A Belated Quest

by Playing Passerine

Starts in this world, with an unusual narrator.... Post RoTK. The last wizard in Middle Earth, Radagast the Brown, failed in his given quest to help defeat Sauron. It is time to redeem himself.

A Belated Quest; or, The More Things Change…

It was a spring season, not long ago at all. The day was warm. Not the type of warm that makes you curl your toes in pleasure, or have you stretch like a cat in the sun; but a forceful, feverish heat. Sort of clammy and damp. A smell not quite natural tinted the breeze and permeated the atmosphere. Diesel. Or maybe something with a metallic tang. The air hung heavily on the trees, a dusty, humid sort of curtain. The trees themselves seemed to bow under the weight of the sky. Chastened by a long winter, they kept their grey-brown branches bowed modestly rather than reaching for the clouds. Grey light filtered down, striking the newborn buds and last season's hoary leaves. Everything was bleached and pale. The old leaves were tanned and brittle, like newspapers left out in the sun. The new leaves and young buds were a pale, almost yellow green. They stood out, waxy and sallow, on red-skinned shoots.

A girl walked along a path cutting through the woods. Her sensible boots squelched and made horrible noises as she marched through the muddy route. Her steps were short and straightforward, with seeming military brutality. But she stepped carefully, not trodding on any living thing. Each insect had its right of way. Her brown eyes were constantly on the move, roving from bush to tree to clump of grasses, hoping to see deer or birds, but disturb nothing. She avoided the glittering dragonflies as they flirted in the air, pausing to study their parallel wings and bejeweled bodies. She walked off the path, stepping into the swamp's green and stagnant waters, rather than disturb the small black snakes sunning themselves on beds of half rotten leaves. They hissed slightly, curving side to side like living squiggles on paper and raised their flat heads with beady eyes. They didn't move. Stepping out of the swamp, her black hair got caught in biting branches. She disentangled herself with only minor complaints, figuring her hair might well end up cushioning a bird's egg. As she approached a large and twisted pine tree her pace slackened. She spied her quarry. Her tread grew even more measured. More quiet. A distant rumble made her spring into action.

"Hey Cerina." The brown haired girl comfortably settled on a bed of needles under the pine started like a guilty child.

"Oh. Hey." She drew her knees up and began to put a small book with a red cover into her bulging bookbag.

The flash of color caught the other girl's eye. "What were you doing?"

"Trying to write, to draw, do something creative. I don't know. Can't think. It's too stuffy to study."

"Agreed."

"Amelia, you're wandering the woods. That counts as studying with your major."

"Not really. I should be studying botany." A thunderous grumbling clipped the last syllable off her words. It was punctuated by a gritty burst of wind. The trees trembled slightly, as if afraid they might be the next to go. Something hard hit Cerina. And again.

"Ouch." She rounded off her started cry with a few more colorful words, shielding her head. She picked something small and brown off of the ground, then shook her fist in mock fury at the nearby oak tree that has assaulted her. "Here's your botany lesson. Acorn. Seed of the tree. Have had kernels on the outside, pointy tips, and a jaunty little cap." Her fingers ran over the acorn. It was covered in fine dust, like the powder on freshly picked blueberries. The tip was surprisingly sharp, and the top really did resemble an elderly gentleman's tweed driving cap.

The other girl just shook her head. "Excellent observation." She paused, the jerked her head over toward the borders of the woods, where the building of new dormitories was taking place. "What do you think of that?"

Cerina made a sour face. "My opinions aren't suitable for mixed company."

Amelia looked around. "No guys here. No real adults." She sat down in the fragrant shade of the pine.

"Same as you, with less detail. It's stupid, pointless; the money should go to the academic departments. They need it. All the trucks are ruining this place, bothering the animals, and breaking up the road something awful. Besides, the dust and junk they belch out makes my asthma worse."

"The worst is its effect on the smaller animals. Like those little newts. The orange guys with spots you hardly ever see except for dead and squished on the bridge?"

"I've seen them. Amy caught a few males when she was trying to catch fish." Cerina smiled at the memory of that muddy day and playing in the rain.

