Disclaimer: Only the four OCs are mine. All else, including some of the dialogue and, of course, the songs, belong to Professor Tolkien. I'm just borrowing.

Author's Note: This story is a modern-day tale, and was inspired by an anecdote two of my guy friends are fond of telling, when one got a group of them lost while camping due to his lack of navigational and time-keeping skills. This tale is different in many ways, of course, but I must thank my friends for being never-ending sources of amusement and, on occasion, inspiration. Originally it was to be a one-shot, but in the writing it grew longer than I expected, so it is now split into two parts. It is also my first stab at third person omniscient POV, so I can get into the heads of all the boys, though out of habit I did choose one to focus on more than the others.

Up the Withywindle
Part One

It started out as a normal camping trip. The four boys got their stuff together, piled into Mike's car, and headed off. They drove to an old forest no one entered very often, thinking it would be fun to explore. It bordered a park, and Mike parked the car near a playground, where some elementary school kids were running around. A lazy brown river flowed by, and Mike pointed to it as the others got their backpacks out of the trunk. "We can follow the river," he said. "That way we won't get lost."

Tyler snorted as he hoisted his bag onto his shoulders. "If you're leading the way, we'll get lost no matter what we follow," he said. John laughed as he tossed Mike's bag to him. Alan closed the trunk, and once Mike locked the car, they set off, Mike leading the way in spite of Tyler's remark. He was the tallest of the boys, as well as the oldest, and the camping trip had been his idea, though his distinct lack of navigational skills was notorious.

Alan, John's brother and the youngest of the four, took up the rear. "Look how big these trees are," he said as they left the sounds of the playground and road beyond behind them. "They must be ancient!"

"Reminds me of the Forbidden Forest," remarked John. Mike paused to look back at him quizzically. "…From Harry Potter?"

"Oh, right." Mike grinned and continued on. "Think we'll see any centaurs?"

"Or maybe Voldemort's running around sucking the blood of unicorns."

"Or maybe…" The conversation went on until none of them could think of anything else that might have been mentioned in the Harry Potter books. John, being the resident nerd of the group, naturally thought of the most.

They hiked for most of the day, following what appeared to be a footpath along the riverbank. "Is it just me," panted Alan as the afternoon stretched on, "or are the trees getting closer?"

"No, it's not just you," Tyler said. "They are. Hey Mike, let's stop for a break."

"What? Come on, we haven't gone that far yet."

"Dude, we've been walking all day!" John exclaimed.

"No we haven't."

Ty, John, and Alan halted. Mike continued on a few more steps before he realized that they were not following. "Mike, it's almost six in the evening," Ty said, pointing to his watch.

"No way, is it really?"

"Yeah."

"Well this is a crappy place to stop and camp."

"Then we'll keep going, but only until we find a good place to stop," John said, stifling a yawn with his hand.

Alan looked back, and let out a yelp. "Guys!"

"What?"

"The trees moved!"

"…That would be the wind, Al," John said. Then all four of them paused. There was no wind. Everything was absolutely still, except the river. No birds or beasts could be heard in the forest, either.

"I don't mean like that," Alan whispered. "Look back. There are trees where the path was." Everyone turned, and found it to be true. The path behind them was blocked now, by a rather gnarled old tree. "Hey, John?"

"Yeah?"

"In the Forbidden Forest…did the trees move?"

John thought for a minute, and then replied, "Not that I ever read."

"Come on, let's go find a better place to camp," Mike said, apparently unconcerned about the growing mystery of the trees. They picked up the pace, Alan soon lagging behind as his shorter legs failed to keep up with the longer strides of Ty, Mike, and John. As they walked, the path grew narrower, as though they were being herded closer and closer to the river's edge. It occurred to them that they did not even know the name of this river, or where it lead or how far. As they walked, all four boys started to become increasingly tired – not the sort of tired that came with a long day's walk, but a sleepy sort of tired that weighed heavily on their eyelids and made their feet feel leaden.

"Just up ahead," Mike said finally. "There's a wider clearing, around a big old willow tree."

"Keep away from the tree!" Alan exclaimed. "These trees creep me out, and they move."

