Chapter Fifty-Seven: Into the Forest
"Mastah Scrubb! Mastah Scrubb!"
The round green door opened, and the tall Human bent to peer out the opening. Gaffer Gamgee stood upon the step, cap in hand, on the verge of knocking once more.
Eustace rubbed his head where he had hit it on the ceiling when he had been startled by the gardener's knock. Living in a Hobbit hole was not the pride and joy of the young Man. Having been unexpectedly left alone in the Shire, Eustace had been told by Gandalf before his own hasty departure to guard Hobbiton from the Shadow and to watch over Bilbo's silver should Lobelia Sacksville-Baggins turn up. Jill Pole, the tall Hobbit-girl, had told him he was quite lucky to be required to live in the finest home in the Shire, but Eustace had yet to see her point. He had outgrown the accommodations years ago; and furthermore, the Hole came equipped with a gardener who had the unfortunate habit of interrupting Eustace at the most inconvenient times.
"Must you always come so early?"
"You weren't asleep, were you, Mastah Scrubb? You look up and about. Like a daisy that's met the sun."
"No, I was awake…having breakfast."
"Oh, that's nice; ol' Mastah Baggins was always having brekkist when I'd come, and he'd come out like I was keepin' him, starvin' him. You'd almost forget he was probably on his Third Brekkist."
"Yes, yes, Mister Gamgee, would you come to the point already? What have you been knocking on my door about?"
"Oh, that. Why's I seen it with me own eyes, Mastah Scrubb."
"What?"
"Why, the hooded, old Man who goes about in the woods. It's Gandalf. He's in the Shire."
Eustace squeezed himself out the door. "Show me."
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Smoke wafted before them as they plowed their mounts uphill towards the smoldering pile of carcasses. The pungent scent of burnt flesh stung the Elf's nose as he helped the Dwarf dismount. Gimli gave no protest at being assisted in his hurry to get to the pile. Using his axe, he began to sift through the blackened remains.
Legolas could hardly watch the heart-wrenching scene; what hope was there that the two Hobbits were not smothered and mutilated in that pile of death? He turned, his eyes following the Pevensies, Caspian, and their young charges. They were in the far distance, moving toward the still far-off Golden Hall. He felt guilty for not assisting Gimli in digging, but he knew he would be sick if he tried. He felt guilty for letting the Hobbits be captured in the first place, felt guilty that he now looked away, as if he did not care. He could still see Susan's dark hair flying in the wind. Watching her gave him an odd sense of hope.
Gimli gave a stifled cry, drawing forth one of the Elven belts that he been gifted to the Hobbits when they were in Lothlorien. Legolas maintained a somewhat stoic appearance, as Elves often do, never letting on that he felt as though someone had yanked his heart out. He bowed his head in an Elvish prayer.
Gimli had tears in his eyes; Aragorn was moving about agitatedly. The realization – one they had tried hard not to believe when Eomer had told them of the Hobbits' likely fate – was impossible to accept. As Legolas looked up, he noticed that the Ranger's movements had suddenly changed; Aragorn moved purposefully know, touching the ground, mumbling things like "they crawled" or "their bonds were cut" or "they ran." Gimli wiped away his tears and followed the Ranger, almost eagerly. Aragorn paused before the eaves of a forest. The old, craggy trees reared their twisting, heavy limbs in crazy angles.
Aragorn's voice held a twinge of relief. "They went in there."
Gimli gulped. "Fangorn," he breathed, noting which forest this was. "Whatever would have possessed them to run in there?"
Aragorn gave a worried look at the indentations in the soft sod. There were two smaller sets of tracks and a larger pair. "They were pursued."
Strider and a reluctant Gimli entered the woods. They were being teased by hope – the Hobbits were dead, they were not, they still could be. Legolas glanced back toward the Narnians one last time before he, too, stepped into the forest. Seeing Susan was a reminder that he still that a heart.
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"Scrubb?"
