Article: 207608 of rec.arts.books.tolkien Path: uchinews!newsfeed.stanford.edu!news.ems.psu.edu!news.cis.ohio-state.edu!news.maxwell.syr.edu!wn4feed!worldnet.att.net!135.173.83.20!wnmasters3!bgtnsc05-news.ops.worldnet.att.net.POSTED!not-for-mail Reply-To: "Conrad Dunkerson" <<>> From: "Conrad Dunkerson" <<>> Newsgroups: rec.arts.books.tolkien References: Subject: Chapter 6 Lines: 227 X-Priority: 3 X-MSMail-Priority: Normal X-Newsreader: Microsoft Outlook Express 5.50.4029.2901 X-MimeOLE: Produced By Microsoft MimeOLE V5.50.4029.2901 Message-ID: Date: Sun, 14 May 2000 23:01:49 GMT NNTP-Posting-Host: 12.79.27.239 X-Complaints-To: abuse -aaatt- worldnet.att -daht- net X-Trace: bgtnsc05-news.ops.worldnet.att.net 958345309 12.79.27.239 (Sun, 14 May 2000 23:01:49 GMT) NNTP-Posting-Date: Sun, 14 May 2000 23:01:49 GMT Organization: AT&T Worldnet Xref: uchinews rec.arts.books.tolkien:207608 Chapter VI The Old Forest Frodo woke suddenly. It was still dark in the room, and he felt almost as if he were falling. A moment later he hit the floor. Blearily he looked up to see the light of a candle flame burning in the doorway. 'What? What is it?' said Frodo, still shaken and bewildered. Out of the fire there spoke a voice, 'What is it!' cried Mobster. 'I have been pounding on your door for five minutes. It's nearly ten, Fatty's eaten half your breakfast and we must be leaving soon. You'll have to make do with the scraps while I get the ponies ready.' It was, of course, not so bad as all that. Fatty had prepared more than enough for a hobbit twice Frodo's size and there was plenty left. So Frodo had a nice breakfast with eggs and sausages while the others finished preparations for the journey ahead. Soon after twelve o'clock the five hobbits were ready to start. Frodo was still yawning. Mobster went in front leading an overburdened pony, and took his way along a path that went through a small grove behind the house, and then trampled across several fields. In a shed they found their ponies; four sturdy beasts of the kind loved by hobbits. They mounted, and were soon riding along under the midday sun. Ahead of them loomed the Hedge. 'How are you going to get through the Hedge?' asked Fatty. 'I will show you!' said Mobster. He turned left along the Hedge, and they came to a ramp leading down. A passage had been dug into the earth and walled with brick, forming a tunnel leading under the Hedge and into the Forest on the far side. Here Fatty stopped, quailing at the sight of the trees. 'Good- bye friends!' he said. 'I wish you were not going into the Forest. I'm afraid there won't be anyone to rescue you, but good luck to you.' 'Tell Gandalf to go along the East Road; we shall soon be back on it ourselves.' said Frodo. They waved and disappeared into the tunnel. They passed a gate on the far side and Mobster locked it behind them. 'Well!' said Mobster. 'We have left the Shire, and are now on the edge of the Old Forest.' 'Are the stories true?' asked Pipsqueak, casting a glance back to the tunnel. 'I don't know which stories you mean,' answered Mobster. 'I don't believe those old bogey stories such as Fatty's nurses used to tell him. Goblins and wolves and walking trees! No, I don't think so, but the Forest is queer. Sometimes you'll feel someone watching you, but when you look about there's no one there. There are queer things living deep in the Forest, and in the downs on the far side and someone makes tracks amongst the trees. Not far from this tunnel there should be a path which will take us northeast through the Forest. Due east would put us onto the Downs and south would take us to the Witherwander River which starts out on the Downs and joins the Brandywine in the south of the Forest. No hobbit has ever charted its full course. We don't want to go THAT way! The Witherwander valley is the worst part of the whole wood - full of bogs and swamps, sinking sands and unfriendly creatures.' The hobbits now left the Hedge and rode up another ramp to the floor of the Forest. The trees were thick about them almost immediately, trunks of innumerable sizes and shapes: straight or bent, twisted, leaning, squat or slender, smooth or gnarled and branched or branchless, clustered or scattered, tall, short, lightning