burg’s tale – Page 6 – LOTRO Players

A Burg’s Tale: Chapter 4

The moon set alight the fog spreading over the low areas of the Barrow-downs. It hovered at knee height for the moment to obscure the ground from my vision. I crouched behind a spar of stone watching shambling wights moving around and swirling the growing haze around their skeletal legs. I had already followed the ridge rising above the Old Barrows Road around and to the south, but I could only wonder how much farther it would be until I found the crebain and whatever evil force seemed to be leading them. Was it another of the Nazgûl? Were they female and male? Was it one of the red-robed cargûl instead? I couldn’t worry about it until I found them; yet, I found myself returning to the idea repeatedly when I had to pause and assess my path forward as I did presently.

When it wasn’t concern for what I might find at the end of my path, I wondered at how Bombadil had managed to get over the ridge to begin with by skipping and leaping around. I had yet to find a path over it to the south where he might have come over. I had no real idea whether the crebain had even flown to the south, to be frank, but it seemed the most logical notion to begin with. Bombadil might not have gone over the ridge but around, the same as I had, and he hadn’t been absent for long enough to have gone across the entirety of the barrows and back no matter which direction he had chosen. My target had to be close by, and that meant the other side of the ridge.

I lifted a hand and my mask to rub a gloved finger on the side of my nose with a frown. Something in the area plagued me so that I itched. A weed. A flower. The walking dead. Something. I had already killed three barghests, five huge rats, and two wights because of untimely sneezes. I didn’t actually know how the wights managed to wield swords, let alone bows, given they had no ligaments and muscles with which to pull back bowstrings or bend their joints. I tried not to think about it. It was most likely black sorcery of the foulest kind that I could only be thankful was penetrable by a good dagger throw or strike.

I had come to realize quickly that the scent of musty, old crypts meant that the dead had newly risen. It was easier to avoid those mounds before their inhabitants could find me than for others. The carrion dogs howled in the night and preyed upon creatures that simply wanted to make their homes there, when they weren’t actively rooting up the bones of the dead to chew on them. I knew their kind. We named them Black Dogs while I traveled with the caravans, though they had different names depending on where we went. The Scuttledells south of Lake-town had them as Black Dogs, though we rarely went through that war-torn area. It was more we took a boat down the Anduin instead to avoid it completely and reach Rohan or further. The travel wound up much faster as it was.

A tall stone spire reached for the dark heavens in the near distance on a hill. It was surrounded by smaller stones of a similar shape. It was one of the few landmarks that I knew from my time in Bree: the Dead Spire in the northern Barrow-downs. It was somewhat central to the area and visible from a far enough distance that I could guide myself by it. This didn’t make it safe; on the contrary, barghests, rats, and wights crawled over its surface in their mindless hunting for victims. People like me, though I counted myself only a potential victim rather than a foregone conclusion.

I continued on my way. I passed as a shadow might to avoid contact with the aggressive creatures who had stirred due to the dark influences and powers at work here. I could hear the crebain cawing long before I saw them and knew my destination was close. Their calls helped me pinpoint them, in fact, and I realized I might have overshot them had I not been using my senses appropriately.

I crept up until I could see what awaited me while they couldn’t see me. I had that much skill, at least. One strangely garbed woman stood tending almost lovingly to the four crebain accompanying her. I could hear her speaking to them in a low tone that kept me from understanding the content of her words. She would lift a hand to stroke one’s feathered chest with her fingers and feed it bits of what I could only say was meat of some form, given what they were. Another would mantle its wings and flap them with a jealous cry to see its brother receive a treat and hop or waddle closer to her on its perch to gently peck at her hands with little low warbling sounds so that she had to turn her attention to it, as well. She treated them as pets or children.

I wanted to flank her, but she had positioned herself against the boulders and stone of the ridge instead of in the open. I had no gap and no way of using it to my advantage, and the crebain themselves used the ridge as a watchtower. The only reason they hadn’t spotted me yet, other than my stealth, was because she was offering them treats for good behavior. Or out of her affection. Either way, their attention had been neatly diverted at the exact right time for me.

Or so I thought as I stole toward her turned back and slid my knives from my sleeves, carefully concealing their shining blades under the light of the stars and moon above. The crow-like monstrosities shared the fascination with sparkling objects with their black-plumed cousins. I could hear her as I approached in the shadows as she said, “Andraste is here, my loves. Your lost kin will be replaced. You were the strongest of the flock… rest and sleep a little while to forget your sorrows.”

Andraste, I thought to myself. That must be her name. It didn’t matter to me. She and the birds had to die if the Ring’s whereabouts were to be kept secret and safe. I never learned the names of my victims or asked questions. Those didn’t benefit me when I needed to silently kill someone for my reward, and when I accidentally learned them, it often caused me hesitation and guilt later that I couldn’t afford to feel. I might have liked the violence more than I was willing to admit but humanizing the target was never a good idea.

I was wrong that it was the exact right time to pull the attention of the crebain and that they hadn’t already spotted me coming. Before I could even reach her, a craban made a soft noise and Andraste looked over her shoulder. “I should have realized an idiot would come,” she greeted me with a sneer. She wasn’t an attractive woman, but she wasn’t a hideous one either. Something dark flitted over and through her features and eyes as she turned to me. “The skipping and singing idiot must have sent you.”

I bristled up at her comment about Orald. Despite my misgivings about the ancient being, I felt mildly protective over him. He was part of our culture, my culture, and those of the Free People. How dare she openly mock him? Never mind that I might have privately done the same. It didn’t feel right to mean it so much as this woman obviously did. “Do you think I fear you?” I asked coldly from behind my mask.

She laughed in scorn. “The Lord of the Nazgul returns to Othrongroth. You would be wise to flee before his arrival or you shall know true fear.”

I glanced between her and the quartet of crebain behind her. The breeze suddenly shifted enough to blow the stench of decaying flesh to my nostrils even under the mask, and I realized then that she was feeding her charges meat from corpses dead only a short time. Where she had gotten them, I didn’t know. Perhaps the victims of the shattered group of merchants I had seen camping on the Old Barrows Road. Their dead would be shambling wights at this point as well. “Those creatures have nothing of importance to offer your master,” I bluffed at her. “You’ll be struck down for your stupidity.”

She motioned with a high-pitched cackle of delight and I knew she’d called that bluff. “Fool! Did you think that my pets would not learn that the Ring now travels east in the hands of a hobbit named Frodo Baggins?”

They had overheard the hobbit’s words after all. “There is no such hobbit,” I began through gritted teeth, but she shouted over me. “You have failed utterly! When the master of the Nine returns, he shall learn of this – and of your untimely death!” she declared in triumph. Even as she swung her arm in an arc to motion the crebain forth, I shifted my stance to a defensive one. “Now, come my pets!”

They attacked in twos when in a flock, if the last fight I’d had in Buckland with them had been any indication. I was ready for the four of them to come for me at once all the same. They launched themselves in the gloom and I had to orient by moonlight and the sound of their wings moving. How many were there? I wasn’t sure.

