Disclaimer:  I do not own any of the characters of J. R. R. Tolkien, nor any of the various dramatic incarnations thereof.  No profit is being made from this work.

 

 

 

Foreword

 

Greetings!  Welcome to this story.  It’s a birthday present for Daw, and as such, it represents a rare coincidence of inspiration and alertness.  I’m really bad at both writing fiction on command and at remembering birthdays.  However, this year, not only did I remember Daw’s birthday in time, I also happened to have a suitable idea ready to be written.  So, here it is.  Happy birthday, Daw!

 

 

 

A Father On The Road

 

 

 

Calum hummed quietly to himself as he worked a fat, fluffy rabbit free from the snare that held it.  He broke its neck with a quick twist, and added it to the two that were already in his bag.  He was pleased at his take this morning.  He was not even halfway through his line of snares, and had already netted three rabbits.  Mirkwood was not usually so generous with game.  Calum paused, and sent silent thanks to the One, who had supplied the game, and to the mysterious Elvenking.  Calum had never seen the Elvenking, but understood dimly that he was somehow responsible for the care of the shadowed forest and was gracious enough to allow the Woodmen to hunt and trap there.

 

When he finished. Calum glanced up and looked around him.  “Dugal?” he called softly.  “Dugal, where are you?”

 

The leafy undergrowth across the path rustled, and Dugal, Calum’s seven-year-old son, wriggled out of the brush and threw his arms around his father’s neck.  “Here I am, Da!” he cried.

 

Calum laughed at his son’s enthusiasm, even though he had intended to be stern.  “Remember to speak low, Dugal,” he cautioned.  “You would not wish to startle the forest creatures.”

 

Dugal’s eyes went round, and he quickly clapped his hands over his mouth and shook his head.  “I am sorry, Da,” he whispered.  “I will be quiet.”

 

“Good.”  Calum ruffled Dugal’s hair and opened his bag.  “Look, we have already snared three rabbits today.”

 

Dugal reached into the bag and stroked the rabbits’ fur.  “They are soft.”

 

Calum nodded.  “Yes, they are.  They are growing thick autumn coats to keep them warm over the winter.  Those thick autumn coats will make lovely fur hats for children, and the rabbit meat will fill their bellies.”

 

“Will there be enough rabbit for both me and Maidie?” Dugal asked.

 

“Yes, indeed.  You and your sister will eat well tonight.”

 

Dugal giggled.  “Maidie will be adorable in a rabbit fur hat.”

 

“Maidie is not yet three years old,” Calum said.  “She is adorable no matter what she wears.  She is even adorable in the dress your Ma made her from that old flour sack.”

 

Calum nudged Dugal to crouch next to him on the path.  “Now, look here, son,” he said.  “Watch close, and I will show you how to tie a rabbit snare.”  He took up the ends of the fine wire, but stopped when he saw Dugal’s frown.  “Dugal?” he said.  “Is something wrong?”

 

Dugal stared at the wire in Calum’s hands and squirmed uncomfortably.  “Da?” he asked, his lip trembling.  “Can you catch things besides rabbits in a snare?”

 

“Yes.  The snare will trap anything small that steps in it.  That is why I told you to be very careful walking the snare line with me today.  I would not want you to step into one of my snares by accident.”  Calum tried to make that warning as friendly and reassuring as possible, but Dugal’s eyes filled with tears.  Startled, Calum turned to face his son.

 

“Da,” Dugal said, “I think there is a baby Elf caught in a snare.”

 

Calum was silent for a moment, not certain whether or not he should believe Dugal.  “A baby Elf?” he asked.  “Are you sure about that, Dugal?”

 

Dugal nodded miserably.  “It is all alone, Da, and it is frightened.”

 

Calum quickly tied the snare and stood up.  “I suppose I had better take a look, then.  Show me where you found it, son.”

 

Dugal scrambled to his feet and led Calum through the thick undergrowth.  Presently, they came upon a little glade.  Dugal stopped just before the edge of the glade and pointed.  “See the baby Elf, Da?  It’s right there.”

 

Calum looked where Dugal indicated.  Sure enough, he could see a small, thin child sitting huddled beneath a tree, crying monotonously.  Calum had seen very few Wood-elves in his life, and he had never seen a young one, but there was no mistaking the air of the Eldar around this child.  Even in its rumpled, filthy state, there was a grace to its posture and movement that was beyond the reach of the children of Men.  It wore a tunic covered in grass and mud stains, and its bedraggled hair was cropped just at its jaw line.  It looked no older than little Maidie, who was safe at home with her mother.  Calum could not tell whether the child was a boy or a girl, but he could see that it was terrified.

