Middle-earth Journeys

I have added Miss L's drawing to her story.

It's a great drawing. The scale of those figures in the wider background is positively Tolkien-esque. I'm sure he would approve . . . !

I'm sure he would! I love the bats and the spinning cloud has real movement as it comes towards them from behind the tree. The tree's almost being sucked into it and it's lost nearly all it's leaves.

Great job Miss L!

© Image: David Wyatt

What a great turn in the story! I kept reading, intrigued to find out who the Short Elf would be and never guessed. I love the idea. And in verse too!

I also enjoy the idea that Bilbo 'burgled what he heard' . And Gandalf's final reply which is very Gandalf.

I'm enjoying this thread so much.

I agree that this is far more fun then I ever thought. Hoping for more entries.

I liked the Numenor line at the end, sort of smuggled in! Your wonderful poem uses what we know as background just like LOTR uses the Sil as background. This is great! Of course, we know that Aragorn must appear in some form!

I'll have more time next week and will submit something. You all know that I'm not very creative, but one must try!

Wow, such fun entries (or not) everyone has contributed. Love Miss L's image and story too. Each story is uniquely different.

Well, big news! Miss L's entry is now official. She has joined MeJ as a new member under the name Meliel. She has posted a short message in the Introduction thread. Please welcome her!

Excellent news that we have another member!! I like your idea of the Short Elf very much, Riv. I'm hoping to contribute something of my own if I get a few minutes to myself over the Christmas break

Well, this effort does not meet any of the rules for this competition. It started well but took on a life of its own. It is too long, and it's not an adventure, so I crave your indulgence for posting it:

The shortest day, the longest night,
'Midst forest trees a fire burned bright.
As moon on high lit up the trees
Red sparks danced skywards on the breeze.

In wearied comfort huddled there
Sat Bilbo, Gandalf, Beorn the bear.
'Neath starlit heaven’s ghostly light
They lay to rest through deepest night.

They talked of days just now passed by
Of goblins, trolls, and how, on high,
The eagles watched their toils below
And came to save them from their foe.

The suddenly there came the sound
Of swishing wings that wheeled around
Their glowing fire far below
Which lit their camp midst ice and snow.

Up leapt Beorn and Bilbo too,
Craning necks to get a view
What could it be up in the air
What creature gazed upon them there?

Beorn was first to spot the trail
Of fiery breath ‘gainst moon so pale;
From flaming mouth came forth that roar
That men so feared in days of yore.

Bilbo’s face creased in dismay
“A dragon! Run! We cannot stay
out here for such a beast to see -
into the forest we must flee!”

But as those whirring wings drew nigh
There came strange sounds from up on high
Of splintered branches, cries of woe,
And anguished pleas to those below:

“Help me strangers, give me aid!
Away from kin I boldly strayed
And now I cannot find my home
And I am scared and all alone.

I saw your fire and thought it might
Be my sweet mama, breathing light
As she came out to search for me -
But now I know it is not she.

I miss her so, where can she be?
And now I’m tangled in this tree
Please help to get me down from here
And help me find my kin so dear!”

And then to everyone’s surprise
Came tears of woe from dragon eyes;
The three below were moved to feel
True pity for his grief so real.

Now Gandalf stood and peered aloft
Then turned to Beorn and, speaking soft,
Said “You & I both know fine well
Where this young pup is sure to dwell.

I feel that I should give him aid
E’en though I know what path is laid
Before our feet, and where we’ll go,
To meet again, with him as foe.”

Beorn was silent; Bilbo too.
But deep inside the travellers knew
That they could not ignore the plight
Of one so young, on this dark night.

So even thought they knew that soon
‘Neath different stars and newer moon
This dragon pup would come of age
And in his wrath, would vent his rage

On them and maybe others too -
they knew exactly what to do;
So Bilbo climbed high in the tree
and set the hapless dragon free.

They dried his tears and in the light
Of moon and fire burning bright
They drew a map that showed the way
To guide him on at break of day.

And so their young guest took his leave
But midst their joy, all three did grieve;
For our friends knew that come the day
On distant mountains, far away

The dragon’s instincts would shine through
And friendship vows would not ring true.
And yet within their hearts that night
They knew that what they did was right.

I love it! And it does meet the rules of the competition. It isn't too long at all (553 words) and anything interesting that befalls the three on the 25th is an 'adventure'.

I love the ending, which is the three being true to themselves and the Christmas spirit despite what they know. I completely understand about it taking a life of its own, writing and painting tends to do that to you and it's one of the reasons they are such fun things to do and why I'm such an evangelist for anything creative. You never know where they are going .

All these entries have me amazed - I know I've said it before but what a pleasure this thread is!

Iolanthe wrote:: I know I've said it before but what a pleasure this thread is!

Isn't it just? Chrissiejane, I love your poem!!

Excellent--what a great story! and flawless poetic skills. Well done indeed!

What a wonderful poem, Chrissiejane! They took pity upon a creature that may later cause them harm. It isn't always easy to do the right thing!


Here's my entry. Whew! After much editing, it is EXACTLY 1000 words. Riv, I'll e-mail you a beautiful illustration by Michael Hague to accompany this entry.



The 25th of ForeYule dawned gray and dreary, threatening snow and maybe worse. For the fifth consecutive morning, Bilbo noticed that Beorn had wandered away from their campsite to stare grimly ahead. They had been following the Grey Mountains, skirting along the edge of Mirkwood to stay hidden from unfriendly eyes.