"Okay, well, those little asphalt ramps across the road are for them. They need to be able to move freely, but their eyes aren't very well developed, so they'll only cross if they can see the ground properly…"

"Yes?" Her tone was as bored as she could safely make it. This was an all too familiar lecture.

"They have nowhere to cross to anymore. It's all pointless." Amelia let out a sigh that sounded too world weary for someone not yet out of college. "While not as big a problem, the noise also disturbs the nesting of the redwing blackbirds." She put her arms down, pushing herself off of he ground and lurching into an upright position. She brushed her hands on the seat of her pants to get rid of the clinging pine needles. "Well… see you Tuesday."

"Yep. See you Amelia." Cerina stretched out her hands and fumbled to get the red covered blank book out of her bag. Settling with it safely in hand she posed herself to write, but the words wouldn't come. Images likewise refused. Looking around for a source of inspiration her eyes lit on a small grey squirrel. It had a face like a strangely intelligent rat, with brown fur covered ears and a gloriously bushy tail lightly tipped in black.

Impulsively she held out the acorn to it, keeping her hand very steady. "Did you lose something?" Her voice was sarcastic, though she hoped to coax the squirrel to take it from her hand. Liquid black eyes looked at her; it was like having a staring contest with someone in sunglasses. Suddenly it darted forward took the acorn in clawed paws, then darted a few feet back.

"Actually, yes, thank you." It jerked its little rat-like head toward Amelia's distant but still visible form. "I used to know someone like her. Once."

Cerina froze. Cliché, but there it was. Until that moment she though double takes were for bad comedies and not real life. Generally when one said nature spoke to them it was in a poetic sense. Inspirational or philosophical. Not a literal 'good morning, how are you doing' type of talking. She gaped. Observed that people generally thought squirrels cute because of their big poofy tails and comic antics at birdfeeders. Up that close they rather resembled pudgy cheeked grey rats. The same long teeth, sharp and ever growing.

"It is generally considered impolite to stare."

"Oh. Sorry." Realizing she was apologizing to a rodent, she decided she needed to get out more. Less time on finals and escaping to fantasy books, more time with human company. Done with that she mentally gave a 'what the hell' shrug.

She decided to humor her less lucid half. "So, who was she?" He—Cerina realized she'd already assigned a distinct gender to the creature. It? Nope. He. Definitely. He corrected her.

"Him. He was a friend of mine. As much as you could be a friend of his kind. Long time ago. Loved Arda, its trees and rivers and animals more than anything else. They called him 'tender of beasts' and 'lover of birds.' They called him Radagast the Brown, or Aiwendil, and dismissed him from mind and consequence. I preferred the title Radagast. Easier to say. He never had a real name. But we called him friend.

"Arda? Who are They, and We?"

It cocked its head to the side and looked annoyed, as if he decided his audience was too dull for his story. "Arda was the realm. Middle Earth. By they I meant the humans and elves. We, myself and the other animals."

"Elves?" She pushed aside images of Keebler elves and magic cookies, of Santa's helpers, and tried to think of English fairytales. Slightly more dignified imaginary creatures.

"Yes."

Cerina took a deep breath. She was talking to a squirrel. It was finals week. She hadn't slept much then went out in the hot sun. She was delirious. She always swore cramming would send her around the bend, and it seemed it finally had. Maybe she could get out of her philosophy final. She realized she wasn't sure what bothered her more—that she was having an intelligent conversation with a squirrel or that it didn't really seem to be bothering her at the moment. She made a mental note to visit health services and look into medications before catching up with his story.

"All creatures loved him. All but those twisted by darkness. And even those he could sometimes win back. Humans and elves didn't care for him; they thought him foolish and worthless because he didn't find them interesting. Humans can be fools."

Cerina coughed slightly. It might have been a snicker, or it might have been dust from the construction trucks.

"Oh. Nothing personal, you understand."

A smile threatened to emerge on her face. A rodent had more manners than most people did on campus. If, of course, rodents could be said to posses enough intelligence to designate something as 'manners.' "You knew him better than that?"

"I," he drew himself upright, "used to travel with him."

Cerina settled with her back against the pine tree, comfortable on the dry patch of ground and temporarily at peace with her insanity.

