The following is a firsthand account of this year’s Brandywine Festival, given by Thistle Mossbright of Bindbale Wood. You may also know Thistle as Kili of Happy Hobbit. You will find her first video coverage of the event below, but read on for a thrilling adventure!
Thistle’s Tale
“You may rest easy tonight,” the hobbit gentlewoman said to me as we stood in the dark, the bonfire embers beneath the Party Tree the only source of illumination other than the comforting yellow glow of her lantern and those of others drifting about. “We had heard reports of a giant spider but did not find anything in the woods. Another such expedition is leaving tomorrow night at seven, gathering at the Party Tree, to ensure our safety.”
Clutching the scarf draped over my head and shoulders, I raised my own lantern and nodded, glancing back at the tree behind me. “I should like to join that expedition.”
After all, I had already traipsed and explored nearly every nook of the trails above the Brandywine Festival field, not only on the Long Walk in all the way from my home in Bindbale Wood, but on my own after the festivities began. Perhaps this was foolish, for on the Long Walk some brigands harassed our party, but they were deterred by a stout-hearted lass who threw a roadside orange at them. They didn’t seem very keen on pursuing us after that (however; I did hear from a horrified hobbit in another party that one of the Big Folk grabbed his basket!).
Perhaps I should have been participating more during the day to help our little group of hobbits from the North Farthing have a better chance at competing in the Farthing Games, but I couldn’t resist the call to forage. My young cousins Gander and Barley were also with me from Hobbiton, sent by their father to learn some wildcrafting, for he did not want to be responsible for raising any lads who didn’t know a juniper from a pine, and I quite agreed.
“Thank you for ensuring our safety, brave hobbit,” I said as the gentlewoman and I parted ways.
I made my way back toward the warmth of the bonfire and sat down on a bale of straw. My young charges had already gone to bed, but I had stayed up dancing to the jigs and reels belted out by the local band on the party stage before I caught sight of the glowing lanterns coming down the hill. The night was brisk, by far the coldest of the festival yet, which wasn’t surprising given that we were gathered to honor the harvest. Winter will soon be here. My garden will be tucked into bed, and I will turn my energy toward pen and paper once more and see what sort of tale I might craft.
Sleep tugged at the corners of my eyes, and I knew that the moment I stepped away from the fire, the only remedy for the cold would be to snuggle under the multitude of blankets on the cot in my tent. I made my way back to the campground, guided by the light from the nearly full moon. The cheerful glows of campfires dotted the grassy knolls around me, and while I could not make out the shapes of the revelers, their bright voices and boisterous laughter made me smile. There was still much mirth to be had if I wished.
The mist rose on a field just beyond our encampment, glowing with its hoary light, and was so captivating that I drew closer to gaze, slipping past a group of revelers gathered around a cookfire. I am so often moving softly through the forests of my home that I didn’t think anything of it, but with all the rumors of spiders and Big Folk about, I should have known better.
“Who goes there?” one of the party at the fire called. “Are you a hobbit? If you are a hobbit, say, ‘I don’t like adventures!'”
“I don’t like adventures,” I replied as I turned to face them and stepped more fully into the light. They breathed a collective sigh of relief, and several giggled nervously.
“You gave me such a fright that now you owe me a story,” one gentleman stated. “A happy one to cheer me up!”
“Yes!” The others chimed in. “Tell us a story.”
I thought of the tales I had told with my own pen and inkwell, but they were far too long for such a setting. And most of the stories I knew by heart ended well but weren’t exactly cheerful. “I know an old hobbit folktale about the moon,” I said. “It is a little scary, but it would be very suitable.”
“Oh yes,” a hobbit lass replied, snuggling down into her cloak, seated upon a log as the others fell quiet, awaiting my tale. And so, I shared the story of the how the moon once came down for a visit to see if the scary nightthings she had heard about were real, and how the scary nightthings imprisoned her in a bog, and there was no moonlight to guide hobbits for days, until one party sought her out and freed her!
“Will you be here tomorrow night for another story?” a lad asked. “I am going to sit here right on this log and wait.”
