Daffodil and the Goblins
Posted: Sun Oct 20, 2013 7:58 am
(Translator's Note- Another tale from The Leavings of Daffodil Underhill recounting her recollection of the first time she had dealings with the goblins. A story in some parts, please be patient as translating can be a slow process. )
It had been a hard winter in the Bree-land. Snow had come early, but the fertile fields had been plentiful, and as hobbits are wont to do, most had enough to eat and stored to while away the cold days and nights. In the best hole in Staddle, Josie was preparing the evening meal when Otto Underhill came through the round door, hung up his coat and scarf in the hallway, and then bellowed into the kitchen,
"What bother in Bree today!"
Sitting in the kitchen was his wife, Marigold and his seven children, including the remarkable Daffodil Underhill, who looked up from their bowls of stew to see their father walk in and then plop in his (for a hobbit) oversized chair and motion to Josie to fill his bowl.
"What on earth are you going on about, my dear?" asked Marigold as her husband tucked a delicate napkin to his chin and began to eat.
"Why, the whole town is turned upside down", he said, "those vagabonds are everywhere!" Daffodil perked up at this, knowing that vagabonds was her father's more polite description for the...
"Rangers? Rangers are in Bree?" she asked, excited. Otto gave his daughter a stern look over his stew and then continued,
"Yes, those folks. The Pony is full of them, some hysterical unfortunate has everyone in an uproar."
Marigold rolled her eyes as she sipped her tea.
"Well, go on then, what is the uproar?"
"Well, the Greenfield's claim", he said, as he buttered a bit of roll, "that their farm was attacked and their children abducted."
Marigold and the rest of the family gasped.
"Otto!", she exclaimed, "how can you sit there and talk calmly about such things!"
"Abducted by who?" asked Daffodil.
Otto laughed and then popped the roll in his mouth, jowls a-flutter.
"The best part, my dear", he said, "by goblins, of all things! Can you believe that? Violet Greenfield is at the Pony right now, blabbering to anyone who will listen about it. Preposterous!"
"Then where are her children?" asked Marigold, "surely they didn't just up and disappear on their own?"
"Bah, perhaps they just decided to go out and lost their way home", he said, waving a fat hand dismissively, "but goblins? Really! Anyway, let's have some of those taters!"
"Goblins", Daffodil repeated to herself, as he father continued to talk over the din of his wife and children, each asking questions and commenting on his story. But to the young hobbit girl, she knew that this couldn't be some made-up story if the Rangers were gathering in Bree.
"I...I am really tired, please excuse me", she said, getting up from the table.
"Oh, good night m'dear", said her father as Daffodil kissed him on the forehead, "pleasant dreams." She left the kitchen as calmly as she could, and then bolted down the hallway to her bedroom, where she quickly shut the door and then threw open her closet. There she pulled out a small wooden chest and opened it. Inside lay a leather jerkin, a faded green woolen dress, a worn leather belt and pouch, and a neatly folded weather-stained dark cloak. Quickly she dressed, putting on her least fancy shearling coat over the jerkin, and threw the cloak about her slim shoulders. Like a crown over her thick dark tresses went the hood, and then she opened the round window, and stole out into the cold night.
------------------------------------------
She made good time to Bree in the fading light, even through the snow. She knew shortcuts around the Hill, and presently was through the wooden gate before it closed for the night. Around the walls torches were already lit, and in the muddy streets there was a bustle of Men, Dwarves and hobbits, each heading to home and hearth, or as she was, to the Prancing Pony. There she made her way up the wide steps and through the open great door, stepping inside to the warmth of the Pony's main room.
The walls were painted with shadows from the fire that roared in the great stone hearth at the end of the room, and by the multitudes of candles and pipeglow from Men who sat with mugs of ale on well-worn oak benches, the smoke of their pipeweed over their heads like storm clouds. There was much noise and music, but in the center of the room Daffodil saw a small hobbit mother, Violet Greenfield it was, a blanket over her shoulders, her hands shaking as she held a mug, a small group of Bree-men and hobbits hanging on her every word.