Eustace turned around at the familiar voice. "Pole, what are you doing here?"
The tall Hobbit girl got to her feet, towering over the corn stalks she had been kneeling beside. "Bringing in the harvest," she replied. "And you? You look like you're on some frantic search."
Gaffer Gamgee decided now was a good time for him to explain. "We's lookin' fer Gandalf."
"Gandalf? What would he be doing in these parts? Have any of the Bagginses or Pevensies returned?"
Eustace scratched his head. "No, no one's come back. You're right, Pole: if Gandalf were back, I think we'd know why; he'd have come up to Bag End and told us. Or, if not him, then Bilbo or Frodo or someone we knew would be up at Bag End explaining why Gandalf's here, how he brought them back or how he's checking up on the Shire. Not sneaking around like a thief. Gandalf left me to protect the Shire; he'd have come to me."
Gaffer rubbed his chin. "Then mebbe's he's up to Bag End now, as we speak, looking fer us."
"That would be just my luck," Eustace mumbled. "We'll have been going in circles round each other, looking for the other."
Jill pulled a husk for the stalk. "Maybe he doesn't want to be seen. All the busybodies would come out and pester him, wanting to know what's going on out there ever since Bilbo's ill-fated birthday party. The Sacksville-Baggins would like to know if Bilbo is dead so they can start dividing his estate."
"But some Hobbits have seen him already," Gaffer pointed out. "An' I think rightly that some's even spoken with him."
Eustace scanned the eaves of the East Farthing, seeing no figures skirting the fields of Hobbiton. "I should like to speak with those Hobbits who've claimed to have visited with him."
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The forest was dark and dank, as if the air had staled from the lack of sun. Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli moved carefully over the twisted roots and around crooked branches that created an ancient, intricate forest design. They were on the right track; Gimli had just discovered Orc blood on some waxy leaves. Judging by the tracks Aragorn observed, the Hobbits had been pursued by an Orc who had either been wounded by the Rohirrim or perhaps by Merry and Pippin themselves. But as of yet, there was no sight of the lost Hobbits or the Orc.
"These are strange tracks," the Ranger observed. The small footprints of the Hobbits vanished in amongst the strange, larger tracks that seemed to have tilled the earth, almost like something had been uprooted. There was more Orc blood. Had the Orc – and the Hobbits – met some peculiar fate?
The forest seemed to groan around the three searchers. "This forest is old," the Elf observed. "Very old. Full of memory…and anger." Legolas thought again of the Narnians. In this strange time of growing darkness, the four Pevensies – who had been mere children when Legolas first met them in Dale – had never abandoned some sense of hope and a willingness to put themselves on the front line of Middle-Earth's defense. What a strange life they had walked into when they first stepped foot in Narnia – one, that for reasons beyond even their comprehension, had called them to serve. He briefly wondered what had become Lucy, if she was safely tucked away in the Elven kingdom of the Greenwood.
The forest groaned again, startling Gimli. The Dwarf raised his weapon with apprehension.
"The Trees are speaking to each other," Legolas said, explaining the strange noise.
Strider stood and looked back at the Dwarf. "Gimli, lower your axe."
Gimli did as the Ranger bid. Legolas gave him a reproving look. "They have feelings, my friend. The Elves began it, waking up the Trees, teaching them to speak." His mind drifted to Narnia once again, recalling the ancient tales of the Elves and Dryads feasting and merrymaking on the Dancing Lawn.
Gimli seemed less inclined to be sentimental. "Talking Trees?" he muttered. "What have Trees got to talk about, other than the consistency of squirrel droppings?"
The Elf rolled his eyes, ignoring the Dwarf. His attention was stolen away by something deeper within the woods. "Something's out there," he whispered to Aragorn in Elvish as he moved stealthily past the Dwarf and Ranger.
Strider hastened after him. "What is it?" he returned.
Legolas's eyes roved over the darkened forest, seeing what the others' mortal eyes could not. "The White Wizard approaches."
