Entwives Chapter 1: The Old Forest

By Zimrahil

Glistening mounds of strawberries were carefully tucked into a sturdy basket, swinging from Faramir’s arm. The clotted cream had been devoured straightaway, and besides, the fruit was ripe enough to be delicious on its own. One should never waste clotted cream.

In the distance, his friends laughed, tossing bits of moss at each other (one should never waste food in such a manner). Their shouts dwindled as he reached the garden’s edge, leading to a high hedge. It towered over his tiny figure; a mass of tangled branches and otherworldly judgement. The other children were terrified of the lofty, ominous wall, but for some reason, Faramir Took had never feared the woods.

Sometimes, if he listened carefully enough, he could almost make out a sort of whispering wind, as though the trees were talking to each other. When he told Elanor, she shook her golden curls at him. “Do not ever enter the Old Forest alone!” She giggled. “Father says there is an old willow that will eat you alive!”

The hedge seemed to go on forever. Faramir kept walking, until almost all the strawberries in his basket were gone. He was about to turn back, when the greenery suddenly broke to reveal a narrow gate. The little hobbit blinked. He could have sworn it was not there before. Could paths move?

Elanor’s musical voice came in warning from his memories, but he brushed it aside. Samwise had come back with all sorts of wild tales. I mean a mountain? Breathing fire? Honestly. Dragons perhaps, but not a hill. All the mountains that Faramir had seen were covered in thick, green grass dotted with wildflowers.

He pushed open the gate, popping the final strawberry into his mouth to relish the sweet juices. He wiped his hands off, just in case the trees would not like it. His mother was always cross if he arrived home with sticky fingers. With their towering elegance, he was certain that the forest would have similar strict policies on cleanliness.

“Hello?” He ventured, wandering into the quiet woods. “Mae…govannen?” He tried again, having picked up a few Elvish words from his father. Mayhap the trees would like that.

A distant rustling was the only answer, and his tiny feet picked up speed, drawn to the eerie stillness. What frightened his friends seemed to call to him, as if he was meant to be there.

“Mae govannen!” He said louder, his high-pitched voice echoing through branches. “I just want to be friends! Mellon?” Without realizing it, Faramir trotted farther and farther into the Old Forest.

The sun was beginning to set when his stomach rumbled, reminding him it was nearing suppertime, not to mention he had missed afternoon tea. He glanced about in a panic, with no idea which way was home. He was, after all, only a small little hobbit boy. After dashing in various directions, searching in vain for a familiar tree or bush, he quite naturally began to cry.

The beautiful forest that had seemed so welcoming grew strange in the approaching darkness. He began to wonder if it was quite safe. “Help!” He cried out. “Please! I want mummy! I want to go home!”

“M….oo…ttheeer” a warm, earthy voice responded, sounding out each syllable as though not having spoken in some time. “I…know that word.”

“Yes!” Faramir squeaked in growing terror, great shadows falling across the forest floor. “My mother! Can you help me find her!”

“I…have slept for so long….I am unsure.” The kindly voice continued. 

It was coming from above, Faramir was certain of it. He looked up, into a pair of gentle green eyes. It was not a face as he was used to, but it was most definitely a face of some sort, gazing at him from a lovely beech tree, or was it a birch? She could not bend down, but her branches lowered, so that he could touch them, leaves tinkling.

“You are….safe….sapling. I shall…what was the word…” She looked puzzled for the longest time, and he quickly wiped away his tears, trying to look more respectable. 

“Please, do you know the way to the hedge?” He tried again, hoping the tree woman would not be angry for interrupting her thoughts.

“Harrummm perhaps.” She smiled. “Forgive me, I have slept many of your centuries. Your call awoke me.”

“I am sorry,” Faramir had been properly brought up and clearly he had inconvenienced the lovely tree.

“Not at all, pheriannath, it is high time I visited the ents in their gray forest. It has been so long, that even they might be wondering where we are.” She laughed, and the sound was like a bubbly forest brook, frothy and light-hearted. Faramir’s spirits rose instantly, and he did not object when she picked him up, settling him into her branches. 

There was a rending noise as she lifted her feet deep out of the earth. She began to hum as they walked, and exhausted by the day, he quite naturally fell asleep.

“Faramir!” An insistent call was repeated, strong arms shaking him. “Please!” It was his father, consumed with worry.

“I’m alright. The tree woman helped me.”

“He’s awake, but delirious.” Pippin announced, with relief. Lanterns bobbed over, illuminating his father and other Tooks, rushing over. It was utterly dark, and Pippin felt the hedge against his back.

“No, I saw her! The beech woman, she said I woke her up!” Faramir insisted.

His father paused, gazing intently into his son’s eyes. For a moment, although not nearly as long as the entwife had paused, Pippin stared off in the distant forest. Gradually, his concern transformed into a hearty laugh. “Treebeard will be pleased.”

Instead of explaining, his father gathered Faramir up in his arms, striding back across the fields. If there was a lecture to come about not venturing into the forest, it would not be on that night. Instead, Pippin’s face was lit up with pure joy, as if a long-asked question had been answered.

In the distance, a lone beech tree made her way toward Fangorn, singing a long name in her native tongue. Perhaps she would even finish it by the time she arrived. Loosely translated into a language that the little hobbit would have understood, it was Fimbrethil.