We all chuckled, and I bid them a good night before heading away to bed. I drifted off to sleep to the sounds of distant laughter and chatter, reminding myself that the spooky nightthings of my folktale were only imaginary and that I had been given assurance that there were no nasty spiders lurking about.
“This is an unofficial expedition,” Samuel Hollybrass, Esq., the traveling artist and sign-maker, announced the following morning to the group of us gathered to gaze at his map of the festival grounds. “The terrain may be rough, so do not accompany us if you don’t have good footing.” His thumbs were hooked into the small pockets of his waistcoat as he appraised our group. “Some strange noises were heard up on yonder hill, and we aim to investigate.”
I found myself gathering up my skirts and hiking up the slope with the group before I thought twice. My young charges were enjoying the festival, and I hadn’t even told them I was going up the hill. But no bother – certainly we would not find anything of significance, and I would return soon. There was plenty of feasting to be had in the meantime. So, imagine my surprise when, upon cresting the hill, Mr. Hollybrass bade us all to crouch and hide in the tall grass. My heart leaped into my throat. What could the matter be?
Then I heard it. A shout from a Big Folk. And… a hobbit?
Several of us peeked over the grass. To our horror, we witnessed our very own Shire Crier, the gentleman who rang his bells to announce the festivities for the festival, being beset upon by several brigands! It was a truly terrifying sight! They were dressed in black, and one of them had a great big unsightly beard. A terrified murmur rippled through us, but what was there to do?
“There’s more of us than them!” one brave lad shouted as he rose, revealing himself.
I followed suit, along with several others (those much more prepared than I had armed themselves with their walking sticks) and we charged, bellowing all the while. The brigands stood their ground until we were near, then, seeing our great number indeed, released the Shire Crier and scurried back into the woods. We hastily surrounded the Crier, and many ladies pulled out their fans and wafted his person to help him cool, for the day was hot and he had just had a terrible exertion.
“What happened?” several in our party asked.
“One of their number was attacked and killed last night by a giant spider,” the Crier gasped between breaths. I glanced at the others in shock. So, the rumors were true? “I saw his body all wrapped up in a cocoon, along with many other foul things you dare not wish to look upon. Unspeakable things.”
I could feel the oatmeal and pecan pie from Elevenses in my stomach souring at the thought.
“The brigands thought I was somehow responsible,” the Crier continued as the fanning stopped. “They said that would be the only reason I was outside the festival. I told them, ‘I’m the Shire Crier, and I come and go as I please!’ But they wouldn’t listen! And then, thankfully, you all arrived.”
It wasn’t long then before we took the Crier into our midst and shepherded him back down the hill toward the safety of the festival. This was most distressing news indeed, especially after a party had already investigated the night before and decreed the grounds safe. After a brief visit to the well to fill up my canteen, I hastily found my young charges to let them know the goings-on.
Both Barley and Gander agreed that we better investigate this matter ourselves after all the rumors, so we headed back up the hill. We passed several other hobbits on their way down, having had the same inkling as us, and they told us there was indeed something to see. Sure enough, there were webs among the conifer trees – a sure sign of a large spider! The lads didn’t seem to understand the gravity of the situation, for one of them took a small sample of the spiders’ silk and stuffed it into his satchel as a trophy of sorts. How revitalizing it is to be amongst such youths not yet tweens, but also how naïve they can be. Especially folk from Hobbiton who think all the Shire is just the same as their sheltered hamlet.
To settle our nerves, we returned to the festival and watched some of the sport in the Farthing Games. We cheered on the North as the potato tossing competition grew fierce (the Gamemaster assured us that the spuds were merely those deemed unsuitable for consumption after the harvest). I decided that the lads were old enough to know more about what was going on in the woods above the festival, so I filled them in on the rumors of the giant spider and the brigands.
“A Dwarven merchant arrived while you were gone,” Barley said. “He had come to sell us some Dwarven boots, but his cart was set upon by brigands.”
“I heard nothing of this!” I proclaimed.
“It’s true,” Gander added. “Thankfully, his young son had an axe and chased the brigands away, chopping at their ankles. The Dwarves are over there now.”