The first blow landed across my head as a pair of beating, black appendages crashed against it from above and behind. When I turned to slash at the air, I felt a connection but couldn’t clearly see what I had hit: the attacker or one of its kin. Whichever one it was, the craban dropped to the ground and flapped spastically at my side. I turned my attention to the next one and clearly spotted it for just long enough to spit its hovering form on the end of my knife so it, too, fell. There was no time to check if they were dead, however, as within moments, an angry call from above heralded the second pair’s assault. I could hear Andraste screeching at them from nearby as they dodged my strikes so that they were non-lethal, yet bloody. I shattered the wing of one with a timed blow and faced the last one. A lucky strike sheared off it’s head in a spray of black in the night and I stood amidst the carnage I had wrought.

Andraste shrieked, “No… My beautiful birds!”

Turning to her, I sneered, “I killed their flock in Buckland and you expected them to kill me now? Who’s the fool, here?”

“You shall die for this!” she snarled in response and came for me with her weapon in hand. I evaded her first strike, turned, and threw my knife into her pale, exposed throat. She looked surprised as her hands lost their grip on the staff she held so it fell, clattering, to the ground. They came up to her neck as her knees gave way and she sank to the ground near her birds. She had time to take hold of the hilt and pull it as she crumpled over sideways and stared at me with incredulity. The night breeze ruffled my dark clothing as I stood staring at her for a long moment. I then calmly walked past her on silent feet and let her dying ears hear the squawks of the three remaining crebain as I lifted them one by one and twisted their heads with audible cracks to end them. When I bent down after to retrieve my bloodied dagger from one of her hands, she had tears in her swiftly dimming eyes.

“You should’ve feared me more,” I said simply, almost gently, to her. And then used her clothing to clean my weapons before replacing them in their hidden sheaths.

I stayed until she had died not because I wanted to but because I had to know for certain that the information she held would stay with her. A barghest howled in the distance as her blood poured from her slit throat and soaked into the ground beneath her. When I walked away, I made sure to cling to the shadows near the ridge once again and guided myself by the gleam of the moon on the Dead Spire.

I had come nearly abreast of it when a shimmering apparition intersected my path. It floated along what seemed to be a set track around the Spire’s base, paused to hover as if searching for something, and then moved on again. I tensed and prepared to defend myself, wondering how I would fight a ghost, when it spotted me and stopped once again. “Who are you?” I demanded warily of the armored, decaying shade. “What do you want of me?”

An airy, hoarse voice from the crypt wheezed in some kind of rhyme and meter,

“All was silence;

now the sound of steel

rings from battles past

long beyond the laying of bones;

stirred by evil’s passage

my brother walks again,

so too our foes.

Duty-bound we stand as one,

lost as he may be.

A lord he rose and, solemn,

buried me.

My shield calls to my arm,

my ring calls to my hand,

my sight departed as my life,

our oaths bind us still;

protect and serve this land.”

It didn’t attack, but I wasn’t the best at poetry. “Right,” I replied dubiously. I had to think a moment about the shade’s words. “All was silence. You were at peace?” It nodded its skeletal head once. “And now something has awakened you and… your brother, and your enemies that killed you?” Again, it nodded at my words in silent agreement. “You died first and aren’t sure where he is, though.” A nod. “But you and he want to protect this place again because… of that evil that awakened you.”

“Yesss,” it hissed with what I thought might be relief and even happiness. As happy as a dead spirit could be, I suppose.

I didn’t want to stay any longer. I needed to get back to Bombadil and Strider to let them know that the deed was done and the hobbits and Ring were safe for now. Something about the shade pulled at me, though, so that I stepped closer to it with a frown visible beneath my mask. “Then what is it you need from me?” I repeated with a shake of my head. “I don’t know how you can fight things that aren’t also spirits.”

“My shield calls to my arm, / my ring calls to my hand,” it replied with an air of a crypt long buried that had been newly opened.

I blinked once. “You need me to find your shield and ring?” When it nodded, I glanced around for a moment at the surrounding barrows. “Oh, this should be quick,” I muttered to myself with a sigh.

But it continued to speak, this time with something new. “Long did I rest, / now awake, as vengeance claims trinkets / to call a curse upon our bones.”

I made a noise. “Vengeance?” I echoed as I returned my attention to him. I was reminded of his words from before about enemies also walking again now. “One of your enemies has your items?”

The wraith nodded and then spoke again. “As it was in life, / so too in death. / His curse on us still / as we yearn for sleep.”

I made a face as I nodded, though I wasn’t sure that the shade could see it. “I think I understand that part. You just want to keep sleeping and this…” I paused before I could say the word I wanted to say, as vulgar as it was. “Moron,” I said instead, striving to be polite, “woke you up because he has your things, which is a bit of a holdover of a curse from when you were all still alive.” I sighed. “Where can I find him, do you know?”

The shade appeared more animated at my reluctant aid. “My ring, forgotten, / may still be found.” He motioned in such a vague manner that I had no real idea what direction he intended to point at. “Speed along, living, / to a tomb of ground.”

“Speed along?” I growled. “Don’t be impatient, wraith. You’ve been dead for this long. You can wait another few hours if needed.” I decided to move to my left first and go around the Spire toward some of the mounds that I saw in the near distance. Surely, it wouldn’t be far away from the wandering shade’s circular path around the Spire. Not if he had decided to stay nearby at least.

I moved cautiously to the front of the first small barrow that I found. I didn’t know if a wight would leap out at me or down from the top or not. I needn’t have worried: the undisturbed area in the front told me that this wasn’t the tomb I needed. The next three, one to the north, another to the southwest, and the last to the west, all appeared the same. I felt some small comfort that whoever, or whatever, was inside hadn’t yet risen like so many other corpses. I turned at last to the south and firmed my resolve. If this wasn’t the barrow, then I would have to tell the shade that I couldn’t find it and had to be on my way. I had more important things to take care of.

This tomb was different. It had a strange tension to it as I approached and, upon searching the front where the slab stood against the door, had disturbed earth around it as if something had entered and exited recently. I wasn’t sure if it was the right tomb, but I knew there was a wight inside regardless. Was this the Wandering Shade’s own tomb, stolen from him? That would make some sense as well. I drew my knives, set my shoulder against the stone, and started to roll it out of the way of the opening.

The low scraping of stone on stone and the grinding of the earth beneath the heavy weight sounded like thunder in the silent night. Even the small insects still chirping nearby went dead. I scurried back after a sword slid out and barely missed my side. There wasn’t enough space for a body to leave, but skeletal hands made sure the stone rolled another few inches to allow the wight to exit. “Fool of a shade! My master the Bone Man has made a thrall of your shield-brother!” the hollow, raspy voice announced as it stepped forth into the night air.

It seemed surprised to see a living being in front of it instead. There were no lids to blink yet the hesitation once its sockets turned to me was almost palpable. “No eyes making it hard to see?” I cracked.

The barrow wight continued as if it hadn’t heard me. Maybe it hadn’t. The thing didn’t have ears, after all. “And you… a living fool soon to be dead… I will send you into the shadow world too!”

I made a soft tsking sound and drew my weapons. “I already move through them but thank you for the offer.”

