TA2912 (1312 Shire Reckoning), March 17th
With a quick flash of movement, Bilba slid from her seat upon the armchair to dart to the crackling hearth, where her mother's kettle had just begun to shriek and whistle it's keen song. "Don't stop on my account!" She called over her shoulder as she hooked the edge of the chimney crane to swing the kettle out of the flames. With her hand wound in the thick shielding shielding fabric that hung from the mantle for just that purpose, she smoothly pulled the idleback to upend the pot, spilling the steaming and heavily aromatic tea in one, two, five mugs—two of which were twice the size of the rest, though all were thick and meant to be held between chilled hands, rather than set daintily upon saucers. With a quiet creak of metal she swung the pot back just enough that it would remain warm, and scooped up from where she'd sat them two of the smaller mugs.
"Why'd you stop?" She frowned dramatically, nose scrunching in displeasure at the Man who sprawled along the full length of a high padded bench that had been dragged into one of the room's corners. "Here Ma, Da…" She pressed the smaller mugs into Belladonna's hands (and frowned to see Bungo's were still shaking quite a bit too hard to grasp his) before turning back to fetch the larger two. Normally guests would always be served first, but seeing as Bungo was still quite ill from his misadventure the month prior, taking chill with a dreadful ease, Bilba was unbothered by the slight. The hot tea would do him good, she hoped. "My apologies, Little Miss Baggins, it was only that I knew you wouldn't want to miss any of the tale," the Man at last replied, clear mirth in his rumbling voice as he extended a hand for one of the mugs.
With an almost comic huff Bilba ducked away from his grasp, sidling in a wide arc to offer up the tea to his companion—another ranger—first, who took it with an amused chuckle, and raised it to her as she passed. "I don't use my ears to pour a kettle, do I, Arathorn?" She whirled about to face the dark-haired fellow, raising one brow sharply before at last smiling and handing him his own cup of the potent tea. He smiled as he took it from her, and without waiting for any sugar took to it (which was a small mercy, as even now with the thaw at last underway, there was not a cube of it to be found west of The River). Very probably he and his companion were used to brews both weaker and stouter, and neither seemed to mind the herbal taste, for all that it was warm, and came with shelter and good company.
Arathorn, seeming quite at ease upon his bench, just shrugged a shoulder and took another pull of the still-steaming brew. "Tale-telling is thirsty work, Little Miss Baggins. But now you've got your cup," And she'd just plucked it up, and settled herself back into the spare armchair indeed, "I suppose we can continue." The man took a moment to find where he'd left off in his story of all the things he'd seen upon his travels, and Bilba, assuaged, gave into the urge to listen and be lost to her imagination.
The rangers had been the saviors of the Shire, in the end, for though many had been lost to the bite of cold and wolf alike, many more would have been done for lack of food as the horrid Fell Winter lingered long over those lands. From the north the men had come, first driving off the foul things that crept from smial to smial, and then to bring supplies to the pale and wasting hobbits. Sacks of grain and well-dried roots, salted meats and beans, and tough, coarse bread by the loaf. It was not the finest of fare, but to the half-starved populace it seemed a feast, and by the actions of the watchers, the little folk began to recover.
Some of the rangers had agreed to stay on and be hosted by the hobbits, to be sure that their lands remained safe until things were properly back in order. It would be some time before the remaining populace were back up to form—though what constituted being 'fighting fit' among hobbits was another matter of debate—and though they were usually quite wary of outsiders and tall folk, in this case the men of the wilds were welcomed into almost any smial without a word of complaint.
When Bilba'd recognized one among them there'd been little question as to if the Bagginses would be playing host. Many among the neighborhood thought it a bit odd, but at the same time found themselves quite thankful to have protection near at hand, and yet not under their own roofs. For the Baggins family however, it was a reunion long in the making. Arathorn had visited only once before, since that summer where he had intercepted a little wayward faunt as she roved away from home, and the family was keen to catch up with him. It'd been little trouble too to have along his companion, who said almost nothing but seemed kindly enough (if a bit twitchy) and had posted up without complaint on one side of the sitting room. It was to their dismay that they could not offer their guests proper hobbitish meals—for even with the supplies the rangers had brought, they would be going on only three meals a day until at least some crops could be grown and harvested—but the strange tallfolk seemed content with even that (though Bilba had overheard Arathron quietly bemoaning a lack of tarts to his brother in arms one evening).
