It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out of your door…You step into the Road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there is no knowing where you might be swept off to.
I can understand that too . The main point was always to inspire us creatively at Christmas and it really has. This is such a moving poem. There are no better poems than those that 'insist on being written'. That really is the poet's true work.
I confess it made me fill up too, especially stanza 111. Tolkien brings back true enchantment, doesn't he? There really are more journeys in The Lord of the Rings than are actually in The Lord of the Rings.
Now let the song begin! Let us sing together
Of sun, stars, moon and mist, rain and cloudy weather...
Well, I'm back, to quote Sam Gamgee. I was able to write a total of about two paragraphs while I was gone, but it was a wonderful family gathering. Will do my best to complete the saga before the Jan. 3 deadline, but even if I don't I'll keep going until the tale has been completed.
marbretherese, what a lovely poem! I think you've captured the journey many of us have made, from finding and being inspired by the stories in our youth, to losing track of that inspiration during our struggling young adult years, and then re-finding it when the PJ movies appeared, and in the process, discovering friendships and kindred spirits in on-line communities like this one, and among the people who were attracted to the movies along with us. It is indeed a Middle-earth journey, but I understand your reluctance to put something so deeply personal into a contest.
Who knows? Maybe there won't BE a contest this year! Iolanthe's poem isn't eligible, my story may not be completed in time, Meliel is still scribbling away on hers, and we haven't heard yet from Merry. And that's fine with me. If the contest did nothing more than simply inspire us to take these creative journeys, then it will have more than done its job. The prize really is just the icing on the cake. It's the creative journey for the authors/poets that really matters, and by extension, the journey we all get to take with them when the results have been shared.
And now, I must get back to my tale, or it will never get finished on time!
Lindariel
“Therefore I say: Eä! Let these things Be! And I will send forth into the Void the Flame Imperishable, and it shall be at the heart of the World, and the World shall Be.”
The storm subsided overnight, leaving the ground covered in a half-foot of snow. When Bregor arose at dawn, he smiled at the pristine blanket of white that completely covered any sign of his presence in the cottage. After a cold breakfast for himself and a nosebag of morning oats and a bucket of water for Hithin, he packed up his gear, saddled his horse, and pushed open the back door of the cottage leading directly into the wood that had crept up over the years to consume the backyard. After leading Hithin under the trees, he returned to the cottage to replace the Ranger tokens at the front and back doors, and obliterated the few footprints that led from the back door into the woods. With any luck, the cottage would remain an unknown, isolated safe haven for the Rangers for years to come.
The elusive pair slipped further into the woods following a faint trail down into a hollow and continuing along the side of a small frozen creek. After about an hour, they emerged from the woods well to the east of the cottage and struck out across the barren fields, making their way back to the Great East Road. By lunchtime, the Road was in sight, and Bregor paused for a moment to eat and allow Hithin a much needed rest. Soon, they resumed their journey, picking their way up the steep ditch and onto the Road.
After a few hours, the Weather Hills appeared on the horizon, including their destination for the night – Weathertop, and the watchtower of Amon Sûl. As they drew within a few miles of the ancient Numenorean outpost, Bregor eased back on Hithin’s pace and once again dismounted to scan the Road carefully before leading the horse off the path, this time to the left of the Road. Disappearing into the scrub and making his way around the far edge of the Midgewater Marshes, thankfully insect-free during the cold months of the year, he crossed the shortest stretch of open land between the Marshes and the Weather Hills in order to approach Amon Sûl from the side opposite the Road.
The sun was nearly set and the sky darkening when the tired pair reached the last brief stretch of open land between the Weather Hills and the ruined outpost. Pausing in the shadow of a stand of scrubby pines, Bregor cupped his hands about his mouth to produce three convincing calls of the crested owl. After a few minutes, he repeated the call, and then smiled when he heard five calls in response. Patting Hithin’s neck, Bregor murmured, “Our friend is waiting, old fellow. We’ll have a bit of company this evening.”
Once the sun disappeared below the horizon, Bregor quietly broke cover and quickly crossed the remaining ground to lead Hithin up a faint widing path from the base of Amon Sûl to a small recessed cave partially hidden behind a fall of boulders on a ledge mid-way to the summit. “Welcome, brother,” called a soft voice, as a tall, lean shape detached itself from the dark entrance and came forward to greet Bregor and help lead Hithin around the boulders and inside the cave.