“So come to me now, fool… Come and die!”

“You first,” I retorted, and sure enough, the undead thing stepped forward with sword raised. I expected it to fall within a couple of strikes as the others I’d fought had as I evaded the first swing and went in under its arm with my knives. Both found homes in the corpse’s body with an eerily hollow sound before I pulled them away, taking a slight bit of rib cage with them.

The blows didn’t even slow the creature down. It turned and stabbed downward at me with its sword and a gaping, denuded jaw. I barely made it out of the way in time and received a thin furrow down and across my back for my trouble. My hiss of pain wasn’t just for the new wound; it was also for the torn shirt I now had to wear. I didn’t know how I’d get it mended after this was over if I didn’t find some ready cash. On the other hand, if I didn’t get my head back into what I was doing, I wouldn’t have to worry about it.

I feinted and went low to sweep out one of its bony legs. The entire leg from the knee down broke off and flew a distance away so that the wight lost its balance. It still hacked at me in mindless fury until I managed to stomp a booted foot onto its sword-bearing arm. The thing cracked under my heel and I did the same to its head at the neck while it clawed at my legs and left scratches down them. Reaching down, I grabbed at its skull and yanked the whole thing back until it came free of the spine with a snap. Hurling it from me, I stabbed and twisted the wight’s body apart completely in a delighted rage for having shed my blood. Only after I had completed my macabre mission did I rise and make my way into the barrow where it had been.

The moonlight from the open entry allowed me to see inside just enough as I searched the small tomb for any evidence of the shade’s presence. The large stone casket inside had been shifted and opened so that the body within lay exposed. One skeletal arm lay broken off on the outside of the coffin. I wrinkled my nose as I gingerly lifted it to place it back inside with the body. “I don’t know if this is yours,” I said aloud to the absent shade, “but if it is, I might as well be nice.” I found no ring inside with the rotted body. I dragged the top of the stone back into place and looked around the barrow further. There had to be a ring here if it was the shade’s tomb. If not, I would have to go back empty-handed and leave, bloodied, without anything to show for it. My pride smarted at the very idea. Was I a burglar, or wasn’t I?

I found the ring when a glint of gold caught my eye near the slab at the doorway. Moving to it I found a simple men’s ring inlaid with two stones. Pocketing it, I stepped out of the barrow and pushed the stone back into place to seal it once more and went in search of the Wandering Shade.

Finding him took longer this time, mostly due to the fact I had to actually go in search of him rather than running across him accidentally. I saw his floating, half-visible blue figure ahead of me after a half hour and approached him with as much irritated civility as I could muster with a back and leg that still felt on fire. Digging the ring from my pocket, I opened it to show it to him. He floated closer and said, with more hope in his breathy, ghostly voice, “Help my hand, now to his arm, lost too, lost too.”

I stared at him for a long moment. “He… lost his arm?” The shade shook his head at me but didn’t elaborate. I sighed and asked, “Then what is it that you need from me? I wish you would speak plainly.”

The shade fell silent for a few moments before speaking in its riddling way once again:

“Sundered and shattered,

metal and bone,

life bled onto the ground.

In shade of stone,

a south facing wall

wherein the earth

slept once the dead.

On cold hallowed ground

where dead lay asleep

woke they to greet

our treasure claimed.

There, by our honored,

sleeping, and gone,

my brother bid me farewell.

Now, the dead rise,

stirring the earth

now cursed from where

I fell.

Our curse recalled;

we shall walk

until the dead

are quelled.”

I lifted a hand to my head and rubbed the back of my neck as I rolled my head around. “Again with this,” I grumbled. “Somewhere, near a wall,” I began slowly, “where you fought and died….” The shade nodded. “Something in the ground?” I hazarded. It nodded once again. “You want me to go kill wights there because they’re disturbing that area?”

“Yes,” it breathed. “Slept once the dead.”

“I’ll consider that a yes,” I replied. “You and your brother can’t rest until they’re gone.” I pressed my lips together. “Somewhere near a wall is where you died and your men were buried.” I looked up at him a touch sharply. “With treasure?”

“Yes,” it said again with a nod of its skull, and I cursed internally. I wouldn’t be able to find it and take it myself if it was linked to the spirit in front of me. “Which direction?” I asked hopefully.

The wraith’s head lifted toward the sky above. “Against many did we fight,” he replied, “for a treasure, which we stole.”

I smirked. “That’s the way of it sometimes. I can understand.” I had done my share of punching and stabbing for something I had stolen to begin with, just to keep it.

But he continued without acknowledging me, saying, “Rise they from the ground / at his call / his cackle, cough and cry. / Fighting at the edge of stone / in a hollow where we lay the bones.”

“Cackle, cough, and cry?” I echoed, baffled. “Have you lost your… you know what? If an evil being can call forth the dead by coughing, I’m sure he has to be formidable. So, these enemies are at the edge of a stone wall in a hollow with people buried under the ground.” I gave him a long-suffering look. “Could you just point?”

The shade turned and did so. I didn’t expect it and therefore took a moment before nodding my thanks and setting off. The distance was farther this time, north of the shade’s tomb. It took time to get there given I had to fight through several enemies and incur a few more shallow wounds. Barghests have an extraordinarily strong bite that I had no desire to feel fully clamped on one of my limbs.

The place where the Barrow-downs more or less seemed to end on this side of the valley backed up against a separate set of ridges leading into the Old Forest that circled around. There existed more than one barrow, at least three that I could see, and I rubbed my sore right shoulder as I stood examining the area. A south facing wall caught my eye and I crept toward it. The vicinity remained quiet but for chittering rats and scuttling crawlers for the moment. The hazy scud here had thickened so I couldn’t see the ground well the lower I descended. I didn’t like the look of it one bit.

My instincts proved correct as I came close to the wall and the ground erupted nearby. Two wights made a strange growling, coughing noise of snarls as they somehow rose from the earth with their weapons. I leaped back in alarm, knives out, as they attacked. I had no time to toss out a witticism this time before I hacked and slashed them back to rest. The sound of more remains clattering up from somewhere nearby alerted me to a second onslaught of wights to put down, but the third and final pair nearly took me by surprise as I moved away from the freshly killed undead body. One reached out from beneath the thick fog to grab at my wounded leg while the other attempted to stab me from a lower position at the same time. The maneuver I had to complete to avoid being impaled from below was catlike enough that I knew I’d regret those muscles come time to wake up from my future well-deserved sleep.

I had slain all of the wights that seemed willing to show themselves near the wall. I made sure of it as I paced up and down, even stamping the ground more than once with a hiss of, “Come out, you worms! Out! Or are you too afraid even now?” My temper brought no more to the surface and I exited the area hoping that I had found the right one and defeated all of the wights the shade would need.

I found him once again and described the area where the wights had risen. “Was that the right place?” I asked at the end.

“Yes,” it breathed. It paused for a few moments and I felt some stirring of hope that perhaps I had done all that was required of me. “Still I linger,” it finally intoned. “One foe remains.”

I rolled my eyes heavenward. “Of course it does.” What am I doing? I asked myself. I have to be on my way already. I can’t keep running these hills endlessly for this shade.

