Part 7

Legolas strapped Arador’s satchel, which had miraculously survived the fall into the boar trap, and Eowyn’s wet boots to her saddle.

He had persuaded her to ride with him so that he might keep her warm with his body, and they set off at a brisk canter, leading Eowyn’s horse behind them and leaving Arador’s in the forest—with strict instructions not to stray—in case the boy should somehow escape his captors and have need of it.

By the time they emerged from Eryn Hollen the sun had set, and a low, dull moon shone fitfully in the cloudy sky. Legolas scanned the landscape; the River Tavor, running east to west, was less than a mile away and, beyond that, the Plain of Hollen was dotted with human homesteads. He quickly spotted the nearest farmhouse.

“Not long now, Melmenya,” he reassured her.

...

The elderly farmer was not surprised to find an Elf at his door; the Elves of the Colony were regular visitors to Newhome. Whilst he and Legolas were discussing the mechanics of getting a message to the Reeve, the farmer’s wife took charge of Eowyn, sitting her before the fire, feeding her with hot soup, and finding her a shift, a pair of breeches, and some boots to change into.

“This is very kind of you, Mistress,” said Eowyn, who—because she was feeling a great deal better—was quite embarrassed by the fuss that was being made over a little mud and water. “Are you sure that you can spare them?”

“Spare them? Oh yes,” said the old woman, hanging Legolas’ cloak over the wooden clothes horse to dry. “I haven’t fitted into that shift since I was a young girl—younger even than you—and the boots and trews,”—a wistful, faraway smile suddenly transformed her face, and Eowyn caught a fleeting glimpse of the beauty she must once have been—“well, they belonged to my Jemmy, before he went away to the White City.”

Eowyn assumed that Jemmy was the couple’s son, and she wondered whether, perhaps, he had been killed in the Ring War...

“Goodness,” said the farmer’s wife, picking up Eowyn’s wet shift, “this wants a good washing! Whatever have you been doing with it?”

“I fell into an old boar trap.”

“What, up in Hollen Woods?” The old woman dropped the shift into a wooden tub.

“Yes.”

“No wonder that husband of yours was so worried! You want to stay well away from Hollen Woods. All sorts of things go on up there.” She handed Eowyn a blanket.

“What sort of things?” asked Eowyn, spreading the blanket over her knees.

“Comings and goings, strange lights and noises... They think they’re keeping it quiet, but everyone this side of the town knows about it.”

“Who are they?”

“Nobody knows.” The old woman fussed with Eowyn’s blanket. “Baranor and Turgon went up there to find out, and never came back.”

“They disappeared?”

The old woman nodded.

Eowyn thought of Arador. “Does the Reeve know about it?”

“Hollen Woods is south of the Tavor.”

“And beyond his jurisdiction,” said Eowyn. Then she added, softly, to herself, “Which makes it our responsibility...”

The farmer’s wife, meanwhile, had picked up Eowyn’s damp boots. “We don’t want to leave these too near the fire, do we, or they’ll crack. What a fine pair of boots!”

She turned them over, and examined the soles. “Well, just look at that,” she exclaimed, pulling a tiny stone out of the leather, and dropping it into Eowyn’s hand.