Chapter 3

Sam arrived just after dusk and the four hobbits enjoyed a delightful – and if Sam wasn’t quite mistaken, an unusually long – supper together. Just as they finished one serving, Frodo would produce a second, third and fourth, and he had at some point during the afternoon made a pie, two in fact, which he dished out in servings of very thin slices and took his time retrieving.

Merry and Pippin happily ate whatever was put before them, and Sam suspected that Frodo was attempting to make them so full and content that they would fall asleep where they sat. That plan failed of course and once all the food was consumed, Frodo put his cousins to work cleaning up the kitchen.

While they were preoccupied, Frodo gave Sam the pack he had prepared for his use. He allowed the gardener to go through it and make sure there wasn’t anything he had forgotten to include. Sam could see nothing missing but made a quick stop to the pantries all the same, then carried his pack to the porch and set it down with the others. He then took the many water skins to fill at the well, where Frodo joined him for a customary pre-journey pipe.

Far too soon, Merry and Pippin joined them and declared the kitchen clean. Frodo went through the smial to ensure all the fires and candles were extinguished, then locked up the doors and windows and met his companions on the front porch. Now having no other way to stall the inevitable, Frodo shouldered his pack and his companions followed suit. Merry and Sam waited for Frodo to take the lead, but Pippin dashed down the walk path to the gate, which he then held open for the others. Once on the lane, they all looked at Frodo expectantly.

“To the Water then,” Frodo eventually commanded and everyone fell into step around him.  

The night air was warm and a welcome relief from the day’s suffocating heat. A half moon hung in the sky above and bathed the land in muted light. The stars added their own dim radiance and the hobbits passed quietly along the lane, stepping surely and confidently, their walking sticks in hand.

They reached the bottom of the Hill and turned west at the Water. They followed the babbling river out of town, enjoying the hushed stillness of the land. Evening flowers bloomed and filled the air with their rich fragrance, and in the distance crickets chirped and frogs croaked, and beside them, the Water lapped gently upon the riverbank.

Hobbiton was soon behind them and the last of the homesteads that dotted the outskirts of town were dark and silent. Another half-mile down the river and there was nothing surrounding them but the dark water and the vast, vacant fields. Frodo turned them north and slightly back to the east, so they would reach Bindbole at its southernmost point. If they went due north, they would risk missing the forest altogether or coming upon it on its long western edge, which was not where Frodo wanted to go as there were no paths there to lead them into the woods.

They passed a time in complete silence, not even their footfalls making a sound in the soft and tender grass. Then Pippin grew tired of the silence and became restless with the inactivity of only walking. He looked up at the stars, which Frodo seemed to be using as a guide or compass through the fields. “Do the stars have names?” he asked, so suddenly his companions jumped slightly. “I mean, trees have names, like fig and elm. Are there different types of stars?”

Merry and Sam waited patiently for an answer. Sam of course knew much about the stars, having grown up on tales of the Elves, but he was always eager to hear more. Merry knew a little also but the thought that there were different types of stars had never before occurred to him. He supposed the idea made sense. There were so many stars after all; they couldn’t all be exactly the same.

Frodo slowed the pace slightly as he considered the question and regarded the stars more closely than he had been previously. The one to really answer that question, short of the Elves themselves, was Gandalf, but as the wizard had seemingly disappeared from the Shire for good, there was no chance of asking him.

Finally, Frodo pointed at one particularly bright star, somewhat larger than all the others. “See that one there?” Pippin nodded in answer. “That is Eärendil’s star, and it’s light comes from a Silmaril, beset on the brow of Eärendil the Mariner, and it shines as a beacon of hope to all on Middle-earth as he sails the skies for time eternal.”

“Well done, Frodo,” Merry said with a grin. “Now he has even more questions.”

One look at Pippin proved this declaration to be true. Frodo could almost see the questions whizzing around in the young Took’s head and Frodo knew the only reason for Pippin’s silence was that he was trying to decide which question to ask first.

“Ah, but that’s always the risk of answering a Took,” Frodo said. “You answer one question and get twenty more in return.”

Pippin ignored the teasing, as he had far more important things on his mind. “So then, what’s a Silmaril and what is it hope for? And how can it shine so bright that we can see it all the way down here? How big it is? And who’s Eärendil and why is he sailing around in the skies? And how can you sail in the skies anyhow? Is that what all the stars are then and who or what put them up there?”

