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Something Wicked This Way Comes

© Michael Martinez

The Stoors would have noticed strange things happening in the woods beyond those highlands. The Men living in the woods would have changed, as the Woodmen were driven away by the Easterlings. Orcs, Trolls, Wargs, and other evil creatures would gradually step out of the old wives' tales and into the farms. In the space of one or two generations, Gaffers and Gammers who remembered better times would complain about failing crops, poor fishing, and the onslought of unfriendly Men. It would have been a gradual transition from the good old days to the bad new times. Each year, life would have become a little more anxious. Clans would circulate new stories of frightening encounters every season. The repetoire of rumors and uncertainties would accumulate gradually as Sauron's influence encroached upon the peaceful lands of Hobbits and Men. The Elves and Dwarves, concentrating on their own concerns, would pay little heed to what transpired. Maybe one year they would learn that a friendly town or village had been abandoned or occupied by unfriendly forces. But Men were always fighting among themselves. The political map would not change so much as the social map. Clans of Men and Hobbits must at first have simply tried to move a few miles away. It would be little different from the ages' old tradition of towns sending out colonists to build new towns. Clans would have to occasionally split up and seek new lands. But one day, someone important enough to be listened to noticed that Something was Wrong. Folk no longer lived where they used to. People now looked across the River with dread. Maybe one raid too many had come out of the darkening woods. Maybe the peril of Orcs and Wargs had become all too real, and tribes along the Anduin had become more warlike and vigilant than their grandfathers needed to be in their youth. There had to be some sort of council, a communal decision-making process ensued. Perhaps it merely started with one clan getting too spooked to stay in the Vales of Anduin any longer. They would have heard stories about the rich lands over the mountains. A lone clan leader may have stood up one day and said, "Everyone, we are leaving. Pack what you want, and leave the rest." And when his neighbors saw what he was doing, they said, "We've had enough, too. We're coming with you." Families, towns, lone individuals, adventurous young couples fleeing their parents' anger would have crossed the mountains. It might have started as a trickle of wanderers, drawing a few curious stares from the local people in Eriador. "Who are these strange little people?" Men may have wondered. "They look like children. Where are their parents?"