Disclaimer: Among many things
I own no rights to Lord of the Rings
Beyond the river beneath the trees,
between snowed mountains and western seas,
a caravan halted on the road
goblins raided it of its load.
From Imladris a group was sent
To seek the truth of this event,
and find the culprits in their hive
and rescue prisoners who may survive.
Leading the mission was an ancient lord
who stood most proudly with his sword
that danced in defense of a city so fair
with his silver armour and golden hair.
Gildor was his name and he would see
the task through most tenaciously,
alongside companions most renowned
at experts of the broken ground
that formed the bulk of Eriador
and of the north lands many more.
Isengrim, a northern ranger and
the sons of Elrond knew the land
on which they had the need to go
swiftly searching high and low
for where the goblins were located
and a crisis was abated.
They tracked them far for day and night
But ne'er could they get in sight,
for the goblin host so great had cast
their nets west over distance vast.
For they had still more damage to do
and all the northern peoples knew,
to avoid the orcish horde that came
for meat and slaves - that was there game.
And for such did their trackers pray
for in such actions their hope lay,
for successful rescue of any elves
if goblins wished them for themselves,
and not discarded in a ditch
of people who might lack that which
they needed to work their evil mines
and man their armour hammering lines.
As time went on their hopes had been
dashed for none-so-ever had seen
so great an army in this land
since the Witch-king declared his hand
those long centuries ago
and raised destruction to and fro
'fore elves and men had won the day
and foe had scattered far away.
But now two thousand goblins swept
towards the lands where men had kept,
their towns and villages and abodes
by crossroads, two once major roads.
And farms that lay within their route
had been stripped of all their loot,
though signs of struggle were often found
there were no farmers dead or bound.
Isengrim hoped that some had fled
before the torrent that had led
itself right up to their front door
and ripped down their homes and more.
And for sure someone had got clear
and warned the others of what was near,
for within Bree the gates were barred
the towers manned and the walls made hard.
But in Staddle and Archet a cloud of dread
left good folk's hearts weighed down like lead.
The days were gone when they'd march proud
carrying drums and trumpets and songs so loud,
banners of silver stars fluttering high
black-armoured lines beneath the sky
that drove off anything that came
to kill and harm and raze and maim.
Now they sheltered from the storm
and hoped they would avoid the swarm.
And it seemed this time men were in luck -
for once the goblin mass had stuck
to northern route across dead plain
before Fornost where so many were slain.
Where King Earnur had set out
to drive Angmar into rout,
with horses great and men so many
they were able to shatter any,
in fair battle a long time past
where the Witch-king had made his last
stand ere conceding defeat
and setting off in swift retreat
and headed south to hide and cower
within the fortress they called 'moon's tower'.
Gildor had been at the fight
that elves and Gondor won for right
and celebrated with song and cheer
'bout horses, trees and (for one host), beer.
But for all the good they did that day
they could not keep the truth away,
the land was lost, it's seven stars felled
by that same evil they had quelled.
Yet even now orcs dared not stand
upon that cursed battle-land.
Instead they traipsed around the field
while Gildor made ready his shield
and went bravely through the bleak
and desolate lands to chase the meek
goblins who as yet went still unseen
by their markers who were getting keen.
Upon a river the orcs' path turned
downstream southwards they had learned,
by watching where their footprints went
along the banks where orcs had spent
their nights marching on dry land
of grass that would turn into sand.
They would not risk the long slither
on any boat upon that river.
But elves and rangers had no woe
to them fair waters were no foe
and on a raft they swept along
with the twin's craft and Gildor's song.
And for the night they slept away
taking what rest as they may.
For they had a variant of sight
and feared soon that they must fight.
When the tracks went in a veer
away from the river, they went to peer,
and came upon a carven town
within a valley going down
with pathways baring rounded doors
ever downwards many floors.
Gildor had ne'er-so-ever spotted
buildings like those he now plotted
with sharp elf eyes and an expert ear
picking up everything there was to hear.
Fires burned and smoke arose
from out of many clouded windows.
Foul orcs crowded on dirty roads
while fields filled with crude abodes
tents and fences filled their sight
on the surface of the morning light.
The earth groaned beneath their toes
the sky was filled with scores of crows
the stonework sang a song of sadness
of damage and of wanton madness.
"What is this land?" Gildor spoke light as air
"No goblin home was ere before so fair
What manner of village have they come to craft?"
And from out the grass something laughed.
Not a shrill laugh was it but 'twas in no way
a funny one either that they got that day.
It was the hollow laugh that one might use when
one hears words so stupid they can't do else then.