Barely a week later the ice and snow's hold upon the land seemed to break overnight, and at last lush green shoots began to erupt from every corner of the region. Of course, even then there were troubles. The rangers had all but set to depart back to the east and north, and Bilba had been sad to see her friend leave, when news of terrible flooding along the streams and rivers of the region came. The roads were all but washed out in many places, and even so far east as the Gwathló was little more than a soggy, bone-chilling mess. None could safely pass the Brandywine until the floods abated, and so those rangers still in the Shire were given little choice but to wait.
The Bagginses, of course, were not displeased by this, and when Arathron offered to assist them in tending to their home (for many of the rooms needed opening and dusting, and furniture moved back into place, and fences and the outside of the front door replaced) Belladonna quickly took him up on it. Bungo had taken a mighty chill after his daring rescue of the Bolgers down the lane, and was still on the mend, and the list of tasks were rather daunting for Bilba and her mother alone to tackle. The larger, stronger tall folk made quick enough work of all that needed doing, and they spent the better part of most days either roving the hills of Hobbiton thereafter, or else entertaining Bilba with tale after tale of the wide and wondrous world she so desired to see.
"And so, the elves they say spoke magic into the trees, and woke them to the world. They taught them to move and to speak, though to do either was a slow and laborious effort for them. But those trees are not Ents, of course, and grew quite wild and fearsome in the Ages since without any there to mind them. The axes of men and dwarves felled many of their kind, and they grew angry and twisted, and began to think of ways to defend themselves. Many too of their kind were lost in the great fires that were set by—… during the wars of those long-ago days, and their number dwindled still. I am sure to your eyes, Little Miss, the Old Forest seems great and tall, but in those days it is said the trees spread as wide and vast as the sea, and now only a little remains.
And so, I'm sure you can understand, it is dangerous to wander there. Trees such as those within that forest move of their own accord, and without the touch of wind. They creak and groan, and their leaves rustle like tongues to speak, and mislead unwitting travelers. If you do not know the path and keep it well, you could become quite lost, and be never seen again. Stolen away by the Huorns, especially should you enter the wood from near the High Hay—I do not think the trees there have forgotten the burning of their kin in the bonfires near there, and even I would not tarry lightly there. No, for all that you may ever wish to go there, I would not advise it. Such fates as those befalling trespassers there I would not wish upon any of your good people, and you least of all, Little Miss."
Across the room Bungo gave a groan and leaned against Bilba with a sigh. "Our Bilba would, would never, never go there, Mister Arathorn," he wheezed, and Bilba secretly wondered if his paleness was wholly from his health and not from fear. For all that she respected the ranger's warning, she was more fascinated than afraid of the thought of that deep and dark wood. Still, she nodded in agreement, not wanting to further upset her Da.
"How about another story then—something happier, maybe?" She offered, turning back to Arathorn where he reclined upon the seat. "We've time yet before starting dinner. Maybe something about elves?" That seemed a preferable topic, and Bungo sunk down into the blanket wound about him with a few last grumbles. And before Arathorn had spun more than the start of another fable, the hobbit's slumbering snores rose to fill the sitting room from wall to wall.
TA2941, July 22nd
Each trotting pony's step brought the Company closer to the shadowy eaves of the vast wall of the forest before them, and as they went, the steady sound of wind in the tall wild grasses slowly blended into a thicker rustle of millions upon millions of leaves overhead. The sun was high when they reached the wood's edge, and reined up to stop in the last of the open sunlight ere it crossed into the dappled half-gloom beneath the branches of Mirkwood. So it had that place been called by the men who skirted 'round it and made their livings at its borders in the centuries past—and indeed Bilba could see why, for the murky depths between the gaps of the trunks were dark indeed, though it was rather less frightening at a glance than she'd been led to believe by the Company.