The squirrel climbed up the trunk of the tree and clambered out onto a springy limb, bouncing at the human's eye level. Sitting on its chubby haunches, tail raised high and curled back, shoulders set and paws clasped, it bore an uncanny resemblance to a professor in a large lecture class.

Cerina smiled uncertainly. "So, what was he like?"

He began his story.

* * * * *

Our world was changing, growing up, one might say. Middle Earth had survived a time of war against great evil, but much was lost in the winning. A certain intricacy was gone, like lacy frost under warm hands reduced to crystalline drops of water. The last innocence of the peoples of Middle Earth had died in the battlefields as the world reached adulthood. All of the other wizards had gone—two long lost in the East, the traitorous one dead, and the greatest left for the West. The elvish folk were abandoning the world, searching for a cure for their own souls' ills. The dwarves delved deeply into the earth, burrowing to avoid their own vanishing reality, and all other creatures with magics of their own were fading away. Even the goblins retreated into the mountains, malevolent shadows and threatening echoes only in the deepest of shafts.

The nobility and balance of men thinned into oblivion as their population grew. Farms became bustling towns, then crowded cities; forests were cut for farmlands. Left behind by their elven caretakers, the great forests began to shrink upon themselves, as men do with hoary old age. In Lorien the trees stood, grey and smooth, masts of the ancient ships trapped with rigging intact. Flowers grew wild yet meek, a galaxy of fading stars spreading across the brown grass. Their magic was spent. In the north, in forests of the Misty Mountains, the great eagles were almost gone. Men with their axes had cut down the great pines, and cut down the eagles with their yew bows. The eagles' smaller kin, the intelligent thrushes, were barely a memory of legend. Perhaps they died out, or perhaps the men who could understand them did.

Now Radagast was a worthy wizard. His was not the fancy magic of fire and ice and arcane spells, of dusty books and rat eaten scrolls; it was as down to earth as magic could be. He knew how the tree leaves changed into bright oranges and reds and yellows in the fall, and how the hare turned white for the start of snow blanketed winters. His magic was that of shape and color. His magic was listening to what Arda whispered too quietly for even the elves to hear, and to the birds as they soared above. Radagast was tall and stern looking, but he was as kind as dawn and as humble as twilight.

He had spent ages wrapped in the concerns of the trees and the beasts, speaking with birds and learning the lore of all herbs. He did not travel much, but stayed by the forest borders, at home in Rhosgobel. He had no mind for the politics of men and elves, not even the wood elves that lived nearby. When drawn unwillingly into the world's chaos, he mistakenly aided the wrong wizard. Equally mistakenly, his actions led to the rescue of the man who'd been betrayed. Confused, Radagast buried himself further into the animal world, but he remained uneasy. He knew he had failed in his given quest and could not make things right.

He would not leave. Not until he knew his friends would be safe. Only then could he restore his mind to peace and sail West. He repeated this to himself and to every creature he spoke with.

One morning, a fine bright day when the sun cast crisp shadows over every twig and leaf, he began to pack. No preparations, just a rather childish tossing of everything he thought he might need into a leather satchel. Food, bedding materials, and a heavily stained over cloak were all stuffed into one bag.

A magpie lit on his shoulder, voicing her concern in a rasping call. I clambered up the rough tan cloth on his arm, onto his other shoulder, and from there to perch on the brim of his mossy pointed hat. I too was worried.

He half smiled at our concern, his fine red eyebrows arched magnificently over his bent nose in gentle amusement. "I have decided I must speak with the Beornings." The Beornings were an odd folk, mainly human; they were the only people with whom he had a friendly acquaintance.

He tapped the magpie on her beak in a gesture of affection. "I have already waited too long. But you may come along my friend." She cawed sympathetically. Peering over the edge of the hat's brim I could see his grey-green eyes rolling up to look at me. "And you as well." He grabbed his bag and honey-brown staff, then rushed out the door. It was as if once choosing to leave, he was afraid to wait a moment and risk thinking the better of his journey.

To calm his nerves, he sang as he walked, keeping a brisk pace. His voice was low, quiet, and rich, rather like old red wine out of oak casks. He sang in common, an improvised song, almost begging. It rippled quietly, and poured over us like sunlight.

