LITTLE BIRD

by Soledad

Disclaimer: The characters, the context and the main plot belong to Professor Tolkien, whom I greatly admire. I’m only trying to fill in the gaps he so graciously left for us, fanfic writers, to have some fun. However, the extended family of Legolas and the individual Mirkwood Elves belong to me.

Rating: PG

Author’s Notes:

Now we have come to the end of our rather sad little story. This epilogue serves as a connection to my ongoing tale, “Innocence,” as it happens shortly before its 15th chapter, “Tentative Steps,” where Legolas finally gets to visit Imladris for the very first time and is reunited with his pal, Lindir. Since that chapter is still quite far in the future, however, you might have to wait a while for the reunion.

I realize that I have not fulfilled my promise at the beginning of this tale; the one about telling the reason I found why Thranduil wanted riches. This story just turned another way. Your answer is the upcoming new tale called “Astonishment in Mirkwood”.

My sincerest thanks to Dagmar and Judy who came up with the flute-playing Thranduil and allowed me to borrow him. And, as usual, my gratitude to Cirdan for beta-reading.

Epilogue 

[Mirkwood, the year 1.140 of the Third Age]

Galion, the seneschal of King Thranduil’s palace, was on a search for his Lord. His first way led him to the throne room: a great hall with pillars hewn out of the living stone of the mountain, carved in the likeness of the trees of the forest and with rich tapestries made by the Queen and her handmaidens themselves. However, the high chair of carven wood stood empty, and the carven staff of oak that served as the Elvenking’s sceptre, lay abandoned upon the dais that raised the throne above the rest of the seats in the room.

“Where is our Lord?” Galion asked Rhimlath, one of the younger servants who was busily cleaning the candlesticks. The ash-blond young Elf – one of the numerous Nandor Elves that had chosen to live under Thranduil’s rule – shrugged.

“He went to the Queen’s gardens… with his flute. He said he wanted to be alone.”

Galion sighed. Over a whole year had passed since the death of sweet little Aiwë, and the only way Thranduil was able to find some comfort was to go to the Queen’s gardens where the empty shell that was left of the once so merry little child had been buried. He would spend long hours at the small grave, playing on his flute all the old songs of the Silvan folk that Aiwë used to like so much.

He was neglecting his duties towards his realm, leaving its affairs to the Queen and to Legolas, who – with the help of the councillors and Galion himself – tried to keep everything running smoothly, but they both feared that all their efforts would not be good enough, especially since the attacks of the Orcs and the Giant Spiders had increased. In just one year, things in the Greenwood had gone from bothering to downright bad and worse, and the woodland folk reluctantly accepted the name the Woodmen had given their home: Mirkwood, the Dark Forest. Things were slowly but inevitably changing for the worse with every passing day. They needed their King back – his strength, his wisdom, his leadership, all of which he had sacrificed to his grief.

“Prince Legolas went after him,” Rhimlath added with a meaningful look.

Galion nodded his understanding and left the throne room to seek out his King. He needed to speak to Thranduil, and if Legolas was present to help him, he might even have a chance of being listened to.

The Queen’s gardens – small, flowery patches, connected by narrow pathways westwards from the palace, so that she could see them when she looked out of her balcony – were bright and peaceful in the golden light of the late afternoon, as if they had remained untouched by the darkening of the forest. The flowers glowed red and golden: snapdragons and sunflowers and nasturtiums trailing all over the small clearings and leaning protectively over a small, grass-covered mould that was peppered with the small, white eyes of evermind⁽¹⁾, the flowers of remembrance. The wild and bittersweet tune of an ancient song, played on a silver flute, was piping through the fence of great beeches.

Thranduil, wearing the usual green and brown garb of the woodland folk, as it was his wont except on feasts, sat cross-legged upon the grass, next to the grave of his daughter, his hair unbraided and crowned with a garland of autumn leaves and berries only. He held the most wondrous silver flute in his hands and played it with great skill, which did not surprise Galion at all.

He had been the one, after all, who used to escort the then-young Prince to music lessons in Doriath. Nay, Thranduil had not been gifted enough to be taught by Daeron himself, but there had been other minstrels in Thingol’s realm, less great in gifts mayhap but more blessed in patience, who had instructed him well enough to become a good player, even in Elven terms.

The flute itself had come from Valinor with the Queen and was given him by Thingol as a gift when he had reached maturity. Before that, he had used a wooden one, made by his tutor; unfortunately, that one got lost during the fall of Doriath. To Thranduil’s regret, only Celebwen of all his children had inherited his gift of music and his love for the flute, though he would have loved to teach them all how to play. That was why he was always pleased when Radagast had brought over young Lindir for a visit. The youngling had a unique gift and loved to be tutored by the King.

Thranduil, absorbed in his music and his grief, did not even notice the approach of his old seneschal. Legolas, however, who was sitting across him, watching him over Aiwë’s grave with worried eyes, looked up and nodded his greetings.

“He is falling to pieces, Galion,” the young Prince said quietly. “I know not what else I could do. We cannot lose him, not now when the darkness is creeping over our forest, more and more with every passing day. Mother is not the one made for ruling kingdoms, and I… I am much too young still. I cannot take over his place, not so soon. I am not ready. We need him, and we need him with his old strength and wisdom back together.”

“That I know, my Prince,” Galion sighed, “but I fear fate had dealt your father just one more blow than he had the strength to endure. I know not how we could keep his fëa from leaving. I hoped Hathaldir⁽²⁾ of Lothlórien would be a welcome distraction, but our Lord did not even come in to greet him.”

This news, strangely, seemed to lighten Legolas’ mood a little. The rare visits of Hathaldir not only meant spontaneous archery contests which he loved to win against the older, more experienced Elf, but also interesting tales from far-away parts of Middle-earth, Hathaldir being one of the very few Galadhrim who travelled in other lands on errantry.

“Hathaldir is here?” Legolas asked happily. “What tidings is he carrying this time?”

“Encouraging ones, or so I hope,” said Galion. “It seems that the powerful ones finally decided to do something – together. They have called for the White Council to discuss the darkening of the forests and what could be done against it.”

“A Council!” Legolas’ mind raced. “Where, Galion, where? Is my father invited, too? Surely, they would not dare to leave him out of such important meeting?”

“Nay, they would not,” Galion sighed, “but his current state is not the only hindrance here, I fear. For the Council is called to Imladris – and you know how your father thinks of that place and its Lord…”

Legolas groaned involuntarily. Aye, he knew all too well the Ages-old animosity between his sires and the Noldor, which partially caused the horrible deaths of two-thirds of all the woodland archers that followed his grandfather into battle during the Last Alliance – including the death of King Oropher himself and that of Legolas’ three older brothers. According to Silinde⁽³⁾, captain of the Mirkwood archers, who had been present in that battle, Oropher had not been entirely without fault in that tragedy – even though the Noldor were a little too ready to blame him for everything – but Thranduil himself would not hear of it. In his eyes Oropher was infallible – everything an Elvenking should be.

Legolas himself, however, had a slightly different view on those events. Certainly, he had respected his grandsire greatly, as all his siblings had, yet he was not as blind in his love and his respect as his own father. He was not all too fond of the Noldor himself, yet he was wise enough, in spite of his youth, to know that his dislike of them was based mostly on prejudice, as he hardly ever met any of them, except a few patrols sent out of Imladris that he ran into at rare occasions.

“I do believe strongly that we ought to be there when that Council is held,” he said to Galion softly. “My father might not be willing to admit it, but we need help if we want to drive the dark creatures out of our forests. And since he is in no shape to fight the Council right now, I also believe ’tis I who should go.”

“To Imladris?” Galion stared at him with wide, unbelieving eyes. “Your father will never allow you to go. Not after what happened with Aiwë. You are all he still does have left.”

“He cannot keep me here,” Legolas replied calmly. “I loved Aiwë, too, and my heart shall never cease bleeding for her, but she was only a little girl. I am a grown Elf and I am a warrior; ’tis my right and my duty to defend our people’s interests when my father and King is not fit to do so.”

“And who, pray you, should persuade our King to agree?” Galion asked doubtfully. “You both are much too stubborn for your own good – I wish not to get between the two of you in case there should be a fight.”

“Worry not,” said Legolas, “for I shall do all the arguing and the persuading.” And with that, he reached over Aiwë’s grave, took hold of the silver flute and pulled it gently from his father’s hands.

The music ended with a shrill tone, and Thranduil blinked in surprise as if a strange spell had fallen from him.

“Legolas? What happened, ion-nin⁽⁴⁾?”

 “You should come back inside, Ada,” Legolas answered softly. “Hathaldir has come from Lothlórien, with tidings that you ought to hear.”

“The affairs of state are of little interest for me in these days,” Thranduil replied absently, wondering why his son could not let him alone.

“Alas, I know that,” Legolas sighed. “When Aiwë died, you said that you still had much to do here. Those were your own words, my Lord, and very true words they were. And yet you care not for your realm and your people any more, leaving the burden of ruling the kingdom to mother and myself.”