At Gandalf's bidding they slid from the backs of their mounts and turned them loose, their many packs slung up onto their shoulders and tied hanging from their belts. The heavy weight of them would be lost before they missed it, for Beorn had warned them fiercely to take care in any hunting or foraging within the woods; that though most of what could be gathered there was edible, it could also be hard to find, and some plants that seemed fair were in fact foul, and poisonous, and they were safer keeping to their own supplies when they were unsure of what they'd discovered.
A small but decrepit plaza of pale stone marked the point they were to enter the forest, and wound away between the trees in a path of cobble and dirt. Strange twisted formations of wood flanked the entryway and ringed the space, reaching upwards like twining antlers full of flowing curves, and were well-laced through with strands of dried and withered vines. There was an intensity about them as much as elegance—a warning as well as an invitation, and Bilba recalled the bear-man's cautions about the temperaments of the Wood-elves they might meet along the way. Still she had to admit to herself as she dared, one foot and then the other beneath the curve of the gateposts, that there was something appealing about the structures as they were: powerfully graceful in their untamed strength, though dimmed with the sorrow of neglect.
The dwarves of course did not share her opinions, and she could make out their grumbles of displeasure at the look of the path ahead, and the darkness hanging over it. "Is there no other way around?" groused Glóin, who seemed rather like he had been chewing a lemon at the sight of the place. Of course, they had poured over what maps were available while at Beorn's hut, and sought the council of Gandalf and their host, and they all of them knew very well that there were no other options—or at least, none that would see them timely to the mountain. Glóin's questioning drew murmurs of agreement though, as none among the party seemed to delight in the road they must take, and were all milling about on the open field rather than getting on with it.
"The way's just there, Glóin," Bilba called back to him from where she stood, one hand idly (and lightly, for her hands still smarted beneath their wrappings) tracing the rim of the plinth at the center of the plaza, and wondering if it had been some fountain or pool long ago. "It doesn't look too bad, I don't think. We'll have an easy walk if it stays as clear as it is, and see?" She smiled at the ginger dwarf as he reluctantly drew up alongside her. "Once your eyes adjust away from the sunlight it's not so bad. Why, I'd have thought you dwarves had far better sight in the gloom than us hobbits, though I suppose—"
He cut her off with a spluttering rumble, and she had to swallow a chuckle as without any more complaint (beyond those at the foolishness of hobbits) he stomped ahead, quite determined to prove his mettle as well as his 'hawk-like' eyesight. The rest of the Company was quick to follow suit, and they clomped and tramped along in Gandalf's wake as he first overtook Glóin and then descended onto the trail down from the little stone court and between the thick tree trunks. As the branches closed in overhead, and a dimness came creeping in with them, what sound of birds and wind there had been seemed to drop away, replaced by only low and distant moaning creaks, and the constant murmur of the leaves moving overhead. It was clear that the elven road had not been seen nor tended to by its makers in some many years, for all that it seemed fit enough for use—at least by Gandalf's word—but they had no other choice, no nearer track to take, and as stopping was not an option, that left only to move ahead on it.
Once the Company had passed her, Bilba gave herself a final pat-down before they left all sight and the light of the open plains behind—waterskin, sword, ring… Ah. That's right. She'd nearly forgotten she had it, in all the fuss. Her hand froze over her pocket, fingers pressing to where it sat. Her precious little ring… she could feel it, the perfect shape of it through the fabric of her vest… The sound of a snapping branch ahead ripped her from whatever daydream she'd wandered off into, and she shook her head and quickly made sure that her pocket was buttoned shut tight before she slipped her hand upwards to card through her hair, to brush her fingers comfortingly over the golden leaves of her hairpin there. She tugged it gently once, twice, and then satisfied that it would not fall lose or come undone at the yank of a wayward twig, hurried on to catch up with the rest.
