Middle-earth Journeys

I'm still in the process of writing my story (I think I'll need some more caffeine to help me think faster! ). Mine has to do with a journey to Fangorn Forest and back. I've created a couple of my own original characters!
Happy holidays, by the way!

Thanks Iolanthe! So glad you are enjoying my story! I am having great fun writing it, and of course, it is taking on its own life in the telling and growing like Topsy. For instance, I had no idea Bregor had lost an eye until it was time for Gildor to speak of him and I realized that he'd need to have a Bree-name, like Strider! Gildor also informed me that my hobbit would be traveling to Bree in the company of a Buckland trader, which resulted in the introduction of Wilcombe. Who knows what else will happen along the way and, like Faramir in The Professor's tale, who else will show up unannounced? I didn't know about the wild dog until it burst out of the shubbery!

I DO have a plan mapped out for this story. Honest! I know EXACTLY when this journey occurs (I'll share that tidbit at the end of the tale), and I have mapped it out completely using my copy of Karen Wynn Fonstad's The Atlas of Middle-earth. I have destinations and activities selected for each day.

Also, I have assured Riv that it is entirely fine with me for this story to be disqualified from competition due to length, if the mods so decide. I don't want anyone to feel overwhelmed by its size and decide not to participate. A perfect gem of a haiku may wind up winning everyone's votes in the end! So please, everyone, do submit your creative writing to the contest!

At this point, I am simply having the best time composing and sharing this story, whether it is included in the contest or not.

Happy Holidays to you, too, Meliel! I'm looking forward to your Fangorn story.

I'm away from home and borrowing time on a computer, so no time until this weekend for extended reading. But I look forward to getting into your story, Lindariel.

I'm looking forward to it too, Meliel!

Lindariel - you are having the best time writing your story, and we are having the best time reading it. A Christmas treat . I don't think it will put anyone else off having a go - I think we are just all very behind thinking about it .

Lindariel, how tantalising. . . I really want to know the outcome of this story. So I hope you finish it soon! and Meriel, I'm looking forward to reading your's when it's ready.

I woke up this morning with the whole plan of a poem running through my mind. Now all I have to do is write the thing . . .

Ditto! Though mine stretches the meaning of 'journey' a wee bit - but as I'm not eligible I reckon I can get away with it!

At last, here's the 4th installment. I wound up with some delightfully unexpected company yesterday, so my writing plans went out the window.


When dawn arrived the following morning, the hobbit was extremely glad that he and Bregor had possessed the good sense to retire early the previous evening, although he would have happily stayed up all night talking with the Ranger about his fascinating heritage and the quiet, noble sacrifices he and his people were making to guard the safety of the Free Folk of Arnor. Much to the little fellow’s surprise, Bregor had also been quite willing to seriously discuss the possibility of setting up an agreement for the people of the Angle to trade for Shire goods directly through the Brandybucks rather than dealing with a middle man in Bree, and not just to playact for the sake of providing a bland explanation for the exchange of the package.

As Lord Gildor had intimated, the Ranger-folk of the Angle were especially interested in Shire-made woolens and porcelains. “And pipeweed,” added Bregor with a sigh, as he took an appreciative pull on his pipe, newly packed with some of the hobbit’s prized Old Toby. Butterbur was rapidly pressed into service to provide them with paper, pen, and ink, and within the space of an hour, over a hearty dinner of roasted goose, venison, carrots and winter squash, a delectable mushroom pie, a large apple-raisin cobbler, and several tankards of ale, the unusual pair quickly hammered out the beginnings of an agreement for the hobbit to take back to The Brandybuck for further development.

As they parted the next morning, Bregor continuing on The Great East Road toward the Weather Hills and the hobbit rejoining Wilcombe for the return trip to Brandy Hall, the Man knelt once again to bid his new friend farewell face-to-face. “When Lord Gildor asked me to undertake the delivery of a special package, Master Elvellon, I never anticipated that I would be treated to such a pleasant dinner companion, nor that I would find myself with a new friend among the little people of the Shire,” Bregor smiled wryly. “We Rangers spend so much of our time as solitary guardians, regarded with suspicion and distrust, if not downright enmity, outside our home in the Angle and our refuge with Lord Elrond in Imladris. Cheerful evenings such as we shared are rare, and I shall carry the memory with me to the end of my days.”

“Well, I certainly hope we shall have more that just the memory of one evening!” stated the little hobbit emphatically. “I shall be looking out for you and your people in my ramblings about the Shire. Perhaps we could share a campfire together on one of your patrols! And if my cousin follows through with this plan for regular trade with your folk, I shall have to accompany Wilcombe on some of his trips to Bree, especially when I find myself restless and in need of a bit of adventure. I would enjoy meeting more of your folk and sharing tales together here at The Pony.”

