Saradoc Brandy buck smiled as he looked at Esmeralda. How, after all these years, could it still amaze him that she was his wife? He had set his sights on her when he was still in his teens, that mysterious Took lass with the winsome smile and eyes that danced with mischief. But he had truly thought her well out of his reach. Four years older and no shy wallflower she. Esmeralda had raised many a matron’s eyebrows at the way she would sneak up upon the lads at parties, sweeping one of them onto the dance floor before he knew how they had got there, if she herself had not been asked for that dance. Not every lad’s cup of tea was Paladin Took’s little sister.

Saradoc laughed quietly to himself. Now she lay here on a picnic blanket, his wife of many years, dozing beneath the willows that edged the pond not far from Crickhollow. Merry and Pippin were in Hobbiton to celebrate the birth of Sam’s newest child, his first son, so Saradoc and Esme had decided to spend a few fine summer days at the secluded house. They were having a pleasant time away from all the bustle of the large smial that was their home. No one about but the two of them. A situation that had never been theirs their entire married life unless, like this time, they made a point of going off together. Saradoc longed to wake her, to frolic a bit as they had that morning in bed, but thought the better of it. She simply looked too peaceful to disturb. Instead, he pillowed his head upon her bosom and joined her in dozing.

In the heart of the forest, far from the haunts of Elf, Man or Hobbit, a tenseness had grown. Deep in the woods. Deep in the loam. In the water above the ground and the water below. Where trunks turn to taproots. Where taproots turn to root tips. It had grown and it had spread to the edge of the forest and beyond. Where the waters gathered. Where the roots of trees ran in the good earth that held something bad.

The next afternoon, Tansy, one of the maids at the Hall, had finished her dusting in the formal parlor. She gave the room a last looking over before backing out the door into the entry hall and shutting it behind her. She paused a moment, breathing out a sigh of relief, she was finished not only with the parlor but for the day. The warmth of that relief was washed away by a chill of apprehension when she turned around. Mistress Esmeralda was standing at the door of Brandy Hall. Just standing there. The door was open, the Mistress’ hand upon the knob while her left foot was raised in mid step over the threshold. Tansy stared . . . that foot was yet to complete the step. Seconds passed. Too many seconds passed. Mistress Esmeralda did not move.

“Mistress?” Tansy spoke softly as she came up behind the Master’s wife. “Mistress Esmeralda, are you all right, Ma’am?”

Her mistress did not turn toward her and her foot remained suspended over the door-sill.

“I am going out.” The reply came so quietly Tansy almost didn’t understand it.

“But Mistress, begging your pardon, but it’s pouring rain out.”

“Yes, rain.” The Mistress stared out the door, her foot still raised.

“You’ve no oilskin on, nor an umbrella with you, Mistress.”

“I’m going . . .” Esmeralda gave a slight jerk, nearly losing her balance. Her foot came down to rest atop the threshold. “I’m . . . I’m . . .” She turned to the maid. “Did I say I was going out, Tansy?”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“Well,” Esmeralda stepped back as she pulled the door shut. “Of course I’m not going out.” She chuckled a bit. “ ‘Tis pouring rain, Tansy. No reason to be out and about in that. Good day to you!” She smiled and waved a loose-wristed wave at the lass before heading off toward the part of the huge smial where the Master’s apartments were located. Esmeralda hurried to her sitting room. She shut her door behind herself then sat close to the fire in her rocker. She pulled the pillow out from behind her and hugged it tightly. “Why,” she wondered aloud, “don’t I remember going to the door?”

There were more picnics in the weeks that followed. Esme couldn’t get her fill of them . . . as long as they were near willows. “The sun isn’t as hot under the willows, Saradoc, m’dear,” she would say. “The insects are not as pesty under the willows,” she insisted. “The sound of the branches in the breeze is so pleasant under the willows,” she cajoled. Saradoc always gave in. Esme would always fall asleep under the willows.

Soon there was a picnic every day. Once when Saradoc said he was tired of hiding away under the trees, Esmeralda flew into a rage. “Then you needn’t bother coming!” she screamed as she stormed out the door. She had her picnic alone that day, apparently with no thought for her husband as she did not return. Eventually, as it was nearing dusk, her personal maid and Saradoc’s valet were sent out to retrieve her. From then on, her husband went with her.