"They're trees, Al," John said. "What can they possibly do to us?"

"Don't you feel like they're watching, and like they don't like us?" Alan insisted. "It's freaking me out!" He thought he could hear whispers as the leaves moved in a sudden breeze, coming from upriver. John yawned, closely followed by Tyler.

"Let's set up camp here," said Mike as they reached the clearing by the old willow. "Look at those weird cracks. D'you think an animal has a den in there or something?" He went to the willow to examine it, and ended up sitting down beneath it. Alan remained standing while Tyler and John tossed their backpacks to the ground and stretched out. The sun sank ever lower, and the trees began casting long, eerie shadows. Alan went to the edge of the river and splashed his face with the cool water, which helped him wake up a little bit.

Then he heard a muffled click, and walked back around to the other side of the tree. What he saw frightened him even worse than the whispers in the leaves. "Mike!" he shouted. "John, Ty, get up, the tree's eating Mike!"

"It's doing what, now?" Tyler sat up, and looked to where Mike was halfway inside the tree, still apparently asleep. "Oh my God!" He and John scrambled to their feet, and together they tried to pry the willow crack open, while Alan grabbed Mike's ankles and pulled as hard as he could.

Then, suddenly, Tyler stopped. "Anyone else hear singing?" he asked. John and Alan paused also, though Mike had begun thrashing around. Sure enough, from downriver they could hear a deep, cheerful voice singing what sounded like careless nonsense.

John left the tree and went to the path. "Hey!" he called. "Hey, who's there? Can you help us?" As if in reply, the lyrics of the song became clear – though they were still nonsensical:

"Hey dol! merry dol! ring a dong dillo!
Ring a dong! hop along! fall lal the willow!
Tom Bom, jolly Tom, Tom Bombadillo!"

"Who's Tom Bombadillo?" Alan asked Tyler, who shrugged.

"Get me outa here!" came Mike's muffled voice from inside the tree. "It's going to slice me in half!" The singing increased in volume suddenly, and out of the gibberish came actual lyrics:

"Hey! Come merry dol! derry dol! My darling!
Light goes the weather-wind and the feathered starling.
Down along under Hill, shining in the sunlight,
There my pretty lady is, River-woman's daughter,
Slender as the willow-wand, clearer than the water.
Old Tom Bombadil water-lilies bringing
Comes hopping home again. Can you hear him singing?"

"Yeah, we can hear you all right," Tyler muttered. "Who is this nut?"

"Tom Bombadil, or Bombadillo, or whatever," Alan replied.

Around the bend came hopping and skipping a man. He was about as tall as Alan was, with a thick, long, brown beard, bright blue eyes, and a red face creased with a hundred wrinkles. Tyler and Alan released Mike and stared, momentarily forgetting the danger in light of the stranger's altogether outlandish clothing. He wore big, yellow boots on his thick legs, and an old, tall hat with a long, bright blue feather stuck in the band, the same color as his coat. In his hands, like a tray, he had a large leaf, and on it was a carefully arranged pile of white water-lilies. "He wasn't joking about the lily thing, then," Alan observed.

"This is the weirdest camping trip ever," Tyler muttered.

"Hey, man, help us out here!" John exclaimed, hurrying forward.

"Whoa! Steady there!" exclaimed the man, holding up a hand while balancing the leaf of lilies in the other. John halted. "Where be you a-going to? What's the matter then? Do you know who I am? I'm Tom Bombadil. Tell me what's your trouble, for I'm in a hurry now; Goldberry is waiting."

"Our friend's stuck in the tree," John exclaimed, pointing to where Mike's legs continued to kick.

"What!" Tom Bombadil exclaimed. "Old Man Willow? Naught worse than that." He set the lilies down carefully, and then capered over to the tree. "That can soon be mended; I know the tune for him! Old grey Willow-man, I'll freeze his marrow cold, if he don't behave himself. I'll sing his roots off!" He gestured for Alan and Tyler to move aside, and when they did he put his mouth to the crack and began singing in a voice too low for them to catch the words. Mike kicked even more violently, and then Bombadil sprang away to break off a switch and smack the tree with it. "You let him out again, Old Man Willow! You should not be waking. Eat earth! Dig deep! Drink water! Go to sleep! Bombadil is talking!"