“You are doing it well,” Thranduil countered with a slightly guilty look, for his son was right and he knew that. But Legolas shook his head angrily.

“Nay, we are not! Despite all our efforts and Galion’s help, things are not going well! Nor is it our duty to rule our people. Mother is a healer, her help is asked for in a thousand other places, and I… I still have so much to learn ere I could even think of replacing you. But how can I learn when you are not teaching me any more? We need you, Ada! Our people need you, our whole realm needs you!”

“I cannot,” Thranduil muttered helplessly. “I… I need time to recover from my loss.”

“You have had a year, Ada!” Legolas’ voice became unexpectedly hard and unforgiving. “And things are getting worse… with you, with our folk, with our forests, in the wider world beyond our realm. Yet you keep your solitude, keep avoiding us. Has it ever occurred to you that mother is grieving, too? Or that I am grieving? I have lost four of my five siblings already, and mother has lost four children. Have you thought of comforting her just once lately? Nay, you let her doing your work while you are wailing in self-pity and neglecting your duties as the ruler of our people and the head of our family.”

Strictly considered this was not entirely true. According to Silvan custom, the head of a family was the mother, more so when she was considerably older than her husband. Of course the Silvan folk had no kings before the coming of Oropher and his family (not after the fall of the First City, that is), and even after having accepted the rule of the Sindarin Princes, they kept seeing the Queen as the head of the royal family.

Still, there was much bitter truth in Legolas’ harsh words, and Thranduil could do naught but gaze in utter shock at his only remaining son. Eaten up by his own grief, he had forgotten, indeed, that the rest of his family had suffered the same loss.

“My Prince,” Galion murmured quietly, not being able to watch the anguish on his King’s face, “you are going too far…”

“Am I?” Legolas countered softly, reaching out again to take his father’s hand. “I think not so, Master Galion. Times are darkening, and I need my father and my King back. The one who used to teach me and guide me, who made me feel safe and loved; the one who used to be my guiding light, my ideal.” He squeezed the King’s hand and asked gently. “Can you not say where he has gone?”

Thranduil gave a long, shuddering sigh. Legolas’ words had hurt, surely, but in the hearts of his heart he knew that his son was right.

“I know not where your King has gone, ion-nin,” he answered, full of sorrow, “nor can I promise that he shall ever return. But your father is still here. He has never left.”

“That is good,” Legolas rose gracefully and pulled up his father with him. “Then mayhap my father can come back inside with me and speak  to the messenger of Lothlórien? I believe the tidings he has brought would interest my father, and maybe he can give me some sound advice ere I leave.”

Thranduil stopped dead amidst his track. “Leaving? Where do you intend to go?”

Legolas grinned. “I shall tell you about it when you have spoken with Hathaldir.”

The Elvenking sighed and followed his son obediently back inside. Hathaldir of Lothlórien was waiting with the Queen in the library. Both were more than surprised to see the King return. Also, the Queen noticed the almost invisible change in her husband’s demeanour, and for the first time in a year, she felt the tight feeling around her chest loosening a little.

“I am relieved that you feel fit to join us, hervenn nín,” she said, “for there is a decision to be made, and I feel not up to make it myself.”

“You have carried the burden of my duties long enough, brennilen,” Thranduil answered ruefully. “Fortunately, our son loves both of us enough to make me see my mistakes. I cannot swear to you that I shall be my old self any time, soon, but I promise you to try.”

“That is all we ask,” the Queen answered with a trembling smile. “We feared so much that we might lose you, too, at the end.”

Thranduil sat down next to his wife and took her hand. “You had sound reason to fear, brennilen, but you need to do so no more. We shall face what is coming together, just as we always have… if you can forgive me my selfishness.”

“Let us speak of it when we are alone,” the Queen suggested gently, seeing that her guidance would be needed for quite some time yet. “I believe you should hear what Hathaldir has to say now.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Half a day – and some serious discussions – later Legolas was already riding westwards in the company of Hathaldir and four of the best Mirkwood archers.

Towards a place where his life would change, forever.

A place called Imladris.

< Here endeth this tale. >

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

End notes:

(1) The same ones that cover the graves of Rohan’s kings. No, I have no idea if they grew in the North, too. I simply assumed they did, since the forefathers of the Rohirrim have lived many centuries north from Mirkwood,

(2) For a short time, Tolkien considered this to be the name of Haldir. I use it as an old-fashioned form of his name that Wood-Elves would use.

(3) A movie character whom I adopted, so I can’t promise that the name is genuine. I made her a Nandor Elf and a female, though. :-)

(4) “my son” in Sindarin (or so I hope)

LITTLE BIRD

by Soledad

Disclaimer: The characters, the context and the main plot belong to Professor Tolkien, whom I greatly admire. I’m only trying to fill in the gaps he so graciously left for us, fanfic writers, to have some fun. However, the extended family of Legolas and the individual Mirkwood Elves belong to me.

Rating: PG

Author’s Notes:

This is an amalgam of several as-yet unnumbered chapters of my upcoming (ask me not when!) Thranduil-story and will be incorporated into that tale eventually. So far, these are the only parts written, and I felt the need to post it in order to counteract all those stories that make Thranduil a greedy, cruel, obsessed, drinking, child-abusing monster. He was none of those, and the fact that Tolkien mentions his only weakness (his fondness for jewels) in “The Hobbit” only makes me more interested in him as a character.

Also, it made me curious why a Wood-Elf (as he no doubt considered himself, despite his origins as a Sindarin Prince) would be so eager to hoard wealth. I found one reason for it. It might not he the real one, but that does not make this story an AU. We know very little about Thranduil’s family background, except the name of his father, and it gave me more room and creative freedom than by other Elven characters. Please consider, that every one except him, his father Oropher and his son Legolas is my creation.

Many thanks to Cirdan and Nemis for proofreading and beta-work.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Although the city of the Elves of Mirkwood had been carved out below and within a mountain, the slopes were riddled throughout with balconies and walkways that went among the trees that grew there, for now Wood-Elf could live in a closed space. Other than those labyrinthine outlets and the main gates, naught of the city was visible above ground, allowing the forest so beloved to the Elves to grow unhindered by their presence.”

Dwimordene: Roots – Chapter 2: Old, New, Borrowed, True

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Chapter One: Darkenings

[Mirkwood, in the year 1139 of the Third Age]⁽¹⁾

Thranduil son of Oropher, King of the Silvan Elves of Eryn Galen⁽²⁾, stood on the highest balcony of his magnificent palace and looked southwards. It seemed to him that he had been doing so a lot lately, ever since the Shadow began creeping back into his beloved forest, in many different form, making the once so safe roads perilous again.

What his keen eyes saw beyond the Old Forest Road was a dense forest of dark pine and close fir, dark and drear. The sun that lay all upon the lands that belonged to his own realm (whose borders had been slowly but inevitably closing up on him every passing century) seemed not to lie upon it; instead, a dark cloud seemed to cast its shadow upon the woods, filling the hearts of the beholder with some uncertain dread that had no real shape – yet.

It was much too far even for his eyes, yet the Elvenking of the Greenwood knew all too well what stood amidst the dark shadows of the Southern forest: the black hill Dol-Dúgol⁽³⁾, where some two thousand years earlier the Enemy had one of his chief fortresses. And though it had been abandoned after the highly-paid victory of the Last Alliance, Thranduil sometimes asked himself whether it was still so.

True, a long peace followed the Last Battle, in which the numbers of the woodland folk grew again; but Thranduil, having seen all three Ages of Middle-earth, felt the changes that slowly came into the world, and his heart had become unquiet and anxious. The dominion of the Númenórean Kings of Gondor was reaching out northwards towards the borders of Lórinand and the Greenwood, and unlike his cousin Celeborn⁽⁴⁾ and Celeborn’s wife Artanis, Thranduil had no other means to protect his realm and his people than the keen eyes and the strong arms of his archers. And though the archers of the woodland folk were the best Middle-earth had ever seen, they could only protect their home against ordinary foes. Orcs, yes, even Trolls, and they could handle the once again heavily breading Wargs well enough. But there were other perils in the darks shadows under the trees, and the Elves of the Greenwood needed allies.

The Free Men of the North, who were not under the rule of the Dúnedain and had not been subjected by the Enemy or his servants either, were spreading southwards: mostly east of the Greenwood, though some were settling in the eaves of the forest itself and the grasslands of the Vales of Anduin. Thranduil did not mind the neighbourhood, for these were woodmen who respected the forest and the trees just as any Wood-Elf would have; and they had built what became the Old Forest Road in a straight line from the Ford under the Carrock to the River Celduin, just below the mountains of Emyn Duir⁽⁵⁾, making the travel through the forest swift and easy, for Elves as well as for Men.

Yet his chief allies were easiest to reach on the back of the Forest River: the impressive towns of Dale and Esgaroth at the Long Lake. Thranduil had a long-time alliance and good trading relationship to both towns and their kings, even in times when they had quarrels among themselves. More than once had his Elven wisdom been asked for to settle the differences between two all-too-stubborn mortal leaders, and he doubted not that it would happen again. Fortunately, he was a stubborn Elf himself, so the stiff necks of mere mortals could never match his own.