Aragorn put his hand on the hilt of his sword and slowly began to draw it out. "Do not let him speak," the Ranger whispered to the others. "He will put a spell on us."
The Dwarf gripped his axe a little tighter while the Elf put arrow to bow string. They would have to move quickly, Legolas knew. What chance did they stand against the prowess of Saruman? What if the White Wizard succeeded in casting a spell upon one of their company, turning him against the others? Legolas knew he had not the heart to fight Aragorn should the mortal Man fall prey to the Wizard. Or, even the Dwarf, for that matter.
With a nod of his head, Aragorn led the others, spinning around to face their adversary. Gimli let his axe sail through the air towards the white-glowing figure, only to have the Wizard force back the weapon. Legolas's arrow snapped in half only part way to its destination. And Aragorn's sword glowed red like lava of Mount Doom, burning the Ranger's hand and forcing him to drop it. Weaponless, the three companions tried to face the blinding figure, shielding their eyes, wondering what they were going to do against Saruman.
"You are tracking the footsteps of two young Hobbits," the white figure revealed, knowing their every move.
"Where are they?" Aragorn demanded.
"They passed this way the day before yesterday. They met friends whom they had not expected in these parts. Does that comfort you?"
Legolas questioned whom Saruman referred to as "friends."
Strider blinked in the harsh, white light. There was something strange about this Wizard, something familiar, to the point the Ranger had begun to question if the specter before them was even Saruman. "Who are you? Show yourself!"
The white figure stepped forward, the blinding glow dimming. The white robes and long white hair were similar to Saruman's, but the face…
Legolas dropped to his knees. "Forgive me. I mistook you for Saruman."
…this was a face none of them had ever thought they would see again.
"I am Saruman," the Wizard returned. "Rather, Saruman as he should be."
Aragorn wore a bewildered look. "How can this be? You fell."
The Wizard nodded. "Through fire and water," he told them, detailing his journey since falling from the bridge of Khazad-dûm. "From the lowest dungeon to the highest peak, I fought the servant of Morgoth until at last I threw down my enemy and smote his ruin upon the mountainside. Then darkness took me and I strayed out of thought and time. Then, I felt life in me again, and I have been sent back until my task is done."
"Gandalf," Aragorn whispered as the Wizard concluded his tale.
"Gandalf?" A spark of remembrance entered his eyes. "Yes, that is what they used to call me. Gandalf the Grey, that was my name."
There were tears in the Dwarf's eyes. "Gandalf!"
"I am Gandalf the White," the Wizard said growing serious, "and I come back to you now at the turn of the tide."
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"Oh, I've'a seen 'im, mark me words."
"But have you spoken to him?" Eustace pressed.
"Lots o' times, laddie. I had a ripe ol' visit with the ol' Wizard at Mr. Bilbo's birthday party. You were there, you ken?"
Eustace put his head in his hand. This was the third Hobbit the Gaffer had believed to have seen speaking with the elusive Gandalf. But between a butcher, a baker, and now a candlestick-maker, Eustace had discovered their encounters with the Wizard were far from recent.
The candlemaker bustled around her shop, holding dripping candles by their strings. "I didn't speak to him the last time, though."
Eustace, cramped in the chair the candlemaker had offered for her guest, looked up. "What last time?"
"The time when I was visitin' my sister. She lives in Longbottom, you ken."
"When was this?"
"About a month back, I should say. It was when she was having her fifth. Good lands!"
"And you saw him?"
"I was there when he was born."
Eustace stared blankly, then shook his head as if ridding himself of the last statement. "No, no, Gandalf! Did you see Gandalf?"
"Not to speak to."
"Yes, but where was he when you saw him."
"I saw him out of the window. He was skirting the pipe-weed fields. He loves it, you ken?"
"Yes." Eustace got up as best he could due to the low ceiling. "You have been most helpful."