 

Dugal tugged at his sleeve.  “Is it hurt, Da?” he asked.  “Maybe I should pick it up and take care of it.”  He started toward the glade, but Calum grabbed him by the collar.

 

“No, Dugal!” he said, more sharply than he had intended.  “You must never pick up any babies you find in the forest.  When that little Elf’s mother comes back, she will smell your hands on it, and she will not want her baby back again.”  It was the best he could think of on the spur of the moment, but Dugal paused.  He glanced at the little Elf and then at Calum.

 

“Really, Da?”

 

“Really.”

 

Dugal wrinkled his nose.  “But what if it is hurt?  What if it is caught in a snare?”

 

Calum looked at the Elf child again and frantically tried to remember if any other man from his village had a snare line that went past this particular glade.  He could not think of any, and the Elf did not appear to be favoring a leg or give any other indication that it was wounded.  “I do not think it is caught in a snare, Dugal,” Calum said, and Dugal sagged against him with relief.

 

Calum patted Dugal’s back absently, but his gaze returned to the Elf baby in the glade.  He was fairly sure that it was not hurt, but it was clearly in distress.  It was alone; no adult Elf had appeared in response to the child’s cries in the time since Dugal had discovered it.  Calum wondered if the child’s parents had pushed it out of its home to fend for itself, like a baby bird learning to fly.  But the child seemed far too young for such treatment, if the Elves actually did treat their young so cruelly.  The more he thought about it, the more Calum suspected that the child was lost.

 

Dugal wrapped his arms around Calum’s waist, troubled at the sight of another child alone and unhappy.  Calum considered his options.  His wife and daughter would not be expecting them home for several hours.  He ought to continue on down his snare line, but found himself unwilling to do so.  Wolves, bears, and spiders prowled the woods, and squads of Orcs patrolled the trails.  Even Calum, who knew next to nothing about Wood-elves, could see that the child in the glade was too small to defend itself if a predator should happen upon it.  He looked down at Dugal and stroked his son’s hair.

 

For all that the Wood-elves were so strange and different from Men, Calum suspected that they felt as protective of their young as he did of his children. If Dugal or Maidie were lost in the forest, Calum thought, he would want them to come under the care of an adult until he could find them again.  In an instant, he knew that he had made his decision.  He could not, in good conscience, simply walk away and leave a child, even a baby Elf, alone and frightened in the forest.  He nudged Dugal.

 

“Shall we wait here for a while?” he suggested.  “Surely the baby Elf’s parents miss their child.  Perhaps, if we wait here and are very quiet, we will see the mother and father Elf when they come back for the baby.”  He sat down with his back against a tree and patted the ground next to him.

 

Dugal settled in at Calum’s side, somewhat hesitantly.  “Do you think the mother and father Elf really will come back, Da?” he asked.

 

Calum nodded.  “One of them will,” he said.  “They must be nearby.”

 

Dugal frowned.  “I hope that the mother and father did not get caught in a snare.”

 

“Grown Elves are too big to be caught in rabbit snares,” Calum chuckled.  “And they have very sharp eyes, so they can see the snares and know to avoid them.”

 

This explanation seemed to reassure Dugal, and he cuddled next to Calum.  They sat together in silence for a while, watching the little Elf.  It had stopped crying, and had scrubbed its grimy hands across its face to brush away the tears.  Now, it looked around the glade and shivered a little in the autumn breeze.  It thrust out its lower lip, and then suddenly yawned.  It rose to its feet and toddled over to a patch of sunlight, where it curled up in the soft grass. 

 

“Is it asleep, Da?” Dugal asked.

 

“I think so.”

 

“Why is it sleeping?  I thought it was frightened of being alone.”

 

A little smile tugged at the corners of Calum’s mouth.  “I think it has worn itself out from crying.  Perhaps it will have pleasant dreams to comfort it until its mother and father come.”

 

Dugal accepted this answer and leaned against Calum’s side.  After a few moments, he stirred.  “Da?  You would not snare any baby animals, would you?”

 

Calum shook his head.  “If I found a baby animal in my snare, I would release it.”

 

“What if you snared a mother animal or a father animal?”

 

Calum sighed.  “I would not deprive any baby animal of its mother or father if the baby still needed its parents.  That is why I do not set my snares until autumn, when most of the baby animals in the forest are big enough that they do not need their parents any more.”

