Chapter 13

Tom

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After assurances they would burn the carcass, Nag Kath continued south towards an area called the Barrow Downs. These were hillocks of crypts and mass burial sites much like the ones of eastern Dunland, with much the same men as casualties. It had a nasty feel but streams flowed clear. Veering southwest towards the Old Forest of Buckland, he found an area that was very fair and lush along a good trout stream. There were no roads or houses of any sort.

The men said this was where dwelt a spirit ancient before Elves or Lords, possibly even the Valar. No man in the store had ever seen him. None had ever volunteered to come here either so that was neither here nor there. Nag Kath made camp on the edge of the forest and waited. A doe walked up to him and accepted a treat. He did not fish but he did enjoy some tasty strawberries along with his Lembas.

For five days he waited and sketched and wrote a little, inspired by the red book in Sam's study. Was that Bag End? He never thought to ask. At mid-afternoon on the sixth day, he heard singing from the trees. He could not tell the source. Merry and forceful, if not particularly melodic, it came from everywhere at once. After a while the voice seemed to consolidate nearby and asked, "Who visits us on this lovely day, a dil a day?"

The Elf stood and called, "It is Nag Kath, a traveler new to these lands."

From the wood, seemingly near enough to touch, "I have not seen your kind before."

"I am an unlikely breed."

A figure stepped into the light from upstream. He was a stocky, bearded man with a face that was both old and young. Nag Kath thought at first he was in colorful homespun clothes before he noticed fine embroidering along the cuffs and collar. The man wore a feathered hat that he imagined could rival Gandalf the Gray's for weight and hard use. He could only be Tom Bombadil of Frodo's narrative. The man was appraising the changeling just as carefully.

Despite as badly as the offer had gone before, Nag Kath asked, "Can I offer you tea? It is a bit cold."

Bombadil beamed a smile of strong teeth and said, "Yes, that is just the thing! Then you can tell me about your visit." The creature made himself at home on a log while the Elf poured two cups of tepid tea. His guest served, Nag Kath sat on the log a few feet away and sipped silently.

Nag Kath thought this being was much like the Huntsman. He would not measure time since it had no meaning other than to order events. Mortals measure time in their lives, such as a great storm when Sophie was three. Nag Kath did too, for now.

Frodo's entries in the Red Book were vague until he reached the Barrow-downs. From that point they became much more detailed. Nag Kath supposed that was because it was here that the Hobbit was first called to leadership. Tom took a large slurp of the tea and smacked his lips in satisfaction. Then he observed, "You have been waiting long. That is unusual in those who walk with two legs."

"Aye. I was taught by those who value patience, though it sometimes eludes me."

"And what are you waiting for?"

"You, sir." Folk in a village to the north said I should seek your counsel."

Bombadil took another sip of the tea and shook his head. "I cannot think why. I live here with my wife in peace and contentment. Folk know me as Tom Bombadil, minder of green and gold."

Nag Kath had his own theories. He wondered if this being was nature made manifest so such as he could understand even a little of his world. Would Tom fade back into the forest? The Elf would rather have listened than talked but, like all hasty folk, he had questions. He reached into his satchel and pulled a picture of the monster as he remembered it alive. Handing it to Tom he said, "I destroyed this creature a week ago sixty miles north. When it was exposed to daylight, bilious liquids poured out as it withered and died. It only took a moment. And here …" pointing in the corner "… was a tattoo or mark on its arm."

Tom looked at both quickly and smiled. It was a curious expression combining mirth and gravity that Nag Kath could never describe or draw later to his satisfaction. Handing the pictures back, Tom said, "Well, we must be off if we are to get warm supper!" Then he rose and traipsed back into the forest leaving Nag Kath to collect his things and horse.

A Hobbit could not have caught the man but the Elf, walking Charlo, pulled even with him about fifteen minutes later. There was no losing him, though. Tom sang a combination of new verses and repeating choruses that could be heard no matter how far ahead he got. The lyrics made no sense but Nag Kath listened to every word in case the meanings became clearer.