Just then, Wilcombe’s wagon could be seen clattering down the cobblestone avenue from the marketplace toward the Inn, and the time for farewells was over. “Safe journey to you, Master Elvellon, and have no fear. My people and I will see your package safely and secretly delivered,” Bregor murmured, as he lifted his new friend up onto Clover’s saddle. Then he reached into his pocket and handed the hobbit a small silver pin in the shape of a rayed star. “Take this pin as a symbol of our friendship. It is a smaller copy of the Ranger pin I wear on my cloak; we give them sometimes to special friends. I shall see to it that your name becomes known to the Rangers of Arnor. They will know you, and you will know them, by this pin. I shall be looking for you when my duties take me to Bree or to the borders of your fair country.”

The hobbit turned the beautiful little pin over and over in his hands, then secured it carefully to the collar of his cloak, and reached forward to gently touch the scar on Bregor’s left temple. “I shall wear it with great pride and to honor your courage and devotion,” he replied, his voice quavering under a sudden swell of tender feelings. “Until we meet again, fare well wherever you fare, Bregor, son of Brandir.”

“Farewell, Master Elvellon,” the Ranger replied, his voice a bit gruff with suppressed emotion, as he leapt to the back of his tall dark grey gelding. “Do not tarry on the road,” he added, casting a weather eye to the sky. “Those clouds promise sleet and snow by sundown. It would be best for you to eat in the saddle and pause only once to rest your ponies on the way home.” With that, Bregor turned his horse, and the powerful animal set off for the East village gate and the Great Road into the wild.

“Whatever did that huge, rough-lookin’ man want with you this mornin’, sir?” asked Wilcombe, as Clover and her Master fell in alongside the wagon and its return load of Bree goods.

“He may be rough-looking, Wilcombe,” replied the hobbit gently, “but that Ranger is as good and brave a man as you will ever meet. Come, we should be going. Master Bregor tells me there’s a snowstorm coming through this evening, and it would be well for us to get home quickly. Besides,” he added, patting his breast pocket with a smile, “I have a little surprise for my cousin!”

Once he was clear of the village gate, Bregor gave the gelding his head, and they galloped away down the Great East Road, a swift grey shadow swallowed up in the early morning mists. “Storm’s coming, Hithin, my friend,” the Ranger murmured to his charger. “If we ride hard, we shall have shelter before the snow begins.”

And ride hard they did. Several miles after passing the Forsaken Inn, Bregor eased back in the saddle, bringing Hithin gradually down from a gallop to a smooth canter. As the Midgewater Marshes came into view on their left, the man slowed his horse even further and soon brought him to a halt to dismount. Glancing thoroughly up and down the Road until he was satisfied they were completely alone and unobserved, the Ranger carefully led Hithin through a barely discernable break in the scrubby brush and bent pine trees to the right hand side and used a broken pine bough to erase any sign of their passage off the hard packed surface of the Road.

Once under cover of the bedraggled scrub pines, Bregor led Hithin down a faint track known only to the Rangers into the lonely stretch of country above the South Downs. He ate his lunch while walking, pausing for a while after Hithin had cooled down from his run to allow the horse to drink his fill from a small stream and munch some winter oats from a nosebag. Soon enough, the Ranger remounted and the grey pair made their solitary way over the lonely, abandoned fields of this wild land, roughly paralleling the Road for several hours, until a large stand of bent pines appeared in the distance as the bleary winter sun disappeared completely behind the thick grey storm clouds and a light snow began falling.

“Nearly there,” Bregor whispered to his faithful mount, patting the animal’s strong neck. “We’ll have a fire tonight, and I’ll make you a warm mash.”

After another hour’s ride in the thickening snow, the tired pair entered the shelter of the pine grove and picked their way through the underbrush to find a long-abandoned stone cottage that might once have belonged to the family that had farmed this land in the distant past. After casting a careful eye about the clearing, Bregor rode up to the porch and smiled as he spied the Ranger token – a broken rawhide thong knotted in a special pattern – that had been unobtrusively wedged under front door to show that the last inhabitant had been a fellow friend and colleague. The cottage was still a safe haven!

Bregor led his tired horse inside the cottage to the corner that the Rangers used as a stall, relieved Hithin of saddlebags, pack, bedroll, weapons, saddle, and bridle, and then left briefly to use another broken pine bough to obscure their tracks across the clearing to the little stone house and up onto the porch. Satisfied that the swiftly falling snow would soon completely camouflage their passage, Bregor stepped inside with a sigh of relief and set about building a fire with the store of wood the Rangers kept by the fireplace.

After giving Hithin a good rub-down and covering him with the saddle blanket, the Ranger opened his food bag and began preparing a hot stew for himself and the promised warm mash for the horse. While waiting for the stew to finish simmering, Bregor searched through his pack for a small book to help pass the time. As he laid the hobbit’s package aside, Bregor noticed that one corner of the brown paper wrapper had somehow become torn during the course of the day’s travels. “Ah well,” he thought. “I’ll just tuck the torn edge back under this fold and secure it with another piece of twine. No harm done.”

And that’s how the package got its fifth mark on the 24th of Foreyule.

This is such a pleasure to read, Lindariel, beautifully written and with so much detail. You're so steeped in Tolkien it feels like his story, which is as big a compliment as anyone could give! The package stains are a great hook to leave us wondering and wanting more.

