Chapter Six: Into the Old Forest
Roscoe's eyes widened. He would have sworn that he had just seen an Elf, had it not been for the shiver that went down his spine as he passed. Somehow, Roscoe had a sense that this hooded figure was dangerous, elf or no.
"I wouldn't want to be caught in the same forest as that fellow, that's for sure!" Roscoe said to himself. However, he wasn't about to give up; he swore to himself he'd find Ivy and do his best to protect her, and he was prepared to do all it took to do just that.
Roscoe turned his attention into the forest, and for a moment he forgot all about the hooded stranger in light of this new fear. Roscoe feared the forest greatly; after the stories he'd heard, he wouldn't have been caught anywhere near it without necessity. He had even heard that the forest was alive -- and it almost seemed that way from the mysterious creaking sounds that seemed to come from the trees all around.
Roscoe tried to tell himself that it was all hogwash, and began his trek into the forest, albeit very slowly and carefully. Constantly on the lookout for another appearance of the mysterious stranger (not to mention the even more mysterious unknown evils that may have dwelt in the forest), Roscoe continued to follow the tracks left by the Big Person and his prisoner, trying very hard not to offend the trees (if in fact they were watching him).
A breeze that had managed to make its way through the mangled branches of the forest carried with it the groans of the trees themselves, either simply swaying or alerting each other of a trespasser in their midst. Even a gnarled old stump at the edge of the path seemed to glare with eery silence as its cousins swayed around it.
The tracks, barely visible now, would fade and reappear again every few yards, making them very difficult to follow. Every once in awhile the path that the tracks were following would suddenly be barred off by tree branches that had wound together so tightly, it appeared as if they had been like that for decades. Though a bit beyond these barricades the tracks would reappear and continue fading in and out.
They dipped down into a small ravine, made prints in the mud along a stream, then tracked back up the other side. They wound around a very thick and very ancient-looking willow with branches that drooped and brushed the ground, then around a gnarled old tree stump-...
A gnarled tree stump? This particular part of the forest looked strangely familiar...
With the newly presented predicament, several moments of stillness passed and a long willow vine slowly began to move along the forest floor. It soon found the foot of a hobbit and began to coil around the ankle. Another snuck up from above and dangled down to wrap about the hobbit's shoulders and make a coil around his neck.
"Ah!" Roscoe was startled out of his despair at going in circles by the groping branches. He tried to draw his sword, but his hands were also bound too quickly for him to do anything in his defense. Soon, Roscoe was entirely entangled in the branches, and he was being pulled under the tree's roots!
"Help!" The cry came out involuntarily -- despite the still-present danger of the lurking stranger -- and the poor hobbit sank deeper and deeper into the tree's gnarled roots. Roscoe was pulled under completely now, his cries for help muffled in the thick, strong roots of the tree.
Gandalf rode west to the outskirts of the township of Bree, continuing onto the border of the Old Forest. Upon reaching the trees, he dismounted and looked for tracks leading into the forest.
He found them soon enough: two hobbit tracks and one of a man (rather tall, he guessed, by the span on his steps). Gandalf could not see any tracks left by the cloaked stranger's horse, but he had a strong feeling that he was in the forest as well.
For now, though, Gandalf was searching for the missing hobbits, and the former trail of footprints would be his first endeavor in this adventure. He followed Roscoe's trail to the base of the great tree. Immediately he recited an incantation that caused the roots of the tree to recoil and release their prisoner.
And just in time, too! Roscoe was beginning to wonder if this was the end for him! The hobbit jumped free of the tree's clutches with a stumble. He looked up at the wizard with awe.
"Gandalf!" he cried, recognizing the wizard. "Bless the hair on my feet, but I've never had the pleasure! And thank you so very much for releasing me. What did you say to make the trees obey you?" he added, with curiosity.
Gandalf spoke as he walked. "I just told them if they don't behave themselves, then I'd cause them to shrivel up. Luckily for me (and for them) I've been in this wood before, and they know that I am as good as my word on such matters."