That continued for two hours without rest or real conversation. As the sun was setting they reached a large, round house with light streaming out of a bank of windows. Nag Kath tied Charlo to a post to look at the home for a minute. He came out of his reverie when he noticed both Tom and his horse were gone. He could count on one hand the times he hadn't heard something as noisy as a horse. Well, he was here for dinner so he walked up the stairs and knocked on the door. No one answered. It was unlocked so he let himself in.

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Nag Kath's first impression was that like the hall of the Elf-keepers, it seemed larger on the inside than one would guess from the outside. There was a long dining table near the center of the room. A kitchen was in the far corner and there were at least two visible hallways. He waited by the door. A few minutes later, Tom Bombadil walked in through the back door and handed him his pack.

The large main room was arrayed with plants and flowers, something like Radagast's home except much tidier. Tom called, "Goldberry, my water-daughter, I am home with a young guest. We will dine tonight, sing songs of old and delight in good company!"

From one of the halls emerged a vision of loveliness. She had blonde, wavy hair and fine, soft features. Nag Kath would have thought her an Elf but she had a more open, expressive face. Frodo had described her more thoroughly than her husband. Nag Kath's heart froze because she looked so much like Flor. He was still more in love with Flor than he thought. Goldberry was taller than her husband and wore a pale green gown girded by a thin gold belt.

Seeming to glide across the room, the woman said, "Welcome, young Elf, if Elf you are. I am Goldberry." She smiled like Flor too. He would have to mind his manners.

The changeling bowed gracefully in gratitude, "I am Nag Kath, My Lady. Thank you for your hospitality."

Tom returned from hanging his extraordinary hat on a peg near the front door and announced, "Your fine horse is dining as well." The man gestured to one of the halls, "Please, good sir, come with me and you can wash and relax after our journey here." He took Nag Kath as far as the door and then the Elf continued to a back room of stone with a large clay basin of fresh water. There were pond lilies floating in it with soft towels laid nearby. He only rinsed his face and hands, having taken a Kath bath the day before. Returning to the main room, Nag Kath got the sense that there was magic in its maintenance. Keeping a home like this in Gondor would need one servant at least, even if the master and mistress did much of the work themselves. Tom and Goldberry were clearly unattended out here in the forest. Perhaps their home kept itself – and considerably better than Radagast's.

His host and hostess showed him to the long table that had been laid with delicious foods including; fresh loaves, cheese, butter, jams and spice. Some dishes were hot but many were just picked. There were no meats or spirits of any kind. Just the same clear water as in the basin.

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Nag Kath had a rough plan to learn as much as he could from these two fascinating creatures but they found much more about him by asking seemingly casual questions. It wasn't until they were almost done with the meal that Tom Bombadil said, "Let me see your pictures again, young Kath."

The Elf collected his satchel by his bag and laid the contents on the table so that the pictures he wanted were on the bottom of the stack. That was on purpose. Flipping through them in front of people often started useful conversations. One was a picture of Flor when she first moved in. That was quickly covered by a sketch of water pipe fittings but Nag Kath was sure both of his hosts saw her.

"Ah, I started on the wrong side. Here he is. This one won't win the fair lady's heart!" Nag Kath slid the drawing to Tom as Goldberry walked behind her man. The Elf rose in courtesy to his hostess' rising but she softly held her palm down for him to remain seated.

Tom said with his strange gravity and humor, "Tell me how you took the beast."

"I lured him near the bank of the lake with fishing bait. Then I used a bringing spell to raise him from the water. I cannot claim to have killed him, though. Merely being in the light seemed to empty him within moments."

Tom asked, "A bringing spell?"

"I have some powers as a wizard. Other wizards told me it is probably from Saruman. He created me. How; no one knows."

