A note from the author:
I begin to appreciate the scope of Christopher Tolkien’s labors, and I’m only at short forms of six chapters. Writing Chapter Four meant major reconstruction, which forced new versions of Chapters One and Two. This is essentially getting inside Sam as a character, and working out what the Delta who became a Bravo would observe, sense, and act on or be acted on by. This meant reworking the start to cast some shadows of horror on him in the Shire, with supporting reasons; also adding more iambic pentameter to the stories, to get the correct feel for language.
Oddly, I appreciate the Professor’s work more, now that I can see why and where he left large markers or tantalizing hints for others to supplement and add to the entire Christian-centered lore. LOTR came to a logical pause in the bardic telling, completing a second and large tale while leaving room for Sam’s family to add more tales of the Fourth Age, and for others to recount what could be recalled of the glories and disasters of the Second and Third Ages. Who knows? Perhaps some intrepid adventurer or wounded warrior from the Sixth Age finds a refuge with an odd door or gate, and inadvertently sets foot on one of the Straight Paths leading West of the Moon, and East of the Sun.
Chapter 1 – A Staircase of Stars
Chapter 2, Part 1 – Unexpected Surprises
by Silent Draco
Much to his surprise, Sam felt any uneasiness and sorrow of departure and of sailing on a ship abate, on the second morning. The officers and some of the crew ere conversant in Westron, and he recalled a few phrases from his varied encounters with the Elves. Memories from the moon spent healing on Lothlorien surfaced like foam on a falling stream; soon he was able to make halting but polite replies in Sindarin to the crewmen. This delighted all of them, and those who spoke the common tongue told him to listen for certain sounds and phrases, by which he should then stay in place, run to a rail, or immediately go below.
Various Elves explained, filling in a larger picture. “Our ship, the Dancing Dolphin, is a swift courier, meant for some few passengers, important parcels or devices, and above all for messages which are to be conveyed securely between the Mortal and Blessed Realms. We love her qualities, keel to highest spars, but she is … tuned high? … no, high-strung, as you may say of a lute. She may respond too swiftly or on her own time, much like your faithful road companion. Ah … our cousins, those who tend the fields and herds under the guard of the Havens and the Citadel, speak of such with their beasts, those of burden or of food. They are particular, as you may say, for though reliable, one never quite trusts their thoughts or acting completely. Yes – a most awkward or embarrassing method of entering on the Straight Path, which few wish to explain on awakening.”
Ideas like these perplexed Sam, so the Elves quickly adjusted to more familiar terms. “One other thing, we must impress upon ye. We of the Teleri (and Noldo!) who love the Sea, are likewise wary of its moods. Ulmo, Lord and Master of the Waters and the Deeps, we revere as much as Varda, whom you have referred to as Elbereth. His principal servants Osse and Unwe help shepherd the waters and the fish and great beasts that abide therein. But the waters of Arda are vast and deep, and mostly roam untamed. It is like the great oxen or bulls … yes, you too have seen them rampage for no reason?”
Sam was nodding vigorously, thinking of the Grand Pasturing he called at age 75. All the Shirriffs, and the Reserves, and half the able-bodied men and tweens were needed to herd and coax Old Buttercup into a pasture with strong hedges. Old Tom Featherleaf was massively apologetic, to the extent of five barrels of a West Farthing ale close to a good 1420; the chase, diversion, and closing it into a ring were fraught with peril. As it was a late-day watch, he recounted that tale and his parts in it – mostly, despatching the Shirriffs and Reserves; borrowing men from his good friend the Thain; and then quietly chiding Old Tom about the alarums and mess: a proper hobbit would of course express his thanks with something more tangible and appreciated on a thirsty day. He did not mention the part where Rosie spoke sharply to him, of his helping a score or so of stout lads to set and hold hurdles meant to herd Old Buttercup away from easy escape onto the Great Road. It only cost him about a dozen bruises, and some more stiffening in his right leg. The Elves were delighted and alarmed in turn. “Young Master, we will make a delightful lay from this, if you please; the rhythms are such that it would make a good short-chantey. Aye, those are the perils we expect of the Sea … and in so expecting, we teach and recall what was seen.”
At a command from the steering-deck, some Elves sprang gracefully aloft, while others readied the ropes needed to reduce sail. To his surprise and pleased embarrassment, Sam shortly heard Elvish and Westron phrasing in rhythm with hauling, lifting, and furling:
Old Buttercup, Old Buttercup,
Made fence fall down where shaken up!
Bee in his nose, bee in his ear,
Snor-ted a’ there, and char-ged here!
Oh flummoxed Tom, O Featherleaf,
Thy bull runs free; so get relief!
A call from boy in blue with horn,
The bull left meadow, to eat corn!
So shut the gates and pass the rope,
And Shirrifs block the stile and stope,
And set your hurdles, push them hard,
Guide Buttercup to a safe yard!