Around the bend Gandalf had drawn up before a strange towering tangle of vines, though that was not what appeared to have stopped him. On the twisted tip of his staff perched a bird, and the Company looked on in curiosity as it seemed to speak to him, twittering and chirping in his ear. Whatever it said must have been grave indeed, for barely had it finished its singing when the wizard whirled about, and sent it wheeling away over the canopy. He came charging back up the path, startling the dwarves to scatter to either side of him with curses and grumbles of surprise and alarm, and only slowed his haste when Thorin—who had been lingering near the rear of the group, perhaps from his displeasure to be entering the elven realm—threw his hands up to waylay the wizard. "What is the meaning of this?" Thorin demanded. "Have you come upon another way, or is it that you mean to leave us here alone?" The would-be-king barked his questions up at the wizard, his voice deep with rumbling displeasure.
"The latter," came Gandalf's blunt reply, and already he was striving to duck around the obstructing dwarf. "I've pressing business away south, and I've dawdled longer than I ought with you already." That of course set all the dwarves to spitting like cats that'd had their tails trod upon, clamoring for more of an explanation than the wizard seemed likely to give, not even when Bilba too came to his side and his wizened eyes found her questioning blue ones. Only a moment more did he linger, saying, "The hour is later than I had thought, and if there is time, I will find you again before you reach the mountain." One of his old and wizened hands found Thorin's shoulder, and the other Bilba's, his staff leaned in the crook of his shoulder for the moment. "Keep to the path, and you will be fine. Mind you keep the map and key safe, and do not enter that mountain without me."
To Thorin directly he added, "Whatever you do, I repeat, do not leave the path. There is a strange magic upon this forest, and it will seek to ensnare you, lead you astray. Should you leave the road, you will never find it again…" And Thorin grumbled at that, and with a cold glare shook free of the wizard's grip, stomping up to mingle with his fellows, and he cast no more glances back at Gandalf.
The wizard watched him go without further comment, and then shifted to regard Bilba. For her he had only a smile, small and enigmatic, and no words of warning but these: "Keep your eye on them, Bilba. Both eyes, if you can spare them." And then he was gone, in a whirl of his robes, heading back out from under the eaves and hoisting himself up onto his horse, which had by chance or fate lingered where it had been left. "Stay on the path!" He called out once more before he wheeled his mount about and put it to flight, racing south across the plain in utmost hurry and leaving them all gaping after him, and very much alone upon the track.
"I suppose that's that, then," Bilba sighed to herself as the wizard faded out of sight. It must be important, whatever it is that's drawn his attention. Still, I would rather he have come along—I don't much fancy trying to herd the lot of them through here with all the complaining they're apt to do.As she moved up to join the Company, who were all indeed squabbling and arguing where they'd been left, she couldn't help but wonder if part of why the wizard had left was only because he too did not care for their quibbling, and had had the sense to get away from it while such getting was good. He always has been quite uncanny at being able to avoid trouble, or to appear just in time to create it, the old sneak.
But such wonderings did nothing for their progress, and before much longer she heard Thorin calling for them to move. In ones and twos they filed along the path; in good tempers or ill, they all moved to their leader's bidding, and grumbled down the line. A few glanced up as they passed the strange pillar of vines, and spoke quietly of curses and witches and dark elf magics, and other such mysterious things before they sped along away from the shadow it cast. Bilba too looked up in passing by, and felt a thrill of shock to see a fair maiden's face gazing sadly back at her from within the clinging plants. A face of stone and sorrow, hooded and veiled in rock as well as leaf; seemingly forgotten here beside the road it was, and she found herself strangely moved to look upon it. For all that it was wrapped up to its crown in the vines, they had not cracked or warped it, and time had only just begun its slow wearing down of the features of the statue's fair face.
