Author's Notes:
Once upon a time, hobbits lived in harmony with Men, farming the upper vales of
the Anduin. They lived so quietly, as a matter of
fact, that none of the Great noticed them at all. (The Great are more likely to
notice troublemakers than folk doing what they ought.) Times changed, a darkness crept over the land, shadowing the hearts of Men,
and some Little Folk made the dangerous crossing of the Mountains to the West,
while others were driven into the shelter of the forest, where they passed
quite a few years in pleasant obscurity once more. It is not always a
misfortune being overlooked...
Readers taking the time to review are muchly
appreciated. The Muse seems to run on virtual pina
coladas and reviews...
Xena, the hobbits have no real governing authority,
but they will listen to one who hears the voice of the Lady and they respect
their elders for their treasure-store of life experience. They will follow a
younger person who has not been proven in the crucible of time... but only if
he hears the Lady.
Bookworm, Gandalf has always seemed mysterious to me. This rather bumbling,
grandfatherly chap, you think, and then... I think of him sitting with Elrond
at the feast in Rivendell in FOTR (the book), where
he resembles one of the kings of old or some such thing. The book is under
someone's bed at the moment so I cannot look up the passage.
Hildegard, are you by any chance a Monty Python fan? "I'm not dead yet... I'm
getting better..." is often quoted around here.
Doctor-M, Welcome! Always glad to meet someone new.
Angry Tolkien Purist, Welcome to you as well! My,
from your name it sounds as if you'll keep me on my toes. I try to stay as
close to canon as possible and am thankful for alert readers who point out
straying details. *** Actually, there aren't any Rangers per se at this point
in the story. The North
Kingdom has split into
three but has not yet fallen, so there are no Dunedain
at the moment, if that's what you meant.
If ff.net is giving you fits and you are faithfully writing reviews, you can
always send them along to me at bljean@aol.com. The Muse will bless you.
"Runaway" is finished (all 35 chapters)
and the second-to-last chapter goes up today! Farry
and Goldi's wedding story is finished, and Frodo Gamgee's wedding is nearly done. My editor has another
chapter of "Small and Passing Thing" ready to post today as well, if ffnet cooperates. Enjoy.
***
Chapter 7. A-journey
Thorn had given much thought to the order of march,
placing armed hobbits before and after the community as well as to the sides.
They walked more than five miles that first day, further from their homes than
any save the boldest scout had ever gone, following Thorn and Beech, for Thorn
seemed to know what to do, and Beech seemed to know where to go.
As the Sun was westering, Beech noted a grove
of likely trees. 'Here,' he said, nudging his sister's husband. 'Not a low
branch amongst them, and good, sturdy branches up
high. We'll sleep here this night.'
'Very well,' Thorn said, and made ready to stop, but Beech kept walking.
'What is it, brother?' Thorn said.
'We'll keep walking a ways, double back,' Beech said. 'If anything
follows our trail in the night, they'll sniff their way right past the trees
and on into the woods, and then they'll run out of scent and be baffled, but at
least they won't be baffled right below where we're hiding.'
'Good thinking,' Thorn said. Beech nodded. His hide, as well as the hides
of the ones he loved, indeed, of the entire community, depended on how well
they thought out their course. This was not like a hunt, where the wrong
decision meant an empty pot, rather, in this case, a
wrong decision would fill the pot with hobbits. That would never do.
They walked on a half mile or so before Beech led them back in a circle
to the path they'd left, and then back along the path. 'Perhaps they're stupid
enough to run in circles half the night,' he said hopefully.
Thorn snorted. As they'd walked, the word had been passed back along the
line that soon they'd stop, but when they did stop, none must touch the boles
of the trees. They'd climb rope ladders to get up into the branches.
Choosing the most promising trees, archers shot arrows into the air,
light lines attached. The arrows went over high branches and came down again,
and after that 'twas simple work to attach ropes to the light lines and haul
them over. Then nimble hobbit lads climbed the ropes, made fast the rope
ladders, and the rest climbed, even the eldest of the community who were spry,
if wrinkled. Hobbits tended to live long, remaining hale and hearty until, one
night, an old hobbit would go to sleep and never waken again in this world. It
stood them in good stead now.
Before long, the entire community was roped safely onto the high
branches. The hunters wiped away tracks and climbed up and took up the ladders.
No sign remained on the ground that hunted hobbits had taken refuge here.
They slept well that evening, rising in the morning to descend from their
high places and take up the march again. They made good time,
nearly ten miles before circling back to climb again. Their caution paid off
this night, for the gobble-uns had come to raid the
community once more and found their trail, following it with hateful, hungry
determination to its end, passing beneath the silent hobbits with frightful
growls and snarls coming, and even more horrid gnashings
and mutterings when they came around again, before realising the trail led them
nowhere. If any hobbits had doubted the necessity of this "a-journey" before,
they were believers now.
