I wrote this untitled story nearly 40 years ago, after I had read Lord of the Rings for the very first time. Some compelling itch makes me publish it now, without corrections or editing of any kind. There's an innocence about it that I long for in my hectic life. I hope it may strike the same chord in the readers. Westel
ooOOoo
I was alone among the soft green pine boughs moving about me like arms in the night breeze, warding off what unseen enemies there may be.
I looked down from my perch to see below me two forms glide noiselessly by – shadows without disturbance, beings without faces in the dark of the moonless night.
What to my surprise when they began climbing the tree! I was trapped most agreeably (to them, of course) and quite at a loss as to what I should do. Soon I was to discover that nothing needed doing.
The climb was laborious for them, and their mutterings, although not in a language known to me, were unmistakably those of grumbling disgust.
They grew closer to me and – why! They were but children, climbing the tree for safety. My eagerness for companionship urged me to call out to them, but my fear of strangers and knowledge of the odd happenings of that era caused me to remain silent.
Closer they climbed, and with more effort and mutterings, til they were just above me, one of them having passed by me so close as to brush me with his loose tunic.
Still I remained unseen to them, partially due to my green cloak, perhaps moreso because of my fright I endeavored to become a part of the tree. Who knows now, that, for a brief time, this did not happen.
The night would have passed by in this way, two sitting huddled close for warmth on unfriendly branches while another watched unnoticed until dawn, but for the intervention of fate.
One of the children had fallen asleep and leaned heavily upon the other, who was also finding it difficult to stay awake. In one brief instant, one moment of relaxation, the load of his sleeping friend disrupted the little fellow's balance and he fell without a cry. Right into my arms. Startled, his eyes opened wide with alarm, he took a sharp breath as if to yell. But I was not prepared for what he did next. Eyes now glittering, and with a wriggle too fast and strong for even my big arms, he jerked away and drew out a wicked-looking thing, sharp and deadly.
I awaited the blow. My mind had ceased working – I could neither throw up my hands to defend myself nor draw weapon to kill him, so quickly had he moved. Instead he looked at me intently, and with a voice high and clear he bade me tell him my name. As I replied, also giving out of habit my rank and serial number, his companion climbed down with some difficulty to sit beside me and stare very politely right through me.
My accoster now put away the knife, though he held it like a sword, and inched his way closer to me, seeking a more comfortable perch. Indeed I was very much disturbed by what had happened within the last few minutes and must have had quite an expression on my face, because they looked at one another and smiled.
"You have no reason to fear us, John Wright, private, serial number whatever," spoke the fallen one. "All that we seek for now is food, and we do not eat men – have you any bread, or grapes, or mushrooms?"
I was at a loss for any food whatever, and I certainly did not have any mushrooms, but I was disposed to give them some water. They took small swallows and returned the canteen to me with formal thanks. Their english was strange, with Germanic pronunciations of some words – some of which I could not identify alone but within the context of sentences – and they, too, listened intently when I spoke – as if interested in my pronunciation.
We spoke little, but much was said. I became so bold as to ask who, and even what they were, for as the night wore on I could tell these were not children, but two very wise people who were very intent on learning everything about me. I received very interesting answers, most of them from the fallen one, who called himself Frodo Baggins, while the other one, nodding his approval, swaying the branch so as to shake the entire tree (this he soon stopped), watched. He had bowed low (a remarkable feat in his precarious position) when Mr. Baggins introduced us. "Mr. John Wright, may I present my companion, oft-times protector, and dear, dear friend, Mr. Samwise Gamgee." I, too, would have attempted to bow, but for the fact I was the sole support of Mr. Baggins. We shook hands all around.
When dawn approached, I became more and more inclined to depart with the hobbits, as they called themselves, since I had for weeks been separated from my division and had no idea how to locate it. The North American continent was relatively unknown to me although all of us had been required to study the Atlas before our departure from the western shore. Of course, much of the countryside had been altered with the many great tides and earthquakes, and many peoples destroyed or lost and scattered. I was unmistakably lost and was not happy with the thought of remaining at my post near the trees while my two new friends walked out of my life, perhaps for ever. My food was gone, my water low, and my mind eager for new things. When Frodo and Sam (as they insisted I call them) climbed down from the tree, I followed, hauling my gear and their few belongings on my back.
We walked through the dense growth of trees, stumbling over hidden cement things which had once been sidewalks or cornerstones, happening on odd, twisted things that were street lamps, perhaps, or traffic signals, all rusted and crumbling as if eaten by some metal-consuming blight. Gradually the trees thinned, and in the field ahead I could smell the stench of the long dead before I saw them. My division, crumbled, defeated by that burning disease which came from nowhere to weaken the body and steal the mind. As we stood at the edge of the thicket, gazing out upon the mass of dead, I explained to my companions how men had become foolish and tried to use disease to fight war. The odds went against everyone and the world began to die. Oh, there was still some fighting, but many battles were halted when one by one, then scores of men would wilt and fall next to enemy and friend alike, screaming in madness until the heart became too tired to carry all of it on any longer, and ceased in frustration and anger. Only rarely did anyone survive such an onslaught, and it was because his will was strong, as well as his body.