"Hob—… Bilba!" Thorin's voice boomed down the path into her ears, drawing her attention from the monument. "Catch up, or be left behind!" It was a half-threat at best, she knew, but still she found herself turning from her spot to hasten after the group. As she reached the dwarf leader's side he waved her on, falling in step beside her and speeding them towards the Company. "You'll see finer stonework than that upon the very doorstep of Erebor, Miss Baggins. Such elvish stuff is not worth the time to look at, even when it's been maintained—trust an elf to show such lack of care," he finished with a snort. Though Bilba kept his pace and nodded absently in quiet non-committal agreement, she found her feelings differed quite well upon that point. To her the forgotten statue had seemed quite sad, like one neglected only for the pain that looking upon it had caused to those who had planted it there, and not out of any malice or lack of thought.
As they caught up to the throng and fell in among them, Thorin returning to the front and herself snagged between his sister-sons who'd already set to jabbering, she could not help but wonder who it was that had been so loved as to be set in stone before the very entrance of the forest, and whose loss had been so grievous as to have been then put from the minds of any who would tend to her memorial.
As they passed from Mirkwood's edges towards the deeper heart of the forest, the days and nights began to blend, and only a vague swelling and lessening of the light could mark the passing of time when the thick tree branches blocked out the greater part of the sun and moon above. Rich cloying scents hung in the air, until the space between the trunks seemed as heavy as a mist, and it hazed the steps and minds of the Company and made them terse and full of mirth by turns. What supplies they had brought lasted the fourteen well along the way, at least until the fumes began to muddle them. Then in high spirits were they inclined to feast, for all that Bilba did her best to stop them—and that thought made her giddier than any vapor (for those of the forest itself seemed only sweet to her, and not as sickly confounding as to the dwarves), to think that a hobbit of all creatures would be telling anyone to forgo a meal!
Each morning following the evenings when they feasted, the dwarves all kept their heads the better for their full bellies, and in remorse for their indulgences would seek to hunt or scavenge for food. What few creatures they found were dark and swift, and warier (or perhaps cleverer) than those of the sunlit plains and brighter glades, and their efforts bore little fruit, and bitter it was when roasted over what fires they dared. Water too they had in plenty at the start, though the pools and streams they passed seemed foul in scent, and they could not refill their flask and skins from them. Thankfully they seemed less enticed to drink by those lurking mists than they were to eating, and Bilba was happier for not having to ward them off that supply as well.
The moods of all the dwarves began to sour as well as they pressed on and on, deeper into the forest. Tempers frayed, and they seemed to grow forgetful, slow to mind themselves and their way. Thankfully Thorin seemed more content to be led than to lead in such a state—and never mind his usual lack of directional sense—and though he grumbled all the louder about it, Bilba took it for the blessing that it was. Grumbling she could tolerate, but Bilba did not want to have to repeat any part of this trek just because the would-be-king had gotten them turned around on the same path, twice , somehow. She did not mind being at the front of the group herself; though she could hear and see the strange woodland creatures moving in the brush, none of them seemed dire, and there was no worry of getting lost when all one had to do was stay on the already-laid-out track. Keeping the Company in line and moving was the harder task by far, and she fell back on what skills she had to draw them along in her wake. A song or two had worked before, for Shire faunts and Gollum too, and why not on the dwarves as well? And to her secret self she admitted that it was a fine thing, when you were working on a new song, to have a quite literal captive audience to sing it to.
Upon the hearth the fire is red,
Beneath the roof there is a bed;
But not yet weary are our feet,
Still round the corner we may meet
A sudden tree or standing stone
That none have seen but we alone.
Tree and flower and leaf and grass,
Let them pass! Let them pass!
Hill and water under sky,
Pass them by! Pass them by!
Still round the corner there may wait
A new road or a secret gate,
And though we pass them by today,
Tomorrow we may come this way
And take the hidden paths that run
Towards the Moon or to the Sun.
Apple, thorn, and nut and sloe,
Let them go! Let them go!
Sand and stone and pool and dell,
Fare you well! Fare you well!