Frodo smiled fondly at his youngest friend and started with the first question. This could turn into a long conversation – if Pippin didn’t think of something else to talk about – and it would be a pleasant way to pass the time.

“I do not know the full tale, just pieces of it,” he started. “A Silmaril is a jewel of pure light and it was made by an elf named Fëanor during the First Age. There were three such jewels, made from the light of the Two Trees, and they were the most beloved creation of the Elves. But with their beauty came the greed to possess them, and many battles were fought for them, between the Elves themselves, and the Elves and the Enemy.

“Two of the jewels were lost, but one eventually came to be in the possession of Eärendil, a great warrior of Men. He was Half-Elven actually: his mother was an Elf, but his heart lay in the way of the Men of his father. The battles with the Enemy had reached a peak and all in Middle-earth seemed lost, so Eärendil set sail upon the seas to find the shrouded island of the Valar. With the Silmaril upon his brow, he was able to find his way to Valinor with his wife Elwing, and he beseeched the Valar for help in the wars with the Enemy on behalf of the Two Kindreds.

“The Valar granted his request but as he was mortal, they would not allow him to return to Middle-earth after setting foot on Valinor. Instead, they set him to sail the skies in his great ship, with the Silmaril ever upon his brow, till the end of days. It was the light of that new star that announced the coming of the Valar to Middle-earth that led to the downfall of the Enemy, and the Elves named it Gil-Estel, the Star of High Hope, and they were relieved, for now the Silmaril could be enjoyed by all and sought by none.

“It was Elbereth, Queen of the Valar, wife of Manwë, who created all the stars, the sun and moon. The stars she created first before any other light, and it was by the light of those stars the Elves first set their eyes upon as they awoke from their slumber and knew life. The Elves revere the stars and She who made them above all else, and that is why the week begins with Sterday, the day of the Stars.”

“So then Eärendil’s a man or an elf, or both?” Pippin said and shook his head. “Doesn’t he ever get hungry, or lonely, or bored? And if he’s mortal, how can he sail the skies until the end of days? Wouldn’t he be dead by now? And if the Silmaril is small enough to be on his brow, then it must be really bright for us to see, so wouldn’t that make him blind? He won’t be able to see where he’s going.”

Merry chuckled. “My thoughts exactly the first time I heard that story, but Frodo insists that it’s true and nothing will get him to say otherwise.”

“That’s because it is true,” Frodo stated easily before considering Pippin’s questions. “Well, as the Silmaril is upon his brow, he can’t actually see it, so I suppose the light doesn’t effect him. He and his wife are both half-elven and it was she who determined the judgment of their fate. She chose to be judged as one of the Noldor, so I suppose that means that Eärendil is now immortal, so he doesn’t need food like we do. Besides, he doesn’t stay in the skies all the time. He returns to Valimar each day to be with his wife, who does not sail with him, though she sometimes takes the shape of a bird and flies out to him as he returns.” Then Frodo smirked and gently nudged Pippin’s shoulder. “And I’m certain he can never be bored with someone like you to look down on and watch whenever he wishes.”

“He can see us?” Merry and Pippin asked together. Then Merry laughed. “Well, as long as he’s up there and can’t possibly tell our parents anything he’s seen, I suppose we’re in the clear.”

“I suppose, but parents have a way of finding things out, and I think yours know more than they let on,” Frodo said. “But he is a father, he is Elrond’s father.”

“Bilbo’s Elrond?” Sam asked, speaking for the first time.

Frodo nodded. “The one and the same.”

“He must be old then,” Pippin said in awe.

“Of course he is,” Merry answered. “He’s an Elf, you nut.”

“No, I mean Eärendil,” Pippin clarified, with a somewhat disconcerting look at Merry. He turned back to Frodo with an expression that meant he didn’t quite believe everything he was hearing. “That’s a nice story and all Frodo, but it all seems rather impossible. And I don’t much like the idea of him looking down and watching us whenever he pleases.”

“I like it,” Sam put in softly. “Just think, no matter where Elrond is, he can always look up and see his folks, just right there.”