"Terrible it was, my Eddie swinging his axe to and fro! And those...those things, the goblins, low and arms too long, howling and screaming...my babies, my Lily and little Roddy! Oh, why did they have to take them?"
Violet broke down into sobs as some of the hobbits tried to comfort her. Above her Men talked and wagged their beards, but Daffodil knew their talk was little more than the excitement of a new story to be repeated later when the cups ran low. She turned and went to the ale-stained desk where old Butterbur cleaned mugs with a dirty rag.
"Why, it's Miss Daffy!", he exclaimed, a wide smile on his face, ruddy cheeks glowing. "A mite late for a visit, but you are always welcome here at the Pony! Some sweet-milk, is it?"
Daffodil blushed, knowing the tired joke had been going around all year ( translator's note: recalling the events in 'A Rainy Night at the Pony') then said,
"No thank you, Master Butterbur, I wonder if you would direct me to where the Rangers might be gathering. I reckon I am late for the meeting."
Butterbur's bushy eyebrows shot up.
"Rangers? Meeting? Oh, Miss Daffy, I don't know if your father would want you to get messed up with that bunch, again."
"My dear Butterbur", she said, staring up at the fat man, "would I be here if my father didn't know where I was? Really! Or do you take me for some disreputable?"
"Oh, why no, Miss Daffy..."
"Then please direct me to my meeting, if you please", she said, "time is of the essence!"
"Down the hall, the small room at the corner", said Butterbur, "they hold their secret meetings there. Yet", he said, a hand going to his stubbled chin even as Daffodil slipped down the hallway, "I never seem to see them leave."
Daffodil made her way down the hall, noting that the candles toward the corner had been put out. She came to the door, dark-stained and scuffed, and put her ear against it.
She could hear low voices inside, and then she stepped back.
"A secret meeting, is it?" she said to herself. Her keen eyes looked at the door, and at what would have been the height for a Man were two sets of scuffed and dented marks, almost as if years of knocking with pommels and staves.
"Well, let's try", she said. She knocked hard twice, then moved her fist and knocked twice more. Suddenly a gruff voice boomed from the other side, as if in challenge.
"Lacho calad", said the voice. Daffodil paused for a moment, then lowered her voice and responded,
"Drego morn."
There was the clack of an iron lock being unlatched, then the door opened, spilling the light of a small fire into the hallway. She stepped through, and behind her the door shut tight. Around her stood several tall men, ragged as they were, in cloaks and hoods. Two tall figures sat in the corner, masked in shadows, and incredibly Daffodil recognized the tinker as well, not in his leather apron, but in a shirt of dwarven scales and leaning on a heavy axe. In the center of the room was a table and a single candle which illuminated a parchment map.
Two men were hunched over the table, almost arguing in low voices when they looked up from the map and saw her.
"Daffodil Underhill, whatever are you doing here?" said the first, who despite his tone smiled at her.
"Why, my dear Mirimaran", she said, smiling back at her friend, "my invitation to the meeting seems to have been misplaced."
The other at the table, his dark hood not quite containing his great mane of white hair, asked gruffly,
"'Invitation'? How did you know to come here?" He shot a glance at Mirimaran.
"You told her the password? The secret knock?"
Mirimaran shrugged his shoulders but then Daffodil interjected,
"He told me nothing of the sort! It wasn't that hard to figure out. Perhaps you need a new door, or a new password. Butterbur directed me here, and then plain hobbit sense did the rest. Now that I am here, we can plan the rescue of the Greenfield children. What do you reckon?"
The white-haired Ranger, the legendary Fox, stood from the table, towering over even his kin.
"I do not think we need your help", he said, then turned to Mirimaran.
"This is your doing, encouraging this. We have problems enough."
Daffodil stepped forward.
"Now see here, sir", she said, anger flushing her cheeks. "I have done Ranger business for almost a year now, and even met in the wilderness with your people, under the moon in June. I see many here, even the tinker! but we hobbits can't be bothered? Who else is involved? The Elves? Is there an Eagle waiting on the roof?"
The Fox stared at her, and then one of the figures in the corner spoke, and it was the first time that Daffodil had ever heard the Elvish tongue, and it seemed to her the most beautiful thing to ever grace her ears. Like leaves floating in a gentle stream came the words, and whatever they meant, Mirimaran and the Fox stepped away, and the two figures rose from the shadows.