“It is good to see you, Halmir,” Bregor replied once they were inside, as he gathered the younger man into a great bear hug. “I trust you have fared well on your own here?”
Halmir sighed as he helped Bregor to unburden and settle Hithin alongside his own horse in a niche further inside the cave, “Yes, it is lucky things have been so quiet this side of the Misty Mountains. We are stretched too thin, especially for this time of year.”
“Aye,” Bregor agreed. “These single patrols are risky, but I don’t know what else we are to do until the younger ones are ready to join the patrols, or some of our wounded are sufficiently recovered for duty. We cannot reduce our numbers at Sarn Ford or further north toward the Ettenmoors and Carn Dûm, nor can we decrease the patrols protecting the Angle or the mountain passes, not to mention the watch on Mount Gundabad. The only possibility was to cut the patrols along the Road to overlapping singles rather than pairs. At least during the winter, there are fewer travelers to watch over, and our enemies are far less willing to brave the elements.”
They finished settling Hithin for the night and ventured further down the passageway until it opened out into a larger chamber that boasted both a small underground rivulet of clean, fresh water, as well as a ventilated shaft for a fireplace. A rough cut stair at the far end of the chamber provided underground access to the ruined watch tower above.
Halmir helped Bregor to spread his bedroll beside the fire and then dished up a bowl of stew for the older Ranger from the pot kept warming by the fire, and took one for himself. Bregor settled wearily by the fire with a long sigh, “Speaking of the younger ones, how fares your son with his training?”
“You would be proud of my Hal,” Halmir grinned. “He’ll be twenty this spring and ready to take his place on the patrols for the Angle. He must be at least three inches taller than when you saw him last and a good deal broader. Idrelle is half crazed with constantly needing to let out his clothes or make him new ones. He already surpasses me with the bow, but you well know that was never my weapon of choice.”
Bregor grunted in amusement, “You hadn’t the patience to find your timing. Besides, you were far too enamored with your sword to give the bow proper consideration.”
“Well, my Hal certainly took your lessons to heart,” Halmir replied. “Give him a few more years, and he might well fight me to a draw with the sword as well.” His fond smile faltered a bit with fatherly concern. “He has visions, Bregor. He has the Sight.”
The older Ranger passed his hand across his face, rubbing his brow and fingering the scar at his left temple. “Aye,” he replied, “I know that well. It runs in the blood and appears to run true in your lad. Were it not for his warning before I left on that patrol five years ago, instead of this scar and a useless eye, I’d be dead, ambushed by orcs in the Trollshaws.” At Halmir’s shocked expression, he continued, “He’s not spoken of this?”
“Nay,” said Halmir, “he speaks only of dreams about fighting in a great battle. Idrelle is certain these dreams spur him to train with even greater vigor to be ready for that battle when the time comes.”
“Well, I would be the last soul to discount the lad’s dreams,” asserted Bregor. “He came to me before I left at dawn with my patrol, still in his nightshirt, all white-faced and trembling, and urged me not to let myself be parted from the rest of my men on the night of the new moon, lest I be overcome by enemies and killed. I was going to just take two scouts with me to investigate news of a troll in the area, but when I noticed that the moon was new, I remembered Hal’s warning and took another eight men with me. We were ambushed by a score of orcs and barely escaped the encounter with our lives. As it was, two of my men were badly wounded, and I lost my eye. Without Hal’s warning, the three of us I’d intended to take would have been dead or worse.”
Halmir stared for a moment at Bregor, and then looked down into his empty bowl as if he might find answers to the mystery of his son’s gift in the scrapings. With a rueful smile, he at last replied, “Perhaps it’s best not to dwell on things we don’t understand, eh, my friend?”
“True enough,” Bregor nodded, and then brightened at a new thought. “Ah! Before I forget, I should give you the package you are to deliver on your way back to the Angle!”
“Yes, indeed,” the younger Ranger replied with a grin, “And how was your meeting with Master Elvellon?”
Bregor laughed as he fished inside his pack for the hobbit’s package, “I have never spent so merry an evening in the village of Bree! The little fellow greeted me just as though we had always been old friends and treated me to the best dinner I’ve had in a long time. And can you imagine? We actually discussed and drew up a potential trade agreement between the Shire and the Angle? Now, where is that package?” he murmured, as he reached deeper inside the pack and then triumphantly drew it out. “Ah, here it is!”
