MoonSeed & her Fervid Riddles
From Library of the Randirim
- ~~by Welby
Contents |
A visit to Duillond
Overlooking the grand falls below Duillond, Isulith, elven huntress of Fen Ethuil, consoles a dear friend, a hobbit named, Moonseed.
"You travel far, for a Periannath. Indeed you have lived much amongst the men-folk of Bree to be so adventurous.", Isulith observed, taking a sip if wine, being careful not to disturb the many pastries and tarts that lay upon the table.
Moonseed often made trips to this elven place, bringing with her goods, mostly the things that did not sell, and stories from Bree. But this visit was different, she could see an emptiness in the hobbit's eyes.
"Tell me,..what brings you here again. The pathways of Ered Luin are not as safe as you remember, my dear, Moonseed. Even to a hunter of Edhellond, such as I."
"I am no Tunnely or Rushlight., Isulith.", Moonseed replied. Her feet were clothed today, which was unusual, and her daggers lay loose in their sheaths, as if used recently. "And I agree, as well, that the longing of the Men-folk has permeated my Falohide blood as well. For I dread growing old and fading like a crop in the winter."
Isulith knew all too well the hearts of men. Irrational and hasty. Spending their lives on trivial matters of ego and power and realizing, oh so late, their mortality and the regret that follows.
"Look not into my eyes in that way, Isulith. I fret to see every moon rise, every season pass. I desire to be tall and slender, like you. To have a soul free from darkness and a mind filled with the history of ages past and waking dreams of things to come. Peaceful it must be,..oh so satisfying, to look upon these times as but a single leaf of a great tree of many."
"You are of Hobbit-kind, and I, of Elf. This is the way of things, my dear Moonseed.There are greater things, things beyond even the elves, at foot in Middle-Earth."
"I know what I am. The men of Bree remind everyday. I care not for the goings on in this world. Why should I? I am but a simple cook,..."
" and skillful Burglar. Remember Kheledûl?"
" Aye,..I do. There is no money to be had in cooking, though, even if I do 'borrow' from the crops of Buckland."
There was a long silence between the two. Isulith has had this conversation many times before with many others. Would that she know it be her fate to be Eriador's comforter and consoler, she would have been a minstrel. Moonseed turned to face the East. The air was fresh with springs tidings and cool with an effervescent embrace, but still,..her melancholy demeanor weighed heavily on her chest and she sank. Trembling with words,..much like a riddle,..
Like Tasty creme Frosting I dwell where no Hobbit feet may walk
Where flour rises and falls upon the tongues of children.
We wrap ourselves from it like a sweet apple tart sprinkled with sugar.
Yet I come only when the crops sleep and the butter does not melt.
And under the moon, it is as if the very stars bow around your footfalls
in silent lament.
Isulith sighed. Even with all the stories of evil brewing in the east, she could not abandon her friend in need.
"The answer is not so forlorn as you make it out to be. And if you do believe the foresight of the Elves, then you know I would not betray you with words of false comfort. Your destiny is not with the Elves, little one. Nor, do I feel it even lies outside the confines of Bree. It will be fate that decides where you land, my dear MoonSeed. But know that your existence is, indeed, necessary, and will bring joy to those who have not yet, nor need, feel the storm of time. Come,..let me walk you to the bridge. The waterfall will do you some good."
In Hobbiton
It has been a fortnight since Moonseed left Isulith of Duillond at the border's bridge. The IVy Bush Inn was quiet tonight as many were preparing for the festivals. Shirriff SmallBurrow and Tavern Keeper HereWard sat intently at the bar, their eyes transfixed on a trembling young hobbit. She was small and a bit slender for a hobbit in Hobbiton. Her cloak was pulled across her body as if to keep an invisible chill from reaching her.
"Was it fear?", the Shirriff asked.
"Yes,..it was. In every way possible,..it was fear that drove me into the earth, like a frightened shrew beyond the Delving Fields."
HereWard wrinkled his big nose, letting out a rude snort, " There was a ruckus about a Black Rider in ol' Bolger's pig sties. Turns out it was that devious Fogo Fallohide, it was. You're of that kin aren't ya, Moonseed? Sorry to say and no offense, but sure sounds rotten if you take my meaning."
Moonseed did not look up when she answered. "I would say you were right to doubt me. But this was no kin of mine and no hobbit to be sure." " It's eyes interrogated me with fire and malice. It's tongue hissed and reached out like a noose around my frail neck, I can feel it's presence, like a cold wash of foul insects across my breast, thousands of sharp hay needles converging in the small of my back."