Still, he liked the Northmen – their simple but honest ways that were so different from the intrigues and power plays of his own kin, at least of those who had returned from the Blessed Realm and thought that this simple fact have them the right to handle the Faithful, who had not abandoned Middle-earth, not even at the peak of the strength of their Dark Enemy, like some sort of rustic tribe that would depend on their assumedly greater wisdom and leadership.

“Less wise” they called the Tree Children,” and “more dangerous”; names like “Moriquendi” and “Avari they gave the Silvan folk. Well, for his part Thranduil was proud of his people remaining faithful to the lands of their Awakening, instead of going to the West and hiding under the cloak of the Valar.

Not that doing so would have brought them much good, the King of Eryn Galen thought dryly, for had the Dark Foe not found them even in the very heart of the Blessed Realm? They wanted to be shielded from the evil that was marring the flesh of Arda and had become part of that evil themselves, being the first ones to spill the blood of their own kin. Have they ever asked themselves who had truly less wisdom and more danger in their hearts? Their so-called wisdom and fine arts had only one result: they made Sauron stronger, giving him the chance to forge the most dangerous weapon ever since the fall of the Great Enemy.

Not that Thranduil would reject wisdom and art. After all, he was born in Doriath⁽⁶⁾, and his hearth beheld the glittering beauty of the Thousand Caves of Menegroth, and that had been a sight he could never forget. And so, after the Last Battle, when he became King in his slain father’s stead, Thranduil established the seat of his kingdom in the north-east of the forest, as far from any former influence of the Enemy as possible, at the River, and delved there a fortress and great halls underground. In fact, the whole mountain had slowly become one huge city, with caves opening into other caves and arched corridors and chambers with carved likenesses of the real trees just outside, and open balconies – even though his halls were not to be compared with Menegroth. He had not the arts nor the wealth nor the aid of the Dwarves (whom he would never let even near his home); and compared with the Elves of Doriath his Silvan folk were indeed rude and rustic.

But neither Thranduil nor his father minded it. Oropher had come among the woodland folk with only a handful of Sindar, and they were soon merged with the Silvan Elves, learning their language and taking names of Silvan form and style. This they did deliberately; for they came from Doriath after its ruin and had no desire to leave Middle-earth nor to be merged with the other Sindar of Beleriand, dominated by the Noldorin exiles, for whom the folk of Doriath had no great love. They wished indeed to become Silvan folk and to return, as they said, to the simple life natural to the Elves before the invitation of the Valar had disturbed it⁽⁷⁾.

Of course, this strong opinion (which the son and grandson of his other cousin⁽⁸⁾, Galathil, happened to share) caused a slight estrangement between him and Celeborn, who had become rather close with the Noldor during the last Age through his wife. To be honest, Thranduil disliked Artanis greatly. Oh, he could understand why Celeborn had fallen for the Warrior Princess of the Noldor, despite her rather unclear part in the Kinslaying of Alqualondë – she was cunning and valiant and fair beyond measure, and she loved Celeborn very much. About that Thranduil had no doubt. But she was much too power-hungry for his taste, though he doubted not that Celeborn was able to handle her.

Still, it filled his heart with unease that young Amroth had to dwell and try to rule in her close neighbourhood. The Lady of the Wood she was already called, and one could not know just how great her hunger for power truly was. She could not assume kingship personally – unless Celeborn did, but he would never go against the grandson of his own brother – but she could make Amroth’s life miserable, luring his people to Caras Galadhon with her charms and thus making the young King’s realm weak and open for attacks.

And attacks would come, sooner and later; of that Thranduil was certain. The same shadow that was darkening the southern part of Eryn Galen, was threatening Lórinand as well. Artanis had her means to protect the Golden Wood to a certain extent – she had been taught by Lúthien herself, after all – but her powers were naught compared to the Girdle of Melian, and even the Girdle could be broken. Thranduil had been there to see it happen⁽⁹⁾.

He shook off the memories of the enchanted forest that was no more; the memories of his mother and his cousin and so many others being slain mercilessly – it had been long ago, even if Elven memory kept it painfully vivid in his mind. It had been long ago, and he had known other sorrows during the times in-between.

His father and his beautiful, valiant elder sons slain on the slopes of Orodruin, the Fiery Mountain. His elder daughter leaving her home and going to the Havens, a victim of the Sea-longing of the Sindar, awakening in her hearth without any warning, for the first time in three generations. The fact that she fell in love with one of Círdan’s people, married him and chose to remain in Middle-earth for his sake a little longer, did little to heal Thranduil’s heart over the loss. She did not even ask for the blessing of her parents. But again, Celebwen had always been… different. Silver-haired, like no one else since her great-grandfather, gifted – or cursed – with an insight that was rare even among Elves, she had always longed for the Sea, listening to the lures of the West. She had been lost for her family from a very young age.

The King sighed, his thoughts turning towards his youngest children, the only ones still remaining to him and his beloved Queen. The birthing of Celebwen and their three elder sons had cost  his wife much strength, so that they could not even think of having more children for a very long time. Well, several hundred years might not be that long a time for Elves, but the Silvan folk preferred large families, and the Queen, being one of their Wise Women, yearned for feeling a new life growing in her body again – and even more so after their horrible losses.

The coming of Legolas in their life (named after the valiant brother of Thranduil’s own mother) was a day of great joy in Eryn Galen. Even after the destruction that the war with Sauron had brought, and on the threshold of the next, devastating war that ended that whole Age, the woodland realm was filled with song and laughter upon the arrival of the youngest royal Prince. Who would have thought that soon he would be the only one?

Thranduil suppressed a sigh. The brutal death of his heir, Dorothil⁽¹⁰⁾ and his two other sons in battle left him behind like a tree bereft of its ripest fruits, and when Celebwen went to the havens, the only one left to them was Legolas – just coming of age at the begin of the war, but thankfully still too young and inexperienced to go to battle with his sires and elder brothers.

For over a thousand years, Legolas had remained their only child, both of them too far gone in grief to even think of creating a new life. Then, less than a twelve-year⁽¹¹⁾ ago, the wonder happened: the Queen was with child again, without them deciding to try for it as was the custom of Elves. The elders said it happened through their great love for each other; that though such a thing was rare, it was not entirely unheard of. What ever the reason might have been, Thranduil cared not. He had been overjoyed that their marriage was not barren any more, for he had seen how desperately his beloved Queen longed for motherhood.

Sweet little Aiwë⁽¹²⁾ truly had been the wonder of the whole realm ever since her birth. She brought a new light into the hearts of her much-suffered parents, and her brother lover her dearly. The folk of Eryn Galen could not have seen enough of her, she was welcome in every home, her laughter could be heard everywhere in the palace, and she was known to be able to talk with the birds of the forest. Seeing his little daughter, born after such a long time of waiting, the King of the Greenwood felt new hope slowly returning in his heart, in spite of the new darkness arising in the south of the forest.

Light footfall brought him out of his brooding. He looked back and saw his old seneschal, Galion, approaching through the royal study. Yes, Galion, who modestly called himself the butler of the King (though in fact he carried the not-so-little responsibility for the whole palace) was one of the few Elves who truly showed the passing of time on their faces.

Which was no wonder, since Galion was truly ancient, even for an Elf. Though not one of the very first who had awakened at the Waters of Cuiviénen, he was one of the second generation – and the only one still alive who had seen Kortirion, the nearly mythical First City of the Elves. Not the one beyond the Sea, but the older one that had been built under the starlight of the times before the Great Journey.

He had been the seneschal of Elmö, the King of that city, and the tutor of young Oropher and his brother Galathon – and he saved the young Princes form the ruins of their burning home after the Demon of Fire had come. He brought them to the safety of Doriath, to Elu Thingol and his Queen, and had remained on the side of their sons ever since.

When Oropher asked him to come back to the East, in the neighbourhood of their home of old, Galion hesitated not for a moment, in spite of his painful memories. Under the modest guise of an elderly butler, he practically ran everyday’s business in the Forest City. He had done it for Oropher, was still doing it for Thranduil, and would most likely be doing it for Legolas as well, when the time came.

The Elvenking turned to his old friend to greet him with words of respect and fondness as it was his wont. But the words of greeting died in his very throat when he saw Galion’s face. After several thousand years, there was not much that could truly shake the old Elf, and even less that could have caused him any anguish great enough to actually show on his serene face. But this time, there was unveiled pain in those wise old eyes, and deep lines were pressed into the corners of his mouth.

“What is it, old friend?” Thranduil asked softly, dark foreboding already clouding his heart. “Something bad has happened, I can see it on your face. So tell me – I need to know; you cannot spare me. We have agreed on that long ago.”

Galion nodded in defeat, opening his mouth in a feeble attempt to answer, but no sound actually escaped his lips. He swallowed hard, several times, and tried it again, but still at no effect.