If it rained, Esmeralda would not be seen by anyone for large parts of the day. She would come to herself, as if waking from a deep slumber, in a store room at the top of the smial, a room where the roots of the trees upon Buck Hill formed supports for the ceiling. She would hurry to her sitting room to hug the pillow from her rocker and shiver as she gazed into the fire, wondering why she had been caressing old tree roots.

Things were getting out of hand. The picnics were no longer enough. A morning came when his wife was not beside him when Saradoc awoke. He found Esme walking amongst the willows by the banks of the Brandywine. He watched her without calling to her. She walked to and fro along the grassy edge trailing willow branches through her fingers and up against her face. It was as he had been told by neighbors and others who had seen her thus. In the weeks since their time at Crickhollow this, like the picnics, had gradually become a daily habit. And now, it was taking most of Esme’s day.

He moved toward her slowly, quietly. She did not stop her gliding steps through the long branches. He could hear her muttering but even as he drew near he could not understand the words she said. Saradoc followed behind her, planning to confront her when she turned in her pacing. She turned. His wife stepped around him with without a word and continued her walking.

“Esme!”

She did not respond, so he once more followed behind her. This time when she side-stepped him he grabbed her by the shoulders.

“Esme. Esme? Esme!” he shouted as he shook her.

“How lovely the willows are. How their branches float upon the breeze. How cool and comforting are their shadows. How rich the earth they spread their roots in. How nourishing the water they drink.”

“Esme?”

“The willows.”

“Esme,” he moaned her name. The other time that she had become so strange and distant, that other time there had been a reason. The other time, he eventually learned, was because of their lads, because of Merry and Pippin, because they were in trouble. Esme had told him then of some family strangeness, an ever odder trait of the already odd Tooks. She had said that there truly was faerie blood running in the blood of the Tooks and more strongly in some few than in others. She had said that she and Pippin were among those rare few. But this time he knew the lads were at Crickhollow. Saradoc knew his son and nephew were well and in no danger. He drew his dear wife to his chest. She shivered.

“Saradoc. I’m tired, dear.”

“Yes, m’love. Lean on me and we’ll go home.”

“But . . . but . . .” She raised her head to look at him with wild eyes. “The willows. What of the willows, Saradoc?”

He put his arm around her and turned her toward their home. “We will come out for our picnic later, Esme. We will see the willows then.”

“Yes, yes of course. Our picnic. We will come back then. That will be fine,” she replied as she snuggled back into his arm. Yet as they walked toward Brandy Hall Esmeralda kept looking back over her shoulder at the willows.

The messenger from the Hall was frantic. “You must come to the Hall at once, Mr. Merry.” He leaned right and left to try to look around his master’s son. “And Mr. Pippin as well, sir. Your father said to fetch you both as quickly as possible. We mustn’t waste the time in talkin’ young master, haste is needed.”

“Pip!”

“I heard, Merry. Here’s your coat.”

“Yes, my coat. Yes.” Merry looked as though he’d been knocked in the head hard enough to daze him.

“Off you go,” Pippin said to the messenger as he grabbed Merry’s shoulders and started to steer him out the door. “We’ll have ourselves on our way so quickly that chances are we’ll pass you by, but get yourself off to the Hall.” The last bits were shouted back over his shoulder as Merry’s daze had passed and the cousins were jogging toward the stable.

Merry and Pippin were told to go straight to the Master’s quarters. Pippin looked around at the familiar rooms as they passed through the parlor and down the hall to the master bedroom. In the bedroom his eyes went first not to the figure in the bed but to a portrait that hung on the wall across from what was Esme’s side of the bed. Pippin had first seen the painting when he was about seven years old and had decided to go adventuring instead of napping during a family visit to Brandy Hall. He had known right away that the child in the portrait was Merry, in spite of his cousin’s five year old’s features and the ridiculous outfit he was wearing. For some reason Merry had been dressed in a shiny blue fabric with lace about the neck and cuffs of the jacket. Saradoc had not liked the painting, so it was not hung with the other portraits in more public areas of the smial . . . or so went one story that Pippin had been told. Merry told him it was because he had screamed and cried every time he saw it, so it had been moved to his parent’s bedroom.

Saradoc sat in a hard straight-backed chair beside the bed while in the bed lay Esmeralda. Merry thought there was something odd about how his mother was lying but let the thought go unspoken.

“You sent for us, Father?”

“Yes. Yes I did, my dear lads.” Saradoc rose from his seat, reaching to pat his wife’s shoulder before beginning to walk toward the door into the sitting room. “Yes, let’s talk in the other room.”