“That must be nice,” Frodo said wistfully and looked up at the star with new appreciation. If only he had such a star of his own, for his parents. He felt a comforting hand on his shoulder and looked back to find Sam regarding him knowingly. They smiled at each other softly; they both knew the feeling of missing a loved one.

“So then how did this Fëanor make the jewels? What are the Two Trees and how do they have light? Trees don’t have a light of their own Frodo,” Pippin continued. Whether he believed the tale or not, he had to admit it was fascinating.

“I don’t know, Pippin,” Frodo answered. “Perhaps you might ask Gandalf the next time he comes for a visit.”

“Gandalf? I’ve all but forgotten what he looks like,” Pippin said and sighed restlessly. “How much farther?” The boredom in his voice was obvious. Without any answers forthcoming, he had quickly tired of the previous conversation. On top of that, his shoulders and back were starting to ache from the pack, and he was, quite frankly, famished. He wasn’t used to being awake so late or walking so long and his stomach was adding to his discomfort.

“Until we get there,” Frodo answered unhelpfully and shared another knowing glance with Sam, who was grinning now.

Merry pulled Pippin in for a brief word, an admonishing one by the sound of his hushed tones. Pippin grew quiet then and the companions walked in silence for a time.

The moon climbed to its zenith and a chilled breeze swept through the plains, bringing refreshing relief to the hobbits. Somewhere overhead, an owl swooped through the sky and in the fields to their right, the grass rustled and the paws of a tiny animal scuttled away. The crickets continued their eternal music and Sam silently pointed out a few of the flowers he thought would look good in the garden. Frodo nodded absently, enjoying the elegant peace of his surroundings and feeling much more relaxed than he had in weeks, even in spite of his unplanned company.

Then Pippin began to hum and then sing an old walking song. He had learned it when he was a wee lad sitting upon his father’s knee, and had not thought of it in a good long while. Perhaps Frodo’s story brought it to his mind now, for there were a few similarities among them that even Sam picked up on. Merry and Frodo knew the song well, but Sam had not heard it before. He listened intently the first time through, as the melody lilted up and down in a jovial, but somewhat plaintive, tone.

With grass ‘neath my feet,
And sky wide above,
With birds in the trees,
The jay, lark and dove;
 
Hum a pretty tune,
Down the lonely lane,
’Till the moon shall rise,
O’er the hill and plain;
 
Then to bed I go,
Under star-filled night,
Sleep in calming peace,
’Till the dawn’s first light;
 
Homeward bound I am,
To yellow round door,
Where my love awaits,
To greet me once more.  

When next shall I walk?
Not ‘till I am old,
I’ll slip ‘way in sleep
Down that final road.
 
Round my grave they’ll come,
But I’ll still be there
To watch over them
With all heart and care.

By that road I’ll wait,
’Till she comes to me,
My sweet bonny lass,
Forever lovely;
 
One by one they will
Come to us my love,
And down eternal road,
We’ll walk in stars above.

Pippin sang it again, and this time his cousins and Sam joined him. After the second round, they sang many other songs, most of them Bilbo’s.

They were now far from any homes, the nearest one being many miles away in any direction. They allowed their voices to rise high and fill the air, and they reveled in the absolute freedom of their untouched surroundings. There was a simple seduction to being surrounded by so much open land, and Merry began to understand why Frodo sought out these fields so often. He almost felt guilty about barging in on his cousin. Almost. He was having far too much fun for the feeling to last very long. If anything, he was berating himself for not thinking of this sooner.

They were making their way through one of the many versions of The Man in the Moon when Frodo broke off and pointed out ahead of them. They looked in the direction he was pointing, and there they saw it, on the shadowy horizon, the dark looming trees of the Bindbole.

Their singing slowly died down and they walked in silence once more. Pippin edged over to walk closer to Merry. He knew, of course, that all the stories one heard about these woods were just folklore and nothing more, but still, he couldn’t help but feel a bit apprehensive about entering them. It was silly, he knew. After all Frodo would never take them anywhere dangerous, but then again, they weren’t supposed to have been here and they hadn’t exactly given him time to alter his plans.