She was rather pleased with the starting of the song, though there was something wistful about it, and she had not quite done enough to finish it nor would sing the end of it until she felt sure of how it went. At least it did to entertain the dwarves though, and kept them mostly quiet by its tune as she led them on towards their goal. Songs and riddles, and she could almost pretend they were out for little more than a picnic stroll; for all the the forest was dark and looming, nothing had yet tried to attack them, and Bilba could not but help feeling relieved that the Company went unbothered and unmolested for at least a little while.
On and on, day in and day out, for what seemed to be weeks she led them through the murk, until at last they came upon the curve of a rushing river. It was swift and dark in its deepness, but it seemed not so far a distance to the opposite bank, and what Bilba could see of the other side looked not quite as dreary as where they'd been. Less grim and more golden, through the trees remained as thick and tangled as they had seen before. The remnants of a bridge, now long collapsed into the water, jutted from the path in slivers and would be of little use. A boat there was, however; tied to the far bank, and it took Fili three tries to toss a rope across to hook it, and Dori's strength to pull it free from its tether and send it scooting over the rapids back to them. It had no paddle with it, but a quick thought from Kili set them right: the rope was lashed to an arrow, and fired over the stream to lodge in a tree on the far side, allowing the dwarves to haul the boat across on the line.
Now thankfully the miasma of the forest had only dulled, and not deadened the minds of the dwarves, and mostly touched upon their moods and their sense of direction and fullness and not much else. If they had been fully struck by the fungal scents and poisons, the trips back and forth across the river would have been far more perilous indeed. Thankfully the air seemed cleaner and less enchantingly fragrant near the water, and the dwarves began to come fully to their senses once they crossed in twos and threes to the far bank. There in the dappled light (and what a blessing that was, for all that the canopy closed in again not ten yards from the river) they looked around, and found that the woods suddenly appeared rather more like most forests they had experience with, and not the dark and dank place they'd wandered in before.
As the first across milled about and waited for the last to follow, they noted as well the abundant life on this side of the stream: vibrant green and golden leaves, curling fronds of ferns and vines, faint strains of birdsong—and there beside the path, a bush full to bursting with plump purple berries, which were sweet and tart to taste, and a welcome treat for those that picked them. Chief among them to indulge was Kili, who quickly stained his hands and mouth with them, but seemed to suffer no ill for it, and soon all those on the far bank were feasting about the shrub, and paying little mind to those still crossing the river.
More the pity that was, for as the last of them came over—Bilba, and Bombur with her, for the dwarf was too heavy to fit with any of the others—the arrow at last dislodged from where it'd stuck, and the line went slack in their hands as the boat began to drift along with the current.
"Help! Help!" Bilba cried to the Company where they stood, with their backs turned and their hands in the bush. As quick as lightning she spooled in the slack rope, and the arrow with it, her usually-nimble fingers fumbling to undo the sturdy knots Kili had tied it with. "Bofur! Bifur! The boat!" Even usually-quiet Bombur was hollering now, and waving his arms over his head to catch his relatives' eyes as the boat began to gather speed, pulling them further and further towards a bend in the dark water. Bofur's cry was followed by the roaring of all the rest as they saw their friends' peril, and the Company leapt into the forest after them, chasing the boat as it sped along the stream and leaving the path (and their packs, which had been set down for a rest as they waited) now utterly behind them in the process.
"It can't be much further now, I'm sure of it." Bilba's stomach gave a mighty growl, undercutting her words and leaving her flinching at the gnawing, empty feeling there. It was well past a week since their misadventure with the boat, and while that had ended on a better note than she had hoped, things were quite dire indeed. In a bit of tricky luck, Bilba'd had the thought to tie the rope around the handle of one of the jugs of honey Beorn had given them, and had still been in her pack, and tossed it across from the boat to the riverbank. It had shattered on the ground, but the weight of it had gotten the rope across, and the Company had all leapt upon it before it could snake away in their wake. The boat had been hauled to shore, though Bombur had nearly been yanked into the water in the process, and they had been reunited without so much as a scratch.