The ancient leaned back in his chair and looked up at his wife. "And here we thought you would be a merry visitor." He laughed just the same. Her expression did not change. "Very well. Here is what I think; that mark on its arm was a brand from the army of Angmar. Soldiers, generals, doesn't matter; they all got one. So it was probably a wight"

That was along the lines Nag Kath had been thinking from Frodo's description and the men at the lake lodge. He ventured, "Perhaps without the Witch-King they are casting about for new employment?"

"Um hum. Beautiful wife, love of my life, you know waters."

Goldberry returned to her seat before saying, "It did not come up from water. I can only think a wight fell in the lake and transformed, though what he was doing there is a mystery."

Tom said, "Yes, he would have stolen a body. Strange that the brand stayed with him."

Nag Kath fought the temptation to keep quiet and failed, "I should think the brand was more than a sign of ownership. It may have been a binding so the soldier could never be free, in that life or any to come."

Both of his hosts gave him long looks. Tom finally asked, "And how is it that you are righting wights?"

That earned them a Nag Kath grin, "Pure accident, so far, good sir." He became graver, "I know something of transformations. I was one of Saruman's orcs and became an Elf of old. What kind of Elf is unknown." He let that hang in case Tom or Goldberry had something to share. When they didn't, he continued, "I am very young by any counting, just three and thirty, but I have learned some healing and how to defend myself. King Elessar told me of disturbances in the area and I investigated on my way to Dale. With the Dark Lords gone, older, lesser powers are stirring. I wouldn't go so far as to call a wight-fish a power, but it seems to be an expression of lingering spells."

Bombadil said gleefully, "You are a puzzlement, my young friend! Now, let us speak no more of foulness. Tell me of the Halflings."

True to his wish, they spoke of pleasant things. Then they sang. Nag Kath did not know any of Tom's songs but he seemed to make them up anyway. Goldberry had a fair voice and was still almost drowned-out by Tom's lusty baritone. Nag Kath told them of the Elf-keepers who he thought to see soon and then they all retired.

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_~ / ~ / ~ / ~ / ~-_

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Nag Kath's rest was unusual that night. He seldom dreamed, not that he remembered in any event. Most nights, his thoughts slowly fell away leaving a core consciousness. Tonight he dreamt of longing but without remorse or obsession. It was simply the understanding of desire. That thread vanished, replaced by contact from far away. There was no sender or message, just that someone had called to him. The rest of the dream was spent trying to find the source in vain.

He woke strangely refreshed and later than the sun. And he was sure his dreams were encouraged. After dressing and rinsing his face Nag Kath walked into the main room where Goldberry was weaving river reeds into a small basket. She had no trouble hearing the silent Elf and put her work down to return his bow. Unbidden she murmured, "You are a water spirit too, Nag Kath."

"So I am told My Lady. I can divine its nature by touch."

"That is unusual. Most men are of land or sky. Water is left to women. It moves and flows."

He said cautiously, "I am sorry to have brought unpleasant tidings to your happy house."

Goldberry giggled and soothed, "It was not a burden. Such things have long been here. We see them come and go. Tom attends his great gardens that provide for us. We endure." She said gently, "Did you imagine me before? The picture?"

He had to think about that for a second. The sketch of Flor would be better than the average artist of Middle-earth could get to Goldberry. He raised his eyebrows and answered, "Oh, no, she is my wife, or, was my wife. I lost her."

Goldberry was a picture of poise and grace, though that was not the answer she expected. Their home, mostly through Tom's influence, was near to the imaginings of Irmo, Vala of dreams and visions. She wondered if he thought of her before coming. Most guests were visited by dreams beyond themselves, some of which had yet to happen. Some never did, but who can say the future?

Was this incipient wizard so reserved because she reminded him of a lost love? Elves are always reserved but he said he was of the society of men who are not known for subtlety. She would see how subtle, "Did you have a restful night, Nag Kath?"

"Indeed my lady. I woke refreshed."

She brightened, "Good. This is a peaceful home, though sometimes noises of the forest waken folk not used to deep woods."

