My, my, my. Dilly-Dally, Shilly-shally. That's all I ever do. Tsk, tsk, tsk.
Disclaimer: I do not own, nor will I ever own the magnificent works of art that J.R.R. Tolkien had made once upon a time.
Prologue
Fog burdens this old forest. Tall are the trees, green are their leaves, and so enticing is their beauty to wind in twisting directions in attempt to reach the sky. Yet dare not any animal have the will to climb the branches of any of them. An evil grows at the base of every heart in these woods. Every root that may be laid before a traveler may he trip on. Paths will change as the trees will be destined to move frequently to confuse any trespassers in the land. Hoping that as branches fall before the invaders, they will hit and knock out the unsuspecting victims so that as they lay unconscious the trees' roots will move and consume the bodies.
Tis' but a taste of what dark deeds these trees will think up next. And at the center of them all, a giant tree, ancient and corroded with memory both joyous and ill. Old Man Willow sends out his rage and malicious intent to every tree in the Old Forest that borders Buckland that shares the same feeling towards those who tear down the forest without remorse.
If you are now wondering who, or what exactly Old Man Willow is, then I will tell you. For a time a long time ago, his name was not Old Man Willow. In fact, he wasn't a tree at all! But a man. One of the giant folk Hobbits called him. His true name was Henry High-water and he governed his kingdom in the forest where it was the only kingdom that dared to stray so far from the east. Where most of the giant folk dwelt. And in his domain, he was prosperous and kind towards all who settled near the forest.
Hobbits from The Shire and Bree-land would be seen most often in the shining streets of Lore; which was what his Kingdom was called, for you see creatures of all kinds would come to do biddings in Lore. And, in due time, most knowledge of everything that has ever happened, from tales of old to tales that were downright queer, were conversed during the everyday commotion of wagons of shipment going in and out of the kingdom, to the inns where stable boys tended to customers horses.
But the ridiculous freedom in which Lore upheld was easily misused. Evil souls soon occupied the area and began attacks on incoming travelers which carried with them treasures from far distances. Talk grew that darkness was overtaking the forest. And soon the streets of Lore were no longer bright with music and merriment. Thus coming the unfortunate end of the great kingdom of Lore.
Yet, what had happened to the king? Before all his streets were decayed, his throne now over run by starving rats and spider webs. A curse was set upon him by a traveling sorcerer who was ambushed by trolls. Forever will the kind Henry watch over his kingdom, but not in human form. And his precious treasure will be buried at his base, supplementing him the reminder of what he once had but will not be able to see and hold any longer.
It is now ages ago since this had happened, and the story of the once beautiful Lore is now erased from everyone's memory. Even the great Halfelven Elrond has somehow forgotten these events. Everyone except the ones who now dwell in The Old Forest.
We now enter the account of Tom Bombadil and his precious lady Goldberry. Who are the last two remaining that know the secrets of Old Man Willows roots.
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Kewl, I actually wrote something kinda good...
Comments please?