The ghost set off on another enigmatic lyrical journey describing a wight in the southern area of the barrows who the brothers slew while they still lived. Or it was a man they slew and buried there, while they all still lived. I wasn’t entirely sure. Regardless, the wraith claimed, “Brothers, cursed, / return again / to face this foe / from whom they stole.”

My glance sharpened on him. “The treasure you fought and died for, that you buried off to the north – you stole it from this person to begin with and started this whole thing?” I felt myself try to bite my tongue when I said it. The hypocrisy involved didn’t escape me, given my profession. I had tried to steal something from a forest cottage and look where it had landed me.

“For deeds most noble / in intent,” the Wandering Shade answered. I frowned. Noble deeds and burglary? I wasn’t entirely certain how the two might go in hand. The idea was one that I wanted to explore later, would have to, given the current circumstances. “Whilst evil walks / so too will we.”

“Mm. You keep mentioning that part.” I rolled my shoulders a bit. “This… Bone Man,” I said, calling the spirit by a name that seemed to fit with the shade’s narrative, “he’s to the south, then?”

The shade nodded. “Seek you he, / beyond the border / south towards stone / the land of Cardolan / his Bones there still roam.”

“And that will be everything you need me to do for you here so you can rest again, I hope?” I asked dubiously. It was never that easy.

The spirit nodded once and moved to continue its floating path around the Dead Spire. I set off to the south and whatever pass might exist through the ridge bisecting the two areas. I had a strange feeling of dread as I walked the hills and barrows that I was moving from the pan to the fire the farther south that I went.

A Burg’s Tale: Chapter Three

He greeted me as soon as he saw me and didn’t even mind that I had on my new mask. Halting his skipping around, Tom waved a hand – a whole arm, really – and called out, “Hoy now! Hey now! What’s all this fussing? We’ve not had so many guests since our wedding! There is time enough for bird-watching, but perhaps first a song or two, my hearty?”

Bird-watching? I thought as I came to rest before him. Does he already know what I’m here for? Of course he does, he’s Orald! What others is he talking about, though? The hobbits, perhaps? “Let your heart fly free and put aside your worries. You are in the house of Tom Bombadil!” he cheerily informed me.

“I wish it were that easy,” I began seriously, reaching for my mask to remove it in respect. I did have some, after all. Remembering Strider’s words, I then added, “Aragorn has sent me to you for your aid in finding some crebain in the Old Forest. They may tell the wrong people about something of great importance.” My face thus freed, the air of the forest rushed in with its clean scent of old trees and clear water, so unlike what I remembered of Lake-town. Bombadil’s clearing allowed for sunlight in golden shafts to pierce to the grassy knoll. Or perhaps it was Orald himself who allowed it to grow so green here. I could sense the peace of the glade through my twitching thoughts and anxiety and had to privately admit it felt soothing.

He spoke and at first, I didn’t know if he had even acknowledged my fears. “‘My Goldberry is away at her spring, and I was going lily-hunting! I’ve no time for chasing birds.” I opened my mouth to protest, but he continued on and I subsided. “But hoy now! Aragorn’s a name I know, and a friend of Old Tom’s! Hear then my offer: While Old Tom Bombadil looks for sour crows, you’ll gather lilies for my lovely. I saw some along the river, just a hop and a jump away. Just follow along until, ring a ding dillo, you find Old Man Willow!”

I let his request sink in and rocked back on my heels. “Gather lilies?” I echoed incredulously. “For your… wife, I take it?” I wondered how the first thing in creation might get married. Who would officiate that ceremony? What kind of ceremony might it have been? No traditions like those of Men and, I had heard, Elves, like exchanging rings or binding hands, had even been thought of, surely? Instead, I offered with finality, “Why are you so baffling?”

He didn’t answer me directly. “You watch that old Grey Willow-man. He’s a mighty singer. He’ll sing you down to sleep and drown you, if you don’t be careful.” He then skipped away merrily as I watched him, singing as he went. I didn’t know how he would find the crows being as loud as he was, but I had more pressing matters in front of me: whoever Old Man Willow was, he was apparently very dangerous. A wizard or forest spirit? I wondered with a deep frown as I settled the mask around my neck against my chest. Even the trees seemed intent on sending their roots after me all the way down the path I took, and a few had even up and walked around. One had decided to fight me. I still didn’t know how I felt about killing a tree by stabbing and slashing it repeatedly. All I did know was that I would need my full vision for this errand – no mask. It made sense to me that an aggressive sorcerer lived in the Old Forest, now. I wasn’t sure why Bombadil allowed him to survive, though. Surely, the presence of something so malevolent would stir him into action?

I swiveled slowly toward the sound of the Withywindle down the slope from me. I trekked down the path toward the bridge and turned to follow the shoreline before I reached the crossing. It didn’t take long before I found myself unable to really go any farther without entering the water itself. Beyond, on a small jut of land, rose a gigantic willow. In the water around it, floating amidst the tendrils draped over the surface of the slowly flowing stream, floated the lilies I needed. I didn’t see anyone else about. With a shrug and silent word of thanks for my luck, I set myself to getting wet and waded in after climbing over the rocks to a shallower area.

Seconds after the water touched my skin through my trousers, I felt myself growing slightly irritable. By the time it got to my knees, I could feel the beginnings of weariness settling through me. The closer I got to the willow, the heavier I felt. Even climbing back up onto land near the sallow didn’t seem to stop it. I squinted up at the large thing and grunted in heavy-eyed realization: Old Man Willow was the willow itself. This was no natural creeping exhaustion. He’ll sing you down to sleep and drown you, I recalled Tom saying. I made a rude gesture at the tree in defiance and turned to gather up the white-flowered lilies. If it hadn’t moved yet, I was probably not in any danger of a physical attack. I had to admit that those long tendrils would probably hurt like a…

The searing pain of a root whipping the backs of my thighs through my trousers had me cursing. I’d already felt that sort of thing plenty of times on the way down the river; why I wasn’t already one big welt was beyond me. Both of my knives flashed out to hack at the offending thing. The fight wasn’t long, but by the time it ended, I wanted to curl up somewhere for a long nap. Sheathing my weapons, I hurriedly harvested four white lilies from the nearby water and struggled through it to the rocks. I almost didn’t make it back across to shore before my legs gave out. I wavered while on my knees, on dry land, but the feeling of intense exhaustion faded from me. It took a few minutes for my eyes to feel like they could stay open and my legs to push me to my feet once more. With a relieved exhale, I made the walk back up to Bombadil’s cottage.

I wasn’t sure how much time it had taken me to get there and get back, but I knew it couldn’t have been terribly long. Not long enough for even the great Orald to find the crows and return here, on foot, I knew. I sank down on the steps of the porch, lilies in hand, and settled them onto my damp stomach after I had laid back with my legs down the steps. At this point, a bear could wander in and eat me from the feet up and I wouldn’t stop it. “Water lilies,” I grumbled to myself and threw an arm over my face. “The whole world is in danger and you have to pick water lilies for a madman.” When I thought about it, though, it had been what I should’ve expected given everything that had happened thus far. Running around Archet without a horse, fighting giant spiders when a dwarf specializing in them ignored them, Rangers turned evil by a scratch from a Black Rider, attacking crows and roots… why not go pick lilies near a murderous tree that wanted to eat me? Tomorrow, I’ll probably be fighting Sauron himself, I groused.