Still, their joy had turned to ash when they looked around and realized that they were utterly lost, and no sight nor sign of the path or which way they'd come from was to be seen. The clear thing was to simply follow the river back towards the road, but a full day's walking left them just as forlorn as they had been before, and just as lost. Murmurs of dark magic and elvish tricks were on the most of the Company's tongues that night, and with only some quarter of the rations they'd had before (those from Bombur and Bilba's packs, of course, as well as those of Ori and Balin, who'd had the sense to keep them on their backs), there was not even a meager dinner to quiet them. It seemed that the dwarves were quite right in their assessment too, as morning's faint light revealed their camp to be on a cropping of stone, a cliff's edge they had nearly wandered over the night before, and nothing they recognized about them.
With no landmark to go by but the faint light through the trees, they made a guess at their heading, and set off at as fast a pace as could be mustered. The forest here at least was brighter, and less fearful, though there was still a sense of watchful menace about it, and though food could be found there was little enough of it, and water as well, to worry them and give desperate speed to their feet. Each day they walked until they dropped, and ate but little at morning and as they sat down for the night, and even then the stores they had dwindled faster and faster. Thankfully their appetites were not so great now that they were not entranced by the forest's spells, but that was only a small relief, and when at last they were forced to forgo all but one meal a day (and that one was frightfully small as well) it did none of them much good to think back on all the cream and honey and soft warm bread they'd eaten in the days before, the berries and nuts and jams and seeds Beorn had given them, and were now left sitting beside the road somewhere.
At no point did their destination seem any closer, for all their hard effort, and they began to despair of ever leaving that forest alive, or seeing their mountain home, Erebor, again even from a distance. The days grew shorter in bits and pieces, though what light there was to see by made it hard to tell for certain, and a crispness came upon the air that warned of distant snow and ice to come. Their path was made the softer by the first of the falling leaves, but it served only to set an alarm within their hearts, for theirs was in inflexible deadline, and not one to be missed at all if possible.
Even Bilba, who had done her best to once more lift their hearts with songs and stories, felt herself begin to wilt, to crumble beneath the weight of their task, and a dreadful sort of weariness. This half of the forest was lighter, that was true, and when she could she found herself inclined to taking paths that let her move through beams of sunlight. At night as well she would curl herself down upon the forest floor, one hand idly clutching to the ring within her pocket, and if she could she would turn her face to any gap in the branches that gave her sight of the stars. The light of them, glittering warm and blue overhead, seemed to restore her somewhat, and the days following such nights she always felt more at ease, and able to walk longer, and encourage the dwarves better.
So when the thought to send one of them up into a tall tree to have a look around came, she was the obvious choice. Besides being the lightest of them all and nimblest, she also had more spirit and less sorrow about her by then, and though as a hobbit she ought to have felt their lack of food the keenest, she found herself less troubled by it than seemed to be some of the dwarves, and her energy outmatched theirs as well, though even it was flagging over so many long and arduous days. The Company's luck to have the only hobbit in all of Middle Earth who did not mind the heights (and her thoughts went often back to that ride on eagle-back as she hauled herself up from branch to branch) was well, and up and up she went. Thankfully too her hands had healed in their long passage through the forest, at least enough that the task was not made any more arduous for their tenderness, and she made quick work of the ascent, at last shoving herself up through the thick layer of leaves to find—
"Oh…! Oh heavens…" To be caught in the full light of the setting sun after so long with only glimpses and glances was quite a blinding thing, and Bilba threw up an arm to hide her face for some long moments full of blinking. All around her gusted the air, and it was sweet and scented, though only of good things, and nothing of the fetid reek of the western half of the woods was on it. When at last she found her eyes adjusted enough to see, she was struck by the sight around her, and for many more minutes simply gaped in wonder.