They asked with great concern if I had come in contact with the invisible beast, and I replied that I had not, but that many good men, some close friends, had been buried by my hand after such a slaughter as this. I was inclined to go among the dead and search for comrades, though my two friends begged me not to, seeing the distress in my face. Slowly I walked among them, the smell causing my stomach to well up and revolt, and I was embarrassed at having been sick from this sight in front of the two hobbits. Small and handsome as they were, they were like pillars of stone to me – they seemed to have endured many, many, eons of years and witnessed many things. When I looked into their faces, however, I could see sadness so deep that no mind could penetrate it but one that had experienced and undergone all that they had. They stood alone at the forest edge, looking down upon me in silence full of sympathy and friendship, then they came down with me to search the faces.
More than a square mile of meadow we covered that day, always finding different faces, but yet the same, white and bloating with death. Until late that afternoon, Sam cried out – high-pitched and then quickly muffled, and then snuffed out. Frodo and I ran to the direction of the scream, behind a grove of twisted, dead trees, remnants of an orchard, perhaps, to find Sam struggling to free himself from the pinning weight of a man who had thrown himself or fallen across the unwary hobbit. The man was still, and dressed in a green cloak like mine, the distinction of our division. Frodo and I pulled him over and the shaken Sam got up, the air squeezed from his lungs but otherwise well. Frodo was listening for a heartbeat. He turned to me, his voice rasping in excitement. "He is alive, breathing, and his heart is pounding so. Here, listen for yourself, Strider."
I knelt to listen, thinking it odd that they call me that, although they had been doing it all morning, giving each other winks behind my back. It was all very puzzling, indeed.
The man opened his eyes. Grey and deep as the ocean's depths they looked. Frodo and Sam's hiss of intaken breath split through the air as if to cleave it in two.
"He is like Legolas himself. Would that he had hair as fair as did he," said Sam. With a smile weak but true the man sat up, and pulling back his hood, there he revealed long, blond hair, catching the rays of the sun and casting them, laughing, into my face. For the first time in months, I smiled openly, showing my teeth. This man, this "Legolas", as the little ones called him, had quite an effect upon me. I felt strangely drawn o him, yet a bit awed of him.
"You have withstood the beast" was all I could bring myself to say, as I extended my hand to help him rise. He grinned at me, and with a strength surprising to me, he pulled himself up. He was a head taller than I, and more lithe and springy. I had the distinct impression he could jump away over the tops of the trees. He spoke, his eyes turned towards the hobbits.
"I am not known as Legolas, but as Mark Owenson. However, you have the right to call me as you wish. Waking to see such strange people standing above me seems to be a rebirth, and the newborn must be given names. Therefore Legolas I am. So be it, little ones." He turned to me. "John Wright, is it not?" He queried. I replied yes but told him that I, too, had been given a new name, although I was not reborn. He rolled the word through his mouth and swallowed. Strider I became, and John Wright was no more.
The night drew quickly on, and none of us had eaten. A small fire was built and Frodo and Sam told many long stories of things they had done and seen and heard of, of people and beings they had known and places they had visited. Legolas came to realize the great knowledge and age the two little ones possessed. I had asked only one question – how had Frodo lost his forefinger – he shivered, shut his eyes, and said nothing. Sam put his arms around Frodo's shoulders and asked us not to speak of it – that perhaps we would be told the story later, in the day time, when memories are blurred by familiar things around us. We agreed, and soon after Frodo opened his eyes and was his old self again. Talking dwindled as everyone was beckoned by sleep. The night came and went, and we awoke refreshed. Sam was by the fire, but Frodo was not to be seen. Soon he returned, carrying with him a strand of sea oats.
"An hour's walk from this place is the sea. We face east from there. I never thought I would willfully look in that direction again, but the time has come for us to go back, Samwise Gamgee."
Sam arose, looking with mixed fear and delight at Frodo. "The boat has been ready for a long time," he said. His hand was shaking so he had to drop the burning stick from his fingers. Then he turned toward us. "You are welcome to come with us, Legolas and Strider." Frodo came to stand next to us, and we knelt to look into his face. "There is nothing left here for you, last men on this land, and it would make us very happy to have you as our friends and companions. Too long have we gone on without having contact with mankind. The boat is big enough for all of us. Say you will come."
Legolas and I agreed to go. We did not want to be left alone in a land where all human life had been removed but ours. We gathered our belongings and walked toward the sea, carrying the hobbits on our shoulders.
A short walk later we were at the shore, looking down into a hidden cove where there was tied a good-size boat, stocked with bundles of unknown things for the journey.
"Let us go," said Frodo, and we made our way to the boat. The wind was easterly, and we were soon on our way, bearing northeast by my reckoning.
"I have only one question, master Frodo," said Legolas. "If there was nothing in North America for us, then there is nothing on our old shores. Sam himself said we were the last living things on this land."
Frodo smiled. "He was right," he said.
"Then what is there in our old land that is not right here?" Legolas made a sweeping motion back toward the land we were leaving.
A far away look came over Frodo's face. Sam had the same look. Slowly, as if savoring the very sound of the words, Frodo said: "We are going to Rivendell."
We were all silent. Legolas and I knew vaguely of this place from the stories we had been told, and the mystery and majesty of the unknown place stupefied us. Frodo was lost in his own world.
Sam, always becoming fidgety from staying still so long, squirmed in his seat and said: "Well, if a body can go much more that two days without a mouthful of food, it's beyond my reckoning, if you catch my meaning."
The mushrooms were very god.
THE END