"Daffodil, might I present to you the Brothers", said Mirimaran, "the twin sons of Lord Elrond."
Into the firelight stepped the two elves, and Daffodil's eyes went wide. Dressed in green, their cloaks like wings around them, ebon hair gleaning, the brothers stared at her with eyes as dark as the night. She stumbled for words.
"Daffodil Underhill, at your service", she managed.
They nodded, and then spoke to each other again in their tongue. One stepped forward and said,
"Welcome, Daffodil Underhill. You have a great light about you, curious as it is. We think you will be of much use on this hunt."
He reached into his belt and withdrew a dagger.
"A blade of our kind, it will glow blue when orcs and goblins approach. May it serve you well." Daffodil's brown eyes were wide as she took it, and stuck it in her own belt.
"We tarry too long here", said the elf, "the trail will grow cold. Goblins rarely raid this far south. My brother and I will go ahead."
The brothers bowed to Daffodil and then melted to the back of the room. The Fox and Mirimaran came to Daffodil.
"I do not approve of this", said the Fox, his arms crossed, "but I will not doubt the wisdom of the Twins. Miri, she is your charge." Then he nodded and said,
"Keep up, Mistress Underhill. I don't want to have to look for three hobbit children."
Daffodil began to protest at being called a child, but Mirimaran stepped in front of her.
"She will, you have my word, Brother Fox", he said, "now we must be on our way."
Daffodil looked around her Ranger friend to see that the twins were gone, and for that matter, the others that had been in the room, despite the fact that the door remained locked.
"Where did everyone go?" she exclaimed, "is it Elvish magic?"
The Fox looked at her and said,
"Hobbit sense, indeed."
He stepped to the shadows at the back of the room, and then disappeared.
"Old Butterbur doesn't know the place quite like we do", said Mirimaran as he gathered up the map and then put out the small fire.
"What do you mean?" asked Daffodil.
He took her hand and led her to the back.
"A secret passage", he said, pushing a bit of paneling back, "the Pony keeps her secrets, and now you must as well." Daffodil nodded as she and the Ranger stepped into the darkness.
It had been a hard winter in the Bree-land. Snow had come early, but the fertile fields had been plentiful, and as hobbits are wont to do, most had enough to eat and stored to while away the cold days and nights. In the best hole in Staddle, Josie was preparing the evening meal when Otto Underhill came through the round door, hung up his coat and scarf in the hallway, and then bellowed into the kitchen,
"What bother in Bree today!"
Sitting in the kitchen was his wife, Marigold and his seven children, including the remarkable Daffodil Underhill, who looked up from their bowls of stew to see their father walk in and then plop in his (for a hobbit) oversized chair and motion to Josie to fill his bowl.
"What on earth are you going on about, my dear?" asked Marigold as her husband tucked a delicate napkin to his chin and began to eat.
"Why, the whole town is turned upside down", he said, "those vagabonds are everywhere!" Daffodil perked up at this, knowing that vagabonds was her father's more polite description for the...
"Rangers? Rangers are in Bree?" she asked, excited. Otto gave his daughter a stern look over his stew and then continued,
"Yes, those folks. The Pony is full of them, some hysterical unfortunate has everyone in an uproar."
Marigold rolled her eyes as she sipped her tea.
"Well, go on then, what is the uproar?"
"Well, the Greenfield's claim", he said, as he buttered a bit of roll, "that their farm was attacked and their children abducted."
Marigold and the rest of the family gasped.
"Otto!", she exclaimed, "how can you sit there and talk calmly about such things!"
"Abducted by who?" asked Daffodil.
Otto laughed and then popped the roll in his mouth, jowls a-flutter.
"The best part, my dear", he said, "by goblins, of all things! Can you believe that? Violet Greenfield is at the Pony right now, blabbering to anyone who will listen about it. Preposterous!"
"Then where are her children?" asked Marigold, "surely they didn't just up and disappear on their own?"
"Bah, perhaps they just decided to go out and lost their way home", he said, waving a fat hand dismissively, "but goblins? Really! Anyway, let's have some of those taters!"