scarred, intertwined, infested, bewebbed, mossy, dark, damp, shimmering, peeling, vine covered, young or old, flowering, deciduous, coniferous, fruit bearing, creaking, cracked, hollow, budding and dying, burned, slimy, shaggy, scaley, green, grey, brown, and, well, just a very lot of different kinds of trees. They went on for some time, the ponies carefully picking their way through the twisted and interlacing roots. The ground rose steadily, and as they went forward it seemed as if the trees became taller, darker, thicker, danker, and a great many other ominous adverbs as well. They could catch only occasional glimpses of the Sun through the thick trees overhead, and each time they did they seemed to have veered somewhat off course and would have to turn again to the northeast. After an hour or two the trees closed overhead completely, wrapping them in a twilight gloom that left them guessing at their direction and able to do little more than move steadily forward. The afternoon was wearing away when they stumbled into a deep fold in the ground. It was so steep and overhung that it proved impossible to climb out of, in either direction, without leaving their ponies behind. As that would require carrying their own food, and rather alot of it at that, it was completely out of the question. All they could do was to follow the fold - downwards. The ground grew soft, and in places boggy, and soon they found themselves following a brook that trickled and babbled through a weedy bed. There was not yet any sign of a path, and the others began to wonder if Mobster were not completely lost. Pipsqueak suddenly felt that he could not bear it any longer, and without warning let out a shout. 'Oi! Ai! Ee!' he cried. No one was quite sure why. 'You don't have any idea where you are going, do you!' Mobster shot him a venomous look, a glare that would have warned any of his business associates against further words. 'I should not shout if I were you,' said Mobster. Pipsqueak, however, was undeterred. 'It has not taken you long to lose us!' Mobster's face became grim and he nudged his pony forward with blood in his eyes. It might have gone badly for Pipsqueak then, but just as Mobster was drawing close Sam let out a whistle and pointed ahead. 'Look, isn't that an opening up ahead?' asked Sam. A short distance ahead the gully came to an end and led quite suddenly out of the gloom. The stream flowed down into a dark river of brown water, bordered with ancient willows, arched over with willows, blocked with fallen willows, flecked with thousands of faded willow leaves, and otherwise heavily bewillowed. The late afternoon sun shone golden through the break in the trees, illuminating a faint footpath running along the bank of the river. 'Well, I know precisely where we are' said Mobster, speaking quickly before any more comments about his navigational abilities might be made. 'This is the River Witherwander! We have strayed just a little from our path.' Pipsqueak looked about to protest, but Mobster spoke on unheeding. 'Perhaps there is some truth to those old stories about the trees moving of their own accord after all. They could have cut off our path and herded us here. That must be it.' Seeing nothing else for it, the hobbits filed out and Mobster led them down to the riverside. There they stopped to water the ponies and take a brief rest. The long ride had worn them down and the soft grass beneath the willow trees was a welcome change of seating as they refilled their own water bottles. They yawned, lightly at first, weariness seeming to creep over them now that they could take a break at last. Frodo felt his chin go down and his head nod. Off to his side Mobster and Pipsqueak had wandered over to a great knotted old willow and were resting against it. Sam had stopped, pretty much where his pony had, and sat blinking stupidly about himself. Frodo felt that some cool water might help revive him and wandered towards the riverbank, half in a daze. He did not even know he had reached the riverbank until he tripped over a root of the old willow and fell headfirst into the water with a great splash. He broke back to the surface a moment later, gasping and sputtering. 