Nag Kath caught her drift and said softly, "I was touched by desire, not for anything or anyone, just a sense of longing. I wondered if I would follow it or understand that I should not. It was replaced by the feeling that something was calling me from afar. I could not find who or where. It was not a voice known to me."

So he was subtle, odd in someone so young. There were older humors in this one. "My Tom is gathering things for our breakfast. Must you leave soon?"

"I have no schedule at all, My Lady. If breaking our fast is as joyous as dinner, I am pleased to share it."

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As if waiting for his cue, Tom Bombadil was heard outside singing a rambling song. Not for the first time, Nag Kath thought those might be spells or wards to keep unruly beasts and plants, or who knows what, in their natural order. The man entered the back door and left a basket of berries by the basin. Then he walked to the table and landed with a thump in his same seat. Tom was not a chin-pincher because it was defended by a massive beard so he tugged at strands of that in thought before saying, "Good morning, Nag Kath! I hope you had a pleasant sleep."

He said he did. Goldberry looked at her man. Everything else they needed to say was done through thought. Then she rose to wash the berries and warm loaves with butter while Tom and Nag Kath went out the back door. Tom split some kindling for their next fire and the Elf walked over to the stable for a look at Charlo. The horse was comfortable next to a pony sized just right for his owner, a well fed critter to be sure.

Returning to the house together, Nag Kath asked, "Tom, do you know Radagast?"

"Does not ring a bell, a ding a dell!"

"You might know him as Aiwendil, Bird Friend."

Tom grinned, "Oh yes. Brown fellow, bout my height. I've not seen him in ages."

The Elf kept on that line, "You seem very like him, tending for forests and creatures in them. He is busy restoring damage in Mirkwood after Sauron's mischief."

Tom said lightly, "You are probably right, though he is sent there and I am simply here."

Nag Kath watched his complex face and said tenderly, "Then I hope you always are. If I visit every so often, perhaps I will learn your songs better."

As a parting gift, Nag Kath drew a picture of Tom and Goldberry sitting together in thought. It was not posed. It was just how he remembered the interplay of their faces. Both declared it the finest gift ever and he would make a proper frame for it ere the day was out!

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_~ / ~ / ~ / ~ / ~-_

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Riding back to the East Road, Nag Kath wondered what he had learned. He felt stronger, as if the power of the couple had touched him unintentionally. No, that wasn't it. It was more of an awareness – power in another form. He was leaving with another gift – one whose meaning had yet to reveal itself. Meeting immortals would get rarer as the Elves left for the Undying Lands. He would not get many more chances to view the world that way. As he laid-bare to Goldberry, he had yet to reconcile himself to love with those who could not follow.

In wrapping a bow around this package, he thought the essential lesson was Tom saying that he was simply here. Was that how it must be? Did the merry soul now know so much about this small place that there was no room for the larger world? As a couple, they were like moderately well-to-do retirees still possessed of energy to enjoy themselves. It just lasted for thousands of years. He wished them well.

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Bree is a market hub, almost the size of Trum Dreng though not as pretty or welcoming, perhaps because the streets were so narrow. Arriving in late-afternoon, the place was teeming with vendors and merchants and a few travelers using the last of the light. There were a fair number of Hobbits, though the quality of their clothes varied more than in the Shire. He saw several companies of Dwarves keeping to their own affairs.

A prosperous-looking inn on the high street had its own stable so he took a room for the night. Charlo would get a few carrots with his oats. Dinner, if he chose to eat it, was still a while away so Nag Kath wandered along the high street to see if there were herb or healing shops. He did not need anything but was always prepared to be surprised.

He also tried something new. The inn was nice enough but he had cash and a few other things he wanted to keep. Nag Kath placed what he hoped was a confusion spell over his bag. The witches had done that directly to people with considerable success. Mrs. Hürna showed him how but he had not tried it on a person. Could objects be warded with confusion? He wanted anyone who got close to forget why they were there. There would be no knowing if it worked without testing it on an unsuspecting subject but it seemed worthwhile in this rough town.