Merry allowed his cousin to walk near him, and he in fact drifted slightly closer to Frodo, though he kept a good distance between them still. He glanced beyond Frodo at Sam and noticed the gardener had grown suddenly serious. Sam would have heard many stories about Bindbole growing up so near to the forest, probably as many wild and unbelievable tales as folks told of the Old Forest outside Buckland. Maybe he get could some tales out of Sam once they made camp, if the gardener wasn’t feeling too shy.

Sam sensed Merry’s gaze and briefly met it before concentrating on the ground before him again. He was relieved that Mr. Frodo was enjoying himself so far and to be honest, Sam was quite enjoying the trip as well. He knew he should have protested coming rather than readily agree as he did, but he couldn’t deny he was every bit as curious about where his master would go on his walks as Mr. Merry and Master Pippin were. He was also very much eased to know that his master would not be going into those woods alone. He didn’t actually believe any of those nonsense rumors about the forest (or at least, not most of them), but when it came to Mr. Frodo, even the most improbable threat was far too real to be ignored.

Within the hour, they were standing on the brink of the forest. They looked up at the towering figs looming overhead and peered into the pitch-blackness of the woods stretching out before them. ‘It’s no different than the Woody End really,’ Pippin thought and scooted still closer to Merry.

Frodo took the lead and brought them around the edge of the forest until they found the path that was marked upon Bilbo’s map. The path was narrow and allowed only room for them to pass in single file, so Frodo went in first, followed by Merry, then Pippin, and Sam brought up the rear. The tree cover was not so complete along the trail, and thin strands of silvery moonlight trickled through the foliage to dot the ground around them. They were completely quiet, and only the leaves upon the ground made any sound, a soft rustling and crackling as they were pressed flat by deft hobbit feet.

A mile in, just as Frodo had reported, the trail widened so they were two abreast, Frodo and Merry in front, with Sam and Pippin behind them. Then the trail widened again and the trees fell away on either side. Spread out before them was a small glade bathed in moonlight and surrounded on all sides by flowering shrubs and billowing trees. On the other side of the glade, the trail continued on into the heart of the forest, but they would not venture there tonight.

“Sam and I will set up the tent,” Frodo announced. “I only hope it’s big enough for all of us.”

“Pip and I will get firewood,” Merry offered, as Pippin gratefully cast off his pack, then frowned as he was halfway to sitting down. Merry grabbed his hand and pulled him up again. “Come on, Pip, bet I can carry more wood than you.”

“You cannot.”

Soon, four packs were resting in a row on the soft ground, and Frodo and Sam were unrolling the tent while Merry and Pippin went in search of firewood. They did not have to go far into the forest. They only had to gather enough to keep a small fire burning long enough to cook some food, and they certainly did not need a large one to keep them warm. The weather was warm enough as it was, even in the dead of night.

Frodo and Sam had the tent up in no time and they were scratching their heads over the sleeping arrangements when Merry and Pippin returned with an armload each of wood.

“It’s going to be a tight squeeze no matter what we do,” Frodo was saying. “It’s really only big enough to fit two hobbits comfortably. Perhaps I should have left it behind.”

Sam only shrugged. It was clearly too late to think about that, and the tent was here now and set up. It would be a waste not to use it, but he didn’t fancy being squished inside it either.

“I would rather sleep out under the stars myself,” Merry put in as he set to work digging a fire pit and arranging the wood. “We’ll keep the packs and food inside the tent, to keep any animals out of it, and we can sleep out here.”

Frodo considered this and then nodded. “That will work,” he agreed and moved the packs inside. He brought the sleeping rolls back out and lay them about in close proximity to the fire.

Sam said nothing. That wasn’t the proper use of a tent, but who was he to argue? It did settle the problem of being squished quite nicely, though he’d rather be in the tent all the same if something could have been worked out. He didn’t much care for sleeping out in the open.

From the look on Pippin’s face, the youngster rather agreed. He leaned toward Merry and dubiously whispered, “We’re not sleeping in the tent?”

“You wanted an adventure, Pip,” Merry replied. “You’ve got one, along with all the unexpected developments that come with it.”

“This was your idea,” Pippin responded meekly, though what that was supposed to prove was beyond anybody’s guess. It was always Merry’s idea, and Pippin always went along with him, for better or worse. Pippin hadn’t yet decided if this idea would prove to be better or worse. So far it was a strange and delightful mixture of both, and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t eager to find out what might happen next.
 
 
 

To be continued…