The crack widened all of a sudden, and Mike scrambled out of it, ending up on his behind, staring up, bewildered and grateful, at Tom Bombadil. "Thanks a ton!" he said.

"Yeah, thanks," chorused the other three, still bemused at the method Bombadil had used to rescue Mike.

"What is Old Man Willow?" Tyler asked. "I mean, it's a tree, but obviously not a normal tree…"

"No! I don't want to know!" Mike exclaimed, pressing his hands over his ears. "Forget it!"

"He's right," said Bombadil. "Some things are ill to hear when the world's in shadow." Suddenly, all the wrinkles in his face deepened as he smiled, and laughed at some joke only he understood.

The boys looked at each other, and then John asked, "Uh, what's so funny?"

"I am thinking of a day like this, one evening long ago, in the quiet of the world – when there was less noise, and more green," Bombadil replied, still laughing merrily. "No, you are not the first to be snared by Old Man Willow!" Suddenly, he clapped his hands. "You shall come home with me!" he announced. "The table is laden with yellow cream and honeycomb, and Goldberry is waiting! Follow after me as quick as you can!" He picked up his lilies, then, and danced off up the path, beginning to sing once again.

"Is he serious?" Mike asked after a moment.

"I guess so," Tyler replied. He picked up his backpack. "Come on. You were the one who wanted an adventure, Mike. Looks like you got what you wanted."

"Trust me, I did not mean an adventure like this," Mike muttered as he got to his feet. They set off down the path again, following Bombadil. "It's gonna get dark, soon. What does he expect us to do? We won't be able to see." Mists had begun curling up over the river, and they soon spilled onto the path, writhing like white snakes as the boys moved through them.

Suddenly, as the sun finally sank below the trees, and the stars began coming out overhead, they heard Tom Bombadil's voice floating back to them.

"Hop along, my friends, up the Withywindle!
Tom's going on ahead candles for to kindle.
Down west sinks the Sun: soon you will be groping.
When the night shadows fall, then the door will open,
Out of the window-panes light will twinkle yellow.
Fear no alder black! Heed no hoary willow!
Fear neither root nor bough! Tom goes on before you.
Hey now! Merry dol! We'll be waiting for you!"

"I swear, he sings more than he breathes," John grumbled as they continued to make their way over the path. "Does he live in here?"

"I guess so," Mike said. "And it's a good thing he does, too."

"Truth," Alan said from the rear. Then he scrambled up into the middle of the other three as nightly noises began sounding in the forest around them. Apparently the spell of Old Man Willow had worn off, and animals had begun coming out again. The boys had left the riverbank, and were starting to climb. Off to one side they caught a white glimpse of a small waterfall, and not long after that the trees ended. They found themselves staring up a hill of grass, and above them the stars were already shining far brighter than any of them had ever seen.

As they continued on, they noted that someone obviously took care of the landscaping; the grass was neatly mowed, and the edge of the forest looked more like a trimmed hedge than anything else.

A door opened in the house atop the hill, and bright yellow light streamed out of it, and Bombadil's voice, singing again, came drifting down to them:

"Hey! Come derry dol! Hop along, my hearties!
Boys! Step up now! We are fond of parties.
Now let the fun begin! Let us sing together!"

Another voice rang out then, making the boys quicken their pace even as they were tempted to stop still and listen. It was terrifically old, and young, at the same time, and reminded them of clear water flowing merrily down from the hills on a bright spring morning.

"Now let the song begin! Let us sing together
Of sun, stars, moon and mist, rain and cloudy weather,
Light on the budding leaf, dew on the feather,
Wind on the open hill, bells on the heather,
Reeds by the shady pool, lilies on the water:
Old Tom Bombadil and the River-daughter!"

Alan wondered how one was supposed to be the child of a river, but had no time to really ponder it, for suddenly they came to the door, and stepped into the house of Tom Bombadil, all filled with golden light and merry music.