When the lads were seated, though Saradoc began to pace, he began his tale of the last month and a half. “And then tonight,” he said, having brought them to this point in the recounting, “she headed out the door, out the main door of the Hall, in the dead of night in her nightgown. Not . . . not even with her dressing gown over her. We still . . . if it weren’t that we still have hobbits walking the grounds each night as we did during the occupation . . .” Saradoc finally sank into the wingback chair beside the hearth, his head flopped back against the chair, his eyes clenched shut as though he was in great pain. “She would have gone again to the river bank and . . . and . . .Merry I might have lost her to the river.” His face tightened as tears escaped the corners of his eyes.

Merry reached across and took hold of his father’s hand. His father was gripping his own knee so hard his knuckles showed white through his thin skin.

“This is worse than while you were gone on your journey, Merry. Worse than . . . than,” Saradoc’s eyes opened to gaze at Pippin, anger and pleading mixing in their depths. “Worse than that faerie madness . . .” He gasped, shutting his eyes once again, wishing he could take back the word he had just spoken. “Nonsense. Faerie nonsense that she claimed existed between herself and you, Pippin.” The old hobbit opened his eyes to look again at his nephew. “That at least had an explanation, a sort of reasonable sounding purpose to it to temper the . . . the fact that it was . . . This has nothing. Nothing of reason about it at all. Nothing beyond her being a Took.” The anger returned to his eyes as though it were the fault of the young hobbit before him that the lad’s aunt, that Saradoc’s wife, was a Took. And Tooks were well known by all hobbits to have a tendency toward madness.

Pippin said nothing. He held his uncle’s gaze until the elder hobbit looked away. Pippin would not argue over what had happened between his aunt and himself during the Quest with his uncle. Slow seconds passed before his uncle looked at him again.

“Forgive me, Pippin.” Saradoc’s eyes now looked nothing more than terribly weary. “Forgive me. It is not for me to say aught about all of that. Be it as it may, this is nothing like that and this time even more than before I fear for my dear Esme’s sanity.” He looked to his son. “Merry I need you here. I’m old and easily tired and your mother needs watching over. I ordered her tied to the bed. Tied to the bed, Merry! I feel like I’m torturing her. But I had to do something so I would know that she couldn’t try to leave again and I cannot trust myself to stay awake.”

“I’m here for as long as you need me, Da. I thought that she looked . . . We’ll undo the ties when we are done out here and I’ll sit with her. We will work this out, Da. You’ll see. You, Pippin and I will work this out and she’ll be well again.” Tears dripped from Merry’s lashes to run down his cheeks.

“Give me a moment,” Pippin said as he rose from his chair and walked toward the bedroom door.

“To do what?” his uncle’s tone was gruff.

“I don’t know, really. Just . . .” Pippin looked from his uncle to his cousin. Merry knew that look well, he was rarely able to refuse his younger cousin anything when it was asked for with that look. “Give me a bit of time with her.” Without waiting for their answer, Pippin went into the bedroom and shut the door behind him.

His aunt lay on the bed. Esme was asleep, the bedclothes hiding the cloths that bound her. Pippin sat upon the hard chair where his uncle had sat just a short while ago. He wondered that he hadn’t known there was something amiss with her. All through the long year of the Quest there had been a growing connection between him and his Aunt Esme, a connection, he had learned from her after he was home, that was not uncommon between certain members of the Took family. She said it would happen sometimes when there was a strong bond between family members and one of them was hurt or in danger. Pippin understood. He had learned while on his journey about the faerie blood that flowed in the veins of the Tooks of the Shire, in some more purely than in others. He had met Cullassisul, the immortal faerie whose blood he and his aunt shared.

All of which brought him back to where he had started . . . why hadn’t he known of this? His hand trembled slightly as he reached to smooth his aunt’s hair. She stirred and opened her eyes.

“Hullo, Aunt Esme.”

She blinked a few times before answering. “Pippin? Whatever are you doing here?” She didn’t struggle against her bonds, she only looked at him.

“Eh, Uncle thought that Merry and I should come. He’s worried about you.”

“He needn’t, you know. I’m fine, Pippin. In fact, other than being a bit stiff from not being able to turn, I feel wonderfully rested. Would you undo these straps so I may stretch?”

