A tale of two forests
-o0o-
by sehellys
The flat mounts of the Barrow Downs in the east were steeped in deep shadows, the valleys and clefts filled with a darkness that was more than only the absence of sunshine. Evil slumbered in these hills and stretched west towards them. And yet, despite the cloying, barely held darkness in the east, it was the western side of their path that held Elrohir's attention. The Old Forest. A remnant of the once vast stretch of woodland that had covered old Beleriand. A forest that was rumored to have been awakened by the elves, filled with trees that talked, that walked, that required shepherds; Shepherds they had lost.
Elrohir knew not to take those rumors lightly. He had entered the forest before, had fought orcs and other creatures of the enemy under the dark boughs of the trees, and he had felt the air of it - almost as sinister as Mirkwood. He shuddered. More than just the creatures that dwelled in the southern reaches of the forest, this forest held other dangers. The trees here were old, old and angry. Without shepherds to guide them, many of the trees had sunken ever deeper into malice, perhaps influenced by the wraiths that hunted the Barrow Downs, spirits sent by the witch king of Angmar in centuries past. Perhaps their anger ran deeper still, buried where only a tree's slow roots could dwell, a resentment to fleeting life and changing light. Whatever the cause, Elrohir felt very young this close to the ancient wood.
"The rangers were right," he said to his twin, "evil is stirring in the Old Forest. Its darkness is heavy on the air."
"Aye," Elladan agreed, "but why now? What could have awakened the trees?"
"Maybe Iarwain Ben-adar will know."
"If we can decipher his meaning amidst all the silly rhymes he insists on spouting." The longsuffering sigh that underlay his twin's words made Elrohir chuckle. A bit of the darkness lifted.
"It is not as bad as all that."
"That is what you say since you have no ear for music anyway," Elladan gave back with a chuckle of his own and Elrohir chose not to respond and argue. Already the air seemed lighter for the familiar banter as it chased away the dark dread of both Downs and Forest, perched on either side of their path. The sun was close to setting but a brilliant, orange glow remained behind the forest, setting the sky aflame with a last cleansing fire before Anor ceded its right to the day and made space for the emergence of the stars.
Perhaps it was the soft light of Elbereth's creations sparking to life, or the increasing influence of Tom Bombadil as they drew closer to his dwelling, but the silence that fell was pleasant and serene. A reminder that even evil slept - and that there was peace to be found in those moments of respite.
And yet, as Elladan's voice rose in song, a praise to Elbereth, Elrohir felt a pang of regret at this delay of their planned journey. They could even now be sitting in the Halls of Fire, listening to the same song sang by Lindir and his minstrels, regalling Estel with stories of their adventures. The thought of his young brother especially, filled him with a sudden wistfulness.
"I only hope that Estel will not worry overmuch because of our delay."
Elladan interrupted his song and turned in his saddle to look at him. "Gildor sent word to Rivendell, they will know what delayed us."
"Yet even that message will arrive at the earliest two days past the day of our agreed-upon return."
"This is hardly the first time that we will be delayed," Elladan argued.
But Elrohir remained obstinate: "It is the first time that we will disappoint Estel."
Elladan pulled on his horse's reins, bringing Belroch to a sudden stop. He reached out a hand to rest on Elrohir's shoulder, but despite the sign of affection there was a look of unyielding steel in his eyes as he replied: "Estel will cope. This evil needs to be addressed now."
The look was well known to Elrohir, he had seen it often over the last fortnight, had probably worn it himself in their hunt for orcs and wargs at the side of their ranger friends. Their distant kin had called for help and he and Elladan had answered the call freely, gladly. For two weeks their swords had returned a modicum of peace to the lands of Eriador, had decimated the number of uruks that would waylay the unwary and plunder the farms and homesteads east of Bree. But while the battles had been fought days ago, while victory had been complete and safety, for a time, had been won, the dark emotions that had been stirred were not so easily laid to rest. Elrohir could feel the echo of that ancient rage, of hatred and revenge reverberating in his bones even now, urging his hand to clasp his sword, his eyes to search for further signs of their enemy, another opportunity to spill their blood and drown his regrets in its blackness. The dark miasma welling from the forest was only adding fuel to the old flames of hatred. He only wished they would not be so familiar, so comfortingly warm.
He broke eye contact with Elladan, lowering his eyes to Talagor's silver mane instead, idly caressing his stallion's warm neck. There should be comfort there, but his fingers did not seem to register the solid warmth, the softness of the silken coat, hungering instead for the cold, reassuring feel of a mithril sword unsheathed. However much he wished it would not be thus. Was there no way to be rid of this ancient hatred, this relentless need for vengeance?
The last rays of Anor faded and Elrohir shuddered in the sudden cold of night, longing all the more for the warmth of the Hall of Fire, for the peace of Imladris, for home. But how could he rest? How could he allow his soul to find balance once more when darkness still stalked these lands, when others might yet face the fate of their mother? His brother was right - this evil needed to be addressed now.
"Elrohir?" Elladan's question broke through his reverie and he looked up once more, his doubts cast aside. They had a duty to these lands, to their ranger kin, to the hatred that ever burned inside them. Whatever evil had taken up residence in the Old Forest and disturbed the trees, they would find it.
He gave Elladan a firm nod. "We will return home once we have routed this evil."
-o0o-
"Estel, it is time to sleep." Gilraen's voice held an edge of waning patience as her reticent boy kept walking across the room, unwilling to undress, put on his night things and go to bed.
"But what if Dan and Ro return and I'm already sleeping?"
"Then you will see them first thing on the morrow," she answered calmly. Trying logical reasoning again though she knew it would do little good. The absence of Lord Elrond's twin sons had been hard on her son already for the two weeks they had meant to be gone. The additional four days, without word to explain their delay, had made him anxious.