And out of some grass a figure emerged
short and stocky and to Gildor he urged
that he listen to him and his face grew a frown,
"That place is Oatbarton and it's not their town."
The party listened to his account
of how the goblins had come to mount
a swift attack upon their lands
with barbed arrows and clawed hands.
Of hobbits taken by surprise
of children and of babies' cries
of lasses taken within the dome
that the shirriff called his home.
The sons of Elrond scouted the lay
of the land to find a way
within the town to launch their quest
of rescue though it seemed in jest.
Isengrim too looked 'round for clues
and saw hope within the ooze
of the smoke the goblins made
to sneak within and launch a raid.
Long they waited for their time
'for chance came with ringing chime
and many goblins marched off south
into narrowing fields - an open mouth,
for appearing in their path a host so grand
of shielded hobbits bearing spears and
atop steep hills there were many more
archers and slingers striking for
all the hope that still stood fast
if their spearwall should last.
Jet black banners with the seven pies
mirrored their armour reflecting the skies.
With the right-flank archers there was sat
a horsed hobbit with a big bat.
The goblins stood amazed they'd dare
to offer battle - arrows filled the air!
The goblin frontline gave a leer
and charged the hobbits - skewered by spear-
points. With stones, arrows and much fear,
elite goblins came up from the rear.
Fearsome warg riders were next defied
scimitars hung limply by their side
so with the cranks of gears and nuts and bolts
the goblins drove next fell towers and catapults.
Gildor's party sat unsure
of wither to go help them or
to perform the rescue they'd pledged to action
and storm the town in the distraction.
It was the hobbit's formation that made their
choice easy for they could not fare
their way t'where they could join
forces with the hobbit's battle line.
But it was with a heavy heart
that they made their mission start
for they were abandoning good hobbits to their end;
the goblin host to large to bend
and buckle completely to this host
and to hobbit captain's boast
as he taunted from the height
the goblin chieftain in his sight.
He wore a hauberk almost the same
as his countryman despite his fame
that with one difference - his sigil was thought slain
for he bore not pies but the silver star of Arthedain.
And this was their greatest chance yet
to sneak inside it was the best they could get
so they turned away from the battle so wanton
and followed the road into Oatbarton.
They took further advantage to go down
the slopes leading to the hobbit-town.
And as they reached it Gildor felt the ground
speak to him as if welcoming him round.
Remaining goblins came - sounds of battle rang
but so emboldened Gildor faced them and sang
- a song of The Hunter froze with dread the hearts
of evil creatures hearing his musical arts.
And as he sang a second verse a son
of Elrond cut them down - the raid had begun.
With the goblins for now down and out
he segued to a song of Elbereth this next bout,
and Lorien and Yavanna the fair
and birds returned to breath the air
the grass grew back beneath their feet
where the hills and the stones did meet.
And on he sung of times long gone
when Doriath and Nargothrond stood on
against the greatest ever darkness
with all the power they could harness.
For his song cleansed as he stepped
and around him the others crept
for more goblins soon blocked their way
but before Elrohir none could stay
nor Elladan's sword nor Isengrim
with his thick axe's sharpened rim,
as they went deeper in the bowl
to where their goal was in grandest hole.
The roads and pathways twiddled fast
hobbits weren't the rabble of times gone past.
These roads and buildings and stone-arched gate
told them hobbits were now great.
They'd filled the void that had been left
when the north kingdom was bereft.
A barbers, a butchers, a greengrocers too
by comparison Bree had shops too few.
A healers there was and a pub as well
and though the goblins had sought to fell
all the good that within existed
the hills themselves had resisted.
And as Gildor's sang 'twas heartened anew
and basked in the beauty that all things knew.
And then even the paintwork glistened along
with the window-frames brightening on hearing the song.
At the midpoint of the town a grand gate had stood
woven of oak and with pine and with other wood
but though it had once been strong and stout
it was hewn - goblins set boulders to keep everyone out.
That gate alone was so mistreated
and the heroes' hearts were greatly heated
for within the path no doubt gave
way to the prisoners they'd come to save.
"The way is blocked," Isengrim cried
"But not for long" the elves replied.
Gildor hung a note letting power amass
and then he boomed - a song of Tulkas.
The cursed stone shattered before his roar,
and Elladan shoved the fragments from the door.
Within seconds they were inside
before any goblin had time to hide.
The building was filled with a terrible smell
of blood and urine and all things fell
and at a high table a girl tore at her chain
as a goblin struck her again and again.
As the cleansed outside met interior messy
the two elements battled for supremacy
but the putrid was the stronger,
the squalor would linger a while longer.