I wasn’t sure how long I laid there before I drowsed, but it was still light when I heard Tom’s singing growing louder from somewhere nearby. I moved the lilies from my stomach to my lap along my thighs so that I could sit up properly. By the time I did, Tom had arrived and come to a halt from his skipping. As I lifted one of the water lilies up for him with both hands, he took it with a look of delight. “Lilies white for the River-daughter! Stronger than hobbit-folk are you if you outsang Willow-man! Not a lily crushed, nor leaf bent!”

“I’m pretty sure hobbits aren’t as strong as Men struggling to get away from killer foliage,” I replied as I handed him the rest of the flowers. Then it struck me: the hobbits had come this way. Had they come into contact with Old Man Willow? I blinked and looked at Orald to ask him, but he had already moved to the next bit of the conversation.

“Old Tom’s a merry fellow, but he knows when it’s time for dancing or to go a-wighting,” Tom proclaimed. “He’s found your birds and none too soon. If you seek them out, then seek them now, unless you wish to sleep beneath green grass!”

He’s… speaking of himself as if he’s not himself? I couldn’t continue the thought. It was on my mind as I replied, however, so that I began, “He…” I made a face. “You found them?” Why are you this way? I wanted to ask, but figured he’d either ignore me or respond as if talking about someone else instead of himself.

He went on about black birds coming to rest “where the restless walk,” and I could feel a headache threatening me already. He couldn’t be straightforward, could he? He then said words that, even thinking before about how things were going, still surprised me: “Beware the old barrows, they stir when they should be a-sleeping!”

I held up my hands. “Wait one moment, sir,” I tried to interject, but he would have none of it. “‘Go north up the path and follow the Old Barrows Road,” he explained as he settled the water lilies into a nearby bucket full of water that I hadn’t noticed before, “then south within the barrows wall along the forest eaves. Hey dol! Merry dol! And there you’ll find them! Watch for the lady dreary.”

“Now, see here,” I tried again, wondering why he hadn’t actually taken care of the wights if he knew when it was time to go a-wighting and time for dancing. He had yet to stop the latter, as far as I’d seen. “The barrows? And the dead are walking in them, awake now? I can’t—”

“Now hop along, my hearty! Tom’s a-going leaping!” He said this as he began to, once more, skip with great vigor, as if trying to fly by doing so. I stood watching him, mouth slightly agape, before I shut it and snatched up my mask from where it hung on my chest.

“Lady dreary,” I sighed to myself. “I wonder if that’s like Old Man Willow? Lady Dreary is probably a ravenous cairn stone who’ll crush my bones to make her bread.” I slid the mask back on as I walked, securing it firmly.

I had left my horse in Buckland to keep it safe. Had I owned the animal, rather than borrowed it, I would have ridden it through the Old Forest and out once again. It would take far more time for me to get back to Buckland and ride around than to follow Bombadil’s directions on foot. Far easier to sneak around the wights and dead things without a horse, too, I reminded myself. I would’ve liked to take my horse to the Old Barrows Road and ride, I began to think and paused in sudden amusement. You know, there might be a song in that, were I minstrel.

I heard a soft voice that sounded familiar before I’d left the grounds. Feminine and sweet, yet powerful. I turned with my mask on and discovered, standing by the house, the same exquisite woman from the fresh springs I had to fetch water from for Adso. I found myself once again dumbstruck. It took me another moment of gawking to realize that she had called my name. “You… you’re Orald’s wife?” I stammered stupidly. Ever the charming gentleman, I berated myself silently.

“I said to you that my Tom was the Master of the forest when we first met,” she reminded me with good humor and grace. “How soon Men forget.”

I kicked myself mentally for not making the connection sooner. “Beg your pardon, Missus,” I said with a little bow for her, “but I’ve had a great deal on my mind and—”

Goldberry laughed like silver bells and waterfalls. “Pay it no mind. I’m not offended, and neither is my Tom.” She smiled fondly as she looked off in the direction that the man had skipped. “I know he must seem strange to you and yours, but he… is Tom.” She turned her warm smile to me. “You’re on a dangerous road, Morchandir, and I don’t just mean the Old Barrows.”

I sobered even though her smile made me want to do so in return, mask or not. “On foot, no less,” I offered in return as lightly as possible. “I’ll have to be particularly sneaky, I suppose. Though I’ve never tried to steal up to a wight, nor do I think it has anything worth pickpocketing.” I paused. “Mostly because it has no pockets.”

She laughed again. I could see why Tom had married her. She left things blooming around her, including inside people whose insides were long thought dead. “Use care. The Barrows have ever been dangerous, but now they are almost lethal. Something stirs there, and though I might wish for my Tom to face it so the taint on the land subsides, I know that it isn’t in his nature unless absolutely necessary. He seeks ever to soothe the hatred and evil in the hearts of others before turning to other means. When he deems the trouble is too great, I know he will act.”

Something in her tone soothed me but also worried me at the same time, somehow. I realized what it was soon after she stopped speaking. “You hope he doesn’t have to get involved.”

“No,” she countered with a little shake of her head. “I’m hoping that you will help calm the Barrows so that Tom may continue to be Tom. Our cares are not of your world, or have not been for many days, at least. I am, unlike some of my sisters, somewhat closer to Men and the other races – enough to see and hear and know that the threat you and the hobbits wish to stop is a threat that will come for Tom in time.” She grew sad. “If it isn’t stopped, at least. I have faith in the Shire-folk and I have faith in you, burglar, for I must have that faith. I will not be alive to see Tom fall, otherwise. He was the First, and if the Ring is not destroyed, he will be the Last as well.”

I wasn’t sure what to say in response. “I would have thought you and your sisters and Tom and… others like you would be too powerful for Sauron,” I finally said.

She smiled brightly again. “Burglar you are, but your silver tongue is no match for a hobbit’s, and my heart is not for stealing!” she teased me. “Ancient we may be, my sisters and I, but our mother is older still, and Tom the Oldest of all things! The Wise know not much about us, but the power of the Maiar rivals our own, and Sauron has become stronger still.” She trailed off and shook her head. “But no more. You have your path and I shan’t keep you from it. I dare not. Perhaps if you find yourself here again someday, you can stay an evening for supper and rest when this is done.”

I could do nothing more than bow to Goldberry again. All thoughts of turning and fleeing or simply stopping the crebain and their master and returning to a normal life had no meaning for the moment. I had no idea what to think, in all honesty, nor how to feel. “I will do what I can, lady Goldberry.” It was all that I could say before I forced myself to walk away from her down the path to the Old Barrows Road. The silvery elf queen from my dream came unbidden to my mind in memory, speaking once again of my having a part to play in the destiny of Middle Earth. I’m no hero, I told myself firmly. No getting delusions. Who’s to say everything you experienced in the Blackwold camp and Archet brought on a simple dream?

