Chapter 12. Fare-thee-well

Elves watched Thorn pour the potion directly into the angry-looking wound, lay a clean cloth over the top and soak it in more of the solution.

 ‘What now?’ Elladan said. Elf-medicine would have called for Glorfindel to drink much water, eat strengthening food, rest, and heal, in addition to treating the wound, but their ointments had shown little effect. He could only hope Thorn's leaves would work quickly and well.

 ‘Get him to drink as much as possible,’ Thorn replied. ‘The water we took from the spring is clean and fresh and has some healing properties from the leaves that grow around it. We filled several bottles; let us put them to good use.’ He squinted into the canopy of surrounding trees that were slowly becoming visible as the Sun arose from her rest. ‘The creatures have gone to ground in the direction of the stream,’ he said. ‘It is safe to descend. They are probably trying to find a way to cross over, to find the makers of the fire.’

Elladan grinned. ‘Kill two birds with one stone,’ he said. ‘Make a healing potion and lead the orcs away from our hiding place.’

 ‘Do your folk hunt with stones like we do?’ Beech asked in surprise. ‘I had the impression that you used spears and arrows and long knives.’

 ‘Swords,’ Elrohir said. Beech nodded, taking in the new word. Already he spoke as if he’d learned the Common Tongue at his mother’s knee.

By the time all had descended from the treetops, the angry red under the soaked cloth was already receding, though Glorfindel remained unresponsive, his fever worryingly high. ‘It is having some good effect,’ Elladan said.

 ‘He is not strong enough to survive the mountain crossing,’ Elrohir replied. ‘Let us bear him to the halls of Thranduil, to heal and grow strong again.’ He looked to Thorn and Beech. ‘Will you come with us?’

 ‘Where are the halls you mention?’ Thorn asked.

 ‘To the North,’ Elrohir answered.

 ‘What lies to the North? Clean forest?’ Beech asked hopefully, but his face fell when the son of Elrond shook his head.

 ‘A blight is upon all the forest,’ he answered soberly. ‘The stream that runs northwards from the mountains in the middle of the wood runs black...’

 ‘Just as the stream Thorn and I crossed, the one that runs southwards,’ Elladan said.

 ‘There is at least one nest of great spiders and rumour of other evils, even spirits,’ Elrohir continued. ‘Greenwood the Fair is becoming dark and loathsome, more a wood of murk than green I fear.’

Thorn nodded. The Lady had whispered as much in his heart. She had protected the People for long years under her skirts, much as the mother grouse spread her wings over her chicks. The time of childhood had passed; it was time for the People to go out and make their own way.

 ‘What are we to do?’ Beech said, seeing the faraway look.

 ‘The Lady sends us out,’ Thorn said. ‘The days wax warmer and longer, the snow in the Mountains will be growing less rather than more, and now is the time for the Crossing.’

 ‘The Lady will lead us over the Mountains?’ Beech asked, while other hobbits pressed closer to hear the reply.

Thorn shook his head, the faraway look fading. ‘She sends us with her blessing,’ he said.

 ‘Sends us... away?’ Beech said, horrified.

Thorn put a comforting hand on his arm. ‘She sends her grace with us,’ he said simply. ‘It is time for us to assume the cloak of adulthood.’

The elves watched, mystified, as the little folk among them bowed their heads in grief, tears flowing freely.

 ‘What is it?’ Arwen asked gently.

 ‘My lady,’ Thorn said with a bow. ‘You must take this-un,’ he gestured to Glorfindel, ‘to a safe place to find healing. Time is all he needs now, time and rest.’

 ‘Yes,’ Arwen said. ‘And what of your people? You will come with us?’ Her hand tightened on young Pick’s; how glad she had been to meet the engaging young hobbit again, to laugh at his stories and teach him some of their songs.

 ‘We cross the Mountains now, in obedience to the wishes of the Lady,’ Thorn said. ‘She has warned me against tarrying. We must go now, while Summer is upon us. We dare not wait until the alf is well. You Big Folk may be able to walk in the snows of late Summer but I doubt we of the People would fare as well.’ Just then Elrohir was called away, but before he left the little group he locked eyes with his twin and a look passed between the twain.

 ‘Do you want a guide?’ Elladan said now. ‘We could send some of our folk with you.’

 ‘Our way through the mountains will not be so perilous as your way through the darkening wood,’ Thorn said. ‘You will need all your warriors, I think, for the Lady warns that the danger is great upon the paths to the North.’

 ‘What do you mean?’ Elladan demanded.

 Thorn cocked his head as if listening, a puzzled look on his face. ‘I do not know,’ he admitted with a shrug, 'but the Lady says to guard on all sides, and when you hear the thunder grumble you are to throw yourselves to the ground, even if it is in the midst of battle.’

 ‘Throw ourselves down...’ another of the Elves gathered to listen said.

 ‘As for a guide... the grey one has shown us the way to go.’ Quickly he sketched a map in the dirt.

Elladan nodded. ‘That would bring you out of the Mountains to the North of Imladris—my father’s house,’ he added at Thorn’s blank look. ‘I would send a warrior or two with you in any event.’