As Bregor handed the package to Halmir, he noticed a long black smear down one side of the brown paper wrapper. “Ah,” he murmured, “looks like it must have rubbed up against my spare pair of black boots.” He peered closely at the package before passing it on to Halmir with a shrug, “Oh well, no harm done.”
And that’s how the package got its sixth stain on the 25th of Foreyule.
Lindariel
“Therefore I say: Eä! Let these things Be! And I will send forth into the Void the Flame Imperishable, and it shall be at the heart of the World, and the World shall Be.”
Lindarial, I (and everyone else I'm sure) is enjoying this so much so please don't hurry it. And I'm looking forward to Meliel's entry too - we are all friends here and I think we can be flexible. As you say, it's the creative journey we are all enjoying and I'm determined that we do this again next year. None of these things would exist if we didn't have our annual creative 'wake-up' .
Now let the song begin! Let us sing together
Of sun, stars, moon and mist, rain and cloudy weather...
I too think that Lindariel's story is too good to hurry. Perfectly happy to wait a bit longer for the rest of it, and for Meliel's contribution. And Merry's!!
"Torment in the dark was the danger that I feared, and it did not hold me back.
But I would not have come, had I known the danger of light and joy."
Wow! Thanks so much, Mods! Just got back from Mr. L's family gathering, having come to the conclusion that there was no way I could finish the story by midnight Jan. 3 unless I did some drastic telescoping and shortening of the rest of the trip -- and I have some exciting things planned, plus the most interesting little unexpected bits keep popping up along the way. Like the fact that Halmir's son has the foresight sometimes seen in the people of Westernesse (like Ivorwen and Gilraen and, of course, Aragorn), or that Bregor is alive because of it. Also didn't know that the Rangers of the North had adopted the hoot of the crested owl as one of their signals. So this is really welcome news! I do plan to try to post a new installment each day, now that all the holiday travel is over, so you won't be left dangling too long for the conclusion of the story, which will reveal the sender, the recipient, and the contents of the package, along with the year in which the tale takes place.
Now, to get back to writing . . .
Lindariel
“Therefore I say: Eä! Let these things Be! And I will send forth into the Void the Flame Imperishable, and it shall be at the heart of the World, and the World shall Be.”
The hobbits' adventure began with what was meant as an insult. "You're just girls!" Pip called out to his older sister and her new friend. Pearl Took and Daisy Gamgee decided to take those three words as a dare. They would do something unexpected of 'just girls'.
"We'll travel," said Pearl. "Go to Buckland to visit cousin Merry's family. Maybe beyond the Shire, to Bree. There and back again, just like cousin Bilbo over there." Indeed, Bilbo Baggins was holding court in the corner of the pub. Many of his nephews, including his new heir Frodo, and Daisy's brother Sam, sat enthralled, listening to the stories of his adventures.
Daisy had an entirely different idea. "Yes, I'm quite fascinated by Mr. Bilbo's tales of dwarves and wizards, dragons and trolls. But mostly his stories of Elves. Did you know, my dear Pearl, that there are Elves closer to us right now than those in 'the last Homely House', where Bilbo first met his Elves?"
Daisy explained that she and her brother Sam were originally from a village named Gamwich in the West Downs of the Shire. The manager of the local salt mine had actually consulted dwarves during a recent expansion. Overhearing their late night talk, Daisy and Sam had heard tales of Elvish towers, just West of the Shire, from the top of which one could see the Western Sea.
"Well, yes, I've heard of the Towers. I've also heard that the Elves don't welcome visitors. Besides, they must be a hundred leagues away, at the end of the Great East Road," said Pearl, geography and maps not being one of her strong suits.
"No," responded Daisy, "not a hundred leagues. Only twenty-five leagues from Hobbiton. It's only a few days journey, an easy trek. What say you to a leisurely trip to the edge of the Shire, and a bit beyond? And not being welcomed? Perhaps the Elves will make an exception."
So began their journey, the day after the Yuletide celebrations. A fairly warm winter, with only patches of rain, kegs full at local pubs, garden markets still open in every village, the girls' journey was relatively uneventful. They did spend an extra few hours at the Mathom House in Michel Delving, where Mr. Bilbo's souvenirs were on display. It did only take them four days to travel from Hobbiton to the Bounds.