Gandalf (seeing the difficulty in being able to follow the tracks) recited another incantation that caused the trees to make way. Also, the tracks themselves began to illuminate a faint blue, causing them to stand out unmistakeably. Without another word, Gandalf strode quickly ahead after the glowing tracks.
Roscoe had to run to keep up with the wizard's step. He was very glad that Gandalf had come; from what he'd heard in stories about the wizard, he was very useful when it came to getting out of a bind.
"And what a bind I've gotten myself into!" Roscoe thought to himself as he huffed along after Gandalf. In the presence of such a legendary figure in his mind, Roscoe doubted his own usefulness. In fact, if it wasn't for Ivy, Roscoe would have left the forest altogether and left the mysterious riders and the dangerous murderers and the malicious forest to those for whom such adventures are suited.
Roscoe continued at the heels of the wizard. He wondered and feared where the tracks would lead, though he felt very confident now that he had a honest-to-goodness wizard on his side!
As Gandalf continued to follow the trail, he drew Glamdring, its blade shimmering from the little moonlight that made it through the dense foliage above.
Eventually, Gandalf and Roscoe came across a small clearing in the wood. On the other side of this clearing could be seen a sort of makeshift tent, from which a dim light shone from the inside. Gandalf motioned for Roscoe to follow him around the perimeter of the clearing until they were just within hearing of the goings-on in the tent.
Two voices came from within the tent -- a gruff man's voice and a young female voice -- though Gandalf did not recognise them. It appeared that there was an interrogation going on.
Roscoe knew the second voice, without a doubt, to belong to Ivy Greenhand! He was so elated that she was alive, he forgot his danger for one unfortunate moment.
"Ivy!" he cried without thinking into the silent darkness; the minute he opened his mouth, he realized his mistake. "Roscoe, you fool! Look what you've done now! Next time, why don't you run into a clan of goblins and point out to them how delicious you would be!"
Roscoe looked up at Gandalf frantically -- both in apology and to see what to do next.
The tent jerked and a large shadow moved about, knocking over the lamp and quenching any light that shone through. A slight gasp sounded which brought on a loud slap and light feminine squeak. A man's dark silouette was seen emerging from the tent's entrance. He immediately saw Roscoe and was about to draw his sword (with a hand that was carelessly bandaged) but the presence of the wizard made the blood drain from his face. He started backing up and nearly fell over the tent behind him.
"Curunír..." he muttered as his frame began shaking. Then he shouted, "Curunír! I gurunír! Hebrilith! I gurunír!" ('Wizard! The wizard! Hebrilith! The wizard!')
As soon as the first shout had left the man's mouth, the familiar pounding of a horse's hooves, light and swift, came from the other side of the clearing. The grey steed and rider rushed through the brush, almost glowing from the scarce light of the moon, making all other things around them seem dim.
The rider's hood was now back and a head of gold elven hair was visible with a fair face common only in the race of the Eldar. His eyes held not only a fire, but a sort of rage that made him strange, very much unlike his kin.
He was not afraid to wield his sword and drew it from the sheath on his horse's saddle. He shouted at the man, "Dago i beriannath! Dago ti!" ('Kill the halflings! Kill them!')
The thief's eyes went wide and he fearfully mumbled something about the wizard.
Hebrilith glared savagely at the man. "Dago ti! Ú-phulo dregir i beriannath!" ('Kill them! The halflings cannot escape!')
Seeing the man's hesitation, Gandalf spoke firmly: "Herefara, you traitor! You've heard my voice before! You recognise my face! Listen now: you are no match for me. You are aware of this. Depart, now! Leave this battle for those whom it concerns," Gandalf said, casting an eye at the dark elf. "Stay, man, and you will surely die; you will not live to to tell of it if you reject my mercy!"