"Goblins", Daffodil repeated to herself, as he father continued to talk over the din of his wife and children, each asking questions and commenting on his story. But to the young hobbit girl, she knew that this couldn't be some made-up story if the Rangers were gathering in Bree.
"I...I am really tired, please excuse me", she said, getting up from the table.
"Oh, good night m'dear", said her father as Daffodil kissed him on the forehead, "pleasant dreams." She left the kitchen as calmly as she could, and then bolted down the hallway to her bedroom, where she quickly shut the door and then threw open her closet. There she pulled out a small wooden chest and opened it. Inside lay a leather jerkin, a faded green woolen dress, a worn leather belt and pouch, and a neatly folded weather-stained dark cloak. Quickly she dressed, putting on her least fancy shearling coat over the jerkin, and threw the cloak about her slim shoulders. Like a crown over her thick dark tresses went the hood, and then she opened the round window, and stole out into the cold night.
------------------------------------------
She made good time to Bree in the fading light, even through the snow. She knew shortcuts around the Hill, and presently was through the wooden gate before it closed for the night. Around the walls torches were already lit, and in the muddy streets there was a bustle of Men, Dwarves and hobbits, each heading to home and hearth, or as she was, to the Prancing Pony. There she made her way up the wide steps and through the open great door, stepping inside to the warmth of the Pony's main room.
The walls were painted with shadows from the fire that roared in the great stone hearth at the end of the room, and by the multitudes of candles and pipeglow from Men who sat with mugs of ale on well-worn oak benches, the smoke of their pipeweed over their heads like storm clouds. There was much noise and music, but in the center of the room Daffodil saw a small hobbit mother, Violet Greenfield it was, a blanket over her shoulders, her hands shaking as she held a mug, a small group of Bree-men and hobbits hanging on her every word.
"Terrible it was, my Eddie swinging his axe to and fro! And those...those things, the goblins, low and arms too long, howling and screaming...my babies, my Lily and little Roddy! Oh, why did they have to take them?"
Violet broke down into sobs as some of the hobbits tried to comfort her. Above her Men talked and wagged their beards, but Daffodil knew their talk was little more than the excitement of a new story to be repeated later when the cups ran low. She turned and went to the ale-stained desk where old Butterbur cleaned mugs with a dirty rag.
"Why, it's Miss Daffy!", he exclaimed, a wide smile on his face, ruddy cheeks glowing. "A mite late for a visit, but you are always welcome here at the Pony! Some sweet-milk, is it?"
Daffodil blushed, knowing the tired joke had been going around all year ( translator's note: recalling the events in 'A Rainy Night at the Pony') then said,
"No thank you, Master Butterbur, I wonder if you would direct me to where the Rangers might be gathering. I reckon I am late for the meeting."
Butterbur's bushy eyebrows shot up.
"Rangers? Meeting? Oh, Miss Daffy, I don't know if your father would want you to get messed up with that bunch, again."
"My dear Butterbur", she said, staring up at the fat man, "would I be here if my father didn't know where I was? Really! Or do you take me for some disreputable?"
"Oh, why no, Miss Daffy..."
"Then please direct me to my meeting, if you please", she said, "time is of the essence!"
"Down the hall, the small room at the corner", said Butterbur, "they hold their secret meetings there. Yet", he said, a hand going to his stubbled chin even as Daffodil slipped down the hallway, "I never seem to see them leave."
Daffodil made her way down the hall, noting that the candles toward the corner had been put out. She came to the door, dark-stained and scuffed, and put her ear against it.
She could hear low voices inside, and then she stepped back.
"A secret meeting, is it?" she said to herself. Her keen eyes looked at the door, and at what would have been the height for a Man were two sets of scuffed and dented marks, almost as if years of knocking with pommels and staves.
"Well, let's try", she said. She knocked hard twice, then moved her fist and knocked twice more. Suddenly a gruff voice boomed from the other side, as if in challenge.
"Lacho calad", said the voice. Daffodil paused for a moment, then lowered her voice and responded,
"Drego morn."