“Speak, Galion, I beg of you!” Thranduil urged, becoming truly concerned now. If Galion had lost his calm to such extent, then the tidings had to be very dark, indeed.

His mind ran through the few things of true importance for his seneschal, but no one of them was likely the cause of Galion’s unusual behaviour. Life in the palace was running smoothly, the horses were all healthy and well-fed, the silver dishes of the royal table newly cleaned and polished (as the King could see for himself when crossing the Feasting Hall on his way to his private rooms); even the new barrels of excellent wine from Dorwinion had arrived on time for the great celebration honouring the twelfth anniversary of Aiwë’s birth. (Unlike the Noldor, the woodland folk celebrated the anniversaries of the actual birth rather than that of the conception.) Getting older had made Galion develop a few oddities in mannerism, but no one loved or respected him less for those little quirks, the last the King himself.

Then, with a pang in his heart, Thranduil all of a sudden realized what – or better: who – was even more important for the old Elf than the smooth running of everyday’s business in the palace.

It was the King’s family. The safety and well-faring of the King, the Queen and their remaining children.

And now Thranduil understood that something very bad must have happened to one of his loved ones. Naught else would have caused his faithful old seneschal such distress.

“Tell me ’tis not about Legolas!” he said, noticing that he was all but begging that it would not be so. His heir had been riding out with the regular patrols ever since he had come of age and the dark creatures had begun to creep back into Greenwood the Great. Thranduil was not happy about this, fearing that he might lose yet his only son to the Orcs (that had reappeared in the Misty Mountains once again and invaded the woods more and more frequently), or to one of the other fell creatures that – in this he was certain – had been gradually spreading northwards from Dol Dúgol during the recent years.

But Legolas Thranduilion had inherited the stubbornness of his sires as well as his mother’s considerable charms, and there was no power in Middle-earth that could have held him back once he decided to go. Not even that of his own father. So Thranduil let him have his way, waiting in quiet (or sometimes not-so-quiet) anxiety for his return every time he was gone, for though his son had grown to become one of the best archers in the whole Greenwood, there were perils outside of their realm from which not even the swiftest arrow could save a young Elf when cornered. And it had been Thranduil’s worst fear ever since the end of the War that one day, his soon might not return.

“Say that ’tis not Legolas!” he begged again, waiting for the devastating blow to come.

And come it did – but not as he had expected.

“Nay, not Legolas,” Galion finally answered, finding his voice at last, though it was broken, nearly unrecognisable. “’Tis Aiwë, my Lord… ’tis your little bird...”

TBC

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

End notes:

(1) The events described in this story happen about a year earlier than Chapter 15 of “Innocence,” featuring Legolas’ first visit in Imladris.

(2) Greenwood the Great isn’t widely called Mirkwood yet.

(3) Original name of Dol Guldur, according to “The Treason of Isengard” (HoME 7). This being a story set in the first part of the Third Age, I simply assumed that it was an old-fashioned name a conservative Elf like Thranduil would use. This is also the reason why I have him to refer to Lothlórien as Lórinand and to Galadriel with her earlier name, Artanis.

(4) Ask me not. It is complicated. I made Oropher the elder son of Elmö, the brother of Elwë (Elu Thingol) and Olwë (the King of the Teleri of Alqualondë), and thus the brother of Celeborn’s father, Galadhon (at least in one of the Celeborn-genealogies in the Unfinished Tales).

(5) “Dark Mountains” = the Mountains of Mirkwood.

(6) This is my theory only. We know not for a fact where – or when – he was born.

(7) So it is stated in the Unfinished Tales, Appendix B: The Sindarin Princes of the Silvan Elves, p 272. I altered and extended it only slightly.

(8) Again, my own take on the genealogy. Galathil son of Galadhon was Celeborn’s brother; I made him the father of Amdír, King of Lórien, who was slain in the battle upon Dagorlad. This was done in order to make it acceptable why Celeborn and Galadriel would rule in Lórien as long as Amroth son of Amdír was still under age. Of course, this would make Amdír the brother of Dior’s wife, Nimloth. Confused? It will get worse, I promise.

(9) Well, actually, there is no proof about that, either. But when we accept that Oropher had come to Eryn Galen from Doriath (which is what Tolkien states in the Unfinished Tales), Thranduil could have been there when it fell.

(10) Yea, well, this is the weirdest thing ever happened to me. For the first time of my life, I actually did come up with a Sindarin name for a character (wanted it to do something with oak-trees), only to discover about a weak later that Dwimordene had a similarly named character in “Roots.” I swear I haven’t stolen it! I have been working on the Thranduil-tale for a very long time, so I decided to keep the name, since I have already become fond of it. Coincidences happen, even if no one would ever believe it, I fear.

(11) According to the Appendices of LOTR, Elves liked to count in sixes and twelves. The word itself is a little clumsy, but…

(12) Means “bird,” according to the Etymologies. I interpreted it as “Little Bird.” That is where the title of this story comes from. Obviously.

 LITTLE BIRD

by Soledad

 Disclaimer: The characters, the context and the main plot belong to Professor Tolkien, whom I greatly admire. I’m only trying to fill in the gaps he so graciously left for us, fanfic writers, to have some fun. Only the individual Woodmen belong to me.

 Rating: G, for this chapter

 Author’s Notes:

I want to thank you all for the positive feedback – to tell the truth, I was pleasantly surprised, since I had been a little afraid, finding that chapter 1 might have come out a little over-emotional.

As for this one, it features almost exclusively another much-neglected character, Radagast the Brown, one of the five Istari (wizards) sent to Middle-earth to help in the struggle against Sauron.

At this point I have bent canon a little. The “Unfinished Tales” states that the wizards began to meddle with the affairs of other people around the year 1000 of the Third Age, “but for long they went about in simple guise, as it were of Men already old in years but hale in body, travelers and wanderers, gaining knowledge of Middle-earth and all that dwelt therein, but revealing to none their powers and purposes.”(1)

With other words, we know not when exactly they arrived. I simply assumed that some of them came in the early years of the Third Age, for my own purposes, concerning my – as it seems – endless tale, “Innocence.” The “Unfinished Tales” says that Radagast was the second to arrive, together with Saruman, and Gandalf came last. ’Tis unknown how many time went in-between, but I needed Radagast in Middle-earth very early, so I decided that he must have arrived somewhen during the first or second century. But that is only my theory.

My sincerest thanks to Isabeau and Dagmar who helped me with the horse questions and Ithilwen who counseled me in the lore of poisons.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“For Radagast […] became enamoured of the many beasts and birds that dwelt in Middle-earth, and forsook Elves and Men, and spent his days among the wild creatures. Thus he got his name (which is in the tongue of Númenor of old, and signifies, it is said, ’tamer of beasts’.” The Unfinished Tales – The Istari

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Chapter 2: The Wizard 

[Rhosgobel, somewhere in the forest borders between the Carrock and the Old Forest Road]⁽²⁾

Anor was setting upon one of the rich grassy glades of Greenwood the Great once again, deepening the darkness under the broad-headed, wide-branched ancient oaks, remnants of the once mighty forests most of which had been burnt to the ground during the War of the Elves and Sauron in the Second Age. The old trees flung their gnarled arms over a thick carpet of beautifully green sward – a rare sight here, where the grass usually did not get enough sunshine, which was the very reason why the Woodmen called this place Brownhay.⁽³⁾

In some places they were intermingled with beeches, hollies and copsewood of various sorts, so closely that they completely intercepted the level beams of the sinking sun. In other places they receded from each other, forming long, sweeping vistas that led to yet wilder scenes of silvan solitude.

 In the middle of this wilderness, beyond the belt of tall and even more ancient oaks, was a high torn-hedge, and behind that a long, low wooden house. A few other, smaller buildings, made of wood, too, stood farther beyond (mostly stables and barns and sheds), and various kinds of animals were walking freely among the gardens.

A wide track led from the high and broad wooden gate of the great hedge to a courtyard, three walls of which were formed by the main house and its two long wings. A low wooden bench run along the walls, and next to the door of the house an old man sat, clad in a heavy robe of rough, earth-brown wool. He had no covering upon his head, which was only defended by his long, thick hair, matted and twisted together, and scorched by the influence of the sun into a rusty dark-red colour, interwoven, just like his long beard, with silver strains. His deep-set eyes were dark and wise under his bushy brows.

Another man, this one huge and much younger, with a thick black beard and hair and great bare arms was sitting on his side, with a tankard of fresh mead in his hands, clad in a knee-long tunic of the same brown wool. Still, despite the similarities, an attentive beholder could see at once that they were not related – mayhap not even of the same folk.

“You spend too much time alone, old friend,” the younger man said, continuing a conversation that had begun at his arrival, somewhen during mid-afternoon. “You even begin to look like a Wild Man from the East. My grandfather told me once that you used to have a comb… hundreds of years ago, when that little Elf dwelt under this very roof with you.⁽⁴⁾”

“Many hundreds of years ago,” the old man replied, full of sorrow. “Those were days filled with sunshine for me, when my little Elf dwelt under my roof. But he has a better fate now, among his own people. I just wish I could see him more often. It has been nearly ten years since we visited the Wood-Elves together.”