We looked over our shoulders and, lo-and-behold, there was indeed a Dwarf father and son! While the son was much smaller in stature, he would never have been mistaken for a hobbit given his thick beard. We made our way over where a small crowd had gathered to hear the tale of their attack, and we learned that the father’s name was Eítri and his son was Axíl.
“Ankle-biter,” Eítri said with a chuckle, “That’s what we have named my young lad’s axe!”
We hobbits let out a collective chuckle. It sounded as if several of the boots had gone missing during the Dwarves’ haphazard arrival, so a few hobbits were scouring the nearby woods to look for them. Gander, Barley and I sought some luncheon and resolved to join the expedition that evening to ensure no spiders were nearby.
We met at seven by the Party Tree, and at that time, we learned that there had also been reports of strange lights in the woods, along with singing. That sounded far less frightening, so Barley, Gander and I set out up the hill with many others (after all, we had learned that morning that there is strength in numbers) and our guide Moss to investigate. We had scarcely crested the hill when Moss motioned for us to hush. She crouched, and we followed suit, fanning out on either side of a path. A whisper rippled through us to dim our lanterns, and one by one, the golden lights blinked out.
My young cousins were on either side of me as we all crouched beneath our hoods in the dark. What would their father say if I had led them into danger? Before I could fret too much, voices could be heard. They were once again Big Folk… but not nearly as coarse or grating as the brigands. In fact, they were downright soothing. I could feel my follow hobbits collectively draw back further from the path as lantern light appeared. Someone was coming. Three someones. They were tall and elegant and—just then, a terrible hissing rent the air.
A gasp rose from the hobbits closest. A giant spider had emerged! We dared not move as it hissed again and lunged at the Big Folk. Perhaps some would call us cowards, but why draw attention to us wee morsels when it was already focused on larger vittles?
The Big Folk scarcely broke their stride, and slowly approached the spider, holding out their lanterns and… singing. The tune was low and hypnotic, and in the glow from their candles, we could see for the first time that these were no ordinary Big Folk. These were Elves!
It took some time, but the Elves continued their melody until they had sung peace into the spider’s limbs, and it retreated into the darkness once more. They turned to continue on their path, and though we stayed still and silent, one amongst them spoke. “Gentle hobbits, do not fear us. You may show yourselves.”
One by one, and then all at once, we relit our lanterns.
“Are you Elves?” one of us asked.
“We are indeed, and on our way to the Grey Havens,” one replied.
They introduced themselves, and upon hearing that one in their small party was fond of trinkets, several hobbits approached to gift her a small mathom. What could have been frightful became quite a merry meeting. While I dared not speak to the Elves myself, my young cousins and I got close enough to make out their elegant features. They seemed to glow, and their voices brought such calm into our breasts.
“We must continue on our way,” one of their party announced.
“We are having a festival down the hill,” a hobbit shared. “Do you care to join us?”
“Alas, we are departing these lands … but perhaps you will see us again. We do have a fondness for hobbits.”
As they turned to leave, stepping out of the glow of our lanterns, another among us asked, “What if the spider comes back?”
An Elf Man paused to face us. “Stick together and keep our song close to your hearts, and you will be safe.”
With that, they continued on their way, leaving us behind. It was not long before excited whispers arose. Elves! Wait until Barley and Gander’s father hears about this! I can just imagine his ruddy, disbelieving face as his sons tell of this meeting. We had just gathered our cloaks about us and were ready to depart when a terrible hissing noise returned. Spinning around, we saw the giant spider lunging at our group!
“The song!” a hobbit cried out.
Yes, that’s it! I thought. If only I were a musician, it would be easier to memorize tunes!
Thankfully, there were a handful among us who had such gifted ears and led us in humming the melody of the Elves. We held out our lanterns and hummed the song until the spider retreated once more and seemed to drift into a deep sleep. I was not keen to be there when it awoke again, so I ushered Gander and Barley back down the hill with me and returned to the safety of the bonfire’s glow.
“Perhaps we should not speak of this to your father,” I mentioned as we warmed our hands by the flames.
