The seeding of Middle-earth
Chapter 3: Oldest and Fatherless
Unbeknownst to the party heading south, Pallando, Ianthel and Amothor had found their missing horses when they reached the end of the North Downs. The poor animals were scarred and disheartened, but the whispers of the elfs soon put them to rest. At least, six of them. The poor packing horses had seen enough, and they were let go, and died shortly after of weariness. The elfs moved the sacks and bags over to the unused horses, and rode the others, with the riderless horses following, and with the fresh west wind in their backs. The wizard and the elves crossed the realm of Andor with speed, heading for Rivendell. The two elves with Pallando were excited to see a city of their kindred on Middle-earth, and sang heartily while they rode.
On the same day the horses had been found, Alatar, Thráion, and Síriel began their journey eastwards, out from the nestling, broken hills where Annúminas had once been, and straight towards Fornost, and the southern road to Bree. They travelled quickly, as hastely as Alatar's old legs could manage at least, and reached the ruins of Fornost on the south tip of the North downs. When they arrived, Alatar spent some time with the elves to search for dungeons and treasure holds again, in case the missing Palantír had been hidden away there instead. There was naught but rubble and ruin in this place as well, and the elves were beginning to feel the age of the world in truth.
"It has been bothering me for some time now," said Thráion, "but the way you tell the stories Alatar, the later ages seem to have merged together, to form a continuous and long stretch of time, not known of since before the First Age. Yet, clearly there has been a finite passage of years here, for still there remains clues, though most places are forgotten entirely, and your memory wanes. You say we are in the last age, but what age is that?" Alatar stopped his search and looked around him, into distant lands. The fresh west wind was barely felt here, and there was little movement in anything, as if the clock of Fornost had stopped ticking.
"The ninth, I think," the wizard said after a long while. "We built our house at the end of the sixth age, and for how many years we lingered there and in the forests by the blue mountain, I cannot say with surety. I agree, that the Ages which seemed at first to shorten, became long once again, and began to blend. We have suspected this was the case for some time. Yet, we know little of the seventh age, or of the eight or the ninth. Alas, it is also such that our memories of the Fourth and Fifth and Sixth Ages are fading rapidly. The dwarvish inventions we had in our house were from the Fifth Age, at least that much we recall, for they were wonderous indeed. They invented many more things in the sixth, but even before then we had grown weary of Middle-earth, and wished to retreat beyond the Great Sea. The Valar barred our passage again however, and Círdan The Shipwright had left. A voice spoke to us from the sea then, telling us to wait until the end, when the time for renewal was to come. We cried out to it, saying we had fought in The War of The Ring, that the great enemy was vanquised. We begged it to go home, explaining to it how we had done what our powers allowed us to do against the evil that remained in the roots and dark corners of the world, for that was the second task we were given, to stay the hand of the corrupted Maiar, the quest given when we tried to leave after the War of the Ring. The voice beyond the sea did not answer then, but we knew in our hearts we had not failed our tasks completely, only, we had not done them satisfactorily, or perhaps this was our fate all along."
The elves looked at Alatar for a long time then. Were the wizards failures? They wondered, or was their success too meager for the Valars? They tried to remember the time they had spent in Valinor after they had left Middle-earth, but all that came to them were feelings and scents, images and sounds, but not words, nor faces. "Now, at the end of all things, is it for the hope of redemption in the Valars eyes you follow their tasks still?" Asked Síril, and the boldness of her question surprised Thráion, but her tone was honest, not hurtful. Alatar stared at her, like an old man looks at a bothersome child. "No," he said briskly. "We do what we can because we must; since there are no others who would do it for us. Of course, the will and grace of the Valar is beyond us, but do not look at us like haunted old men, we are but weary, and old, so very, very old." They searched in silence for a time then, but there was no sign of the Palantír. Again the day grew late, but they decided against resting on Fornost. The elves were not tired, unlike the wizard. They found the road to Bree, and the wizard sat down and rested, his robes pulled around him, and they stared at the open sky, the stars twinkling.