Overhead the sky was streaked and bubbled with clouds, all painted in reds and oranges, pinks and purples, and dashes of deep absorbing blue shone between them and gave her the sensation of being pulled, drawn upward, as if there was a great lake above, shining in the light of the setting sun, and if she leaned just a bit further forward she could go tumbling end over end up into it. The canopy's spread went in all directions, a carpet, a sea of rustling leaves in all their new and turning autumn splendor, made all the warmer as to look nearly ablaze by that same gloaming light. The breeze moved them like the tide, rising and falling in waves that for a moment made her fear to drown in them before their beauty settled upon her.
And dancing on the air between the sky and trees were hundreds upon hundreds of butterflies. All dark and velvety black they were; small patches of midnight that had been ripped free from between the stars to sport on the evening's last rays, and hover here and there. The sight of them entranced the hobbit, who spent some long minutes gazing at them, and did not struggle to hold back her tears when they came wet and warm for the beauty and relief of that moment there above the treetops at the sight of the first stars piercing through the purpled haze of dusk.
She passed a hand over her face to dry them with the heel of her palm, then swept her fingers through her hair, clearing her throat and her mind, and recalling the task she'd been sent to do. Her fingers idly played upon the metal twisted into her curls as she turned about on her perch, and grinned to find the last rays of the settling sun painting the side of a distant but now-familiar mountain in shades of red. There at its base she could see open plains, and further from it the glitter of a lake, and small flecks of molten gold lit upon its surface from one side—lamps and fires being kindled, and she recognized the place from the Company's tales of what remained of the cities of men within that region, for it was Esgaroth, the Lake-town. The edge of the forest was not at all as far as they had feared, and though it would still be difficult, Bilba at last felt sure that they would make it out, and not die there, forgotten in the dark.
Though she was loathe to abandon the view just as all the stars came creeping out, she'd left the Company waiting for far too long already, and feeling still too full of wonder to feel sheepish, she called down to them as she began her descent. "I can see the mountain! And Long Lake! It's not more than another week's walk, maybe, to the edge of the forest; I think we'll make it if we keep heading straight!" The way down was quicker than the way up, but still it took her some time to work her way back to the forest floor. She was so focused on her climbing, and rattling on and on about what all she'd seen, she did not notice that no voices called back up to her in response. Only when her furred feet hit the ground, and she turned around to see that she was quite alone did she realize that something was very, very wrong.
"Thorin? Fili? Kili?" No answer. "Balin? Dwalin!" She circled the tree, pace picking up faster and faster as she found no one. "Ori, Dori? Nori, this isn't funny!" She cried out to them all, and stared into the growing gloom as if she could will her eyes to catch some sign of movement, or shade of a boot print on the ground. "Bifur, Bofur? Bombur? Where did you go? Glóin? Anybody!" A cracking branch behind her made her whirl about, and with her heart in her throat and a hand on her sword's hilt, she slunk towards the brush. "Óin? I know you can hear without that bloody trumpet when you like to, now this isn't funny, so please—!" Her scolding whimper cut off in a squeal of fright as from the brush leapt not one of her companions, but an utterly monstrous spider, black as night, and hairy, with pale luminous eyes all fixed upon her, and malice and venom dripping from its fangs.
Notes:
A chimney crane, or a pot crane, is a swiveling hook system used to hold a pot or kettle over a fire.
An idleback, or a lazyback as it's sometimes called, is a long handle of metal that is attached between the chimney crane and the kettle, which allows it to be poured without taking the kettle off the hook or away from the heat of the fire.
The song Bilba sings before they reach the river is the first bit of "A Walking Song", which Bilbo does write in the books. Frodo, Pippin, and Sam sing it in the book Fellowship of the Ring, and the latter verse (not included here) is what is known as "The Edge of Night", which Pippin sings for Denethor in the Return of the King movie.
The movie of course entirely left out the enchanted river, and added in the bit where the forest's magic bewitched the dwarves. I tried to go down the middle, because I like both features. The 'toxic' area of the forest is roughly what's west of the rivers that run through it, and everything south of the Mountains of Mirkwood.