Here is my offering. Something very different. I am (as you can tell) still hooked by the poetry of Sigurd and Gudrun. The poem is seasonal and follows the individual inner journeys of the Fellowship:


December 25th The Company leaves Rivendell at dusk.


Nine Leave Rivendell

Nine leave Rivendell
one road taking,
walking together,
fellowship finding.
Fearful the partings,
painful the journeys,
single their purpose
but many the pathways.

Gandalf the wise,
Olórin leaving,
wandering greybeard –
great his burden.
Through fire and darkness,
in light arising,
bright his face;
Gondor’s White Rider.

Brave Boromir,
Gondor’s beacon,
galloping forth
strange vision following.
Valour’s end
in glory fallen,
Ring lust vanquished,
the Haflings’ saviour.

Legolas Greenleaf,
forest forsaking,
friendship taking
through fire and cavern.
Hearing at last
his elf heart’s yearning,
cry of the gulls
and the West calling.

Glóin’s son Gimli,
rock, rough-hewn,
fearful walker
through forest gloomy.
Stern heart opened
by Elf Queen’s gifting,
three strands of gold,
glorious his treasure.

Samwise the brave,
heart of the Shire,
faithful friend
and Frodo’s protector.
Hope never leaving,
honour and healing,
home under hill
and Rosie there, waiting.

Merry and Pippin -
firm friends forever,
never to part
until Fate took them.
One into battle
fair maiden aiding,
One to the pyre,
Faramir’s saviour.

Strider the Ranger,
stranger to comfort,
fearsome his face,
reforged sword holding.
Entering Gondor,
great Heart and Healer,
True King revealing
the White Tree in flower.

Frodo, Ring Bearer,
gold burden holding,
small wheel of fire
none other can carry.
No peace to rest in,
though Shire enfold him
White ship will bear him
West from the Haven.

Nine leave Rivendell
one road taking,
walking together,
fellowship finding.
Many the dark ways
each must wander,
Until Light finds them
their hearts never parted.

WOW, Iolanthe, what a fabulous poem! I love the repetition of the first and last stanzas with different closings, and your brief concise summations of the individual journeys each member of the Fellowship winds up taking. Just lovely!

Glad you're enjoying my continuing saga, and thanks so much for that extraordinary compliment! Wow again! By now, I think everyone has figured out that the journey I'm telling is that of the package, rather than a person, following the places it travels through and the hands that carry it to its ultimate destination.

Five days down, seven to go. Will I make it by Jan. 3? I don't know! Today unfortunately is not a writing day. I'm traveling to a family gathering and will be in a car most of the day, and I'm the driver! I am taking my laptop, so hopefully I'll find some quiet time to work on the story, but I'm not holding my breath. The final few days may be the result of one great marathon writing binge!

I'm still hooked, Lindariel!! I hope you do have time to finish it before the deadline.

Iolanthe, I love your poem - especially the lines

Stern heart opened
by Elf Queen’s gifting,

One of my favourite verse forms, as you know!!

Mine too - I'm now sort of addicted to it and it's crept into some non-Tolkien poems.

Here's my poem. It doesn't meet the criteria for entry, but that's OK as I don't want to put it into the competition. It's a poem which almost insisted on being written, and it's a personal memoir - I found the whole experience almost cathartic. I'm happy to share it here but I'm not submitting it, if you see what I mean:

I

The pupils hush. The teacher reads
Aloud a stirring tale:
The hobbit Bilbo takes the road,
Dares to succeed - or fail -
At ten years old I joined the quest,
Braved spiders, dragons and the rest,
Met Gandalf, Gollum and the Ring,
Dwarves, Beorn and the Elvenking.

II

My adolescent self returned
To Middle-Earth again;
A longer journey this time, in
The company of Men.
With hobbits, wizards, ents and elves
They faced the worst and found themselves;
Faith, hope and love had banished fear,
Values which I too held dear.

III

But then the “real world” intervened.
Confused, I went astray:
Values de-valued, faint-heart faith -
A slow and painful way.
Three 3-hour films re-lit a spark,
The re-read trilogy hit the mark;
For Tolkien was a man of faith
And I was tired of being part-wraith.

IV

New friendships forged in Tolkien’s name,
the places that I’ve seen -
From Castlecove to Kensington
And all points in between;
In paint and prose and poetry
Have Tolkien’s works inspired me -
At Mass in Blackfriars I’ve seen how
A star shines on St Dominic’s brow.

V

And so my own road carries on
(but Tolkien played his part) -
Faith, hope and love light up my way
And heart speaks unto heart.
The Teacher holds outstretched His hand,
The pupil enters a new land
And contemplates His mystery:
The greatest Eucatastrophe.

That brought tears, marbretherese--I have been on the same road and have been 'part-wraith', less a person than I should have been.

And I don't see why it doesn't meet the contest criteria. We wanted it to be quite broad.

Thanks Merry. I must admit I choked up a few times while I was writing it. Maybe that's the reason I don't want to enter it in the competition - I'm uncomfortable with the idea of it being judged, because it is so personal.

Well, I can see that, too. It shall be as you wish, of course!