"I felt it's dark mass upon me. The leathery whisper of its black tattered robes danced about the tips of my ears and cheeks. It was so close! I thought it would devour me. It sniffed at the air like a wolf sniffing out a coney.I could not,..it said something,...it took my,..."
Moonseed crumbled to the floor. Her eyes stared off into the distance, darting back and forth, as if chasing the shadows of mice scurrying across the wall. Shirriff SmallBurrow crouched at her head and cradled her.
"What's possessed you, Dear? What happened? Why is she like this, HereWard? "
The InnKeeper shook his head. He had never seen this behavior from a Hobbit, not even on the most festivity of holidays and even after a good many pints.
Moonseed muttered something,...as if to answer, and it took a good long while before the Shirriff could make it out.
Sometimes fresh and sometimes foul,
Sometimes in and sometimes out.
Where fish swim its not allowed.
Without it wolves can hardly Howl.
But this one's dark,of evil design,
I'm lost. I'm Lost.
Catch it,
Before yours runs out,..
...for stolen was mine."
Just then the night was split open by a terrible cry. Not a cry of despair,..but a frightening and angry shriek that shook the bones of all who were awake to hear. The thundering echoes of heavy beasts raced from seemingly one side of Bywater all the way to the farms past BagEnd. And as quickly as it came,..it disappeared into the mist, leaving in it's wake,..the cold silence of uncertainty,.and three very frightened Hobbits.
In the Bree Market Square
"50 coppa for a green onion? I can't even eat the bloody thing!", Terry held the onion to his nose and sniffed it, making a disgusted face."Rotten! What am I supposed to do wit rotten food? "
His partner at his side, Stallon, stood with arms folded, amused by his friend's display in the Bree Market Square. They were both Men of Bree, but the sort that people like Second-Watcher Heathstraw, who was roaming the streets not far off, could do without.
"Better mind your manners, mate.", sneered Stallon," This little Hobbit here fended off a Black Rider all by herself, she did."
Moonseed fumed behind her table. She was not fond of men, not fond of Bree,..and not fond of gossip, especially gossip about her doing decidedly non-hobbit things like fighting black riders. Truth be told she did encounter one, as did others that month in the Shire. But there was no 'fending off of' to speak of.
"Is that so, my little Rotten Onion? By my gather'in, the chances of you runn'in into one of those rumored beasts are far slimmer than hav'in ta deal with people like me and Stallon 'ere. So who you more afraid of? Hmmm?" Terry leaned in, imposing his large shadow over the poor Hobbit and her meager wares.
Moonseed furled her lip. She knew it was only a matter of time before the part came when they would extort her earnings. She glanced southward. Second-Watcher Heathstraw was busy flirting with some dainty elf-woman flaunting her newly tailored frock from the crafting hall nearby.
"You are no Brigand, Watch, or Redwold." Moonseed snapped,"Your tunic is stained with the rust of your shoddy knives and your gait is akin to a clumsy duck."
"Oh...some spirit after all. Tell me Rotten Onion, I see no banner, no cohorts, no Sundry Host to claim you here. And at the bottom of society my loathsome character may be, it is the even lower people such as you that I will feed upon. No one will miss a short, dumpy hobbit, smelling of onions. This is a place of Man. Our eyes are everywhere, and believe me when I say the 'offering' you make today is simply tribute to your future kings."
"I have little to 'offer' to a future king of man," Moonseed replied," but some cabbage and Green Onions. It seems you will have to look elsewhere for your tribute."
First I am Thorney but then Everclear.
I Snarl in the Hollows but Through Green Ways I bear.
I am Leary of Orcs but upon Trestle I stare.
Come with me, Come.
Rest upon me your wares.
Come with Me, Come,..
If nearly you dare.
Terry and Stallon paused for a moment, almost mind locked in thought. MoonSeed had succeeded in baffling these two simple-minded cut purses. Enough for her to pack what little she had left, Cabbages, Onions, and some random roots, and make for the West gate. Which she hoped would have a bit more security in the way of Bree watchmen. Terry snapped out of his trance, shaking his head and bringing his hand to his scalp.
"Oy,..where'd the Rotten Onion go?"
Just then, Second-Watcher Heathstraw tapped him on the shoulder, Baton in one hand, and comely Elf maiden in the other.
" Move along you two,...This market is for selling an buy'in, not steal'in. Of course, If'n you fine gentlemen have any 'tribute' in the way of monetary capacity, I may be inclined to forget the incident and buy my lady a nice meal, instead."
"Oh am fond of Green Onion Soup", the elf maiden squealed.