He almost did as she asked . . . until Pippin looked into his aunt’s eyes. They were strangely cold, their green color looking like the green stuff on rocks viewed through the brownish water of the Brandywine River. Pippin did not move.

“Really, my dear, I’m fine. Just loosen them a bit.”

Pippin did not move, he barely breathed. In fact he felt he couldn’t breathe, though it seemed to him he could hear the air in the room stirring on a breeze. It nearly took all the strength he felt he had just to respond.

“I . . . eh . . . Uncle Saradoc, it’s . . . that is his decision to make, Aunt Esme,” he whispered as he rose on suddenly unsteady legs and backed away from the bed. “I will . . . tell him you’re . . . awake, Auntie.” Pippin felt behind him for the doorknob, turned it with a jerk then nearly fell though the opening into the sitting room. He turned, shutting the door by leaning against it. He was pale and panting as though he had just run a fair distance.

“Don’t go back in there, Uncle Saradoc,” Pippin finally managed to say.

“Pippin?” Merry had jumped to his feet.

“You neither, Merry. You mustn’t go in there either. It isn’t safe.” Pippin sharply drew in a breath. “She isn’t safe.”

“What do you mean, Pippin.” Saradoc also stood closing the distance to his nephew with a few quick steps until they were nearly chest to chest. “What do you mean, Pippin?” he repeated.

“I don’t know, Uncle. I truly don’t know. It . . . well.” Pippin closed his eyes, lowering his head and turning his face to one side. He took a long, slow, deep breath, holding it a few seconds before releasing it as slowly as he had drawn it. He raised his head. The strength he had found in himself while in the lands of Men shone in his eyes. “Just don’t go in there. She’ll be all right for now. In a bit, say half an hour, go in with Berilac and see if she is asleep or in need of the chamber pot or some food and drink. I don’t know what to say if she needs the chamber pot because I strongly feel that you mustn’t untie her.” He took hold of his Uncle’s shoulders. “Do you understand me? Don’t go in that room alone, don’t let any hobbit go in there alone, and don’t untie her. She’ll be gone. I’m not sure anyone could stop her.”

“But . . .”

“No!” Pippin tightened his hold on his uncle’s shoulders. “No, Uncle. Just trust me. Trust us. Trust Merry and me, we’ll get this figured out and solved. Can you do that? Can you trust us?” He felt the elder hobbit’s shoulders droop under his hands so pulled his uncle into a firm hug lest his knees go weak as well. “You know we love her only a bit less than you do.”

“Yes,” Saradoc whispered. He hugged his nephew in return then straightened while raising a hand to wipe at his eyes. “Yes. I trust you both implicitly. I will do as you ask, but tell me, what will you be doing?”

Pippin smiled broadly. “I’ve really no idea at all,” he said almost cheerily and Saradoc heard the tweenager that Pippin still was in the lad’s voice. His coming of age was still a couple of months away. “But not to worry,” the lad quickly added, “That doesn’t mean doing nothing.” His demeanor changed, once more Sir Peregrin Took of Gondor was speaking. “I’ve this strong feeling that the ideas will find us. We’ll take our leave of you now and hopefully not be gone too long before we are back with some answers.” Pippin dipped his head a bit to look steadily into his uncle’s eyes. “Will you be all right? Can you do as I’ve told you?”

“Yes, yes. You two soldiers go forth and . . . soldier. Find whatever this is. Go, you’ve my blessing and my urgency going with you.”

The lads each gave Saradoc a firm hug and a kiss on his cheek before leaving him alone in his sitting room.

“I only hope this does in truth come from without my dear Esme’s head and not from within it.” Saradoc Brandybuck spoke aloud to the empty room then he left to find a servant to fetch Berilac.

The cousins were on their way to the guest quarters when a voice behind them interrupted the discussion they were having about what they should do.

“Mr. Merry, sir!”

Merry and Pippin both turned to see Molodoc Brandybuck hurrying after them, a bit of a surprise as he worked out in the stables and lived in an apartment over the stable.

“Mr. Merry, sir. A moment of your time, if I may,” Molodoc puffed as he came up beside the cousins. “And you as well, Mr. Pippin.”

“Of course, Molo,” Merry said. “Why don’t you come with us to our sitting room. That will be better I think than speaking out here in the tunnels.”

They went the short distance to the guest’s quarters and were soon seated, the cousins upon the small sofa their guest upon the chair across from them.