“My grandfather used to tell us tales about old times when you dwelt among our people,” the younger Man remarked. “He said you were the one who taught us how to change our skins and how to treat the birds and the beasts and how to live in peace with the trees of the forest.”

The old Man shook his head with a smile. “You have always been skin-changers, my friend. This had been your nature from the very beginning. I only taught you the means with which to do it.”

“Still,” the younger one replied, “without your teaching we might not have learnt to use it, ever. We are and shall always remain in your debt for what you have done for us. And yet, when my father became the chieftain of our people, you withdrew from us and have not come to our homes any more.”

“I am your friend still, as I always have been,” said the old man. “But my work among you is done. I have other labours now.”

“What other labours?” the younger Man asked. “Who is the Lord you serve, Master Radagast? The one who gives your orders? No-one has ever heard of an other one of your kind, in all those long years you have spent among us.”

“The one whom I serve and the one who gives me orders are not the same,” the old Man answered. “For though all of us wizards belong to the one and the same Order, we serve not all the same Lord. Indeed, the one whom I serve is not a Lord at all but a Lady.”

The younger Man raised an inquisitive eyebrow – a gesture that seemed strange upon his rough face. The wizard smiled.

“I doubt not that in your early years your mother or grandmother told you about the Lady Palúrien⁽⁵⁾, the Giver of Fruits. All things that grow in the Earth are under her protection, and all their countless forms she holds in her mind, from the trees like towers in the forests long ago to the moss upon stones and secret things in the mould.”

The younger Man shook his head in astonishment.

“But I thought the tales about the gods were just that: tales,” he said. The wizard laughed quietly.

“All ancient tales do have a hidden truth beneath the many layers of songs and poetry that had covered it during the Ages, young Bôr⁽⁶⁾,” he said gently. “Nor are the Lords and Queens of the Undying Lands true gods, even though they might seem like ones to the lesser eye. For the Lady Palúrien, whom I have served from the beginning, is one of the High Ones of her exalted kind. And she holds the fates of all that live on Earth in her heart, as I have already told you. Not even in the Dark Years before the making of the Sun and the Moon was she willing to forsake Middle-earth; and I was sent here to watch over the fruits of her labours.”

“You are speaking in riddles again,” Bôr complained. “Why do you not open your mind for me a little more? Have you not been a friend and confidant of our people for longer than even our Elders can remember?”

“I have,” the wizard nodded, “and I still am. Yet ’tis not easy to speak of councils partly hidden even from my own eyes. Know this: Palúrien called forth the kelvar (the birds and beasts and all creatures that move above, upon or beneath the Earth) and the olvar (all plants that are rooted deep in the soil and grow) from the wet and dark depths of the Earth. All these have their worth and each contributes to the worth of the others. But the kelvar can flee or defend themselves in peril, whereas the olvar that grow cannot. And among them my Lady holds trees dear, more so than any others. For long in the growing, swift can they be in the felling; and unless they pay toll with fruit upon bough little mourned in their parting. Thus when our Order was sent to these lands, my Lady insisted that I, too, come and teach the sons of Men how to respect the trees.⁽⁷⁾”

“Why just the Men?” Bôr asked. “Are the Wood-Elves not felling trees as well?”

“They do,” the wizard agreed, “yet they had been taught by Palúrien herself in the Starlit Days, before the coming of the Sun and the Moon, and thus they know which tree they can fell and which they cannot. They recognize a sick tree or those of rotten hearts at once, and by felling those, they keep the woods healthy – at least as healthy as they can be, after all the long years of darkness. For you must know it, young Bôr, that there still are deep places in all forests where the shadow never lifts and where the hearts of the trees are black. And I was sent out to find these places and heal them – if I can.”

“If you can?” Bôr repeated in utter astonishment. “Are you not a wizard of strange powers? Why should you be unable to heal mere trees?”

“Watch your over-eager tongue, my young friend,” Radagast warned him. “Trees are beings with their own wisdom and feelings, and though their wrath is slow, once it is awakened, would be hard to stop, even for me. Try to learn their ways, as your father did, and your grandfather, and his forefathers of old. Thusly…”

Bôr never learnt what other warnings the old Man was about to speak, for they were interrupted by a flock of birds – black thrushes of a surprisingly large size – that came flying low and turned sharply in order to descend upon the high thorn-hedge, sitting down on it in a long row and chatting in excitement.

Radagast listened to them with his head tilted to one side.

“We shall have visitors, and soon, it seems,” he said after a while. “A small party of Wood-Elves is heading hither in a great hurry, the birds say.”

“I shall leave then,” Bôr rose from the bench. “I doubt that ’tis me they want to talk to… and mayhap they would like to speak you in private.”

“Nay, go not,” the wizard grabbed his arm, and once again Bôr was astonished by the iron strength of those gnarled old hands. “they might be carrying ill tidings that you need to hear. If not, you still can leave later.”

Bôr gave in, and not unwillingly. Rarely had he the chance to see one of the Tree Children, as the fair and mysterious Elves of the Wood called themselves, and he was eager to satisfy his curiosity. Many a strange tale was told in Dale or Laketown about their proud, golden-haired King and their archers that could hit the eyes of a bird in the dark with their arrows from a hundred feet or so. Yet no one knew how much of these rumours were true and how much just, well, rumours. For though the Elves did come to those towns time and again, ferrying wares between them and the palace of their King, no Man had ever set a foot into the hidden city of the Fair Folk, therefore all the tales about it were questionable at the best.

It took less time than one would need to cook a freshly-caught fish⁽⁸⁾ ’til a lithe figure came rushing in through the open gate, riding the most wondrous horse Bôr had seen in his entire life – and he had seen his fair share of great horses. It had a pale-red coat with darker red spots all over its body and a dark red dorsal stripe – clearly visible, for the rider on its bare back used no saddle. Mane and tail of the horse were an even darker red, interwoven with golden strings – and despite the obvious fact that it had been nearly ridden to death, it still looked proud and eager to continue its murderous run, should its beloved rider demand so.

The rider matched the horse in all things. A tall and slender young male he was, with auburn hair that had partly come lose from the single tight braid he wore, clad in the simple green and brown garb of the woodland folk: in soft leathers and rough linens. A great bow and a quiver full of green-feathered arrows upon his back he wore, and his delicately pointed ears gave him away as an Elf at once. He jumped from his horse in a great hurry and ran to the wizard, but not ere he had patted the neck of his faithful beast and murmured his thanks into one nervously twitching ear.

“Master Aiwendil,” he said in a soft, musical voice and bowed towards the wizard deeply, “my heart is relieved to find you. We are in dire need, and you might be the only one who still could help.”

Radagast gave him a worried look.

“Prince Legolas,” he answered with a slight bow of his own. “Dire your need has to be, indeed, if the King of the Woodland Folk sends his only son to an old wizard to ask for his help. Without a proper escort, if I may add…”

Prince Legolas? Bôr thought, taking in the sight of the fair Elf: the smooth, pale face with the delicately-sculpted, high cheekbones, the slightly slanted, deep emerald eyes, the bow-shaped, dark eyebrows and long, dark lashes. Indeed, the son of the Elvenking was fair beyond measure to the mortal eye. And yet, he looked not the least like a maiden, despite the rude jokes of some Woodmen considering the Elves. There was strength in those slender hands, calloused from hundreds of years spent with archery practice, and steel’s glint in those bright eyes and predatory smoothness in the easy movements of the Elf. Nay, this most certainly was a dangerous creature that one should not make angry – and someone used to give orders and be obeyed.

The Elven Prince dismissed the wizard’s teasings with an impatient gesture of a strong, pale hand.

“My escort shall arrive any time now. I left them somewhat behind, for their horses could not catch up with my Firemane. We have but little time left; every moment might count. So let us not tarry, I beg of you.”

Radagast saw that the Elf was, indeed, in great worry, and nodded his understanding. “Tell me then; what need can you have for me?”

“We are in need of your healing powers,” Legolas answered. “Less than two days ago, my little sister has been bitten by one of the Great Spiders that had recently infested our forest. Thank the Valar the beast was killed by old Galion ere it could have released all its venom into Aiwë’s body, but she is in great peril, nevertheless. Our mother and her fellow healers were able to purge the poison from her, but she is so small and so weak,” Legolas’ voice broke slightly, “we fear she will not survive. Can you come with me at once? You are our only hope left.”

For a short moment Radagast was stunned. He liked Thranduil, despite the King’s sometimes volatile temper, and admired his long and valiant struggle against all sorts of evil creatures that had infested the woods during the last Age. He knew, the Elvenking had already lost several of his children, and feared what the loss of his beloved and cherished little bird might cause to him. Mayhap Thranduil would finally snap and give in to his grief, doing something desperate that cannot be re-made afterwards.