The wizard's rest was interrupted by more questions, however. "Where did all the men, dwarfs and halflings go? What about the Onodrim?" Asked Síldir, and this time Thráion did not object to the question, for he too wondered greatly about this. There was a long time before any answer came. "The races died out," said Alatar finally. "All mortal races were doomed to die. Some members passed beyond the veil of this world, in truth beyond the song of creation, and their fates remain unknown to us, and to all of the Valar I should think, except The One. Others are in the Halls of Mandos, in waiting, for whatever task is needed of them before the very end, or perhaps after it. There are many songs about the end, I would not believe all of them, for old words are easily misinterpreted. Yet, there is little of how the end was reached. Whether it was from weariness, sickness, or war and destruction, that all the speaking races died out, I cannot say. What I can say is that we have spent many years asking questions of the stars, Pallando and I, and never have we discerned anything useful, except to know of your coming, perhaps. The grey book in our shelf is empty." The elves nodded thoughtfully, apparently satisfied with such a vague answer, but still pondering the details for themselves.
¨"You have indeed done much, and seen much, Istari-dil," said Thraíon, looking at the old stars. "I do not know why this was your fate, to stay behind on Middle-earth, for it seems to torment you in truth, but I am glad it was you, somehow. I could think of no other to be at my side and be the Guider of Seeds, for only you still bear regret, hope, and all the emotions of unfinished business in this world, and the will to see it all to the end, even as you fade away, unlike so many of my kindred." Síldir looked a bit annoyed at Thráion for saying the last part, but at the end she smiled agreement. The elves felt as weary of the world as the wizard already, yet they had rested far longer than him, and spent little time in Middle-earth in comparison, at least that is what they believed. "I name you Pelin Sairweg" said Síldir then, "in old Noldorin words, the Fading Sage, and it seems Alatar, the after-comer, is most fitting as well, for perhaps you will be the last to return to Valinor." The wizard smiled at them, thankful, and then sleep took him. The elves watched over him, and they grew in fondness for him that night.
Before nightfall the next day, they had reached Bree, or what was once known as Bree. There were many clues in the terrain regarding its fate, and it seemed it had grown a large and wonderous city in its time. Hidden in some wild weeds by a river, Síldir found the remnants of an old signpost, 'PRA ... NY' where the letters she could make out. "Do you know what this is?" She asked the wizard. "What a find," he answered, and he took the old, broken signpost from her hands. "A last memory of the Prancing Pony." He smiled and laughed, his eyes gleaming. "Strange it is," said Thráion, "that some things survive the passage of time so... coveniently." The wizard turned and faced him. "Actually," he said, and his laughter and smile died out, "that is something I've been meaning to discuss with the two of you." The elves sat down, to listen to the old wizard's thoughts and tales.
"Remember when I mentioned the Ages were blending together, towards the end?" He said, and the elves nodded. "Well, I meant that quite literally," he continued. "Some things we have noticed from our house, and what little we ventured out from there. Time itself is dying out in Middle-earth, vanishing. All the clocks are stopping. When there is no keeping track of time, the world grows confused, and remnants and ghosts of things that were distant in time may appear together, as if the passage of the years between them was naught. This is why we can still follow the old maps, and see the old things, I believe. It is good you pointed this out too me now, for it reminds me that we must make haste. The seeds must be planted before time runs out, and we must hurry now that the one seed does not shatter." Thráion looked at the three seeds he had taken with him when the party split in two. One of them was darker than the others, and it seemed a bit darker now that he looked it again. They left Bree with newfound haste, going east and into the Old Forest, north of the Barrow Downs.
As they passed the first trees, the elves began to feel less weary. "This place," said Thráion, "it is like your house, it seems partly disconnected from the world." Alatar nodded thoughtfully. "A powerful spirit dwells here," the wizard whispered, "perhaps more powerful than all of Middle-earth: Iarwain Ben-adar, in your tongue." The elves looked astonished. "It cannot be," murmured Síldir, "do you mean The One?" The wizard looked at her stupidly. "Of course not," he answered, "The One does not avail itself to beings of our stature." Thráion surpressed a laugh, and Síldir eyed the elf with a disapproving look. "No," continued Alatar softly, navigating the many twisting and strange paths of the Old Forest, "we go to see the most enigmatic figure in all of Middle-earth, do not let his songs and charms bewilder you!" Without warning, they happened upon clearing in the forest.
There, in the middling of the clearing, was the most welcoming house they had ever layed there eyes upon, even as long as their lives had been. Everything about it was warm, peaceful, and calming. A delightful river ran by it, and there was a great tree with many fruits in the thick grass around it, where all of the most beautiful flowers grew. Yet, there was something wild about the scenery as well, as if no man had stepped foot here in any of the ages. They saw the smoke coming from the chimney, and then the door opened, and a low, well-fed figure greeted them, a pipe in one hand, and a cup of tea in the other.