Setting out beyond the bounds of the Shire, going past the last settled town, Greenholm, was a little daunting for the two young hobbits. The glimpses they had of the gleaming Towers on the distant hills led them on. However, even the five leagues beyond the Western Downs of the Shire were merely inconvenient with its drier climate and rocky terrain.
Daisy and Pearl arrived late in the afternoon at the base of the Tower Hills. The sun disappeared quickly behind the central high mound. Planning their climb would have to wait until the morning. They set up their campsite in a small, sheltered glade, beside a lively waterfall flowing into a small pond and stream.
After a supper of roasted ham steak and toasted tomatos, fresh bread and honey, the girls settled down for the night.
They could not fall asleep right away, so talked long into the night under bright stars. They talked of things that interest most hobbits, family lines & Shire history, flowers & vegetables. And of other things that Daisy had learned and studied, such as stars & their paths, Middle-Earth history & legends, languages & maps, geology & geography. For these were curious girl hobbits, and Daisy, who had been visiting her brother for the autumn months, had been given access to Mr. Bilbo's library, a privilege of which she had taken full advantage. The girls finally fell asleep under a crescent moon, fading stars and, unnoticed by them, watchful eyes.
The next day dawned bright and clear. After a short breakfast and shorter bathing, Daisy and Pearl turned to face the Tower Mound, contemplating its varied slopes and approaches. From this angle they could no longer see the Towers themselves, but remembered what direction they lay. The first section was grassy slope following the stream, only gradually getting steeper at first. The girls set out.
The way at first was fairly easy. The winter vegetation was thin enough to move around, the slope gentle enough to walk up. Soon, though, the girls began to question their way, which path would be easiest, which way would avoid the difficult rockfaces.
And that is when they first heard the laughter. Sounds of bells, pieces of melodies, voices in the air, verses filled with amusement.
Two hobbits are a-climbing over rock, up grassy slope.
When they get to steeper cliff will they need a rope?
You must mount higher, to reach our towers;
the paths are clear, marked with flowers.
It was, of course, the Elves of the White Towers, with their merry voices. They sang the verses sporadically, guiding the hobbits up the mound, rarely showing themselves. It appears they were making an exception, allowing the girls access to their home.
Where are they going, these hobbit girls,
with determined faces, under fair-coloured curls.
Pearl wants to see the sea; if she does, will the sea see her?
Will she like Ulmo's expanse and its changing colours?
What of Daisy who also climbs? To visit Elves is her quest.
You've travelled far; well come; be our guest.
Come both, to laugh and sing, and share, by fire, a tale
Feast in the towers, high above Lune Vale.
But cliffs there are, rockfaces to climb;
did we mention a rope? it may take some time!
When Daisy and Pearl got to particularily difficult rockfaces, or gaps in the paths, there were ropes or bridges to aid them. Paths that seemed to peter out, suddenly reappeared.
Twenty in the Shire, five beyond its bound,
one league more, straight up this mound!
Come up, young hobbits, the hardest part before you,
your journey is at its ending, your reward is nearly due.
Still, with all the help, it did take time and the sun rose behind them. Now the sun was straight above them, and the hobbits were thinking about taking a lunch break as they lifted themselves up on to the next ledge. Pearl and Daisy looked at each other. They stood on a short ledge facing another rockface, far above their last campsite. But that was it. No handholds, no stepping stones, eight feet of steep cliff, and no exit off their ledge. They could see a piece of a tower above them, so maybe this was the last obstacle, but the girls could see no way up. And the voices were silent.
"You've led us onto a deadend!" cried Daisy, frustratingly.
Suddenly a face appeared above them, the first sight of the mysterious elves the girls had seen. He had a young face, twinkling eyes, long white hair and definitely pointed ears. "Did I mention a rope?" he said with a laugh. Not just a rope appeared, but a rope ladder fell to their level. The hobbits began the last ascent.
It was indeed the last section to climb. The hobbits clambered up and there before them were three white towers, sheathed in marble, tall, the nearest one at least one hundred feet high. Between the towers were dwellings, gazebos, even bridges connecting the buildings. And before them stood one Elf.