Another day of walking, another night of hiding, and the creatures passed
beneath them again, a smaller group this time, perhaps only a score. Some time
after the hungry hunters had passed, a solitary figure
was seen beneath the hobbits' hiding place. Still awake from the earlier
fearful wait for the gobble-uns to pass, little Pickthorn tugged at his father's sleeve. 'Grey one,' he
whispered.
'The gobble-uns will circle back this way and
catch him up!' Beech hissed. He didn't know any more about this grey one after
seeing him pass beneath them, but the being had killed gobble-uns, so presumably he was not friendly with the monsters.
'All right, pass the word: hunters be ready to follow,' Thorn said, and
soon the word was passed from family to family, branch to branch, tree to tree.
Sure enough, the body of gobble-uns passed beneath
them again, sounding somehow eager; they'd picked up the new scent and were on
the trail. After they passed, ropes fell from the high branches and small
hunters descended, weapons slung at their backs, to follow the body of marching
monsters.
Shouting broke out ahead and light slashing through the trees dazzled
their eyes. They moved forward to take cover behind great boles, and as they
peeped out, they saw the grey one, seemingly grown to towering height, arms
outspread, eyes blazing under bushy brows, staff
alight with uncanny fire. Some of the gobble-uns had
fallen back in fear, but a few bolder creatures pressed forward and others
circled round to approach from the rear, away from the eyes, threatening to
overwhelm the figure, commanding as it was.
Thorn gestured and hobbit hunters spread out. When Thorn loosed his first
arrow the others were ready, and suddenly the air was filled with flying
shafts. The gobble-uns were cut down quickly and
efficiently, pierced with many arrows. The grey one stood a moment in surprise,
arms still spread, but then the fiery staff dimmed to an ordinary stick once
more even as the being seemed to shrink into himself, once again a bent old
man.
'Is he one of those alfs that Pick saw?' Beech
whispered, "alf" being the closest
approximation in their speech to "Elf".
'If he is, he's a grand-un,' Thorn whispered back. 'I've never seen the
like of that fire he's got.'
The grey one seemed able to hear the whispers; he peered intently into
the thicket where Thorn and Beech crouched.
'Come out,' he said, gesturing invitingly. 'Let me at least thank you for
your aid.'
'No thanks are needed, Grand-alf,' Thorn said,
emerging cautiously from his hiding place. He stopped well out of arms-reach.
The grey one raised a bushy eyebrow at this novel address, but nodded
gravely. 'I will thank you all the same,' he said. 'You are Pick's father, are
you not?'
Thorn froze in surprise. 'How did you know?' he asked slowly.
'I watched you gather him from where I'd left him for you to find,' the
grey one said.
'Then it is we-uns who owe the thanks to you,
Grand-alf,' Thorn said with a bow, which the grey one
returned gravely.
'How did you come to be here?' the grey one said. He seated himself on
the ground as if there were nothing more natural in the world than to chat with
a group of Little Folk emerging from cover, their arrows trained upon him,
while two dozen dead goblins lay where they'd been cut down.
'We were driven from our home by the likes of these,' Thorn replied, the
sweep of his arm taking in the dead goblins. 'We seek a safer place to live. We
are...' he savoured the unfamiliar word as if it were a new flavour that he was
not quite sure was to his liking yet, 'emtravelling/em
to find a new place to make our home.'
'North,' the grey one said, a simple fact, seeing as their community lay
well to the South.
'North,' Thorn agreed, while several hunters made protesting noises. Was
it safe to tell this stranger their business?
'Why North?' asked the grey one, honestly curious.
Thorn shrugged. 'It's as good as any,' he said. 'The bad things come from
the South.'
'Do you know what lies to the North?' the grey one asked. He'd had the
impression from Pick that none of these had ever ventured more than a day's
journey from home.
'No, nor any other direction, either,' Thorn
said, seating himself on the ground and gesturing to the others to do the same.
Beech shook his head, waved several of the hunters to follow him, and melted
into the woods. 'They will keep watch,' Thorn added. 'What can you tell us
about the land?' he asked. Surely if this one knew words like "travelling" and
"a-journey" he ought to be able to tell them something about other places.
Grand-alf picked up a stick and smoothed the
dirt in front of him. He began to talk and sketch, not seeming to notice the
Little Folk creeping forward in fascination as a rough map took shape on the
ground. It was not long before he could have reached out and touched any one of
them, though he had the good sense not to. Though his eyes remained on the map,
he was studying them as carefully as he might, taking in every detail. They
were a proud people, he thought, for all their small stature, self-reliant,
intelligent, curious. Their movements were graceful,
their senses sharp; they seemed to be taking in sight, sound, smell of their
surroundings even as they remained focused on this unusual geography lesson.
'Of course there are better maps at Imladris,'
the grey one concluded, putting the stick down and sitting back. The Little
Folk seemed to have accepted him; they neither stiffened nor shrunk away from
him, now that he was giving them his full attention. Of course, the hidden
hunters might well have bows trained on him at this moment, if they were not
just watching for the advent of more goblins. He wouldn't put it past them.
'Of course,' Thorn said, drinking in the map, imprinting it upon his
memory. He wondered what Imladris was.