His clothes were as colorful as the scenery around him. He wore a blue jacket, yellow boots, red shirt, and an old battered hat, surmounted by a feather which reflected the sunlight like a rainbow. He looked old, with a wrinkled and ruddy, but kind face. Yet, his bright blue eyes shone with youth and vigour through large round glasses, and he seemed to have a certain lightness in his step. He seemed like a man with not a care in the world, filled only with songs and merryness. When he spoke, his voice was like birdsong, like the whispering of a river, and yet also, the rumbling of the earth and clashing of stones and thunder. Indeed, there was a strange power in his voice, but above all else, it sounded kind and wise. "Gandalf?" He asked. "Since when do you wear blue robes? And who is that by your side, those elves?" Alatar bowed deeply, and motioned the elves to do the same. "You mistake me for another of my order," said the wizard, "I am afraid Gandalf left these shores long ago. At my side is Síril and Thráion, of River and Stiff Grass." The elves bowed too. The colorfully clad man went closer than, and adjusted his glasses. "Ah," he said, "of course. I had almost forgotten I spoke with him before he left, yet it feels quite recent, or are my clocks broken?" The small man stroked his bristling brown beard and tapped his foot. "Now I remember," he said suddenly, as if interrupting his own thoughts, "you are the ones he told me would come. One of the blue, though he did not say which of them, and two elves sent back from sea, though he did not mention your names. All is as he foretold then, equally vague and correct, and good is that. Come now, drink tea, eat cake, and sing songs with Old Tom Bombadil, Oldest and Fatherless."
They spent many days inside Tom Bombadil's house, in a daze almost, completely forgetting why they had come or what had troubled them. For all their tasks and quests and other such things seemed like insignificant nonsense now. Even Alatar had forgotten his own warning, and he sank so deeply into a chair by the fire that the two elves thought they had become one. "Do not come between a wizard and his chair!" Laughed Tom Bombadil, and sang of wild trees and sparkling rivers, and how to sit in them. Everything about the man was odd, almost uncanny, thought the elves, yet he put a a feeling in them, a glowing, warming aura, like they had not felt since they dwelt last in Valinor, which seemed ages ago now. At Tom Bombadil's advise, they went outside and walked through the Old Forest, and they felt as young elves again. As night drew near, the elves decided to sleep outside for they loved the trees there so, even though they were wild at heart.
"Now then," said Tom, putting another log on the fire, and at the same time interrupting his own song, "why have you come to visit Old Tom Bombadil?" The blue wizard woke in his chair then. "How long have we stayed here?" He asked first, and very impatiently. "About three or four days," said Tom, "though the days are both shortening and lengthening, and soon day and night shall become one, at this rate." The wizard sank back in his chair, and a fog seemed lifted from his mind and some weight on his shoulders seemed lessened, and then he rememberd why they had come. "You remind me much of Gandalf," said Tom Bombadil, and a strange light shone in his eyes. "But there is a striking difference, for when he came to see me, he was clearly done with his quest, he felt complete in his being, and was in truth only here to have a friendly, long chat and maybe hint at some things in the far future and such, like your coming." Alatar didn't comment on this, but rather rose in his chair, and then, seeing the green robes of Thráion, took them and found the wooden locket with three of the seeds in them.
He presented the seeds to Tom Bombadil, though cautiously, and with a firm grip around the opened locket. Tom looked at them, and then snapped the greying and darkening one out, too fast for Alatar to react. "This one is not doing too well," he said softly, caressing the seed, and his merryness and warmness withered as he studied it, and the house began to chill and feel unwelcome to Alatar, and the wizard had to summon in him a great will to remain standing. "These seeds are me, they are part of me," said Tom, his voice primal and ancient, "as I am part of the world. These are the seeds of Eä, and we are not complete without one another, the world, the seeds, and I. What has happened to this one? Why has it not been planted? It is dying!" The last words came as a wave of power over Alatar, and he faltered backwards, and crashed into the table behind him, chest heaving, and voice weak with lack of breath. "Please," he whispered, "I am too weary."