"Welcome to Emyn Beraid," said the elf who had produced the rope ladder. "My name is Telchad. Cirdan has sent word that you are welcome in his Towers. But before we enter, let us eat." He showed them to a table set with a variety of foods, vegetables, pastries, cold drinks. The hobbits sat down to a scrumptuous luncheon.
The White Towers themselves were quite incredible, Pearl would later say. And, to be honest, when she returned to Hobbiton, no one quite believed her story. But she got to see the sea from the observation deck on the top of the central tower. And toward the East, all of the Shire lay before her, its downs, fields, the forests of East Farthing, the hills of Tookland and the fields of tobacco to the south.
For Daisy Gamgee, the Towers, with their spiral staircases,Come both, to laugh and sing, and share, by fire, a tale
Feast in the towers, high above Lune Vale. were a marvel beyond her imagination. Surely you could view the Western Sea, the Grey Haven, the ruined land of Eriador, the sparsely populated Western coast, the joyous homeiness of the Shire, even the spectacular sunsets & sunrises. The stars above were quite spectacular, and the elves had special viewing devices that opened up new vistas, new objects. She spent most evenings entranced in the views.
But she was not expecting the books. The endless collections of books; in every cranny there were shelves of books. Collections of history, poetry, language. All the books the Elves could salvage from the destruction of the First Age. All the lore and knowledge they could write down through the long dark of the Second Age. All the memories, all the creativity, all the philosophy to be collected before the End.
The grey expanse, the western Way.
we are guides to those who would sail away.
Wonder of wonders. The Elves let Daisy read. They taught her, eager student that she was. They shared their astronomy and their love of poetry; taught her their language and languages forgotten; explained their history, philosophy, view of time. They gave her an open invitation to the Towers, which she gratefully and gracefully accepted. This was the journey of her life, the one that set her destiny before her. Daisy became a student of the Elves, of Middle-Earth, of languages. When the last of the Elves sailed into the West, she became the guardian of the books that remained in the White Towers.
I am so enjoying Lindariel's tale ... slight bit of torture waiting for the next installment. I'm glad I posted my entry without reading a bit of it, or I would never have shared my little tale.
I'm glad the date has been extended ~~ I'd hate to win by default. I'd rather a much more deserving piece won.
Iolanthe ~~ thank you for the poetry ~~ you do have the gift
marbelthese ~~ thank you for sharing such a personal journey.
And thanks for the contest ~~ needed a creativity boost about now!
Yay, Serinde! Very nice! So glad to see other entries coming in to join my never-ending story!
Here's the sixth installment:
Before dawn the following morning, the two Rangers set about stocking the cave with additional wood and kindling to see Bregor through his solitary posting until his relief was due to arrive in another five days. By the time the bleak winter sun had barely begun to crest the horizon, their chores were completed, and Halmir was packed for his journey to the Angle. Embracing his mentor, Halmir murmured, “I shall bring word to your family to expect your arrival the week after Yule. Take care, Bregor!”
“Safe journey, Halmir,” replied the old veteran, “and have a blessed Yule with your wife and son!”
“That I will!” grinned the younger man, “especially with the opportunity to enjoy Lord Elrond’s hospitality on my way home!” He waggled the hobbit’s package in his hand before adding it to the top of his final saddle bag. “This little delivery will earn me the pleasure of a fine supper at the Last Homely House, as well as the chance to retrieve the Yule gift I have ordered for my wife – a new tunic of the softest Elven silk. Mistress Wilwarin and her weavers have promised me it will be ready when I arrive.”
Taking advantage of the deep shadows of early dawn, Halmir led his horse Morodil quietly down the back trail and into the scrub pines at the base of the Weather Hills. After following the base of the Hills for several hours, he scanned the open countryside for any sign that he might be observed, and then struck out across the barren fields, making his way toward the Great East Road several miles to his right.
Dark clouds were once again blowing up from the South, indicating another snowstorm would strike the Northlands by nightfall. Once the travelers rejoined the Road, Halmir urged Morodil to a gallop, keeping a weather eye on the gathering clouds. At the noon hour, he eased back on Morodil’s pace and eventually dismounted, carefully checking to make sure his departure from the Road was unobserved, and led the destrier off the Road to the right, striking a faint path down into the rolling Lone-lands. They soon found a small creek at the bottom of a hollow, nearly frozen but still producing a trickle of cold water for the thirsty pair. There they rested for a bit, while Halmir paced off the stiffness of the morning ride, ate a quick luncheon, and provided Morodil with a nosebag of winter oats.