O Green robed lady, Queen of Earth,

Lady of the Valier most blest,

Give me the strength to prove my worth

Here I remain, at your behest.

Giver of the fruitful harvest,

O grace of the golden grain's birth,

Help me find a path through the forest

To find my peace and endless mirth.

After days of travelling, skirting around areas with lot of people, we came upon a very large, very old wooden house in the shadow of the Misty Mountains. It was surrounded by a grove of ancient oaks, their leaves not yet touched by the creeping colors of autumn. We were greeted with the buzzing of large bees, mingled with the lowing of cattle and the whinnies of fine horses.

A large man walked out of the house, from a distance he looked too big to be human. He was all dark brown eyes and matted black hair. His eyebrows were bushier than my tail, and his arms looked thatched with fur. Stalking forward to meet Radagast I saw he was actually slightly shorter than the wizard, simply above average height and stocky.

"And who are you?" A gruff voice, rough from disuse.

"You do not remember me Beunon of the Beornings? I am Radagast the Brown."

The man looked him over, studying his thin form clad in light brown robes and his darker cloak, from his dust covered toes to long grizzled red hair and beard to his hat the color of fungi on a fallen tree. "Maybe you are."

Radagast sighed, his shoulders slumping down. Though he didn't trust people anymore, he expected them to trust him. Beunon was the last of the Beornings who still spoke with animals, the last of the old skin changers. He needed him if he were to accomplish anything. The man caught Radagast's expression.

"You are he." Beunon nodded, as if remembering something from long ago. He gestured wildly towards his home. "You might as well come inside."

The two spoke of the olden days, of Beorn, and of Grimbeorn the Old, of the true Beornings. Of everything that was gone. The sun was releasing its last rays of red light over the mountains and they still had not found a way to save Middle Earth from itself. "We could protect men from orcs and goblins, but not from their own devastation. Bows and claws are no use against that plague. And the rest of my kin are no different than men. We have lost our heritage, I fear Beorn would be ashamed of his descendants. I would I could do something. To be the last Beorning, and be worthy of that name."

"The help me do something to protect our friends." Radagast took a wooden bowl from a handsome greyhound and put it on the table.

"But what?"

Through the night they talked, enjoying a certain comradeship, accomplishing nothing. The first rays of the sun shone on two figures slumped in slumber over the table. Beunon woke first.

He sighed, a bear-like snuffling noise. "We cannot stop them."

"No, we cannot." Radagast shrugged, for all but the elves time moved on. Magic faded like November's leaves, falling without the hope of springs yet to come. "After all, they too need to survive." He took a nut from bowl on the rough wooden table, holding it gently between his scarred thumb and forefinger. I darted off his hat and quickly took it in my paws. Radagast smiled slightly, petting me with one finger. "The problem is, how to make them understand this concerns them. I will not feel free to leave until I can be sure my friends will be protected."

"Then you shall live to meet my descendants under a different sun."

"No faith in your own kind?"

Beunon snorted like a high spirited horse.

"Suggestions? None? You will not come?" Radagast gathered his belongings. Beunon silently handed him three bags of liquid. One of honey, one of cream, and one of honey wine. Radagast shouldered the extra burden gladly. "Thank you friend." He started to walk out the door.

"Kementari protect you."

"Should I deserve it." Radagast shut the door behind him.

His shoulders sagged, he had been so sure the last of the Beornings would help him, would know what to do. The magpie chattered away in his ear, trying to cheer him up as he walked down the path away from the house. I gnawed thoughtfully on his braid, not sure what I could contribute to the effort to make him smile.

"Wait!" Beunon lumbered out of the door, a few satchels thrown over his large arms. "You'll need help, if you are to have any hope of accomplishing anything." He paused, then tried to take some of the sharpness out of his words. It obviously took great effort. "Even wizards can't do everything on their own." He tilted his head back. We all expected him to howl into the sky, but he neighed. The sound echoed and merged with the distant droning of bees.

Two chestnut horses trotted over, appearing almost magically from behind the house. Their coats were wild but glossy, rippling over their muscular necks like river silt. A pony emerged from behind the two horses, a portly little thing with short sturdy legs. She huffed in frustration, trying to flick her pale mane out of her eyes.