"That's what you said last night."
"And they did not return last night so you missed nothing while you were asleep."
He huffed then, momentarily lost for another argument. He still made no move to undress, however.
In a voice so small that she almost missed it, he asked: "What if something has happened to them?"
Her son sounded so lost it tore at Gilraen's heart, and even though he often insisted that he was now too big to be hugged, she put her arms around his shoulders and turned him around so she could pull him against her chest. "If Lord Elrond were worried he would have sent out elves to look for his sons."
"Glorfy," Estel replied, nodding hesitantly and pushing back against her to look her in the eyes. At her raised eyebrow he corrected himself, albeit with an eye roll: "I mean Lord Glorfindel. Adar would have sent him to look for them."
She nodded, both to praise him for remembering his etiquette as well as to encourage him in accepting this logic. "I do not think Lord Elrond is worried." - yet, she added silently, for she had seen signs of agitation in the lords of Rivendell of late. Even stately Erestor seemed more easily ruffled by minor issues than was his wont.
"But why have they not returned yet?" Estel all but whined. A little boy missing the closest thing he had to older brothers. It was a strange thing sometimes, for Gilraen, this bond that her son shared with the lords of Imladris who had taken them in after the death of her husband. It went far deeper than duty could account for, and yet she struggled to accept it as love, freely given to a boy of only nine winters when they had lived for millenia, for longer than any of her race ever would.
Still, she did not correct him when he called Elrond's sons his brothers. And their devotion to him was obvious, enough so that even she wondered at their late return after having promised Estel to be on time.
"For any number of reasons," she eventually hedged.
"Like what?"
"Like the weather-"
"It has been sunny and dry," Estel insisted.
"One of their horses might have slipped a shoe."
Her son practically scoffed. "Elrohir can make horses walk through fire."
"Yes," she countered, "but he would not do so needlessly and he would not want to risk injury to them." When her son still looked unconvinced she continued, "..the rangers might have needed help with injuries or illness; and the women that are with child might have asked Elrohir to check on their unborn babes." She remembered her own pregnancy, and the novelty and wonder of elvish healing, even if only used to assess. It was a mighty gift to tell a mother to be that all was well with her growing child.
Estel's little huff of doubt brought her back to the present, and to the fact that her son was still fully dressed. With a sigh, she decided to change track. "How about I get you a glass of milk and you change into your night clothes in my absence?"
He nodded absentmindedly, giving no indication of even planning to follow her suggestion and she left with a sigh. At least she could talk to the maids in the kitchen for a while, share her plight with women who have had children of their own - even if occasionally that had been a thousand years ago. If she took her time Estel might be tired enough to comply once she returned. She held little hope that he would actually follow her wishes in her absence.
-o0o-
Ithil was high in the sky by the time they rounded the last outgrowth of the Old Forest and entered the long dell that housed Tom Bombadil's house. Bright light flooded from the small stone structure and landed on the shape of a small, round man. Iarwain Ben-adar, oldest and fatherless, the master of wood, water and hill - and the source of the terrible rhymes and discordant notes amid too many a dinga-dil-a-dilly that carried over the open grass between them. Elladan felt like cursing his sensitive hearing.
Even the smoke rising from the chimney, promising warmth and comfort within the house, nor indeed the sense of calm of the dell itself, with the influence of both the forest and the downs held at bay, seemed worth this kind of torture.
If only Gildor had not found them when he did. After a fortnight of hunting with the rangers, after their victory over a pillaging, plundering band of orcs that had dug their foul homes deep beneath the roots of the North Downs and from there had sewn fear as far as Bree he and Elrohir had been ready to return home. It had felt good to cleanse the North Downs of that evil, of the orcs' filthy presence. Their swords had sung in unison and in joy as they cleaved misfigured heads from ghastly bodies, as they brought an end to this menace that stalked the free lands, this abomination.
But their hunt had been over, their victory celebrated, the injured rangers healed - and in a rare moment amid these last few hundred years, he and Elrohir had looked forward to returning home. For once hanging up their swords and resting in the Hall of Fire, even accepting the healing calm of Rivendell's halls had seemed like an enticing prospect. The chance of letting memories of darkness be overruled by the brightness that was the unchanging light of their home- and the joy of its youngest inhabitant. Incredulously, the duty of returning to Estel on time, as promised, seemed to outweigh the duty of ridding the lands of Eriador of more of the foul creatures that would make it their home if he and his twin were not ever vigilant.
He remembered the longing Elrohir had shown earlier, the need to rest, to shield his soul from the dark stain of their ever hungering revenge, their efforts to assuage their failure. And for Elrohir's sake alone Elladan wished that they could have returned to Imladris, for all that he longed for the same peace. Yet ultimately they could not afford themselves the luxury to ignore darkness when it came calling, when it came crawling out of the woods to infest the lands around it. The rangers had been ill at ease after the trees of the Old Forest were reported to have attacked the hedge of the Buckland hobbits, and Gildor had spoken of an urgent call for help from Iarwain Ben-adar.
Like it or not, he and Elrohir would need to answer that call.
The queer man with the autumn leaves in his hair spotted them then and waved jollily, already changing his tune to a welcoming song.
"Hey now, ho now, Tom's a-seeing double; come on in to Tom's abode and tell him what's your trouble."
Elladan held back the urge to sigh, muttering a prayer to the Valar under his breath, asking for patience. Elrohir's laughter next to him did not improve his mood.
-o0o-
tbc...
A/N: Did I write this story only because I wanted Tom Bombadil to use that rhyme? Maybe. But does it actually start of a tale of adventure, reflection and family feels? Definitely.
I aim to update once a week and my calendar alerts run on feedback. :D So, what did you think of Tom Bombadil's song?