Yet, a voice in my head that was still my own countered, Who’s to say it was?

A Burg’s Tale: Chapter Two

My breather lasted approximately one hour before more trouble found me. Chasing rangers, trying to save them from Amdir, who was on a quest to kill them all. What fun. And then the last of them told me to go to his chieftain – Strider. Good luck with that one, I thought as the Ranger in front of me died. He’s off on something so important he couldn’t be there to end Amdir and save you all.

But I was told to talk to Barliman Butterbur in the Prancing Pony to find out where Strider might be. I didn’t have much hope of that, honestly. When I arrived at the Pony, I meant to ask the proprietor and, when I got the answer I fully expected, see if I could rent a room and put it all behind me. I had tried. I could go on living my life and not worrying about someone else’s problems and some mad, darkness-taken Ranger committing murders on his own. Strider hadn’t cared enough in the beginning to stop it. Why would he care now?

I didn’t get the answer I expected, though. Barliman spoke of a brooding, dark figure, a Ranger, and how people here were afraid of their kind. I almost told him he was right to be so, given there was one running around slaughtering people for Sauron, but I held my tongue. Butterbur then went on to say that he didn’t want this man around, but he had coin enough to keep a room and I couldn’t blame him for it. After all, the man has to make his living somehow and a Ranger that isn’t insane and evil is probably just fine to house. “Calls himself Strider,” the proprietor then informed me.

Of course. I sighed and listened to his instructions on finding Strider’s room wondering if I’d ever be free to live my life again at this rate. I traveled the halls and turned the corners until I stood in front of his door. When my knock was answered, I found myself looking at the chieftain of the Rangers.

He looked as surprised to see me as I was to see him, as if he’d been expecting me. I kept my face expressionless as I entered. “I’m not here long,” I told him. “I came with news.” Since you didn’t stay to find out for yourself, I thought spitefully.

“My charge was to come here,” he replied as if sensing my resentment. “I regret leaving you all and the town behind. I would not if the need to be here hadn’t been more pressing.” He went to stand near the window once more and gazed out of it as if waiting for something. “If you’re here and unwounded after these last few days then I can only assume Archet was saved?”

“Mostly burned to the ground,” I said brusquely. “The Captain died. His son is in charge there, now.” Strider’s face grew briefly sad before it firmed once more. “The hobbits were sent home to the Shire and safety. I imagine they passed through Bree at the same time you arrived here. I’m surprised you didn’t see them.”

The Ranger made a soft noise. “My attention has been focused on a different hobbit, I’m afraid.”

“Mr. Baggins, you’ve said,” I continued. “Cob killed the Captain. Atli, Brackenbrook’s son, and I killed Cob and his men and saved as many as we could.”

He nodded. “That’s good, then. I knew you would be strong enough to help them. It’s why I freed you from the Blackwold cell along with the others.” He then admitted, “Other than the fact they had you there and nobody needed to be their captive given their associations. One of the Nine haunted the place. It may have done worse than kill you had I left you there. Amdir…” He trailed off.

My tone sharpened. “He was taken by a red-robed figure in Archet. It looked like the one in black, but…”

Strider sat up straighter and his gaze on me became bladed. I suddenly felt like stepping back from him at the intensity of his gaze and the unexpected surge of intimidation he put off. “A Cargul,” he growled, his jaw tightening. “I should have realized the Rider would have a minion on hand to deal with what it couldn’t.”

“He went willingly,” I continued despite the slight shock of Strider’s steely side coming forth. “It told him to come and he answered as if it were his master.” Strider’s face turned mournful in that moment, guilty, and it surprised me as much as it angered me. “You knew…” I began.

He cut me off. “I knew,” he curtly responded. “I had hoped, however, that he might last until after the battle. That the kingsfoil would give him the strength he needed to fight the evil coursing through him long enough for me to send someone to him who could help him defeat it or…”

“Or dispatch him if not,” I finished for him. “What happened to him?” I wanted to know. I could clearly see the man’s pale features in my mind, looking more and more like he was dying. “I thought his death was close, the way he seemed.”

“And resented me for abandoning him along with the rest of you, without explanation,” he agreed. He didn’t make it an accusation. “I resent myself for having to do so. As his chieftain, it was my duty to be the one aiding him or ending him.” He turned his gaze back to the window once more. “It’s worse than death, once someone has been struck by a Morgul wrought blade. Boromir, son of Denethor, many years past was struck by one and lived a life of pain that shortened his life. He didn’t become like the Cargul or their masters. Amdir’s wound was shallow.” He fell silent for a moment.

I took that moment to speak again. “He’s been killing the Rangers around Bree.”

Strider stilled and his hands clenched for a moment. “Tell me.”

I gave him the information I knew about the situation and how Amdir had been one step ahead of me each time. When I finished, Strider took a deep breath and released it. “Your tidings are grim. While the Blackwolds have been broken, Amdir’s escape bodes ill. He must be stopped before it is too late.”

“Do you want me to wait here and watch for Mr. Baggins while you deal with Amdir?” I asked. It isn’t my problem, I reminded myself. Not my bard; not my song.

Strider shook his head and my frustration mounted. He looked at me with a slight smile. “I have to rely on you, Morchandir, though you are neither a Ranger nor eager to become involved with these issues. For that, I do apologize. Know that we won’t be alone in this. I’ll have two other Rangers accompany us.” The only two left alive in this place? I wondered privately.

He nodded once to himself. “Yours isn’t the only news to come to me. The dwarves and elves to the west have sent news of troubles, too, involving a dwarf clan called the Dourhands. They’ve allied themselves with an old leader long dead and brought to life by Sauron’s dark magic.” He looked to the window once again as he explained how the Dourhand lord had come to Bree, how the Captain of the Nine was almost certainly behind these troubles, and that the Rangers had been watching a Blackwold camp to the east of Bree where Strider felt sure that both Amdir and the dwarf-lord could be found. He told me to prepare myself and meet him at nightfall to attack the camp.

That night, Strider split our group into two with the order that none could leave alive for the good of Middle Earth. It was the best thing he had said to me since our arrival. The Ranger I had been paired with was named Torthann. Our mission was to find Amdir and destroy him while Strider and Lenglinn found another way into the camp, because of course that was how it would be. Any goodwill I had begun feeling for Strider curdled inside me – his man had turned evil and, yet again, he stepped back from responsibility to do something else.

As Torthann and I entered through the front gates, Blackwolds fled from it in terror, saying something about “things” and a mad dwarf. We fought our way into the camp and Torthann sensed the darkness and source of the brigands’ fear to the south. We arrived to see a richly dressed dwarf kill a Blackwold after questioning him unsuccessfully, apparently searching for us. The dwarf raised the dead to fight us and departed further into the camp.

The dead. It was one thing to fight living Blackwolds but quite another to fight skeletal remains drawn from the earth. I knew, then, that we had to be dealing with true evil. Not even death saved someone from Sauron’s grasp. I felt my heart and soul shrink within me. Was this what would await me? Was this the fate that would await us all in the end? Even my Leith?