"We will go faster if we ride." Beunon put the bags on the pony, patting her on her rounded rump. "Attagirl Pansy." He then slipped onto the heftier of the horses with a grace surprising for his form. "This is Laire," he said by way of introduction, "and that is Narbeleth." He gestured to the fine horse Radagast was to ride.

Radagast rubbed her nose in a friendly fashion, studying her wide eyes and the star between them. Her ears turned forward as she nuzzled his hand. Taking that for permission, he mounted carefully, making sure not to dislodge the magpie or me. "But where are we going, and what are we doing?"

"What to do, then where to go, that's what we need to decide," Beunon declared, nodding sagely.

I could hear Radagast's sharp intake of breath, trying to quell an impatient retort. "That is what I had asked you before." He sounded weary. "I was thinking perhaps of collecting seeds from those plants that have grown rare and spreading them throughout Middle Earth, but that would not help my friends."

"Perhaps…No. No."

"Yes? What were you going to say?"

"I was thinking you could collect the fragile species and bring them with you when you sail away, but again that would not help the animals…" Beunon trailed off, scratching his hairy neck thoughtfully.

They rode aimlessly south for days, alternating between hours of debate and hours of silence. At least the weather was pleasant; the air grew cool and crisp, golden. Radagast had been watching a particularly glorious sunrise when he suddenly cried out, "We could cure the east!"

Beunon gave a calculated stretch and looked at Radagast. "Meaning?"

"Well, even after the enemy's defeat it was still a wasteland. Most men are still afraid to go near there. No one else would want it. And no one would disturb it. Nature is already taking back the land; it just needs a bit of help. It would be somewhere animals could go safely. We could collect seeds, as we both mentioned, and then plant them there. Maybe we could ask the elves of Lorien for some help…" Radagast's voice grew warm with the stirrings of enthusiasm and excitement. I thought it an odd idea, but a workable one.

"What of the kings? Surely they would want the land for their own people?"

"Well I suppose I'll have to ask them. I don't think they would object too much. In a way it is a humble request, asking for a land not quite theirs, just to stay away. I could argue that it would help destroy any reminders of the evils once there, and new woodland would placate the Ents who helped in the war and were hardly acknowledged…"

"It might work" Beunon grudgingly admitted.

"It just might." Radagast spurred his horse onward.

We traveled through the outskirts of the small forest of Lorien so as not to unduly disturb the few elves that remained there. It was easy to see it had once been a beautiful wood, but it had grown shabby. Radagast had heard much of the land, regaling us with stories about it as we journeyed—how the waters got their name and how the trees were silver with leaves of gold. Arriving in the waning season before winter, he wept to see Lorien in such decay. The trees were indeed tall and silver, but stood like pale marble pillars from a floor of rushes. Their vitality was gone, their trunks mere ruins supporting nothing but sky.

One morning Beunon awoke to find Radagast gone. He prowled the woods, looking for signs of the errant wizard, but could only determine that he left willingly. Beunon paced in circles, trotting down labyrinthine paths in the dry grass, snuffling occasionally. He couldn't find the right scent.

Radagast returned just as Beunon was growing truly frantic and beginning to snap and snarl. He walked towards us calmly, a strange light in his eyes. He held a grey sack clutched in his left hand almost reverently. He had decided to visit the elves briefly, to pay his respects and explain his intent. He petitioned them for seeds. They did not believe he could succeed, and that if he did, prophesied it would not last an age. Halfheartedly they obliged him, and he did not let their words dampen his spirit, as all elves spoke that way of everything left in the world.

Continuing south to the Fangorn forest, Radagast intended next to speak to the Ents. It did not get warmer as we moved south, but instead moved further into winter. Beunon was the only one warm, even in human form he had a particularly thick fur coat. Ents, Radagast explained to Beunon, were huge creatures rather like tree people. They were treeherders, beings that had led and protected the wood since the dawn of time. Ents were so like trees a person could walk right by one without noticing anything out of the ordinary. Radagast hoped that he might persuade an Ent or two to spread east and make Mordor their home.