Ivy, still dizzied from Herefara's blow, sat up inside the tent and began to muddle through the darkness. The elf was back...it had been too much to hope that he had really left them for good, back to his mystical forests and ancient brethren. Did Roscoe really have a chance against both of them? But there was another voice, deep and commanding...it sounded like he was helping, but she couldn't tell. Closing her eyes to force down the nausea rising in her stomach, Ivy clumsily managed to rise to her knees. Her hands had been bound tightly behind her, but the ropes around her ankles had been tied in haste; the knots were ludicrously loose and easy to kick off her large feet.
Half-crawling to the flap of the tent, she peered outside. Not much was visible to her at first, nothing but the figures. Faces came more slowly, but sharpened in the dimly lit gloom. Hoping not to be seen, Ivy began to slowly make her way into the shadows...maybe a splintered branch or a pointed stone would at least begin to slice through the bindings. A faint hope, but still something.
Feeling extremely conspicuous, Ivy bit her lip. She didn't dare try to get Roscoe's attention in case Herefara or Hebrilith noticed his direction of focus, but silently prayed that she would be able to get free before something terrible happened to any of them.
The sound of the murderer slapping Ivy made Roscoe's blood boil. In his rage, Roscoe felt like he could take on ten such criminals! However, he decided to leave the nasty work up to Gandalf as much as he could; he just waited for an opportunity to get close to the tent and free Ivy from her imprisonment.
At the elf's command, Herefara shakily drew his sword but was still very hesitant to try going after Roscoe with the wizard standing so nearby. Deciding that Hebrilith hadn't specified which hobbit had to be killed first, he turned around and started for the tent, but this brought to his attention that Ivy had snuck out while he had had his back turned. He scowled and lunged for her, catching the rope that held her wrists together, and began pulling her back to him.
Now that one hobbit was being taken care of, Hebrilith stayed idle no longer. Holding his sword aloft, he spurred his horse and the animal leapt forward without hesitation toward the hobbit and the wizard. He first charged between them, separating them, then wheeled around and charge back towards the hobbit, holding his sword above his head...
Roscoe's eyes widened. He would have sworn that he had just seen an Elf, had it not been for the shiver that went down his spine as he passed. Somehow, Roscoe had a sense that this hooded figure was dangerous, elf or no.
"I wouldn't want to be caught in the same forest as that fellow, that's for sure!" Roscoe said to himself. However, he wasn't about to give up; he swore to himself he'd find Ivy and do his best to protect her, and he was prepared to do all it took to do just that.
Roscoe turned his attention into the forest, and for a moment he forgot all about the hooded stranger in light of this new fear. Roscoe feared the forest greatly; after the stories he'd heard, he wouldn't have been caught anywhere near it without necessity. He had even heard that the forest was alive -- and it almost seemed that way from the mysterious creaking sounds that seemed to come from the trees all around.
Roscoe tried to tell himself that it was all hogwash, and began his trek into the forest, albeit very slowly and carefully. Constantly on the lookout for another appearance of the mysterious stranger (not to mention the even more mysterious unknown evils that may have dwelt in the forest), Roscoe continued to follow the tracks left by the Big Person and his prisoner, trying very hard not to offend the trees (if in fact they were watching him).
A breeze that had managed to make its way through the mangled branches of the forest carried with it the groans of the trees themselves, either simply swaying or alerting each other of a trespasser in their midst. Even a gnarled old stump at the edge of the path seemed to glare with eery silence as its cousins swayed around it.
The tracks, barely visible now, would fade and reappear again every few yards, making them very difficult to follow. Every once in awhile the path that the tracks were following would suddenly be barred off by tree branches that had wound together so tightly, it appeared as if they had been like that for decades. Though a bit beyond these barricades the tracks would reappear and continue fading in and out.
They dipped down into a small ravine, made prints in the mud along a stream, then tracked back up the other side. They wound around a very thick and very ancient-looking willow with branches that drooped and brushed the ground, then around a gnarled old tree stump-...