There wasn't much to see. Dinner wasn't bad. Taking a stroll afterwards he heard familiar music. In an open square the next block over a theater troupe was performing a Catanard. He remembered little of his first, enjoyed as an escaped prisoner, but later shows always had the same theme; a local boy and girl, hopelessly in love but not very smart, are separated by evil uncles. Each area wrote-in their own fresh gossip poking fun at local luminaries. The cast was all townsmen or women. The villains were shown the error of their ways without bloodshed and the young people would soon be married with optimistic leering from the crowd in anticipation of their nuptial night.

Nag Kath stayed until the end at a table with local folk. They left and the bench refilled with the baritone villain and his friends who had been standing closer to the stage. Verdand Vixtrous was a leather merchant during the day. The player and his friends were in good spirits after his standout performance. He guzzled the regional tan ale in-between wiping his face-paint off with a towel.

A tall, skinny man called out, "Say, VV, you scared the widow-ladies silly!"

Triumphant VV roared, "It is the part. We bad 'uns always get the best lines!"

Two women joined them, each carrying a full pitcher and topped off their company's mugs before sitting. One lady cooed, "Oh darling, I am glad you are a nicer man than you play. Do not get any ideas, now!"

He kissed her to laughs and slurps round the table. Eyes fell on Nag Kath. One of the audience apologized, "Forgive us, young man. We have invaded your table and run riot."

Nag Kath offered his un-Elvish grin and cried, "Pray do not worry, kind sir. I enjoyed the performance and offer a toast to your triumph!"

The second tenor asked, "Have you seen Catanard before?"

"Indeed I have. Twice in Minas Tirith, though I was very young the first time. And in Dol Amroth there are good singers who entertain in taverns using the same songs."

The baritone announced to every table nearby, "We have us a patron! Up here in the hinterlands folk do not know this music, but in the last few years, it has grown popular. I myself am from Anfalas, where every lad woos his sweetheart with the gentle Trevalid!"

Nag Kath raised his mug again and called, "Then you are well-schooled, my friend. I am especially fond of the Freron when Juvash is sure his love is lost." In truth, it was because a sultry version of that was often used in private dancing clubs with delights to follow. His tablemates did not need to know that to proclaim Nag Kath an all-round promising young man and never let his mug get less than half full.

Commerce would come with dawn so the players wished each other well and Nag Kath returned to his inn. As he stepped on the porch, a dazed fellow wandered out the tavern door and bumped into him. Neither was knocked down and a discreet pat on his pocket said his purse was still there. Nag Kath apologized and waited for his key at the desk while the innkeeper carried empty mugs back to the kitchen.

The fellow was florid after bustling to and fro. To make conversation, Nag Kath said, "Seems the poor man just leaving had a few."

The innkeeper responded, "No one's left from the bar in a while. Here's your key, sir."

Upstairs, the hair he pasted with spit between his door and the jamb was missing. Nag Kath turned the lock quietly and looked about the room in just quarter-moonlight. He was alone. Lighting a candle, all was where he left it.

He would remember that spell.

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_~ / ~ / ~ / ~ / ~-_

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Rivendell was a hundred and twenty leagues away. Traveling lightly on a good horse he made the River Hoarwell in eleven days, including waiting under shelter for a day watching a hailstorm. A few days later he reached the north road of the Angle he had taken fighting his way up the Greyflood. Nag Kath didn't look this time but there was still a well-worn trail to Bilbo's trolls.

Eighteen days from Bree he led Charlo to the secret passages into the Imladris Valley. The horse was not as comfortable on the ledges as Regaldin. Gladly on wider ground, Nag Kath tied him to the post in front of Elrond's former quarters and climbed the stairs to the library. If there were any Elves here, they were laying low. He checked a few book spines recalled from nine years ago and went out the back looking for keepers.

They were not in plain sight either. Barging into their quarters he saw one couple he remembered as the Grellars and greeted them. In their fashion, Mr. Grellar uttered a high-pitched nasal, "Hmmmmm. Good day. Can't say I remember you."

