Book Four. The Road of The Black Riders.
To mortal fields say farewell
Middle-earth forsaking!
In Elevenhome a clear bell
In the high tower is shaking
Here grass fades and leaves fall,
and sun and moon wither
and we have heard the far call
that bids us journey thither
[The Last Ship, Tolkien]
In Middle-earth it is the beginning of the Fourth Age, the Age of Men. The Wars, Trials and Victories of the Third Age are now part of Hobbit folklore.
The dark menace of Saruman with his mind of metal and wheels died and shrivelled as he died and shrivelled.
And yet ....
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An Old Hobbit sits before a cheery fire. Scattered at his feet like wrens dancing on grass are several lively Hobbit children. The Old Hobbit holds his pipe by the bowl and sips his port.
Only a keen eye would detect the troubled brow above the smiling cheeks.
"So, my hopping chickens you want to know where your uncles" [the translation is difficult here, the term "uncle" should be taken as "uncles and fathers"]
"have gone in such a hurry with their swords clean and sharp and their leather oiled and waxed. But what would I, far past harrying and hurrying, know of such things.
It is my lot not to speak of current present adventures, but to sit by the fire and tell you of deeds past and glorious.
********
Frodo is leading Sam, Merry and Pippin through the bush of the Ridge Country. [Again the translation is a little tricky. "Forest" is better than "bush" in a literal sense, but "bush" is better in spirit.
The forest of the Ridge Country is open, light and delicate in form with a subtle colour palette of blue-greens and green-blues. It is inhabited with timid creatures and shy orchids]
Frodo speaks, "Galadriel journeyed to my retreat and addressed me. She spoke the same words that I had heard before.
Words that I believed and hoped I would never hear again. She said, 'This task has been appointed to you, and if you do not find a way, no one will' ".
"But what task?" asked Sam.
"The Dark Lord and the Black Riders again threaten Middle-earth.
As Saruman destroyed all that which grew and was green in Islengard and replaced it with that which was forged by the hammer and cast from the furnace crucible, so now do the Dark Forces now plan to destroy Ridge Country. Look!"
Frodo pointed to a wooden stake topped with white paint. It was barely the height of Pippin's boot and Sam, who had the biggest hands of the four, could encircle it with his finger and thumb.
"This?" said Sam derisively, and with two sword strokes deftly quartered it.
"Oh, my dear strong right arm, if it were only that easy." sighed Frodo. "These stakes mark the passage that has been selected by the Black Riders. You would not so easily destroy their road."
Their journey took them to the shores of Brown Snake Lake. (Folklore has it that three Hobbits were once picnicking by the lake when they had to make sudden retreat because a large brown snake swam across the lake and disappeared into the rocks at their feet. However, being capable Hobbits, they preserved their presence of mind to a sufficient extent that they did not retreat without their chilled wine and glasses.) On the north shore of the Lake the Dark Lord's machines had heaped mountains of soil torn from distant quarries. To the south of the Lake were heaps of discarded material from the industry of Islengard.
"What is this?" said Pippin, "What are their intentions?"
"Yes!" challenged Sam, waving his sword and striking a battle stance. "Come forth! Let us fight!"
Frodo shook his head. "The enemy has learnt, he hides where the Mewlips hide.
Over the Merlock Mountains a long and weary way.
In a mouldy valley where the trees are grey,
By a dark pool's borders without wind or tide,
Moonless and sunless, the Merlips hide.
[The Merlips, Tolkien]
The enemy has wrought his deeds in secret. Dark deeds in the dark of the night", continued Frodo sadly, "Our challenge is not to fight him, but to call him to account."
Suddenly the air was cut with such a sound that the Hobbits had never heard. It rose and fell in pitch and volume, twisting and cutting through the bush. Howls from a fiddle strung with sinews cut from a wolf braying at the pale moon on a night when the white rose is blackened by the frost.
"What is that?" trembled Merry.
Only Frodo was unshaken. "It is the Black Riders", he said quietly.
(the future of this series is uncertain)