“What is it that brings you into the hall, Molo?” Merry inquired. “I remember you telling me more than once you didn’t like how easy it is to get lost in here.”

The stable-hobbit blushed a bit. “That’s the truth of it, Mr. Merry. But I saw yer pony ‘n Mr. Pippin’s in the stable ‘n I’ve heard a bit of talk from down south a-ways that I thought you aught to be hearin’. From my cousin in Standelf , you understand, sir. Not just any talk.”

“I understand. What’s the word from Standelf?”

Molo looked around nervously as though the three of them weren’t alone in the room. “Well, sir . . . it touches on what’s been amiss with the Mistress. Seems there be some hobbits ‘n hobbitesses down south of here what have been growin’ o’er fond of bein’ outdoors . . . amongst willow trees.” He looked back and forth between the cousins. “Some of us had thought of tellin’ the Master, but it all just seemed so much talk. But now, well just this evening at the inn, my third cousin who had just been to Standelf doing some business ‘n had spoke with our cousin there heard tell of something that has us right frightened for the Mistress. I aught, I s’pose, be telling yer father but the Master hasn’t been none too well himself ‘n . . . well . . .”

Merry nodded and smiled at the nervous hobbit. “Yes, quite right of you to be concerned for my father’s health, Molo. I’m glad I’m here. Give me your news and I’ll judge as to telling my father.”

“Word is, Mr. Merry, that there’s one hobbitess, she being older like yer mum, what’s n’er home to be doing her bakin’ ‘n cleanin’ but is out walkin’ in the willows, ‘n a young lad what near drowned in a pond with willows all ‘bout it.”

Pippin felt a shiver pass through Merry, and himself, then Merry spoke. “That is news indeed, Molo. News indeed.” Merry paused a moment before continuing as he rose to his feet. “I’ll see to informing my father. No need to trouble yourself about that.” Pippin and the stable-hobbit stood as well as hands were shaken all round.

“Thank you, Mr. Merry. I weren’t all that eager to be the one tellin’ the Master. I hope things go well with the Mistress.” Molo bobbed his head to the Master’s son and left the room.

Merry waited until Molo was well away before turning to Pippin. “I’ve the feeling we won’t be finding answers here at the Hall, Pip.”

“I did tell Uncle that the ideas would come to us. I gather you have one.”

“Da said this all seemed to happen after that time they spent at Crickhollow. I think we will go home, Pippin, and start where it started.”

“Agreed!” Pippin said cheerily, clapping Merry on the shoulder. “My thoughts exactly.”

They spent the ride to Crickhollow in quiet conversation, going over both Saradoc’s story and Molodoc’s. They were on the grounds of the small house when Merry’s eyes were drawn to where the pond lay, hidden by it’s hedge of willows that looked like grey haystacks in the moonlight.

“Let’s have a look, Pippin.” Merry jerked his head toward the ghostly trees.

Pippin raised a brow at his cousin. “Now? In the dark, Merry?”

“Yes,” came Merry’s whispered reply, made softer because he did not look at Pippin but continued to stare at the moon-greyed trees. “Now, in the dark. I want to have a look now.”

They went first to the stable, removing bridle and saddle and putting their mounts in their stalls, then headed for the pond on foot.

Together they made their way through the curtains of willow branches until they stood in a bit of a clearing at the water’s edge. They were tense with every sense on edge, straining to catch . . . they knew not. Finally, with a nod and flick of his hand, Merry set he and Pippin off in opposite directions around the small pond. The banks were a nice wide walk-way and they would not be out of one another’s sight.

“Moon beams are shining.”

Merry stopped so quickly he swayed.

“Soft light on the water dancing. Soft the breezes blowing. Swaying willow branches.”

He shook his head to clear it. He looked for Pippin, but couldn’t see him.

“Sleep. Hobbits need their slumber. Sleep beneath the soft moonlight. Sleep beneath the gentle branches.”

Merry fell to his knees and almost flat on his face . . . but no. He knew this whisperer. Something grew within him and he was roused. He needn’t listen to the soothing song in his head. He had to find Pippin. They had to get clear of the willows. He rose as though burdened by a heavy pack upon his back and began to stumble his way around the pond. Pippin had to be here somewhere. Merry tripped falling heavily onto his chest.

When he’d regained his breath, Merry looked to see what had tripped him, expecting to see willow roots wrapped about his feet. He had tripped over Pippin, who lay across the open space of the bank as still and glassy eyed as when he had looked into the palantir. Merry made no effort to rouse the lad. He struggled to his feet, grabbed Pippin’s wrists then began dragging him through the line of trees and away from the pond.