"I am Nag Kath and I was here nine years ago. Logass will stand for me."

"Oh yes, Orc Six! Logass is back in Lorien, or is it Gondolin? Just two Elf-keepers here now, and our wives, of course."

Nag Kath tried to salvage the situation, "I hope we will still sing songs and tales of old. I know a few more."

"Hmmmmm, I suppose so. Mrs. Grellar will see to your rooms. He nodded to the plump, hook-nosed gnome watching from the kitchen. She came out and said, "It is nice to see you again, Mr. Six. If you will come with me."

This time he stayed in Elvish quarters. It was still nice and would have been exquisite before folk stopped waxing the woodwork. High summer felt like fall for all the leaves trapped in windless walks and nooks.

Mrs. Grellar was chattier than her husband. He gleaned from her that they had not seen any Elves since him. Travelers before that were headed for the Grey Havens after snuffing out the candles in Lorien. Nag Kath didn't mind sleeping in a full-sized bed but he didn't want to be fed alone so he insinuated himself into the evening meal by saying, "Is dinner served in your hall at the usual time, Mrs. Grellar?"

"Why yes, Mr. Six. We are having trout tonight."

Charlo had already been taken to the stable. His bags were leaning against the hitch post. Nag Kath fetched them back up to the library and claimed two tables for his studies. He calculated it would take two weeks to leisurely reread what he failed to grasp of magic and healing last time. There was no time like the present so he started with the creation of the orcs.

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Meals were more sedate. Grellar was considered a boring storyteller among the Elf-keepers. Houk was better but only knew a few. Their women did not participate. With Nag Kath present, the couples made a good show but evidently the Elf had caught high-season for lore the last time while the keepers were met for a moot of all those in Middle-earth. No other Elves arrived. He covered the lore sooner than expected and was headed for the High Pass in ten days with two pounds of real Lembas.

In Rosghobel, Nag Kath waited in the same clearing for a week to see if Radagast might appear. He did not. Nag Kath did not get a sense of his presence either. That sense was better honed than last time. The changeling would have liked the wizard's views on Tom and Goldberry. The Forest Road continued to improve with use but the Elf trail would have still been invisible if he hadn't remembered the large rock forty paces from the turn.

One approaches the Elven Halls noisily. Charlo was a fairly loud horse but Nag Kath removed some of the padding from his tack for extra jingling. Sure enough, a pair of the brown and green-clad dark Elves walked in front of him in a clearing with another pair nocking their arrows in the brush. The taller of the two said in Silvan, "What business brings you here, friend?"

In Sindarin Nag Kath called, "Forgive me, brother. I do not know that tongue well. I have come to pay my respects to Fearnold and other friends in these lands."

"You appear to know the way," this time said in Sindarin. "We will escort you."

They traveled another hour to the great halls with few words exchanged. His guard walked him to the doors after tying Charlo and spoke with the interior guard. That fellow nodded and gestured for Nag Kath to follow.

The place hadn't changed. The Silvan Elves preferred life outdoors. There were still offices and storerooms here but this was not a hive of courtly activity like in the days of Thranduil. His ohtar told him to stay in a corridor and returned shortly with Fearnold. The chiseled Elf smiled and said, "Welcome back, Nag Kath. I thought you might have taken the ship."

"Too crowded, Lord Fearnold. I like elbow room."

"I hold the same view." The Elf Lord led him into the central lobby which still had plenty of folks busy preparing for whatever was next. Fearnold asked, "Are you staying long?"

"Nay, sir. Just to say hello and take the short-cut around the Great River."

"There is plenty of room in the west wing. Join us for dinner and share tidings of the wider world." The meal was pleasant. Nag Kath spoke of Rivendell and asked if Lorien was empty as well. Not at all! Silvan Elves had stayed there too. It being so close, they met occasionally. Both were Moriquendi, in this case Nandor Elves, who did not answer the call of light in the Undying Lands. Their purpose and future were very much the same.