Sam stood near the rail and sighed; Elves, he reflected, would make songs from or of anything, from a simple cobweb on a hedge to the most beautifulest of ladies. He blushed again, tapping his breast; there he kept his most special remembrances in the small box, the gift from Lady Galadriel. “Your Ladyship, may we meet one last time for a moment, if it pleases? I want to thank ye but once more for your gifts an’ blessings.” Looking into the west, he paused a moment before going below; was that the faintest white glimmer on the far horizon?
A soft, urgent call came from the masthead, followed by the swish-pit of an Elf making a swift descent to report further. Urgent, whispered discussion on the steering-deck gave him pause. “Young Master,” the captain called in a low voice, “Something dark approaches from the north. We will persuade it to depart; if you wish to observe and learn, please stand on the steering-deck behind me, hold fast to the mast-ring, and remain still.” Sam, now curious, obeyed the request, climbing up the ladder and wrapping himself to the ring and a stanchion with a rope. The captain continued softly, in Sindarin. “First Mate, do not sound Battle Call yet; we will appear unaware for a moment, which may grant us a surprise shot. Prepare the starboard engines and casters with explosive bolts. Have the boatswain strike the great lanterns, and rig ithilrien in their stead. For the nonce, we rely on starlight and good eyes. May Elbereth and Ulmo be with us.” The star mirrors would work in their favor, should friendly lights appear, and would also focus starlight on the surface. I like this not, he thought, that a morgrasch of that size should be so near the surface, and on their course. Lord Ulmo, deliver us from the dark creatures of the depths.
Sam watched with great interest as the Elves lowered and stowed lanterns, replacing them with peculiar tiled mirrors. Others, under the supervision of the armorer, caried great bolts of unusual style, affixing them on or in the casters and throwing engines. “Those, Master Gamgee,” the captain said, “are explosive bolts; very useful and effective on sea creatures, should they strike or fall close. The shock and force can stun or kill the beasts. The material is similar to that used in some mines and quarries, for cutting or breaking stone and ore veins.” Sam thought longingly of how this may have made graveling in the West Farthing quarries go much easier, but just sighed; such was neither his duty nor life now. “All is ready,” he added, saluting the armorer in return, “and the creature grows near. Watch and learn.” The captain called out: “Archers! Flame arrows and penetrators ready! Gunners! Lay your engines, engage at one hundred paces!”
The beast swam closer in the pale evening light. As the sun set before them, Same felt queasy from the beast’s wake rolling their ship, and also felt a peculiar, bone-deep ache and pain in his left side. He shook this aside, fascinated as the beast’s head broke the surface, then dove under; it repeated this four time, then spurred at them like a pike after ducklings. He heard calls and grunts from the gunners, then the captain gave an order: “Loose!” The archers lofted long, pale shafts at the creature. Only two or three of each ten-arrow volley went astray, due to wave motion. The creature hissed, then roared in pain as a shaft buried into one eye and caught fire. The gunners had their casters elevated and trained on course; as the creature thrashed and eeled forward, teeth bared, they fired a set of projectiles at its head, neck, and back – or where they would shortly be. It gave a great roar of pain as explosion pummeled neck and spine, and more when one bolt stuck to its left side and appeared to flex its hide and ribs inward sharply. The beast screamed, spat out blood, and sheered off, diving and swimming away. The crew cheered, and Sam made out the names Ulmo and Osse among the words. Suddenly he lurched left and thumped against the mast, as his leg twitched. His side felt sore, and he spat out blood; “must have bit me tongue,” he allowed, but he slurred his words, feeling quite tired.
The captain undid his lashings. “Very fine knots,” he murmured. “Would you care to see farther?’ Sam looked over the rail, and spat again; the blood kept trickling in. “Captain, is it yon black thing?” he waved. The captain pointed farther astern. “Your pardon, I forgot for a moment that you have not our eyes. That distant, but a farther angle away from us. Thanks be to the Valar, we wounded and scared it sufficiently to ward off. More lookouts will go aloft for the remainder of the watch, but we may be past the peril. Unusual, that we encounter one of the Great Hunters in cool waters like this, away from their preferred shallows; perhaps it was wafted north along a warm current.” Sam shook his head, “Oh, ‘tis like the northern cervine that sometimes entered the Shire, confused by a sudden warm or cool spell.”
The captain called to the gunners and archer to secure their weapons and stand down. Sam felt the queasiness rise, and could not stop a sudden arch over the side as he emptied his stomach on the leeward side. As he gasped and wheezed, a phrase like “lugburz s’farr burzum gnoshaz” gurgled forth. The captain’s steward, who had come on deck with a mug of wine, saw Sam curled at the rail and hurried over. Familiar with the ailments of landsmen, he asked calmly as he used a damp towel to wipe Sam’s face, “Was it the battle motion, Young One?” Sam nodded, groggily. The steward tucked a wet corner of the towel to Sam’s mouth, motioning to suck on sweet water and wipe clean. As the steward tried to help him below, Sam shook his head, “Nay master, if ye please. The cool air helps, an’ I can still see light to the west. Thi’ may clear me head faster.” The captain looked over in sympathy and a touch of amusement. Even the First-Born suffered from the water upset at times, and for one of the Younger Races, he held up well.
To Be Continued…