There was the clack of an iron lock being unlatched, then the door opened, spilling the light of a small fire into the hallway. She stepped through, and behind her the door shut tight. Around her stood several tall men, ragged as they were, in cloaks and hoods. Two tall figures sat in the corner, masked in shadows, and incredibly Daffodil recognized the tinker as well, not in his leather apron, but in a shirt of dwarven scales and leaning on a heavy axe. In the center of the room was a table and a single candle which illuminated a parchment map.
Two men were hunched over the table, almost arguing in low voices when they looked up from the map and saw her.
"Daffodil Underhill, whatever are you doing here?" said the first, who despite his tone smiled at her.
"Why, my dear Mirimaran", she said, smiling back at her friend, "my invitation to the meeting seems to have been misplaced."
The other at the table, his dark hood not quite containing his great mane of white hair, asked gruffly,
"'Invitation'? How did you know to come here?" He shot a glance at Mirimaran.
"You told her the password? The secret knock?"
Mirimaran shrugged his shoulders but then Daffodil interjected,
"He told me nothing of the sort! It wasn't that hard to figure out. Perhaps you need a new door, or a new password. Butterbur directed me here, and then plain hobbit sense did the rest. Now that I am here, we can plan the rescue of the Greenfield children. What do you reckon?"
The white-haired Ranger, the legendary Fox, stood from the table, towering over even his kin.
"I do not think we need your help", he said, then turned to Mirimaran.
"This is your doing, encouraging this. We have problems enough."
Daffodil stepped forward.
"Now see here, sir", she said, anger flushing her cheeks. "I have done Ranger business for almost a year now, and even met in the wilderness with your people, under the moon in June. I see many here, even the tinker! but we hobbits can't be bothered? Who else is involved? The Elves? Is there an Eagle waiting on the roof?"
The Fox stared at her, and then one of the figures in the corner spoke, and it was the first time that Daffodil had ever heard the Elvish tongue, and it seemed to her the most beautiful thing to ever grace her ears. Like leaves floating in a gentle stream came the words, and whatever they meant, Mirimaran and the Fox stepped away, and the two figures rose from the shadows.
"Daffodil, might I present to you the Brothers", said Mirimaran, "the twin sons of Lord Elrond."
Into the firelight stepped the two elves, and Daffodil's eyes went wide. Dressed in green, their cloaks like wings around them, ebon hair gleaning, the brothers stared at her with eyes as dark as the night. She stumbled for words.
"Daffodil Underhill, at your service", she managed.
They nodded, and then spoke to each other again in their tongue. One stepped forward and said,
"Welcome, Daffodil Underhill. You have a great light about you, curious as it is. We think you will be of much use on this hunt."
He reached into his belt and withdrew a dagger.
"A blade of our kind, it will glow blue when orcs and goblins approach. May it serve you well." Daffodil's brown eyes were wide as she took it, and stuck it in her own belt.
"We tarry too long here", said the elf, "the trail will grow cold. Goblins rarely raid this far south. My brother and I will go ahead."
The brothers bowed to Daffodil and then melted to the back of the room. The Fox and Mirimaran came to Daffodil.
"I do not approve of this", said the Fox, his arms crossed, "but I will not doubt the wisdom of the Twins. Miri, she is your charge." Then he nodded and said,
"Keep up, Mistress Underhill. I don't want to have to look for three hobbit children."
Daffodil began to protest at being called a child, but Mirimaran stepped in front of her.
"She will, you have my word, Brother Fox", he said, "now we must be on our way."
Daffodil looked around her Ranger friend to see that the twins were gone, and for that matter, the others that had been in the room, despite the fact that the door remained locked.
"Where did everyone go?" she exclaimed, "is it Elvish magic?"
The Fox looked at her and said,
"Hobbit sense, indeed."
He stepped to the shadows at the back of the room, and then disappeared.
"Old Butterbur doesn't know the place quite like we do", said Mirimaran as he gathered up the map and then put out the small fire.
"What do you mean?" asked Daffodil.
He took her hand and led her to the back.
"A secret passage", he said, pushing a bit of paneling back, "the Pony keeps her secrets, and now you must as well." Daffodil nodded as she and the Ranger stepped into the darkness.