'Help! Help!', he cried, as he attempted ineffectually to reach the shore. As the slow current carried him away Frodo could see his friends half stirring in response to his cries, but then settling back into weary sleep. Choking now and fearing he would follow his parents into a watery grave Frodo thought he dimly heard a voice as he drifted out of sight and conciousness: a deep glad voice, singing carelessly and happily: Hey doll! merry doll! ring a ding dial-O! Ring a ding! hop along! follow the willow! Tom Bom, jolly Tom, Tom Bombadildo With a last gasp of effort Frodo kicked himself to the surface of the water and cried out once more before sinking beneath the surface. He felt the cold darkness settle over him, and knew no more. Until a moment later when he was pulled coughing and sputtering from the water by strong hands. He hung helplessly, spitting up water and a tragically large portion of his breakfast, before he could begin to breathe normally again and get his first clear look at his rescuer. It was a man, or so he seemed. At any rate he was too large and heavy for an ordinary hobbit, if not quite tall enough for one of the Big People. He had a long brown beard; his eyes were blue and bright, and his face was red as a ripe apple. He wore yellow boots, a blue coat and a battered hat with a tall crown and a long blue feather stuck in the band. In his free hand (Frodo was dangling precariously from the other) he carried on a large leaf as on a tray a pile of white water-lillies and a small doll. Frodo found himself noting that the doll looked much like the man himself, save that its hat seemed to sport a peacock feather rather than a kingfisher. 'Whoa! steady there!' cried the old man, and Frodo stopped squirming as if he had been struck stiff. 'Now, my little fellow. Where be you a-going to, breathing like a fish? What's the matter here then? Do you know who I am? I'm Tom Bombadil.' 'My friends and I were lost. I fell in the water and they all went to sleep. I could have drowned!' cried Frodo breathlessly. 'What?' shouted Tom Bombadil, leaping up in the air and giving Frodo quite a jolt. 'Friends napping when help is being needed? Let's go and see this.' He set Frodo down and they made their way back up the path to where the other hobbits were sleeping. Tom let out a great laugh and sang a bit of his nonsense rhyme, though Frodo looked fit to boil. The three hobbits woke and sat up, rubbing thier eyes at this strange apparition. 'Frodo!' cried Sam, seeing his master all wet and bedraggled. 'What happened?' 'What happened?' yelled Frodo with some heat. 'I nearly drowned while you three had a nice nap.' The three jumped up, all trying to explain at once; 'We were bespelled!', 'The sleep...', 'I just closed my eyes for a moment!', 'Why'd you go fall in the water anyway...' Looking around Sam suddenly pointed at the great grey willow under which they had all slept. 'That... that there willow, it must be one of those walking trees. I'd bet it put us all to sleep I would!' The others gaped and then nodded quickly in agreement. Tom regarded the hobbits with great amusement and laughed again. 'Oh, the old 'willow-man' was it? Well, that's as may be, but Tom Bombadil must be going. You should all come home with me. The table is laden with yellow cream, honeycomb, and white bread and butter. Goldberry is waiting. You follow me as quick as you are able.' With that he gave a beckoning wave and went hopping and dancing along the path eastward, still singing loudly and nonsensically. Hey! Come merry doll! daring doll! My darling! Hop along little friends, up the Witherwander. Tom's going on ahead to get the ponies fodder. Goldberry will make the beds and set the board, With bread and honey and sweet delights, the River daughter. Hey now! merry doll! We'll be waiting for you! They all stared after him for a long moment, but the promise of food and good beds would draw any hobbit. And so they started after him, still arguing amongst themselves; 'You know, now that I think of it... that willow root that tripped me DID seem to move of it's own accord.' 'I think he was an entwife', opined Pipsqueak. 'A what?' 'An entwife. Old Bilbo told me a story about them... no, not one of THOSE stories.' Up ahead the trees parted and a house lay beneath the dark shapes of the Barrow-downs. Golden light spilled out over the threshold and they hurried forward.