Frodo’s back, and hungrily further down, as he pushed up against Frodo, meeting
every movement of Frodo’s with his own yearning caress.
“Ah,” he could hear Frodo’s quiet groan, as he drew his mouth away from Sam’s,
and tucking his forehead against Sam’s shoulder blade, gasping faintly and
murmuring Sam’s name. Sam’s hands were firm on Frodo now, holding them tightly
together, as they moved against each other, delighting in the glorious friction,
and the warmth of the beloved other in their arms. Slow, and nearly silent they
were, but all too soon, it was over, as Sam thrust up a last time and froze,
with a soundless gasp, his fingers clutching Frodo’s backside with fervor. And
Frodo pushed down once more, and felt the familiar waves of release rock through
his body, and passionate love for Sam rush once again through his heart.
There were no further dreams for either of them the rest of that night, and when
the morning sun found its way through the window, they still had not moved from
their embrace.
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