“I don’t like the look of those clouds at all,” the Ranger murmured to his horse, as he tightened the girth and remounted. “Let’s hope we make camp well before sundown.”
For the rest of the afternoon, the pair picked their way up and down the rolling hills of the Lone-lands, tracking around the base of the hills and under the cover of the intermittent foliage to shield their passage as much as possible. The safety of the Ranger waystations, such as they were, depended upon their secrecy.
As the fast moving stormclouds darkened the winter sky, obscuring whatever light might have been provided by the sunset, Halmir at last pulled Morodil to a halt, and, after scanning the area for any sign of observers, he led the horse into a stand of trees at the base of a long gulley at the foot of the hill they had been traversing. With a sigh of relief, he spotted the brush-covered entrance to a cave, as well as the small, undisturbed cairn of rocks in the middle of the entrance – yet another Ranger token to indicate that the cave had last been occupied by friends. They would at least have decent shelter from the storm!
Halmir led Morodil inside the shelter, quickly unburdened the horse, and then immediately set about finding additional wood, for the meager supply left in the cave would surely be insufficient for their needs, especially if the storm left them stranded for more than the one night. On his third trip for wood, the wind suddenly picked up, and snow began falling heavily. He was covered in white by the time he returned to the cave and arranged the brush to block the entrance as much as possible.
Kindling a fire was his first concern, followed by tending to Morodil’s needs and covering him with a warm blanket. As Halmir moved about the small cave, preparing dinner, spreading out his wet clothing to dry, and arranging his bedroll, he accidentally brushed against the saddle bag containing the hobbit’s package and tipped it over toward the fire. The package rolled out of the top of the bag and up against the circle of stones serving as a fire pit.
“Here now!” shouted Halmir, as he scooped up the package and smothered the corner that had begun to smoke, but had not quite caught fire. Carrying both package and saddle bag over to the far side of his bedroll, Halmir carefully applied a wet cloth to the hot, scorched paper. “Well, it’s a good thing Master Elvellon wrapped his gift so securely,” he murmured, as he spied the oil cloth covering beneath the burnt brown paper wrapper. “No harm done.”
And that’s how the package got its seventh mark on the 26th of Foreyule.
Last edited by Lindariel on Mon Jan 10, 2011 12:45 am, edited 1 time in total.
Lindariel
“Therefore I say: Eä! Let these things Be! And I will send forth into the Void the Flame Imperishable, and it shall be at the heart of the World, and the World shall Be.”
You know, one of the things that is so impressive about the last two entries is the geography! I'm a bit like Sam in that my mind doesn't easily attune itself to spaces, so I'm all the more impressed by your imaginations!
Hobbit girls rock!
Sing and be glad, all ye children of the West,
for your King shall come again,
and he shall dwell among you
all the days of your life.
Merry, if you don't already have it, you might want to purchase a copy of Karen Wynn Fonstad's The Atlas of Middle-earth. It contains every possible map of Middle-earth you might desire from creation through the sinking of Beleriand, the drowning of Numenor, and the battles of the Second and Third Ages. She tracks the migrations of the various peoples, as well as battle plans and journeys. Also, there are "blueprints" of all of the major towers, fortresses, retreats, homes, etc. from Minas Tirith to Imladris to Edoras to Bag End! It has been absolutely indispensible to me in crafting this story.
Lindariel
“Therefore I say: Eä! Let these things Be! And I will send forth into the Void the Flame Imperishable, and it shall be at the heart of the World, and the World shall Be.”
It's great to have your entry, serinde, I really enjoyed it . Not only a story but some poetry too ! It's about time the hobbit girls got to have an adventure and I love the fact that you've chosen those mysterious western towers. I've always wanted to 'travel' that way and have a good look about!
Lindariel - this must be the dirtiest, smudgiest and most intriguing package in the world .
Now let the song begin! Let us sing together
Of sun, stars, moon and mist, rain and cloudy weather...
. The main point was always to inspire us creatively at Christmas and it really has. This is such a moving poem. There are no better poems than those that 'insist on being written'. That really is the poet's true work.
.