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"Your journey is over," Gandalf informed the Ranger, Elf and Dwarf as they marched through Fangorn. Now that Gandalf, friend to the Trees, had been returned to Middle-Earth the forest seemed happier, quieter. Legolas could still sense their bitterness – a great injustice had been done to their woodlands though the Elf could not yet decipher what – but they seemed more hopeful. "Another begins," Gandalf continued.
"But what of the Hobbits?" Gimli questioned. "We can't just leave those poor Hobbits here in this horrid, dark, dank, tree-infested—"
The groaning started anew amongst the rearing, gnarled figures of the Trees.
"I mean, charming, quite charming," Gimli changed quickly.
"It was more than mere chance that brought Merry and Pippin to Fangorn," the Wizard revealed. "A great, old power had been sleeping here for many long years. The coming of Merry and Pippin shall be like the falling of small stones that start an avalanche in the mountains."
The Ranger turned to the Wizard. "In one thing you have not changed, my friend. You still speak in riddles." Both companions chuckled.
Then, with eyes scanning the craggy dark branches of Fangorn, Gandalf announced, "A thing is about to happen that hasn't happened since the Eldar Days. May the Hobbits be brave, the Ents be strong. And may the Valiant remind them how to dance!"
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Eustace came out of the little shop looking disgruntled. On the one hand, he was tired of squeezing himself into Hobbit holes and miniature shops that twisted and wrinkled his clothes and mussed his hair. He had a headache from hitting his head on too many ceilings and doorframes. On the other hand, he was just plain annoyed. Evening was settling in over the Shire; he had spent the entire day roving throughout Hobbiton and the neighboring villages, tracking down anyone who had claimed to have had dealings with Gandalf recently. Jill Pole and Gaffer Gamgee waited a short distance away as Eustace emerged from his final destination. Although Jill knew Eustace was tired from his day-long excursion, she sensed something different in him now. Something was bothering him.
"What happened?" she asked with concern.
"Did ol' Mr. Lotho give you a run fer Bag End?" the Gaffer wanted to know, more amused than he should have been.
Eustace hurried his companions out of earshot of the pipe-weed shop owned by the pimple-riddled Lotho Sacksville-Baggins, the son of the formidable Lobelia. "Oh, he gave me a run for Bag End, all right," Eustace said between clenched teeth. "Said I had no right to be living in Bilbo's home, as if I haven't been living there for almost as many years as he's been alive! I swear, if I wasn't in Bag End now, that Little Pimple would have moved in the very evening of Bilbo's ill-fated birthday, when they all left the Shire!"
"But what about Gandalf?" Jill pressed. "Had he seen him?"
Eustace released a shaky breath. "He claimed to have not seen Gandalf – said he wouldn't be caught dead hanging around with that 'no-good Wizard that ole befuddled Bilbo used to know.'"
"So, he hasn't seen Gandalf," the Gaffer concluded.
"No." Eustace shook his head. "If Gandalf were in the Shire, he would have come to me, not bought a bag of pipe-weed and go on his way. As urgent as his business has been across Middle-Earth, he wouldn't just pop off and refresh his supply, leaving who-knows-what hanging in the balance."
"Then if the vagabond folk have been seeing hereabouts isn't Gandalf, then who is he?" Jill demanded.
"Sharkey," Eustace grumbled.
"Who's Sharkey?" the Gaffer wanted to know.
"I don't know," the Pevensie's cousin said, "but whoever he is, Lotho has been doing a lot of business with him. When Lotho wasn't looking, I glanced at his ledger. Seems he's been buying fields in the Southfarthing, and selling pipe-weed to someone named Sharkey, as well as other names not known in the Shire."
"Well, he seems to be doin' a good business." Gaffer Gamgee hastened to keep pace with the tall Human and long-legged Hobbit. "Those Sacksville-Bagginses do love their money."
Eustace scowled. "Enough to sell their souls? I fear Pimple is up to no good."