Tom threw his head backwards then, as if he had not been aware that he had shouted. Slowly, the warm, heartening and friendly atmosphere returned back to the house. "I am sorry," he said, and his cheeks reddened as both shame and sympathy washed over it, and then all emotion seemed drained from his face afterwards. "My domain here is not extensive, but I have power over all that is here, even all of you, if I wished it, but seldom does such things enter my mind. It is not like me to lose my temper, but this seed," and he was unable to mask the shaking in his hand holding it, "why is it dying?" Alatar explained then, of the events at the Lake of Evendim, and how he and Pallando had failed at their task. Tears came into the wizard's eyes as he spoke, for suddenly Síldil's question at Fornost made him doubt himself, and all he had done in all his long lived life. He felt weak, powerless, confused, and he was barely able to stop himself from falling over. His will remained steadfast, however, as did his legs.
Tom Bombadil looked at him with pity then, but also with respect, for he saw all that Alatar had done in his life, what he had been given and denied, and some of what he had yet to do, and then he smiled. "The Ainur have not been kind to you," he whispered, and gently seated the old wizard in the chair by the fire. "It is difficult for them to sympathize with other beings, when all they deign evil and cruel in creation manifested itself first in this world, even though it was one of their own who began the twisting of the song. In the end, they will know why it was so, but until then, the living will feel the pressure of their laws, and bear the responsibilities for the breaking of them." Tom Bombadil sat down too, and he felt weary, an entirely new feeling to him.
"Who are you, truly?" Asked Alatar, after recovering himself. "I am," said Tom Bombadil, "that is what I told Gandalf, and Frodo, and the few others who came here in their time." The wizard pondered this for a long time, but he did not understand the meaning. They smoked pipe in silence for some time then, each very slightly uncomfortable with the other, for they had bared their souls to one another too sudden. Then Tom Bombadil sighed, and spoke freely. "Eldest, that is why am. Oldest and Fatherless. I am this old forest, this land, this continent, and these shores, and I remember the First, Second and Adopted Children waking here, and Melkor climbing over the Walls of Night and hiding in the north when he returned after being banished during my shaping. Yet I also remember my shaping, which Melkor scarred and unwrought even then, so I must be older than which I said I am, perhaps I am Arda itself then, yet I am distinct from all of it, for while I feel bound to it, I do not always share its pain, but sometimes I do, like now, and I feel it heavily. I know, it is no answer, but I simply am, and there are no others like me. I know very well the meaning of this seed, and I will not suffer the new shaping disturbed as it was before, unless it is for a very good reason." Alatar looked at him strangely then.
"Melkor is not the name for evil," said Tom in an odd tone, "but He Who Arises in Might. He is the primordial source for evil, but, as he was made by Eru, the true source of good, then evil must come from good, and the Dark Lord must be an extension of its will, and The Creator is infinte in might and wisdom, and so I ask you, who are we to oppose The One?" Alatar sat in silence. He could not answer such a question. "But we are Eru's will too," winked Tom Bombadil, "and evil and good clash against each other to make something more beautiful and majestic than any willpowers who coud only agree. I am a shard of Eru's will, and now I will leave my home in the Old Forest and aid you, for such power that is in this earth is mine to wield, and I will not allow it to be tainted for the new making, for I too shall arise in might, to destroy, banish or unmake that which would stop the seeding of Middle-earth."
The day after, the elves came back from their journeying admist the trees, and they noticed the changed relationship between Alatar and Tom Bombadil, but said nothing of it. Tom Bombadil took Síldil with him then, following secret paths along the river, to meet with his wife, Goldberry, who was also a Daughter of the River, but of a different kind. What they talked of there no one but they will ever know, but when they returned to the others by the house, Síldil looked to Tom Bombadil like a father, and afterwards she eyed Thárion longingly. "Many things blossom by this house," whispered Alatar, as he smelled one of the flowers. They gathered some things from the house, and then the four went on their way. They decided to head straight for the lake with their new ally, and head to Amon Sûl to meet with the others after.
Tom Bombadil sang and skipped along them, all the way to the edge of the Old Forest. As he took the final step outside, the entire forest vanished before their eyes. All that was left was the river. The elves looked saddened by this, but Tom Bombadil smiled and sang to them, and there was an excitedness in his voice, in looking to new things, and turning his back to old things, though he stared at the river for some time before they went further. They travelled straight north, and with frightening speed they reached the southside of the Hills of Evendim, Tom Bombadil seemingly ignoring distances and using shortcuts which didn't make sense to them.