Radagast was not ready to let that happen. Not if there still was any hope left that he might help. He remembered all too well how painful it had been to lose young Lindir, even though the elfling was not his own flesh and blood and only had been given into foster care somewhere better than Brownhay. Still, he loved the young minstrel as a son of his own, and he could imagine all too vividly what it would mean to lose a child (not to say several children) to cruel weapons or murderous creatures.

“Of course I shall come with you at once,” he said to Legolas, whom he had known ever since he had come over the Sea and settled in the Greenwood. “Two days ago she has been bitten, you say?”

“Less than two days,” Legolas answered. “I was out along the Enchanted River, patrolling with my escort when the tidings reached me through some friendly birds. That way I was able to reach your home in a day and a half.”

“Then we should leave at once, indeed,” Radagast said in worry. “For even though your healers have purged the poison itself, it might have already caused grave damage to the body of such a little elfling. I shall ask young Bôr and his people to take care of my house and my beasts – and of your escort when they arrive. But your horse would not be able to make another hard run back to your father’s palace, I fear. You shall have to take one of my horses.”

“Would they be ready to bear me?” Legolas asked doubtfully, knowing that Radagast’s horses had a will of their own. The wizard smiled, even though it was a sad smile.

“They would – if I ask them. Come with me now.”

He led his guest to the stable, behind which several dappled grey horses⁽⁹⁾ were grazing peacefully. The wizard gave a sharp whistle (it made the Elf jump slightly), and one of the horses – an older mare – trotted to him, nuzzling his neck with her soft nose. Radagast spoke to her in a low voice that not even Legolas understood, and the horse called another of her kind with a soft neigh.

Legolas, who had grown up among the strong and sensitive horses his people bred (and indeed, he loved horses, just like all young Elves of the Wood did), stroked the face of the good beast in a friendly manner and murmured soft words of encouragement in its ear in his own tongue. The horse neighed, showing its willingness to bear him, and the Elf jumped lightly upon its bare back.

Bôr brought the bridles and a saddle for Radagast from one of the barns where they were kept, and the wizard mounted his mare with practiced ease.

“I shall be back in about ten days,” he told the younger Man. “By then, it would show if I can be of any help for the little Elf-child or not. Can you have someone to look after my house in the meantime?”

“Certainly. One of my sisters would be willing to come over; they always were eager to visit your house and spoil your beasts,” said Bôr. “All shall be taken care of. That is,” he looked at Legolas questioningly. “if Elves eat the same food as Men.”

Legolas gave him a mirthless laugh.

“We do. You shall not have much trouble with my people, though. All they need is some rest and some food for their horses. Then they will turn and ride back to our city, as soon as they can. For they are sorely needed at home.”

“So are we,” the wizard added solemnly. “Let us leave without further delay.”

With that the Elf whole-heartedly agreed, and the two of them rode from the courtyard swiftly. Bôr looked after them for a moment, then he turned his attention to Legolas’ exhausted horse, giving it some food and lots of water and every treatment such an over-driven beast could need. After having reassured himself that Firemane would recover properly, given a few days of rest, he sent messages to his family with the thrushes that spoke the tongue of his people to some extent and sat down with another tankard of mead and waited.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Shortly before sunset four other Elves arrived on their almost staggering steeds – unlike Legolas’ horse, these were reddish brown with blonde manes and tails, and Bôr could see how well they would blend into the forest, more so in the days of autumn they were having than in other seasons. Of course, the young Man knew not that the horses of the woodland folk changed the colour of their coats with the changing of seasons, just like the Wood-Elves themselves changed the colour of their hair, save the Elvenking himself who had the blood of other Elven folk in his veins, too⁽¹⁰⁾.

After the trembling horses had been properly taken care of, Bôr and the four Elves sat on the benches in the courtyard, drank some mead that Radagast mostly got from Bôr’s people (the Elves, though they usually preferred wine, seemed rather fond of the good brew) and exchanged tidings from the different parts of the forest. Alas, many of those were less than pleasant, and slowly the Man got a feeling that dark days were about to come.

TBC

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

End notes:

(1) Unfinished Tales, p. 406.

(2) Unfinished Tales, p. 418.

(3) The meaning of the name Rhosgobel, according to “The Treason of Isengard” (HoME 7).

(4) I postulated the theory that the Beornings (or their forefathers, to be correct) had a lot longer life span than other Men – just like Dwarves, or even longer. So it would be possible that Lindir living under Radagast’s roof became the stuff for old tales. Also, the idea of Radagast teaching the Beornings how to change their skins is exclusively mine.

(5) Earlier name of Yavanna. The descriptions concerning her are taken from the Silmarillion.

(6) A name I have chosen for its sound only. Not authentic, though Tolkien had an Easterling called Bór the Faithful. My Bôr is one of Beorn’s forefathers.

(7) And he obviously succeeded. Beorn mentions many hundred years later that Radagast is “not a bad fellow as wizards go.” See: The Hobbit – Queer Lodgings, p. 120. Actually, Radagast is the only wizard aside of Gandalf who is already present in The Hobbit.

(8) Sorry, I could not resist. This is said to have been one of the primitive time measurements the nomadic Hungarians would use, and since the early Beornings must have been a fairly rustic people, I doubt that they would have measured time in hours.

(9) In “The Treason of Isengard” is stated that Radagast’s horse was dappled grey (when he met Gandalf on the road). I assumed that he kept his own bred during his stay in Middle-earth.

(10) The changing hair colour of Wood-Elves is my idea, not a canon fact. I developed it for “Innocence,” because I thought it would be neat for them to be in sync with the changing of leaves. Feel free to ignore it if it disturbs you.

LITTLE BIRD

by Soledad

 Disclaimer: The characters, the context and the main plot belong to Professor Tolkien, whom I greatly admire. I’m only trying to fill in the gaps he so graciously left for us, fanfic writers, to have some fun. Only the individual Elves you don’t know belong to me.

 Rating: PG, for some less-than nice descriptions of the spider poison symptoms.

 Author’s Notes:

Again, thanks for the encouraging comments, all of you. As you might guess, Radagast’s home was conceived after Beorn’s house in “The Hobbit.” In this chapter I will use this particular book again, in order to visualize Thranduil’s palace, even if there will be differences.

 Thranduil’s wife was christened by erunyauve, who is one of the greatest lore-masters when it comes to Elven languages. My never-ending gratitude for having solved my Ages-long problem. If the name sounds unfamiliar, it is because we tried to find one with some elements of Silvan Elvish, which is a less-known Elven tongue. (See footnotes.) All other Elven expressions are courtesy of erunyauve.

 Many thanks also to Ithilwen for her help in the matter of spider venom symptoms and to Meg for giving me the necessary crash-course on spiders. As always, thank you, Cirdan, for proofreading the story.

I must point out that the outcome of this tale has already been decided in the 3^rd chapter from “Of Riddles of Doom and Paths of Love.”

Chapter 3: Broken Wings

For the next two days, the wizard and the Elven Prince rode hard, with few and short rests in-between. The nimble horses of Radagast seemed not to mind the murderous haste, and Legolas was a young Elf who did not tire easily; his only concern was to wear off his companion. Yet the old Man showed a strength that could match that of any Elf, and so they slowed not down and slept not and ate and drank but a little once or twice a day, during their rests. The urgency of their errand left them not a moment of peace.

Thus in the early evening of the second day they came to the Forest River, some miles within the edge of the Greenwood on its eastern side, where it ran out of the heights of the forest and flowed on, before the huge stone gates of the royal palace, out into the marches at the feet of the high wooded lands.

There, at the end of the narrow way that ran like a shadowy green tunnel under the dense growth of beaches, a bridge led across the River to the Elvenking’s doors, as they were called. In fact, they were the gates of the whole city. The water flowed dark and swift and strong beneath that stone bride, made by the hands of a few surviving stone carvers who had managed to escape from Doriath with King Oropher’s family, many hundreds of years ago; and at the far end were gates before the mouth of a huge cave that ran into the side of a steep slope covered with trees. There the great beeches came right down to the bank, ’til their feet were in the stream.

Across this bridge many of the King’s household now came running, some of them helping the wizard and their beloved young Prince to dismount, others leading the trembling horses away to take care of them in the stables, while the rest was offering Radagast and Legolas a drink of wine and a wafer of lembas⁽¹⁾, so that they could regain some of their strength.

Among these latter ones was old Galion, the seneschal of the palace, and his face was taut and his wise, old eyes full of sorrow. Legolas paled in fear at this sight, for he knew all too well how dear Galion kept his whole family and that he loved little Aiwë as if she were his own granddaughter of some kind.

“Master Galion,” the young Prince said, forcing himself to speak evenly, “is my sister….”

Galion, guessing what he was about to ask, shook his head. “She is alive… barely,” he answered sadly.

“Then bring me to her, quickly’, the wizard ordered. “We have precious little time left, I fear.”

The old Elf bowed and let him out of the main cave that was, indeed, only the courtyard of the city-palace, an antechamber of some sort, along the twisting, crossing and echoing passages that were lit only sparsely with red torchlight, ’til they finally reached the royal chambers. Crossing a short, wider corridor they stepped through a heavy oak door and into a wide chamber, the windows and balconies of which looked to the West, and Radagast had to blink several times, for the reddish beams of the setting Sun blinded him for a moment after the long march in the dark passageways.