“Sleep. Slumber. Rest.”

“Peace. Repose. Doze.”

“Relax. Nap. Dream.”

The whispers tugged at Merry’s mind as he fought to stay focused on getting Pippin to safety. He was nearly to the stable before he stopped. He felt for Pippin’s pulse, gently closed his glassy eyes, then hoisted his cousin over his shoulder and carried him into their home.

Pippin slowly opened his heavy eyelids. He felt as he had on occasions when he had been ill and given some healer’s concoction to make him sleep.

“About time you showed some life, cousin.”

Pippin turned his head to look at the blurry form of Merry sitting beside his bed. “In bed?” he mumbled.

“Yes.”

“Home?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t remember.” A shiver ran through him, then Pippin stretched his legs and back. He was feeling more alert. “I don’t remember coming to bed, well, nor getting home for that matter.”

“I took us on a detour I shouldn’t have taken us on.” Merry’s voice had a serious tone. “And it was rougher on you than me. Do you remember anything about our trip to the pond?”

Pippin shivered once more. He turned his head away from his cousin to squint at the sunlight that poured through the round window of his bedroom. “I . . . I seem to remember thinking you were being awfully daft to want to go there in the dark. Well, in the moonlight. I remember walking into the willows and out onto the bank in the moonlight. We . . . why did we go off separately?”

“Because I was being daft as you’ve said. What else?”

Pippin still stared at the beam of light cutting through his room. “I remember wondering why the moonlight was so bright. It was . . . was . . . filled with whispers about sleeping and . . .” He finally closed his eyes against the glare of the sunlight. He remembered now. The whispers had turned sharp and cruel. ‘Vile faerie’s spawn!’ was the last thing he heard before all had vanished in a flash of pain. “It turned painful,” was all he said to Merry.

“Anything familiar about it?”

“I . . . should there have been?” Pippin turned from the light to look at Merry.

“It wasn’t the first time willows, well a willow, has told us to sleep.”

“Old Man Willow!” Pippin bolted upright in his bed.

“Yes,” Merry said as he stood. “You seem awake now. Get yourself up and dressed while I fix us tea. It’s well into the afternoon now. We’ll eat while we make our plans for going into the Old Forest tomorrow.” Merry cut off any chance of argument by walking briskly out of Pippin’s room.

Dawn found the cousins on the Buckland side of The Gate. Merry had ridden to Brandy Hall after tea to get the key from his father. They wore their tabards, though not their mail, feeling mail would do nothing to protect them against this foe. Their swords were at their sides and they carried axes in their belts. Merry opened The Gate then closed and locked it behind them. They walked down the tunnel and through the gate at the other end. They were in the Old Forest. The cousins had made no plans for finding Old Man Willow. They knew all paths would lead them to the Withywindle, and the river would lead them to the Willow. And lead them to the Willow it did.

The air had been heavy from the moment they set foot in the Old Forest, tense and watchful. By the time they reached the river it was an effort to breathe. And yet, there had been a sense of caution as well, as though the trees were holding back. The path they were on stayed close about them until without warning they nearly fell into the river with Old Man Willow right beside them.

Old Man Willow did not bother with whispers.

“Foolish walkers! Unwary movers! Your kind have not yet paid the price due us, we whose lands these were before any Filthy Two-Foots came.”

The hobbits set their teeth and went to work. Merry was the better swordsman, his sword of Rohan sliced through the branch-whips that sought to lash and bind them while Pippin set to work with an axe to the Willow’s roots. Other willows swayed and sang of the doom of all two-footed beings adding their whip-branches to the fray. Yet still the hobbits felt that something constrained the other trees from taking part.

Pippin was having trouble with Old Man Willow’s gnarled roots. How near to an Ent’s they were, writhing through the earth like so many rough-skinned snakes. They would reach for his arms seeking to grab hold and bind him. He barely managed to keep free and still chop at them with the ax. In his mind he kept searching for any hint of help from the faerie who had helped him bear the struggles of the Quest, but there was no sign of Cullassisul’s presence.

“You are accursed!” Pippin heard Merry screaming at the Willow. “We have met the Eldest. We are friends of Tom Bombadil. We are friends of the Ents. We know you are not like them. Fangorn would crush you in a moment if he knew you were harming hobbits. We’ll put an end to you yet!”