A gnarled tree stump? This particular part of the forest looked strangely familiar...
With the newly presented predicament, several moments of stillness passed and a long willow vine slowly began to move along the forest floor. It soon found the foot of a hobbit and began to coil around the ankle. Another snuck up from above and dangled down to wrap about the hobbit's shoulders and make a coil around his neck.
"Ah!" Roscoe was startled out of his despair at going in circles by the groping branches. He tried to draw his sword, but his hands were also bound too quickly for him to do anything in his defense. Soon, Roscoe was entirely entangled in the branches, and he was being pulled under the tree's roots!
"Help!" The cry came out involuntarily -- despite the still-present danger of the lurking stranger -- and the poor hobbit sank deeper and deeper into the tree's gnarled roots. Roscoe was pulled under completely now, his cries for help muffled in the thick, strong roots of the tree.
Gandalf rode west to the outskirts of the township of Bree, continuing onto the border of the Old Forest. Upon reaching the trees, he dismounted and looked for tracks leading into the forest.
He found them soon enough: two hobbit tracks and one of a man (rather tall, he guessed, by the span on his steps). Gandalf could not see any tracks left by the cloaked stranger's horse, but he had a strong feeling that he was in the forest as well.
For now, though, Gandalf was searching for the missing hobbits, and the former trail of footprints would be his first endeavor in this adventure. He followed Roscoe's trail to the base of the great tree. Immediately he recited an incantation that caused the roots of the tree to recoil and release their prisoner.
And just in time, too! Roscoe was beginning to wonder if this was the end for him! The hobbit jumped free of the tree's clutches with a stumble. He looked up at the wizard with awe.
"Gandalf!" he cried, recognizing the wizard. "Bless the hair on my feet, but I've never had the pleasure! And thank you so very much for releasing me. What did you say to make the trees obey you?" he added, with curiosity.
Gandalf spoke as he walked. "I just told them if they don't behave themselves, then I'd cause them to shrivel up. Luckily for me (and for them) I've been in this wood before, and they know that I am as good as my word on such matters."
Gandalf (seeing the difficulty in being able to follow the tracks) recited another incantation that caused the trees to make way. Also, the tracks themselves began to illuminate a faint blue, causing them to stand out unmistakeably. Without another word, Gandalf strode quickly ahead after the glowing tracks.
Roscoe had to run to keep up with the wizard's step. He was very glad that Gandalf had come; from what he'd heard in stories about the wizard, he was very useful when it came to getting out of a bind.
"And what a bind I've gotten myself into!" Roscoe thought to himself as he huffed along after Gandalf. In the presence of such a legendary figure in his mind, Roscoe doubted his own usefulness. In fact, if it wasn't for Ivy, Roscoe would have left the forest altogether and left the mysterious riders and the dangerous murderers and the malicious forest to those for whom such adventures are suited.
Roscoe continued at the heels of the wizard. He wondered and feared where the tracks would lead, though he felt very confident now that he had a honest-to-goodness wizard on his side!
As Gandalf continued to follow the trail, he drew Glamdring, its blade shimmering from the little moonlight that made it through the dense foliage above.
Eventually, Gandalf and Roscoe came across a small clearing in the wood. On the other side of this clearing could be seen a sort of makeshift tent, from which a dim light shone from the inside. Gandalf motioned for Roscoe to follow him around the perimeter of the clearing until they were just within hearing of the goings-on in the tent.
Two voices came from within the tent -- a gruff man's voice and a young female voice -- though Gandalf did not recognise them. It appeared that there was an interrogation going on.
Roscoe knew the second voice, without a doubt, to belong to Ivy Greenhand! He was so elated that she was alive, he forgot his danger for one unfortunate moment.
"Ivy!" he cried without thinking into the silent darkness; the minute he opened his mouth, he realized his mistake. "Roscoe, you fool! Look what you've done now! Next time, why don't you run into a clan of goblins and point out to them how delicious you would be!"