Torthann and I rested a few moments after we had dispatched the enemy. “‘Who was that dwarf and what power has he to command wights? That the Blackwolds were in terror of that creature is certain, but I still sense something greater still in these ruins. And where is Amdir? Perhaps beyond that gate,” the Ranger told me. No, I wanted to reply, no more. I’m done here. I’m going home to my son and becoming a blacksmith or merchant. I don’t want to see what’s worse than that dwarf!

And yet, when the Ranger pressed on, I followed. If you don’t help them now, it will spread, I realized. Like a disease. How long until it reaches Lake-town? How much closer must Angmar be to Rhovanion to constitute a threat?

I regretted my choice as soon as we finally came upon what we sought. Amdir lay on an altar surrounded by Black Riders and the evil dwarf lord. Torthann and I both lost our nerves as a rolling wave of dread and terror threatened to consume us. All that we could do was cower before the creatures as they ordered Amdir to take up the crimson robes of a Cargul, called the Foresworn, and the one-time Ranger did so. Strider and Lenglinn appeared at that point to aid us as the Riders departed along with the dwarf.

We ended Amdir and the Blackwold servant who had been ordered to kill us alongside him. Afterward, Torthann led me back to Strider, both mourning and resigned at having killed one of his brethren but allowing him some peace. Thinking of the dwarf’s powers, however, I couldn’t agree with his sentiment. Death didn’t seem to free us of evil’s reach.

Back at the Pony, in his room, Strider informed me that the creatures were called Nazgul and that he had no idea what the dwarf named himself or why he might ally with Sauron. He had to leave for the East Road to wait for Mr. Baggins, as he felt he was in danger now, and I couldn’t help but agree. He asked me to head to Combe. Or, in my case, head back to Combe. This time, though, I spoke with Constable Underhill and together, we discovered the dwarf-lord’s presence. The brigands had left the service of Angmar and were paying for it now. Underhill couldn’t catch the dwarf, for which I was actually grateful. I had no intention of dying that day.

I returned to Strider with the news only to find him offering me even more alarming news in turn: the Riders had attacked the Pony looking for Strider’s friends from the Shire. Four hobbits, not just one. He couldn’t tell me why the Riders were so interested in them, but he did say he had more need of my help.

“‘While both you and I have seen five Nazgûl, their true number is nine. Before I can take my charges beyond Bree, I must know where the other four are hiding,” he explained. My mouth was open to reply “good luck with that, then,” when he continued. “‘Would you travel to the west and speak to Lenglinn?” He referred to his hobbit charge as Mr. Underhill with a level look at me that I knew meant I should do the same. I hadn’t exactly met the hobbit but I felt no compulsion to use his real name. False names weren’t unknown to me, after all.

This was when I received the letter I mentioned before asking me to travel to Adso’s Camp. Time may have been of the essence, but I had been offered some information on new skills in my profession – especially when I was told by the so-called trainer that I was a burglar of no small skill, but that was hardly enough. It was a hobbit who offered them, no less, and his goal for me was simple: I had to help him keep brigands from stealing mushrooms from a farmer named Maggot.

I don’t know that I would want mushrooms from a man with the last name of the most disgusting living thing in the world, but I’m not a hobbit, either. Atherol Took assured me that these mushrooms were the best in the world after he greeted me by name. I don’t know that I like being this well-known. It goes against burglar code to me. Regardless, Took said that brigands don’t deserve the mushrooms like we do and we needed to stop them. Sigh. Sure. If it means I can learn new skills to use, it sounds fairly simple.

Atherol had no intentions of letting the mushrooms fall into Men’s hands. This surprised me given I’m a Man and he asked for my help stealing the bloody things. I did so and dispatched the brigands, avoided the dogs, and proved to him that I was more than an adequate burglar, thank you very much. “They’ll fear your shadow from now on, if they have any sense, for you are quite skilled with both of your hands!” he complimented me once we were back at Adso’s.

I couldn’t quite get away yet, though. I was approached by more than one person in the camp about needed things, and once again, brigands kept coming up as the reason for it. Even Adso himself said it was due to Bill Ferny, who he owed money to so that they would leave Adso and his men alone, and I spent no end of time running money to the man. After he betrayed Adso and said he wanted more, Adso had me remove several brigands from some of the farmland nearby and, while I was out, stood up to one of Ferny’s men. While that occurred, other brigands made off with Adso’s food and bullied some of the men working for him. Once more, I went out and defeated brigands to return the goods to Adso. When I got back, Adso pointed out the man he’d stood up to was named Dirk Hawthorn and he set up camp to the east of them and threatened to come back with enough men to raze Adso’s worksite to the ground. I was annoyed enough already, but I had never been fond of bullies, given they’d always tormented me growing up. I handled the business.

I shouldn’t have. Of course, Adso asked me to face down Ferny’s right hand and enforcer, Brunmor, at the Outlaw’s Haven given Ferny had sent him a message. Once I’d stabbed and shanked my way through to handle this problem and returned to Adso, I finished a few other errands for his men, one that took me into the Old Forest nearby and let me meet a breathtakingly beautiful woman at a stream, and settled myself back on my mission for Strider. In fact, I borrowed a horse from Adso with the promise to return it once I was done in Buckland and returning his way so that I could finally move faster than a walk.

I arrived at Lenglinn’s camp to find him laid low but alive. “Aragorn has sent aid!” the Ranger greeted me.

“Aragorn?” I asked with a shake of my head. “Strider did. Who is…”

“Strider is only one of his names,” Lenglinn assured me. “His given name is Aragorn.” He motioned at me. “But no more of that for now.” He looked grim. ” Nazgûl, four more, were in Buckland. They rode swiftly to the east, upon black steeds. I was foolish enough to stand in their way, and they ran me down.”

My hands immediately went toward my visible knives and he shook his head. “I wasn’t stabbed,” he said with a calming gesture. “Not like Amdir.” He continued with, “I will heal in time, but the Riders have left a threat in their wake that must be dealt with. I must ask for your help.”

I slowly relaxed. “Strider sent me to ask you about those four and their whereabouts,” I explained. “I don’t know why I’m helping you or him at this point, but I’m willing to at least listen. What is it you need me to do?” It’s because those things are involved, I realized. It’s because you know they’re evil and don’t want it getting out so that it hurts your son.

He spoke of the crebain in the area watching him. They’re the Enemy’s eyes, I was told. Blinding the Enemy, Sauron, would only help the hobbit and Strider in their cause, whatever it happened to be. I could understand it: if you can’t see, you can’t act to hinder anything. You react only. It made me even more curious about what could possibly be so important about this hobbit.

Once I came back from killing crows, I had to agree with Lenglinn that they weren’t the same kind as found in other areas. He wasn’t done with me yet, though. “I must ask that you do something in Buckland, as it was their Horn-call that alerted me to the presence of the Nazgûl.”

I frowned. “Why do we need to worry about what’s happened in Buckland?” I countered. “Mr. Underhill is with Strider.”

He blinked in confusion much as I had earlier with the name Aragorn. “You say that Underhill is with Aragorn? I know of no Underhills… I was sent to watch over a hobbit named Baggins. I must assume that is whom Aragorn spoke of. That he is safe is welcome news, for my fears are somewhat allayed.” He explained how he had been run down upon racing out onto the road after hearing the horn sound in Buckland. He had meant to stop the four Riders to no avail.