 

“But what if –“

 

A rustling of branches on the far side of the glade caught Calum’s attention. He sat up straighter and wrapped his hand around Dugal’s mouth.  “Hush, son.  Something is coming.”  He felt around for his long knife, though he knew it would be of little use against a bear, a wolf, or a spider.  He hoped that there were no Orcs rustling around near the glade.

 

The Elf child heard the rustling as well, and woke up.  It crouched down in the grass and wrapped its arms around its body.  Calum tensed, ready to leap out into the glade if something attacked the little Elf.

 

Instead, the branches parted, and a tall, dark Elf-man glided into view, his bow half-drawn in readiness for danger.  Calum rose to his feet, as quietly as he could.  He tucked Dugal under his arm, and they both stared at the Elf-man in fascination.  The Elf-man glanced warily around the glade.  He and the child spied each other at the same time.  The Elf-man sucked in a gasp of surprise as the child stood up and cried, “Menellir!”

 

The Elf-man turned and gestured towards the forest with his hand.  After a moment, the branches parted again.  Another tall Elf-man emerged, this one more striking than the last.  His golden hair had been hastily tied back, and the shining locks that had escaped the thongs hung around his face.  A brightly colored crown of golden and orange autumn leaves and bright red berries sat at a precarious angle on his head.  But it was the Elf-man’s bright eyes, which fairly glowed with relief and joy when he saw the child, that made Calum stand a little straighter in recognition, though he had never seen this Elf before in his life.

 

“King Thranduil,” he murmured under his breath.  “The Elvenking himself.”

 

The Elf child raced toward Thranduil, its arms held out, crying, “Ada!  Ada!”  Thranduil picked the child up and wrapped his arms around it, holding it tightly as it buried its face in his neck and burst into tears.  For a few moments, Calum watched, enraptured, as King Thranduil kissed and petted the child, murmuring soft, soothing words into its ear until it became calm.

 

Dugal tugged at Calum’s sleeve.  “Is that the father Elf, Da?” he asked.  “Did he come for his baby?”

 

Calum nodded.  “He did, indeed.  I had not even known that King Thranduil had a little one, but that is his child as sure as the sky is blue.”

 

He thought he had spoken quietly, but Thranduil’s hearing was sharper than he had expected.  Still patting his child’s back, Thranduil turned his head to gaze into the brush beyond the glade.  He located Calum and Dugal quickly, and Calum shivered at the piercing force of the Elvenking’s gaze.  Dugal tried to hide behind his father, but Calum held him firmly in place, so that Dugal would appear respectful and Thranduil would see him and know that Dugal was not a threat to his child.  Silently, Calum raised his own hand in greeting.

 

Thranduil regarded them coolly, taking in the Woodman and his little son, bearing a bag of snared rabbits, armed only with a knife.  His attention flickered for a moment, as if he were listening to voices that Calum could not hear.  When he focused his gaze on Calum again, something had changed.  This was no longer the glare of a worried father evaluating a potential threat.  Instead, Thranduil favored Calum with a regal nod, from one parent to another, acknowledging Calum’s care of his child and offering silent thanks.  Calum, stunned, could do little more than return the nod.  He and Dugal watched as the Elves melted back into the forest, carrying the child safely away.

 

They stood staring at the empty glade for a long time after that.  Eventually, Calum stirred from his reverie and clapped Dugal on the shoulder.  “Well, now, that was something,” he said.  “You have laid eyes on the Elvenking, son, and that is an honor that is not given to many.  I warrant you will remember this moment for the rest of your life.”

 

“He liked you, Da,” Dugal said.  “The Elvenking liked you.  I could tell.”

 

Calum smiled, as warmth spread over his face.  “He liked you, too, son.  He liked us both because we watched over his little one for him.”

 

“That was a good thing to do, right, Da?”

 

“It was a very good thing.  I am glad you spotted the child.”

 

Dugal giggled.  “I will have such a story to tell Ma and Maidie when we get home tonight!”

 

“We had best get on with our work, then,” Calum said.  “The sooner I have checked all of my snares, the sooner we can go home, and you can tell Ma and Maidie all about seeing Elves today.”

 

He followed Dugal back to the trail where he had set his snares.  Dugal skipped and sang for the rest of the afternoon, but Calum did not ask him to be quiet.  His own heart sang for joy at the memory of the encounter, but he was an adult, and he had work to do.  So he allowed Dugal to sing for both of them, and took pleasure in his son’s mirth as they continued slowly along his snare line.

 

 

 

END

 

 

 

Afterword

 

Many thanks to everyone who has read and enjoyed this story.  And many thanks to Daw for having a birthday so that people can write stories for it that other people can enjoy!