But the Willow was winning. Thin branches managed to wrap around Pippin’s axe as he raised it to strike another blow, while several roots encircled his legs to pull him down. Then he heard Merry’s desperate call:

“Ho! Tom Bombadil, Tom Bombadillo!
By water, wood and hill, by reed and . . .”

Merry voice faltered. He gasped for air as the thin willow branches tightened around his chest. It had been decided that this song would be their last defense. A last hope if all was failing sent out to one they only hoped remained in Middle Earth. “By reed and . . .” He tried again but no farther could he get with his song. Then Merry heard a faint whisper that quickly grew into a mighty shout.

“By water, wood and hill, by reed and willow!
By fire, sun and moon, harken now and hear them!
Come, Tom Bombadil, for their need is near them!”

The other trees of the Old Forest had found their voices.

“Friends of the Eldest, hear us now and know us!
By Fangorn you’ve been blest, you need not fear us.
Help shall we get for thee, the Eldest he shall find thee.
Harmed not shall you be, the Eldest he shall save thee.”

Merry tried to feel assured by what he heard but darkness took him and he knew no more.

Pippin woke slowly, at first only aware of feeling his body lying on something soft. He didn’t think Old Man Willow had killed him, but he felt very much at peace. Eventually he stirred and stretched, then lay with his eyes closed wondering why the air smelled of autumn.

“Can you forgive me?”

Pippin’s eyes flew open. He was looking straight into eyes that were the match of his own. It was Cullassisul. She reached out to run her fingers through his hair at his temples.

“You’re here. I mean you are really here.” He pulled his eyes from hers to glance quickly around the room. “Wherever here is. Where are we?” He looked into her eyes once more.

“In the house of Tom Bombadil. The Eldest heard your cries for help.”

A mix of feelings ran through Pippin. Joy and relief mixing with frustration and curiosity. “He’s still here then. We were hoping he was,” he said with a smile which then faded. “But you weren’t. You weren’t at the Willow and you weren’t with Aunt Esme in . . . What happened to Old Man Willow? Where’s Merry? He was whispering to hobbits in Buckland. He may have even killed someone by now. He tried to kill . . . Where’s Merry?”

“The brother of your heart is in yonder bed,” she replied with a nod of her head toward the side of the room to Pippin’s right. There, not far away, he saw Merry, well tucked up in a soft bed upon the flagstone floor. He turned back to the faerie with a sigh.

“That takes care of that. But what of you and Old Man Willow? What’s become of that monster and why didn’t you help?”

Cullassisul resumed her stroking of her many times great grandson’s hair. “I am a child of the woods, my Falcon. I do not rule them, nay, in some ways the woods rule me. When you and the Ring-Bearer entered these woods before on your Journey, I was not able to come to your aid then either.” She gazed into an unseen distance. “The woods of my birth were part of these woods when they were much greater in size and power. All these years hence it still holds sway over me in many ways.” She brought her gaze back to Pippin, her eyes holding his in their effortless way. He saw a mighty forest, green with its newness, stretching for leagues. He felt its strength flowing from her fingertips into him. “Mighty among the tree folk was the Willow of the Withywindle. Quickly he grew jealous of all footed kind. Quickly he hated the Two-Foots that were given leave to use the trees of the forest as they would. Great harm did he bring to my people and long we avoided his part of the woods.”

Her eyes filled with sorrow as sparkling tears slipped from them. “I could not see nor feel the trouble he was causing because he commanded that I should not. He did take a life. A young hobbit lad near where my child who is like to your mother dwells.” Her look softened a bit. “But she lives. She is now free of her enslavement. The Eldest freed her, freed all. Old Man Willow is no more.”

Pippin took her hand in his and kissed it. “You are here. Really truly here. How is this? I . . . I thought you might have gone like the Elves, well, most of the Elves.”

“I am here, truly here because, like the Eldest, my folk are bound to Middle-Earth. We are of it and it is of us. Here we shall be until its ending.” She looked deeply into her child’s eyes. “Have I your forgiveness, my Falcon?”

Pippin nodded against her hand, kissing it once more. “Yes. How could I not forgive you.”

Cullassisul placed her other hand upon his brow. “Then there is peace, my Falcon. There is peace for now in our lives. Rest now. The Eldest will care for you then send you back to your home. Be at peace.”

Pippin floated away on the notes of her voice.