Roscoe looked up at Gandalf frantically -- both in apology and to see what to do next.
The tent jerked and a large shadow moved about, knocking over the lamp and quenching any light that shone through. A slight gasp sounded which brought on a loud slap and light feminine squeak. A man's dark silouette was seen emerging from the tent's entrance. He immediately saw Roscoe and was about to draw his sword (with a hand that was carelessly bandaged) but the presence of the wizard made the blood drain from his face. He started backing up and nearly fell over the tent behind him.
"Curunír..." he muttered as his frame began shaking. Then he shouted, "Curunír! I gurunír! Hebrilith! I gurunír!" ('Wizard! The wizard! Hebrilith! The wizard!')
As soon as the first shout had left the man's mouth, the familiar pounding of a horse's hooves, light and swift, came from the other side of the clearing. The grey steed and rider rushed through the brush, almost glowing from the scarce light of the moon, making all other things around them seem dim.
The rider's hood was now back and a head of gold elven hair was visible with a fair face common only in the race of the Eldar. His eyes held not only a fire, but a sort of rage that made him strange, very much unlike his kin.
He was not afraid to wield his sword and drew it from the sheath on his horse's saddle. He shouted at the man, "Dago i beriannath! Dago ti!" ('Kill the halflings! Kill them!')
The thief's eyes went wide and he fearfully mumbled something about the wizard.
Hebrilith glared savagely at the man. "Dago ti! Ú-phulo dregir i beriannath!" ('Kill them! The halflings cannot escape!')
Seeing the man's hesitation, Gandalf spoke firmly: "Herefara, you traitor! You've heard my voice before! You recognise my face! Listen now: you are no match for me. You are aware of this. Depart, now! Leave this battle for those whom it concerns," Gandalf said, casting an eye at the dark elf. "Stay, man, and you will surely die; you will not live to to tell of it if you reject my mercy!"
Ivy, still dizzied from Herefara's blow, sat up inside the tent and began to muddle through the darkness. The elf was back...it had been too much to hope that he had really left them for good, back to his mystical forests and ancient brethren. Did Roscoe really have a chance against both of them? But there was another voice, deep and commanding...it sounded like he was helping, but she couldn't tell. Closing her eyes to force down the nausea rising in her stomach, Ivy clumsily managed to rise to her knees. Her hands had been bound tightly behind her, but the ropes around her ankles had been tied in haste; the knots were ludicrously loose and easy to kick off her large feet.
Half-crawling to the flap of the tent, she peered outside. Not much was visible to her at first, nothing but the figures. Faces came more slowly, but sharpened in the dimly lit gloom. Hoping not to be seen, Ivy began to slowly make her way into the shadows...maybe a splintered branch or a pointed stone would at least begin to slice through the bindings. A faint hope, but still something.
Feeling extremely conspicuous, Ivy bit her lip. She didn't dare try to get Roscoe's attention in case Herefara or Hebrilith noticed his direction of focus, but silently prayed that she would be able to get free before something terrible happened to any of them.
The sound of the murderer slapping Ivy made Roscoe's blood boil. In his rage, Roscoe felt like he could take on ten such criminals! However, he decided to leave the nasty work up to Gandalf as much as he could; he just waited for an opportunity to get close to the tent and free Ivy from her imprisonment.
At the elf's command, Herefara shakily drew his sword but was still very hesitant to try going after Roscoe with the wizard standing so nearby. Deciding that Hebrilith hadn't specified which hobbit had to be killed first, he turned around and started for the tent, but this brought to his attention that Ivy had snuck out while he had had his back turned. He scowled and lunged for her, catching the rope that held her wrists together, and began pulling her back to him.
Now that one hobbit was being taken care of, Hebrilith stayed idle no longer. Holding his sword aloft, he spurred his horse and the animal leapt forward without hesitation toward the hobbit and the wizard. He first charged between them, separating them, then wheeled around and charge back towards the hobbit, holding his sword above his head...
