Chapter 22. The Rescue

The Men slowly lowered their bows and let their arrows fall to the ground. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ the leader demanded. Dazed, they looked at him. He guided his horse to the nearest, pulling at the hunter’s bow. Jerking the weapon from its owner, he shouted, ‘He’s bewitched you all! Shoot!’ ...but none of them heeded him, staring at him as if in a dream.

 ‘Put your weapons away!’ the voice repeated, and the leader looked suddenly to the bow he held, horror and loathing in his eyes. He dropped the bow as if it burned his hand. ‘Now go!’ The horses tossed their heads up, eyes rolling white, bearing their riders away so suddenly that several of the Men were unseated. No matter, they gained their feet quickly and ran after the others, screaming.

The hobbits stood tense, still, staring into the surrounding woods. A light shimmered behind the trees, and on every side Fair Folk stepped from cover, bows at the ready, horses following them, jewelled headstalls flashing in the morning light. In their midst was an old, bearded man garbed in grey.

Elladan started. ‘Mithrandir!’ he gasped.

 ‘Son of Elrond,’ the grey one said with a nod.

At the sound of his voice, quite a few of the tiny hobbit children ran forward, shouting joyously. ‘G’andalf! G’andalf! G’andalf!’ They pressed against him, those closest clinging to his robes, the rest dancing and clapping around him.

A small hand pushed aside the beard, revealing that the grey one held a young hobbit in his arms. The Thorn started forward, calling in unbelieving joy, ‘Pick!’

 ‘Blackthorn!’ the little one called, ‘O Black! I thought you were dead!’ The wizard carefully put Pickthorn on the ground, in time for his oldest brother to throw his arms about him. Another hobbit stumbled to them, Hawthorn it was, saying, ‘Pick, O Pick, we thought you were the one dead!’ Holly came forward, laughing and crying at the same time, supporting her mother who moved forward as one in a dream and suddenly took her youngest son in a fierce, wordless hug.

The remaining hobbits stared at the Elves surrounding them, grim warriors, tall and fearsome. The first Elves to reach the perimeter of Small Folk smiled and their faces were transformed. They knelt to take the small hands outstretched to them, and suddenly they seemed merry as children to the wondering hobbits.

The Elf-horses stood very still as one small rider after another was placed upon their backs, until finally all the hobbits had been given a seat and the Elves turned their faces towards Imladris, walking beside their small charges, dealing out waybread from the bags they carried and drinks from silver flasks.

At first the hobbits were shy, but this state of affairs could hardly last, what with all they could eat and drink, horses to ride, and smiling hosts, and soon much talk arose amongst the travellers. The hobbits were especially curious about Imladris, and asked so many questions that more than one Elf threw up his hands, laughing, ‘You will see! You shall!’

And so they travelled to the edge of the wood and beyond, across a wide and foaming river and into featureless hills covered with heather. Valleys opened unexpectedly before them, and they could see treetops far below. There were gullies and dark ravines and pleasant green places with flowers growing bright and tall, even this late in the season, but as they skirted the first of these the hobbits fell silent and averted their eyes.

 ‘Those are bogs,’ Elladan said to the Thorn, who nodded.

 ‘Some of our children thought to pick the pretty flowers,’ he whispered. ‘Neither they, nor those who went to rescue them, ever came out again.’

Elladan was silent, thinking once more of the many losses these Little Folk had suffered. They journeyed on without further words as the Sun kissed the horizon behind them and the world darkened.

On they went into darkness. Elves removed cloaks and drew them around the little groups of riders on the horses' backs against the growing chill of night. The stars winked bright eyes and awakened to shine upon the travellers. On they travelled, the headstalls of the horses gleaming silver in the moonlight. On they continued, until jewels on the headstalls glimmered as the horses lifted their heads to scent the breeze.

 ‘We are home,’ Elladan said, pointing ahead. The hobbits riding his horse could see nothing in the darkness ahead, but suddenly they felt their mount tilting forward as if descending a steep slope, and the sound of many waterfalls came to their ears.

Suddenly one of the hobbits called out in their own tongue, ‘Light!’ Straining to look ahead, they saw a light far down and across a valley.

 ‘The Last Homely House,’ Elladan said. The smell of trees rose up around them and the air grew warmer as they followed the steep zig-zag path ever downwards, until at last they reached the bottom and an open glade not far above the banks of the stream that ran through the valley. The trees were hung with lanterns, and Fair Folk sat in the branches, singing. They called greetings to the Elf-warriors escorting the hobbits, and the warriors called back, their fair voices ringing through the darkness.

On they went to the very brink of the river, running swift and deep, and they could hear its song though they could not see it in the darkness. The hoofbeats of the horses sounded hollow as they crossed a bridge of stone, and had the hobbits seen how narrow it was they might have feared, but they knew only that their guides walked ahead of the horses for a little and then came back to walk beside them once more.

At last they came to the Last Homely House, and found its doors flung wide, light streaming out, and the many windows shone with a warm and welcoming light, and a tall, lordly figure waited to greet them.

 ‘Welcome,’ his rich voice rolled through the summery darkness. ‘Well come, indeed. Supper is ready, and bath and bed. Come in! Come in and be at rest.’