He knew this chamber already, of course, having visited it many times ever since he settled down in Rhosgobel. This was the working chamber of the Lady Lálisin ⁽²⁾, Queen of the Greenwood, wife to Thranduil and mother of six beautiful children, three of which had already been dead for more than a thousand years and the fourth of which was dying at this very moment.

Yet her working chamber was not one of those richly adorned halls one would have expected from the wife of an Elvenking. The Queen of Eryn Galen was of the Silvan folk – more so, she was one of their Wise Women and their greatest healers, and she shared the simple tastes of her people. Like many women of pure Silvan blood (those were the remnants of the true Faithful whom other Elves called the Avari), the earth magic they possessed due to their deep roots in the lands of their Awakening was strong in her – in fact, even stronger than in most, for she came from a family of healers, gifted – or cursed – with foresight, and she was quite ancient, even in Elven terms, being the granddaughter of Nurwë, one of the first leaders of the Faithful.

A mortal might have found her beautiful, but for an Elf she was rather plain, with the same auburn hair and deep green, slanted eyes as her youngest son (in fact, three of her four sons resembled her in their colours), but the delicate beauty that marked Legolas’ features clearly came into the family from Thranduil’s line. The Queen had a fairly ordinary, slightly round face, even though it looked haggard at the moment from weariness and deep concern for her little daughter. She wore a simple, unadorned forest-green gown and tied over that the long, loose apron of a healer. Her thick hair was bound back in a grey cloth and the sleeves of her gown were rolled up ’til her elbows.

“Master Aiwendil,” she greeted the wizard, rising from the side of the small bed that had been brought over from the nursery here, where she kept all her herbs and ointments. “I am grateful that you have come so quickly. We have tried all that we could – I know not what else might be done. Certainly naught that is in my power or that of any of our people.”

Radagast stepped closer to the bed where the fragile little elfling lay, with her head resting on the lap of her father. She seemed so small, even for a mere 12-year-old, so very small and so deadly pale; and she obviously was in a lot of pain. Thranduil had a damp cloth in his hand, wiping that hot and sweaty little face again and again, but it was of no use. Aiwë tossed restlessly, chewing on her lower lip, her eyes glassed over slightly; she obviously could no more recognize her father or her surroundings.

“Merciful Palúrien, Lady of the Earth, mother of all living things, stay with us,” Legolas whispered barely audible the time-honoured prayer of the woodland folk. The little girl was barely recognizable any more, with her puffy cheeks and limbs – that twisted and tormented small body had naught to do with the cheerful Elf-child he had left behind six days earlier when leaving for his patrol duty.

“There is no more hope for my little bird, is there?” Thranduil asked in a strangely detached voice, as if he were speaking of the inevitable change of the seasons. “’Tis not the poison alone, they say; ere it could have been purged out of her body, it already had begun to eat her up from the inside, and she has not enough strength left to fight it.”

Radagast shivered. The Great Spiders were not all of the same kind, and had Aiwë been bitten by one of the white-backed ones, she might still have a chance to live. But there were some of these monsters whose backs were red, bearing the evil black mark of Ungoliantë the Gloom-Weaver upon it, and these released a flesh-eating venom into their prey. If the little princess had been bitten by one of those, then she was dead already, even though still breathing. Such a small body could not fight that sort of poison.

“I do what I can,” the wizard said, “but you must understand, my Lord King that I cannot make any promises. Even if I had the time to bring her over the Misty Mountains to my friend Iarwain and his spouse the River-daughter⁽³⁾, the outcome would be doubtful.”

Thranduil nodded, slowly stroking the now lifeless and brittle tresses of his little daughter. Of all their children, only Aiwë inherited his rich, honey-blonde hair – he used to be so proud of the beauty of the little girl and her resemblance of him. Yet know he would have been eternally grateful to simply be allowed to keep his child – even disfigured or with that wondrous hair of hers falling out completely… just alive.

“I understand that, Master Wizard,” he said. “Just do what ever you can think of to save my child. If it could be done I would give her part of my spirit as I have done, albeit not knowing of it, when she was awakened in her mother’s body⁽⁴⁾. Can you not channel the strength of my fëa and lead it to her? ’Tis said to have been done in the Elder Days, and I am strong enough to recover from such a trial, given enough time.”

“So am I,” Legolas offered quietly, but the wizard only shook his shaggy head, mildly exasperated over the light-heartedness which the woodland folk handled perilous ancient customs with. Surely, things like that had been done in the Elder Days – but that usually ended with a disaster.

“Even if such thing could be done otherwise than in legends, she would not survive it,” he said, unwilling to risk the life or sanity of an other member of the royal family. “She is much too weak, your strength would tear her fragile spirit apart. There is still one thing I can try, though, but I need your help to do so. Come here, young Prince, and you, too, Lady Lálisin. Take the hand of the King and form a circle around the bed, for protection. I shall have to set free some power that must be contained – at any price. Do you understand?”

The Elves nodded mutely and did as they had been asked. Inside of their circle, the wizard sat down on the bedrand and laid both his hands upon the heaving chest of the little girl, noticing how swollen and shapeless that small body had become. Equally small was the hope that he might help, but he was determined to at least try.

He flattened his big hands on Aiwë’s chest and began to chant, slowly and softly, in the tongue of the Blessed Realm, calling back his last glimpse of Palúrien, the Earth-Lady, as he had seen her before leaving fort the Hither Lands: standing like a tree under heaven, crowned with the sun; and from all her branches there spilled a golden dew upon the barren Earth, and it grew green with corn; and the roots of the Tree-Lady were in the waters of Ulmo and the winds of Manwë spoke in her leaves⁽⁵⁾.

Palúrien, the Earth-Lady was – aside of Aldaron⁽⁶⁾, the Lord of the Forests – the one the woodland folk valued and respected from all the Lords and Queens of the West, more even than Varda herself mayhap; for she was the one who had visited the abandoned lands in the Dark Years and urged the Valar to remember their duties towards Arda. Radagast only hoped that his Lady would be merciful to the innocent child and her much-suffered parents – that his arrival had not already been too late.

Slowly, carefully, he began to release some of the power that he had kept safely contained in the depth of his spirit all the years spent in Middle-earth. ’Twas a very delicate thing to do, for it could have broken up his fana⁽⁷⁾ and caused great damage in the structure of Arda – which was the very reason why they had been forbidden to use it. He knew he would be severely punished, should Curumo⁽⁸⁾ ever learn of his trespassing, and yet he felt unable to deny his help to these much-suffered Elves who had been abandoned by the Mightiest of the West often enough in the previous Ages. Besides, mercy and not sacrifice was what the Lady Palúrien wanted of those that served her.

The three Elves watched in awe (and even a little frightened) as the shaggy old wizard began to glow in a faint, golden light. It covered his whole form, but gathered the strongest around his hands as they lay upon Aiwë’s chest. The child became restless again, writhing in pain under his touch, the thin cloth of her nightgown sliding off her shoulder and revealing the swollen and discoloured flesh around the blackened bite marks.

Legolas closed his eyes. Seeing the broken and violated body of his innocent little sister was almost more than he could bear. He ached to reach out and touch her sweaty brow or kiss her cheek or do anything to ease her pain, but he dared not to break the circle. As all Wood-Elves, he was somewhat taught in magic, and knew how perilous it would be to let that power that worked on Aiwë’s broken shell escape.

Finally the wizard ceased his eerie chanting and let go of the suffering child with a sigh, giving the Elvenking a rueful look.

“I have done all that still could be done,” he said. “’Tis up to Aiwë now. If she can make it through the night – which I very much doubt, to be honest –, then she still might live, after all. But her chances are not good.”

“That I know all too well,” Thranduil nodded, sitting back down on the bed and collecting the small, disfigured body of his child into his arms. “I thank you for coming nevertheless, Master Wizard. You must be weary, after the long ride and your labours, I deem. Legolas and the Queen will see to your needs. I… I shall stay here with my little bird if I may.”

“You should rest, hervenn nîn⁽⁹⁾,” the Queen scolded him mildly. “You have not left her bedside for the last four days.”

“Nor have you,” Thranduil replied, smiling at his Queen sadly. “You fought for her life day and night, brennilen⁽¹⁰⁾. Have some rest, I beg of you. I promise to call you, should any changes occur – for good or for worse.”

“Every healer could do that, Ada,” said Legolas. “Mother is not the only one who needs some rest. Come with us.”

But Thranduil only shook his head. “Nay, she might ask for me… my little princess, she always wanted to be near me. I can rest enough when… when she is gone. I shall not leave her to the care of strangers in her last hours.”

His broken voice revealed the fact that he no longer hoped for Aiwë’s healing. The Queen sighed and bent down to kiss first her daughter and then her husband.