So as Gildor tried to sing he found the beauty gone
and for all his great power he couldn't go on
channelling magic is so rancid a hall
without spending himself to certain fall.
For the corrupted room was mightier than
he could handle in the span
of the few seconds he had to act
before the goblin could react.
So he went for his sword, a gleaming star
for 'twas imbued in the forges in Valamar
Where stands forever the ancient homes
of the great nation of the Gnomes.
The goblin turned and Gildor swung
their blades met and metal rung
but Gildor's sword so far ahead
broke its foe taking the goblin's head.
The building now clear of their foe
Gildor turned to look about with woe
for this was no nice place to be
and all around him he could see
prisoners chain and tied upon the wall
of the Oatbarton Town Hall.
There hobbits and men in filth had been kept
male, female, young and old - Gildor wept
and upon another table laying close to death
was one badly injured elleth.
They couldn't leave anyone hanging so low
but they had to get them out quickly and so
with the last of his voice Gildor issued a geas
a chant of unwinding, a song of release.
And the chains shrivelled to rust and to rot
but Gildor was spent and he sagged on the spot
so the sons of Elrond took up the task
of healing the wounded - it was a big ask.
While Isengrim stood as lookout in case
the goblins should return with club and with mace
and for the best as it turned out
for more goblins came for another bout.
Isengrim held firm and did solemnly slay
many a goblin sieging the doorway
'til his axe broke and he looked up in fear
"Just when did an Olog-hai get here?"
Gildor tossed him his own sword, he watched as it bit
into the troll's side, oh what a hit
it scattered the goblins as it limped in a rout
and Isengrim took this chance to keep them out.
He was helped by a freed hobbit (Daisy Oatfoot her name)
and though he could manage he was pleased all the same
to have the assistance of any he could find
helping them get out of the bind.
They gathered chairs, unused tables, bits of wood
and piled them into a barricade that should
hold for a while but in vain Elladan cried out
he'd locked them within rather than goblins without.
But for a time it seemed the ranger was right
the goblins declined to force their way in for a fight
but their anger had grown and in their ire
they turned to a different tactic - fire.
Oil was poured through what gaps could be found
and for a moment there was no sound
but then came a goblins voice filled with might
"Somebody gets us a light."
More shouts could they hear,
that assaulted any ear,
it seemed a fight broke out
but soon all was quiet about
'til the greatest taunt that they could bring
the horde outside began to sing
in very heavily accented westron
a chorus of victory, a post-battle song.
The nights were long, days were gone,
and all the grief laid on.
The webs were spun, towns overrun,
and cries for help unsung.
In shadowed hands, evil stands,
and dark things roam the lands.
Both far and near, we did fear,
can't remember next part... something veer.
Despite it all Gildor chuckled
and once again stood unbuckled.
The goblin chief would be annoyed
knew he that their 'song' left elf-lord buoyed.
From that point on the song changed time
the only constant being a rhyme
of some form or another remained
which stuck out sore to anyone trained.
Far in the gloom appeared a light,
glowing brighter, filling our sight.
In its glow we found our fight,
and proudly marched out to the height.
Setting northwards at a run,
silver stars fluttering in the sun.
Atop the hills with our foe pinned,
black line unbuckling in the wind.
We shot and we shot, arrows blackened the skies,
And then a clash! Our enemy flies.
With victory comes an incredible 'cheer!',
and then it was home - to have a good beer.
The bells were rung, the songs sung
um... words words words words wrung...
For we are here, put to rear
the foes, they're nowhere near.
Not only Gildor was fuelled by that
for Daisy bolted from where she was sat
and to the barricade she went
before any could stop her it was rent
and in madness she walked out to the street
and threw herself upon the feet
of the figure who was standing there
"Oh Brandobras" she cried, "none's ever looked so fair."
And Gildor and the twins and Isengrim too
looked upon this miracle and learned that he slew
the goblin chieftain in a duel
and drove the goblins to their downfall
When this was heard it was scant believed
that the greatest of goblin heads a halfling had cleaved
and to this the hobbit gave a loud snort
and said he sent it so far he invented a sport.
"And that all of you is the truth of the story
the battle is over Miss Oakfoot, we have vic-tory."
And Gildor was heartened beyond any measure
for this unlooked for result gave incredible pleasure.
So he sang for the future of town so betrayed
'til the pots brimmed with hope, his fears allayed.
They returned to Imladris with tales of goblins cowed,
the nation they'd forgot had done the north proud.
An: We all have our foes
so please point out any typos.