The leader of the Fallohides drew himself up to his full height, gazing keenly into the eyes of the kneeling son of Elrond. ‘I cannot account for their safety,’ he said soberly. ‘The Lady’s protection will not be upon them if they go another way.’

 ‘And what of your safety?’ Elladan persisted.

 ‘The Lady has promised that the People will survive,’ Thorn replied. ‘If we go now, while the snows are at their lowest, that is.’ When the son of Elrond would have spoken again, the hobbit shook his head. ‘Do not burden us with the sorrow of needless loss,’ he said. ‘Send no warriors with us.’

Elladan conceded defeat. The Little Folk, he suspected, would argue the point until the Sun rose to her zenith and descended into her bed again, and that would benefit none of them. ‘If you will not have a guide, we will not force one upon you. I ask only this: seek my father when you reach the other side, and he will give you aid and sound counsel.’

 ‘He is Big like you, and knows us not,’ Thorn said doubtfully.

 ‘My father is wise among the Firstborn,’ Elladan said proudly. ‘He will not judge you by your stature alone, and if you bring him this,’ he took an emerald from a hidden place, pressing it into the Halfling’s hand, ‘he will welcome you on my behalf.’

 ‘Our thanks,’ Thorn said, bowing. The green jewel sparkled on his hand a moment before he secreted it in his clothing.

 ‘We are the ones who owe thanks,’ Elladan replied with a bow of his own. ‘Grace go with you,’ he added. He had a feeling the Little Folk would need all the grace available to them, never having crossed the mountains, with only a wizard’s words to guide them. He’d have felt much better had they waited for Glorfindel’s healing and crossed with the Elves, or if Mithrandir had appeared out of nowhere as he so often did and offered to guide the hobbits. Nevertheless, if their Lady was telling them to go, who was he to gainsay them?

The hobbits watched the fair folk fade into the shadows, singing softly a song to bless them on their way, much as a family would have blessed departing visitors in the old days, when a journey was no farther than from one hobbit hole to another. Their eyes caught a last shimmer of light and their ears heard a scrap of an answering song and then they were alone once more. Thorn eased his burden on his back, checked his arrows, took up his staff, and nodded to the hunters.

Well-practiced now, the hunters took up their positions before, after, and to the sides of the main body of hobbits. As the Fallohides marched along, scouts ran swiftly ahead to look for dangers along Thorn’s chosen path. They retraced their steps to the Road and travelled alongside, well out of sight, making their way to the West and the wood’s end. It took them more than a day to reach the open fields leading to the ford, what with the need for caution. They saw no more gobble-uns. Either the creatures had managed to cross the stream in pursuit of the “fire-makers”, or they had followed the elves perhaps. Would it be too much to hope they’d gone back to their lairs?

Thorn kept track of traffic on the Road. He wondered if they should travel the open stretch to the River by night despite the Lady’s warning. He did not know how else to avoid Men. He talked this over with Beech.

 ‘The Big Folk have rest days, much as the People did at one time,’ Beech said. ‘It is something we had in common with them in the old days, before they drove us from the land.’

 ‘Really?’ Thorn said. He’d no idea they had anything in common with Big Folk. Beech’s family had been the ones to maintain contact with Men, in addition to handing down the old tales and traditions in stories carefully taught by older generation to younger. When Beech’s father was cut down by Men, a lifetime of acquired wisdom died with him, as well as all the tales he’d not yet taught his sons. He’d been the youngest and last of the lore-masters; the others had been taken with their families by the gobble-uns. Hobbits were cut off from their origins, with only a few scraps of remembered story and a Past that went back only as far as living memory. It was up to them to weave a Past for future generations to look back upon.

Thorn and Beech walked on, each deep in their own thoughts. Finally Thorn said, ‘They take rest days? Would the Road be free of Men on one of these days?’

 ‘O aye,’ Beech said. ‘Our rest days were the same as theirs, every sixth day a day to feast and rest when morning’s work was done. They might travel to a neighbour’s house on that day, but I doubt they’d be carting loads to market along the Road.’

 ‘Good,’ Thorn decided. ‘We’ll camp not far from the edge of the wood and keep a watch on the road. I’ve counted four days of traffic thus far...’

 ‘We might have missed a rest day while we were with the alf-people,’ Beech commented.

 ‘Mayhap,’ Thorn said cautiously. ‘I don’t like to keep the People in one place for any length of time.’

 ‘The Men start their business early,’ Beech said. ‘They’re already walking the Road or driving their carts at first light.’

 ‘Then we look for a day when no Men or carts appear early,’ Thorn said, ‘and hope for the best.’

 ‘Has the Lady said...?’ Beech asked.

Thorn shook his head. ‘She’s said nothing since we left the alfs. Perhaps She has already said fare-well.’ He raised his head to look about the wood, scanning the trees that surrounded them. ‘There’s no danger,’ he said softly. ‘The birds are singing, the leaves whispering as they always do. I haven’t even heard a black squirrel scold.’

 ‘She is singing us a fare-well song,’ Beech said. He wiped a tear from his eye.

 ‘We’ll sing Her one in return, when it is time to leave the wood,’ Thorn said quietly. ‘We go with Her blessing, and with the grace of the alfs.’ I only hope that will be enough, he thought to himself. They continued in silence.