Act III, part II: The Woodman
Tinnurion travelled south through the forest at a steady pace. A threatening gloom lay over it, and the Old Dwarf Road appeared inhospitable and overgrown. The forest south of the old road seemed even more harrowing; he could hear the howling of wolves and the unnerving rustling of shrubberies by creatures hidden from sight. Eyes gleamed in the dark, but they could not discern the shadow that passed them, for Tinnurion was hardly visible himself, so quickly and quietly did he move from tree to tree.
He felt anger but fear also, fear for what might become of his friends in his absence. Leaving them with that great horror was one of the hardest things he had ever done, and though he was on an errant to save them, he felt guilty that he had not at least tried to save them by some other means.
After many miles through the dark forest, he came at last to the Narrows of the Forest, where the woodmen of Mirkwood lingered in settlements of their own. It was only here that Tinnurion realised he had no idea where to look for the woodman the spider mentioned. Thus, he devised a plan to seek for him, and of all the cunning deeds of Tinnurion, this was to be his most deceiving. By some magic he disguised himself as an old man, bent and hooded, to walk among the woodmen without rousing suspicion. Indeed, in the long years of his life he had mastered the art of remaining unseen and he had learned ways to appear as if someone else.
He approached several woodman villages and spoke with several chieftains in the area ere he came to the one harbouring the infamous warrior. As he arrived, the woodmen of the village were having a great feast in the chieftain’s hall to celebrate the coming of winter.
The guards were easily convinced to allow him entry. As the door opened wide, the cold wind quieted the song the men were chanting, and the minstrels halted their music. The chieftain sat ahead at a great table overlooking the hall. Like many seated about him he looked displeased at the old man’s coming.
‘Who comes unbid to the chieftain’s hall, to disturb its guests in their feast and bring such cold wind along with him?’
‘An old man who is in desperate need of aid, my lordship’, said Tinnurion in disguise.
The chieftain was not in the mood for ill tidings, and he had much rather seen the evening continue its merriment undisturbed. But disturbed it was already, and now he wanted to know why.
‘Speak then of your troubles, for I am sure my guards would not so idly allow any to disturb this hall, as that is indeed what I had ordered them to do’, he said while eyeing his guards.
‘Surely, they would not, and did not, for great is my sorrow to tell you that a great and terrible creature has destroyed my home and taken my only daughter deep into the forest. It had eight legs and evil looking eyes, and it chittered, and there were others like it, but smaller and they followed it as sheep follow the shepherd’s call. Word reached my ear of brave warriors who hunt these creatures, and it is this very rumour that brings me before you this starlit evening.’
Men at every table murmured and some felt their sword-arm ache. But the chieftain would not rouse the fighting spirit of his kin that day, nor any day for that matter, for he was not known to be brave, but he ruled his kinsmen by stern countenance and wisdom, and some disliked him for it.
‘I would not doubt the valour of my kin, but these rumours cannot possible have led you hither, for we here do not hunt such creatures as you speak of, only deer and boar and that which we may feast upon. And even if we did, I fear in my heart that your daughter is long beyond saving. But where is it you hail from? One of the outer villages? What news from them?’
And the old man, seeing doubt in the eyes of some of the bystanders, then said:
‘I live alone with my family up north. But never did we have to contend with such evil. Pray, help an old man in need. For even if there is no hope in saving her, I would have her buried aside her family.’
The chieftain looked at the bent figure before him and thought him strange, yet he knew not why. There was something about him that he did not trust, and it annoyed him even more.
‘I may forgive your despair in the matter, for any seated here tonight would not wish to see that happen to his own. But to come here uninvited, to relay your ill news while we feast, in the company of my household, and to make such demands! I will not have it. For your sorrows, you may stay here for the night and my guards will bring you food and bedding, but by the morrow I will have you gone.’
Many lesser minds in the hall thought this a harsh treatment of the old man, but they were all surprised to hear the old man speak next with a voice that held power:
‘Have heart, great chieftain, that your household is yet whole and healthy, and laughter and merriment are still heard within your halls. For though fortune smiles upon you now, the days will darken, and your ears will be heralded the sorrow and grief of many others before the end. For when all have tasted the bitterness of misfortune, and your blissful house is all that remains, only then will you understand.’
And these words roused voices among the bystanders and some talked in hushed tones of the shadows of the forest and the idleness of their chieftain. One woodman in particular, whose eyes looked fierce, stepped forward and spoke:
‘That will not come to pass, not if my axe can help it. I will stand defiant, and with my chieftain’s leave I will take many strong men and bows of finest make and head into the forest to slay this terrible creature of whom the old man speaks. Whose axes may I count along my own?’, he cried.
And there was cheering in the hall and men called out his name: ‘Gardbrand! Gardbrand!’
But the Chieftain, who had no particular liking for Gardbrand, shook his head and said:
‘None shall venture into the woods on a fool’s errant, not while I am chieftain.’
Gardbrand looked at the chieftain and beckoned.
‘This man needs our aid. Will we sit idly by and feast while he drowns in his tears?’
‘Will you defy me again, Gardbrand? You would do well to remember that you sit at my table, eating my food!’
Gardbrand was silent and he sat down, but his anger was confirmed in the eyes of those around him, and there was a whispering. It was clear now to the old man that there was dissent among the chieftain’s ranks and that Gardbrand was the chieftain’s rival. And this knowledge would serve him well in his deceptions.
As the music resumed, the guards escorted him outside to a small house. They gave him some food and bedding, and there he waited. Shortly after the feast was over, there was a knocking on his door. It was Gardbrand and he came to lend his aid.
‘I have those who would follow me. In the morrow, we will go hunting not for deer or boar, but for the creature that wronged you. I have slain many of its kind before, so you have my word, your daughter will be avenged.’
As Gardbrand left him for the night, the old man remembered well the spider’s warning that he could not return with more men than they bargained for. Thus, deep in the night, when all lay soundly asleep, he went outside and talked to the chieftain’s guards about Gardbrand’s defiance and they woke the chieftain and told him all that they had learned. Soon the whole village was roused, but the old man was gone, for while they had called everyone outside, Tinnurion had come before Gardbrand and told him that someone had betrayed their plan. He beckoned the warrior to follow him into the forest and escape the chieftain’s wrath. For this, he argued, was the only way that he could prove himself a better chieftain.
