MAGIC: The Password

SUMMARY: Thranduil has trouble remembering.

WARNING: Do not eat or drink while reading. Seriously.

MEFA 2008: Second Place: Humor (Elven Lands)

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"There is no escape from my magic doors for those who are once brought inside." — JRR Tolkien, The Hobbit, Chapter IX, "Barrels Out of Bond"

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Unto the Wizard Radagast the Brown of Rhosgobel, from Thranduil, Elvenking of Mirkwood, Greetings:

Would you please send me that password again, I’ve forgotten it. Le hannon.

Thranduil Aran

"Where’s that stupid pigeon?" Thranduil asked as he folded the vellum note and stuck it into a small message tube.

"Here, dear," the Queen said with equanimity, as she handed her husband the bird.

A quick tying of the message tube to the bird’s leg and it was off. Thranduil watched as it circled them twice before heading off in a southwesterly direction. He sighed and turned to his subjects. "Might as well get comfortable folks," he said. "It’s going to be awhile."

The other elves nodded, some of them muttering, but all of them resigned. Thranduil glared at the offensive doors while his queen saw to setting up camp. He could hear his butler speaking to one of his captains.

"I really hate this modern technology," Galion opined. "Secret passwords, bah! Whatever happened to Songs of Power?"

"Magic keys," Captain Ereglos replied, shaking his head. "My adar used to make the most exquisite magic keys, so elegant and subtle, portable too. Now no one wants them. ‘Too old-fashioned’ they say." He grimaced and Galion nodded in agreement.

"I think this whole magic password thing is just a new-fangled fad," the butler said. "Obviously something the Dwarves cooked up."

Thranduil sighed, wishing he’d listened to Mithrandir and simply had the doors made with a deadbolt, but he’d allowed that stupid Radagast to talk him into going for top of the line. "I can remember the fall of Doriath as if it were yesterday," he muttered to himself, though the Queen could hear him as he stood before the doors to the Stronghold that had defeated him. "I can remember every word Elrond spoke the night before the final battle against Sauron, I can even remember my wedding anniversary, but do you think I can remember one stupid little magical password?"

"Don’t fret so, dear," his wife said soothingly. "It’s not that big a deal. Come and play with Legolas while I see to dinner."

Thranduil sighed again and nodded, allowing himself to be led to a small glade on the other side of the causeway where Legolas, an elfling of sixteen, was hanging upside down and swinging on a maple branch. "Ada! Did you remember the password, yet?"

"No, iôn nîn," the king said. "Do not worry, though. Radagast will send me the password and we’ll be able to get into the Stronghold soon."

"Good. I miss Tulcus," the prince said, naming his pet wolf.

"I’m sure he misses you too," Thranduil said, wondering how much damage the little hairball with teeth was doing to their apartments. "Now, why don’t you come down and eat?"

So they all ate and drank and sang songs, told tales and danced through the night while waiting for the pigeon to return. Near dawn they all stopped and looked up as a white bird came winging towards them, landing just at Thranduil’s feet.

"Finally," he said with relief. "Let’s see what the dratted password is." He reached down and took the bird in his hands and removed the message tube. Handing the bird to Galion he opened the tube, pulled out the piece of vellum, and began reading its message:

Unto Thranduil, Elvenking of Mirkwood, from the Wizard Radagast the Brown of Rhosgobel, Greetings:

How many times does this make, my dear Thranduil? Why don’t you put this in a safe place where you can find it?

"Stupid wizard," Thranduil exclaimed to no one in particular, "I did put the password in a safe place! It’s inside the bloody Stronghold!"

"Language, dear," the queen admonished him. "Little elflings have big ears."

Thranduil sighed. "Sorry," he said as he walked across the causeway with everyone following him. They could all see him mouthing words as he studied the Wizard’s missive and they knew he was trying to memorize the password once again. When he was standing before the gates he put his hand on the door and muttered the magic word: Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.

Slowly, ponderously, the doors opened. Thranduil stepped back, a grim smile wreathing his fair visage. "We’re in business again, people," he said and everyone cheered.

As they filed past their king into the Stronghold, Thranduil muttered to his Queen. "I really hate this new technology."

The Queen patted him on the arm. "I know dear," she said with a smile. "That’s what you said about flushed toilets."

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All words are Sindarin.

Aran: King.

Adar: Father.

Iôn nîn: My son.