The shapeshifter’s preoccupation with a distant peak had increasingly unnerved Bilbo, but he felt uncomfortable saying anything about it, particularly because Gandalf pointedly ignored Beorn’s dark mood. Bilbo shook himself and turned back to breakfast preparations, fussing inwardly, “Goodness me, Bilbo Baggins! Who in all of Arda do you think you are to contemplate meddling where even wizards fear to tread? Leave the bear-man alone!”

Gandalf had been smoking his pipe and contemplating the ominous weather with squinted eyes, but his brow smoothed as the hobbit approached with a bowl of porridge and dried fruit. “We are fortunate indeed to be traveling with an accomplished cook, dear Bilbo,” chuckled the wizard.

“Well, it’s the least I can do,” the hobbit replied. “I imagine you big folk would be getting along quite a bit faster without my ponies and short legs slowing you down. I’m ever so grateful for the company and the protection. Besides, if I’m cooking, then at least I can eat as often as I’d like!”

That raised a hearty laugh from Gandalf, and Bilbo surreptitiously glanced over to see if Beorn realized that breakfast was ready and would shortly be getting cold. But the big man didn’t budge, and Bilbo sighed in frustration. To his surprise, Gandalf murmured quietly, “Our friend is a bit obsessed with Mount Gundabad, isn’t he?”

Bilbo gawped as Gandalf added, “He has his reasons, my dear hobbit. Why don’t you take him some tea? The weather won’t hold back for long, and I’d like to cross the open fields over to those hillocks at the base of the Grey Mountains before it begins to snow in earnest. There’s a cave that would shelter us from the storm, but we’ll have to hurry.”

The offer of a mug of tea did the trick, although Beorn remained silent and withdrawn. In short order, the ponies and horse were packed and ready to go, and the three companions made their way toward Gandalf’s chosen destination. Soon, the snow began to come down in driving, heavy flakes, drastically limiting their vision. Beorn took charge of Bilbo’s ponies, and Gandalf murmured softly in Elvish to encourage the animals to their best efforts. Just as Bilbo began to fancy he might never again have any feeling in his feet, or ears, or fingers, or nose, a shadow emerged from the blinding, swirling whiteness. Gandalf urged them forward, and after a long struggle, he and Beorn cleared back snowy brush from the entrance to a large cave.

Once inside, Beorn gently lifted the shivering hobbit down and began unburdening and rubbing down their hard-working beasts, while Gandalf unwrapped bundles of wood and swiftly kindled a fire. Feeling useless, Bilbo limped about, stamping his feet and rubbing his hands together in an effort to warm up.

At the back of the cave, the hobbit was frightened half out of his wits by a sudden warning snarl erupting from a pile of debris in the murky gloom. Gandalf and Beorn rushed forward, the wizard brandishing Glamdring and his staff, which blazed with an unearthly light. Beorn thrust the hobbit behind him and transformed into his enormous bear-shape, answering the creature in the shadows with a deep growl.

Bilbo peeked between the bear-man’s haunches, and to his horror, an enormous shaggy wolf emerged from the shadows, blood dribbling from a nasty head wound. Just as Gandalf was about to strike, Beorn growled, “No!,” batted Glamdring effortlessly from the wizard’s hand, and transforming once again into a man, crept to the wounded wolf, murmuring brokenly, “Wulfgar . . . is that you?”

With a pitiful whine, the wolf collapsed, and to Bilbo’s astonishment, transformed into a thin, ragged man who croaked, “Beorn? By the Valar, am I dreaming?,” before lapsing into unconsciousness.

His frozen feet forgotten, Bilbo rushed to spread out their bedrolls by the blazing fire, as Gandalf and Beorn carried the man over and tended his injuries. Bilbo helped by heating water, finding bandages and medicines, preparing food, and feeding their tired beasts. At last, as Wulfgar drifted into a healing sleep, Beorn finally broke his silence, saying, “I am most grateful to you, my friends, for helping my kinsman.”

“Your kinsman?,” Bilbo marveled. “But you are a bear-man! He is . . . is a . . . a . . .”

“A werewolf?” replied Beorn, laughing grimly. “Nay, Wulfgar is not evil, and not all of my kinsfolk transform into bears. Some become foxes, deer, badgers, lynxes, and yes, even wolves.” He regarded Bilbo quietly, “We long feared Wulfgar had perished, seeking vengence upon the orcs of Gundabad for the deaths of his wife and son.”

“Long ago, Morgoth found that he could transform our folk through his terrible arts into wretched monsters enslaved to his will, much as when he mutilated elves into orcs. By the Valar’s grace, Morgoth is no more, but Sauron’s minions ever seek to befoul our children, especially those of wolf-kind, into his service.”

Suddenly, Beorn sobbed, “Bolg’s goblins tried to take Wulfgar’s son. His wife fought them like a demon, and when she could hold them back no longer, she slashed the boy’s throat and took her own life. We were too late!”

“Oh, my heavens!,” Bilbo cried, throwing his arms around the big man’s neck, “How dreadful for you and your people! No wonder you fought those orcs so fiercely at Erebor!”

Gandalf placed a comforting arm around Beorn’s shoulders. Then, he murmured, “Look! The storm has passed, as all storms . . . and all evils . . . must.” Outside, Earendil’s star flashed in the velvet sky. “Take heart! You have found your kinsman. There is always hope.”