“He wouldn’t believe us if we did,” Gander replied with a chuckle, and Barley and I laughed. Those in Hobbitton rarely believed such tales. I think they find much more comfort in denying their veracity than entertaining the possibility that others could have had such frightful encounters far from the taverns and herb gardens of their village.
All the same, I was determined to keep my young charges safe. I ushered them off to bed and shortly after followed suit myself. What would happen if the spider awoke in the night? Would it come down to the festival? Were we truly safe? Oh, if only I were better at remembering that tune!
As luck would have it, all of our melodic memories were put to the test the following day. After watching some of the talent show, Barley, Gander and I had spent the final day of the festival foraging in the hills, carving pictures of hobbit holes into rocks and making wildflower crowns. Our intent was to trade such items for other mathoms at the night market, but in the end, we found we were all so attached to our creations that we would rather keep them as mementos of the wonderful time we had had together.
We had only just returned to the festival grounds when we were absorbed into a group heading towards a trail.
“They’re going to bring aid to some Rangers,” Barley gushed, a skip in his step. I glanced around the group nervously. Indeed, some had baskets with supplies, including medicine vials. We had heard rumors of Rangers throughout the festival, but even with all our wanderings, my cousins and I hadn’t seen them. Could they have seen us?
There was no stopping the two young lads once they had a notion in their heads, so I didn’t try to convince them to turn around. After all, the path was narrow and steep, and we were ensconced in a group, so turning around wasn’t an easy option. And once I spotted the Dwarves Eítri and his lad Axíl in our midst, along with Axíl’s axe Ankle-biter, I felt somewhat more at ease.
“Just stick close,” I said. “And keep your wits about you. Let’s leave such troublesome matters to the Big Folk.”
A cry rang out from up ahead. There in a dell, the giant spider had cast its web like a fence, and besieging it were large Men in dark green cloaks… Rangers! Barley, Gander and I huddled together as a Ranger wielded his sword, slashing at the terrifying creature. As we all began to hum the Elven tune, the hobbits with supplies trickled to the front of the group as the fight continued. The spider hissed and lunged, its mandibles piercing the arm of one of the Big Folk. He collapsed and tried to crawl away, but the venom slowed his movements. One of his companions grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled him up the hillside.
“Medicine!” he shouted. “We need medicine!”
One of the hobbits burst forth and handed him the vial. He swiftly administered it to his comrade. There was a flurry of activity. The Rangers called out that they would distract the beast if a pair of hobbits could slip past and set a basket down behind the spider. Thankfully, neither of my young cousins attempted to volunteer.
A Ranger let out a battle cry as he swung at the spider while two hobbits scurried past and placed the basket in the dell then ran back while the Ranger continued to distract and battle the spider. The two had just begun to scramble up the hillside when there was a loud boom and a puff of smoke. We gasped. There had been something explosive in the basket, and the spider was dead!
A cheer rose up among hobbits and Big Folk alike. We were safe at last!
As we traipsed back down the hill, many practically skipped with merriment. The Brandywine was safe, and we had the whole final night of the festival before us. The Rangers later joined us in our merry-making and I had an opportunity to thank them personally for keeping us safe.
I can’t properly describe the revelry of that last night. Barley and Gander and I danced the night away and even got the Dwarven lad Axíl to join. He was unfamiliar with our country dances but gave his best effort! We stopped only to gaze in awe at a stunning firework display that happened by the river. A fire dancer twirled flaming batons below the bursts of vibrant colors, and a chant swelled from us onlookers:
“Brandy-wine! Brandy-wine! Brandy-wine!”
It was a festival to remember. My heart is full, and I am so hoping to return to celebrate the harvest again next year with such fine and generous hobbits as those I met at the Brandywine Festival.
The Brandywine Festival is a Hobbit LARP (Live Action Role Play) event hosted by Middle-earth Adventures of Burgschneider. Their first annual event took place October 7-12, 2025, in Harrodsburg, Kentucky. TheOneRing.net had three staffers in attendance, and the above was written by Kili, but you can expect even more coverage from Xander and Daisy Bramblefoot.
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