“Be it as you wish, my Lord,” she said. “Our son and I shall rest for a short while, and we shall take care of Master Aiwendil. You have that time for saying your farewells in private.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

With that she left, taking both Legolas and the wizard with her. The two of them led Radagast to an adjoining guest chamber and the Queen called for some food and some wine. Would the guest be not Radagast but Curumo, head of their Order, he would have found the food offered to him rather crude, containing bulrush-roots, acorns, roasted fish, and cones, as Wood-Elves usually ate with what the forests supplied them, with tree leaf-buds cooked in honey, that was considered a delicacy among the woodland folk⁽¹¹⁾. But even though Radagast usually ate better himself, thank his household beasts and the trade with the Woodmen, he could appreciate the simple food and the hospitality of the Queen, as he knew that he was given the best this darkened forest could offer.

The wine, however, was the heavy vintage of the great gardens of Dorwinion, bought from the peoples of Rhún for a high price and brought in by the merchants of Laketown. No one but the Elvenking himself and his family were meant to drink it, and Radagast appreciated the honour of being offered a taste of it.

The Queen seemed not to have much appetite. She sat at the table quietly, sipping on a small goblet of wine, looking weary and entirely without any hope.

“Do you truly believe that our daughter might make it through the night?” she asked after the wizard had eaten a few bits. Radagast shrugged.

“’Tis hard to tell, hírilen⁽¹²⁾. It depends on how much strength she still has left… and how quickly you were able to flush out the poison of her body.”

“She had been attacked near the palace,” the Queen replied thoughtfully. “Galion brought her in shortly thereafter, and we began to give her lots of herbal tea, as long as she was still able to swallow on her own. But a day ago we had to stop doing so, for her body could not handle it any more. The bloating had become much worse since then,” she sighed. “I knew then that we cannot help her any more. Only a wonder could still save her – and somehow I doubt that the Valar would show any mercy towards us. They have never done so in the past.”

“They did send me, after all,” Radagast replied mildly. “And there still is some hope left that I have come in time.”

“You not truly believe it, and nor do I,” said the Queen. “Our daughter will die, and my husband will be devastated. This might well be the last straw for him. He already has endured too much for one Elf to bear.”

“What about you, hírilen?” the wizard asked. “Have you not endured the same?”

“I am of the Faithful,” the Queen answered with a shrug. “We are accustomed to sorrow. Also, I am much older than he is. I have seen things before the making of the Sun and Moon that no one could fathom, not even Galion. For our people have lived in the woods like wild beasts, without help, without guidance, without any protection. We had to learn to bear great hardships and cruel losses. It has made us strong. And this strength is what might save my son in the upcoming new darkness – if there is aught that could.”

“Worry not, nana,” Legolas rose from his seat and stepped to his mother; he loosened the grey cloth that bound her hair back, took it off, and sinking his strong fingers into the thick, unbraided auburn mane, he gently began to massage his mother’s scalp. “In every thing that counts, I am your son. You have given me the strength of the Faithful, and I do not break easily.”

The Queen gave a soft sigh and leant back into the hands of her only remaining son.

“Your father will need you once Aiwë is gone, my little leaf,” she murmured. “Remember, you are the only one left for us.”

“Nay,” Legolas argued gently, “you are wrong. You still have Celebwen as well.”

“Celebwen has never truly been ours,” his mother answered sadly. “Her Sindarin blood had set her apart from the rest of us at a very tender age – she never felt at home under the trees. You were but a little elfling when she left for the Havens – I am surprised that you still remember her.”

“Not too well,” Legolas admitted, “though I do remember that she had silver hair and grey eyes – and that she always was sad. And fair, beyond even Elven measure. I admired her and wept for a long time after she had left,” he smiled sadly, “but I think not that I ever loved her as a sister. She has always been much too distant for that.”

“She alone came after the Teleri in your father’s family,” the Queen nodded. “I hope she is happy among her true kin. At least she is safe in the Havens – more safe than we shall ever be.”

“I wish I could visit her in the Havens one day,” Legolas murmured with dreamy eyes. “To see the city of the Lord Círdan, the white ships along the quays, the dance of the foam-crowned waves...,” the longing in his voice was unmistakable. “Alas, Father would never allow me to travel to those shores.”

“He wishes not to lose you, too,” his mother said. “That is why he never goes there, either. For the Sea-longing is in his blood and so is in yours, too. ’Tis slumbering still, but to wake it would be dangerous. You would never find peace under the trees again.”

But Legolas only laughed over her warning. “Nay, mother, I think not so. There is naught in Middle-earth that could make me abandon our beloved trees. Naught at all.”

“Yet the Sea is not from Middle-earth entirely,” Radagast pointed out softly, “and ever since the Awakening, the hearts of most Firstborn are bent to its call.”

Ere Legolas could have answered, there was a short knock on the door, and in stumbled, without waiting to be told to do so, Elulin⁽¹³⁾, one of the Queens handmaidens.

“My Lady,” she stammered, her green eyes full of tears, “’Tis going to the end with Aiwë. If… if you want to see her one last time, you should hurry…”

The Queen sprang to her feet and dashed out of the chamber like a frightened deer. Legolas and the wizard followed in a haste.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

There was an eerie silence in the healing chamber. The child lay quietly on her father’s lap, her small, swollen face contorted in pain, her breathing quick and shallow. Írith⁽¹⁴⁾, the best healer of the palace right after the Queen, stood on the other side of the bed, hands folded before her apron in a helpless manner. Obviously, there was naught she – or anyone else – could do anymore.

Thranduil looked up with dry, haunted eyes and stretched out his free hand towards his wife wordlessly, in a vague gesture that was both offering and asking for comfort. The Queen rushed to his side and embraced him tightly, while Legolas kneeled down at their feet, taking one of Aiwë’s puffy, unfeeling little hands.

“Tis over,” Thranduil murmured softly. “She is almost gone, and my only wish is now that it would happen quickly. She never opened her eyes again… and she is in so much pain. Could the Valar not show at least enough mercy to make her suffering end? What has she done to deserve a fate so cruel? Or are the Lords of the West punishing her for the unwillingness of our forefathers to leave our birthplace? Why cannot they punish me instead? I am the one who decided to remain here with the Faithful – is this why Mandos keeps taking my children, one by one, even the youngest and most innocent one of them? Now they all dwell in his shadowy Halls, and I shall never see them again.”

“Unless you decide to go to the West, after all,” Radagast said quietly.

“I think not so,” replied Thranduil, “but ’tis too early to speak of that right now. I still have much to do here. Even if no one of my family is allowed to remain with me. I only wish they were not made pay for my choices.”

He hugged his little girl closer and watched with saddened eyes as Aiwë’s breathing became more and more slow. The elfling was still warm, but her chest slowly ceased to heave, and she became eerily quiet all of a sudden. The Queen bent down to the still little chest to listen for the faint heartbeat; then she straightened again and shook her head sadly.

“She is gone,” she said, her voice low and full of sorrow, but her face hard and collected.

Thranduil answered not. He kept holding the lifeless body of his little bird in his arms, his upper body swinging back and forth in a strange rhythm, summing an old lullaby that used to be Aiwë’s favourite. Legolas, too, rose and tried to speak to him but to no use; he did not even hear his son’s voice.

“Come,” the Queen murmured, “let us leave him alone. He needs time to master his grief. We can say our farewells to Aiwë later.”

TBC – with a short epilogue

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

End notes:

(1) I know, I know. Lembas was the waybread of the Lórien Elves, who probably brought the secret of its making from Doriath. But since its corn supposedly had grown in the starlight before the making of the Sun already, I cannot see why the Mirkwood Elves would not know it, too. Tolkien only says that Gimli did not know it, but it is unlikely that the Mirkwood Elves would share such a thing with Dwarves anyway.

(2) Lálisin means “Elm of Knowledge.” According to the most knowledgeable erunyauve, one of Tolkien's last letters stated that Silvan Elvish was still spoken in Thranduil's realm, but not in Lórien, in the late 3rd Age. It appears that -in was probably a genitive singular ending, so an ending in istin would give "of knowledge" (or perhaps isin, since it appears that -st becomes -s in Nandorin).

(3) Tom Bombadil and Goldberry. To their relationship with Thranduil’s family see my Glorfindel-story, “A Tale of Never-Ending Love.”

(4) Elves believe that when a child is conceived, part of both parent’s fëar (spirits) is given to it.

(5) See: The Silmarillion, p. 18.

(6) Oromë.

(7) Corporeal form of a Vala or a Maia – not the same thing as the hröar (bodies) of incarnate beings. We all know, of course, that the Istari or wizards were actually Maiar in disguise.

(8) Saruman in Quenya.

(9) ‘’Husband mine’’ in Sindarin.

(10) ’’my Lady’’, as said by the husband to his wife.

(11) ‘’my Lady’’ as said by a subject, addressing the Lady of the house.

(12) In creating the meal I followed Tyellas’ lead, given in “The Bread of the Mírdain.”

(13) Earlier, rejected name for Nimloth.

(14) Earlier, rejected name for Aredhel. I’m not good with names, so I usually borrow them from Tolkien himself.