“You’re quite lucky that they didn’t run you through like Amdir,” I noted with a narrowing of my eyes.

Lenglinn made a face. “Yes, yes, scold me if you must. But listen all the same.” He told me that Baggins had a home in Crickhollow, in Buckland, and the Riders had been there. Though he had been relieved that they hadn’t laid hold of Baggins, they could’ve learned something about him from his home before riding to Bree over Lenglinn. “If you learn anything there, return to me. What news you can bring me may help determine the movements of the Nazgûl.” He mentioned Baggins’ first name, though I’m not sure he meant to, as Frodo. Frodo Baggins. I filed the name away just in case.

I shrugged slightly and mounted my borrowed horse to continue down the road a very short way into Buckland. This, at least, I soothed myself, won’t require my life to be in peril. Everything is long gone at this point.

As I rode through the community, I occasionally asked for where Crickhollow might be and Master Baggins’ home. I found it as Lenglinn had described, surrounded by tall hedges, and a hobbit within who called himself Fredegar Bolger. I startled him, though. Once he had calmed, though apparently not much given how he babbled, I offered my name and he offered his. “Those Riders you spoke of, ” I asked, “did they do anything to you? Ask you anything?”

“Did they learn anything from me? Well, those Riders came busting into the house, but I had already slipped out the back way. Not a thing did they get from me,” he answered. He wrung his hands and his voice shook. Not enough to keep him from talking as if I weren’t about to say something, though. ” ‘When the Shirriffs came, they made me tell them about Frodo and the others going off into the Old Forest, but I didn’t say a thing about the Enemy’s Ring…” I blinked and cocked my head at him. He noticed and stammered, ” ‘Oh, dear! I mean…I…”

We both heard it at the same time. “What is that? It sounds like crows….” he said with a frown, turning in the direction of the noise. Even as he pointed out, shielding his eyes, that they were getting awfully close, I knew what they were there for. Crebain. Like the ones I’d just killed; the eyes of Sauron! My blades appeared in my hands as soon as they started falling from the sky to attack so that I could fell them with my thrown knives. I had no arrow or crossbow with bolts. I had only just retrieved them from the corpses when Bolger cried, “Oh no! More at coming!” A second wave? I threw as accurately as I could. Thankfully, there weren’t a great number of them either time.

I was cleaning the knives and replacing them when Bolger told me, “You didn’t get all of them, though! Some flew off into the Old Forest. I hope they don’t come back!” I looked up at him and then at the Forest and clenched my jaw. The same direction that Baggins and his friends went with the Enemy’s ring. I wasn’t sure what Sauron wanted with a piece of his jewelry, but I would have to let Lenglinn know before I could set off into the Old Forest. I knew I would have to if I wanted to find the two remaining crows and get rid of them.

I rode back to the Ranger and explained everything that had happened to him, including Bolger’s mention of the ring. Lenglinn paled at it. “Are you sure that’s what he said?”

“Positive,” I said with a nod. “What’s so spe…” I began.

Lenglinn interrupted me. “The Enemy’s Ring! It is no wonder Aragorn was so secretive as to why the Enemy was seeking Baggins!” He rested back against the ground and gazed up at the blue sky above for several long moments. “It has come to this.”

I squinted at him. “What is this ring, then?”

Lenglinn looked up at me incredulously. “You really don’t know?”

I spread my hands with a sweet smile. “I’m a street rat who can barely read. Educate me, oh Ranger.”

He shook his head a moment before explaining it. “The One Ring. Sauron’s Ring. The Ring of Power.” He waited to see if any of the names had set off recognition in me.

They had. My brows lifted. “That ring? The one from the old stories?”

“That he made to control the other rings given to the races of Middle-Earth, yes,” Lenglinn agreed. “Lost after Isildur’s death and now, apparently, found again.”

“And carried by Mr. Underhill.” I looked toward the Old Forest not far from us. “I thought it was supposed to be the size of a gold coin and blazing with fire?”

“It’s deceptive enough to hide for hundreds of years, waiting.” He lifted himself up again with effort. “If the crebain heard Fredegar’s words, the Enemy will know for certain that the Ring is no longer in the Shire, and all will be lost!

“Worse still. They went the same way that Underhill and his friends did. They may find them in there,” I pointed out. “They have to be brought down.” The Ring of Power, I marveled, slightly terrified. It’s here. Sauron is stirring. The Riders are riding around. Evil things are afoot.

The Ranger grunted. “Finding those birds in the Old Forest will not be a simple task. I would ask that you return to Aragorn in Bree and seek his counsel on how to find these foul birds.”

“What can he do?” I countered perhaps a touch sharply as the first touches of despair entered me. How can we fight against all of this? They barely won the first time against Sauron and his ring, and it was only through a bit of luck from Isildur, according to the stories.

“I don’t know,” Lenglinn offered wearily. “But I’m out of ideas. Simply riding in willy-nilly won’t help anyone. The Forest is a place that people get lost in easily, Morchandir. My chieftain is knowledgeable where I am not. Return to him and see what he has to say. That’s all that we can do right now.”

I had no choice but to return to Strider at the Pony. He seemed even more anxious to get out of the place than when I had left. After giving him Lenglinn’s news and my own experiences, Strider sighed heavily and agreed with Lenglinn’s words as well as the difficulty in finding the crebain. He then said there might be hope in the form of someone named Forn to the dwarves, and Iarwain Ben-adar to the elves. It was the last name, the one Men knew him as, that struck me: Orald. I felt my eyes widen when he said it. “He lives in the Old Forest?” I asked, awe-struck.

Strider seemed slightly amused by my reaction. “He does, Morchandir.” Tom Bombadil was the name he used presently. He offered directions to Bombadil’s house and noted that the safety of his charges mean more, presently, than anything else.

“I understand,” I replied. Things had begun making sense to me now that I knew the truth. I found I couldn’t quite resent Strider after finding out what made these hobbits, and one in particular, so important that he had abandoned his duties to his men and, I knew, probably went against the desires of his own heart when it came to helping those around him in need. He is a good man, I told myself. Or at least, he’s far better than I.

Not knowing how to proceed, I returned to Buckland. Even as I moved through the little town, however, cows on rooftops and missing children distracted me long before I ever reached the entrance to the Old Forest. Even then, I had hobbits asking for help. By the time I finally started looking for the Withywindle, I had become so lost and turned around that I seemingly found every other place but where I wanted. I followed the river once I discovered it and, after fighting with a tree (long story), I stood at the bottom of a hill atop which a cottage stood. I could hear the sound of a man’s singing from somewhere above. “What did I just get myself into?” I asked myself softly as I spotted the ancient and legendary Tom Bombadil… skipping around like a child with a very, very long beard. That can’t be the person I’m here to see, I told myself in growing horror. That cannot be Orald. Did… something happen to him?

Setting myself for the ascent, I trudged up the path praying I hadn’t come here in vain and the oldest thing in creation hadn’t lost his mind like a doddering grandfather.