Fangorn was an ancient forest, with a very still and stifling air. Its occupants were also very still and very ancient and very slow. The Ents were not easily convinced, they through Radagast's plan was too hasty, that he ought to wait a few centuries to see what happened before trying to change anything. It took days of patient debate and constant repetition to win them over. Even kind Radagast almost lost his temper once, I could hear him grinding his teeth like a frustrated animal.

It was Beunon who actually convinced them to help. He swore that once his journey was over he would search the northern lands for the Entwives, the long lost female consorts of the Ents. Once that promise was made a few of the younger Ents grew eager to start for the eastern lands. Radagast tried to convince them to wait for word that the humans would agree, but they would not be detained. A young Ent like a rowan tree said he would go, whether humans 'allowed' it or not. A few cheers and a deep "Hrooom Hrooooom" boomed from the forest. Thus Radagast and Beunon won the enthusiasm of the Ents.

Leaving Fangorn we had our worst scare. Not from winter's dangers, but from people. While few humans hunt squirrel, bears and magpies are not so lucky. Beunon had tired of his form and so passed some nights in the form of a great bear, protecting us from any predators. Sometimes he would travel a distance from us, reveling in a moment's freedom from worry. But he could protect neither himself nor us from other humans. One night, a night with a particularly striking full moon, we heard a cacophony of sounds and shrill screams coming from a nearby settlement. Beunon came running towards us, looking so feral it seemed as though he had been trapped between forms. In truth, he was in pain. Coming closer we would see his upper left arm was damp with blood that shone black in the moonlight. Sometimes a wizard with herb lore is actually more useful than one with mightier magics. Radagast quickly treated and bound Beunon's arm. It seemed he had gotten too close to humans and made too easy a mark in the reflected light of the moon and snow. He resolved to remain in human form for the rest of the journey.

Another day we were travelling through a lightly wooded area and the magpie decided she felt like flying rather than riding. So she swooped off into the bare trees in a flash of black and white. Not long after she returned, her feathers all ruffled. Some boy had shot at her, but thankfully was just a boy and hadn't the strength to draw his bow back all the way. The arrow wobbled and missed her. Had it been a man, she would have ended up in a stew somewhere. As Beunon said, everyone has to eat, and food was scarce. Like Beunon she decided to curtail freedom in favor of safety and spent most days on Radagast's shoulder, only flying to Beunon's for a change of view.

Now, we headed south, and a little west, and found the home of the court of Rohan nestled comfortably in the mountains. A pretty place, rugged and rocky. Not a place for my kind. Not many trees, and those that were there were scrubby things mainly, without enough nurturing soil or air to breathe. The main city was a stark place; too much wrought stone and dead wood, and not enough plants. The stonework was very detailed, and the carvings of horses were magnificent. Laire and Narbeleth probably could have recognized individual family members with all the detail in the gilded decorations. They were a horse people, a people of open lands, and had little use for woods or small creatures.

It was the King of Rohan that Radagast decided to speak to first among the humans about his idea for Mordor. The king was impressive enough, a tall light haired man with an intelligent face. He was probably a man reckoned quite handsome by human standards. His robes were green and thick; lush enough to look like summertime leaves. Radagast walked up to him and began to say "Bretwalda of Rohan, I have come to ask a boon…" but the King, indeed Bretwalda, cut him off with a courtly gesture and a smile.

"One of your esteemed kindred need not come in like a beggar out of the cold. Sit and eat, and your friends may join you." His blue eyes sparkled as they lit upon me, and the magpie. "All of them."

Discussion was short. Bretwalda held his lands through the grace of the King of Gondor, and wished for no greater a parcel of land. He seemed genuinely pleased with the idea of cleansing the wastes and leaving them unpeopled. He deemed it a last blow against the memory of the evils that once lived there. And a protection against any lingering malignancy. "Though I cannot speak for him, I have no doubt that he will grant your request."

Further to the south, silver and sable greeted us in Gondor. The court there was of greater elegance than that of Rohan; the stonework there had been wrought by Dwarves and the gardens by Elves after the Great War. The city was stark, but a beautiful stark. The gardens formed an opulent contrast with the black and white garb of the guard and the white walls.

The king there needed perhaps a little more convincing, but not much. He was a good man, and wise. Clearly something more than human still ran in his blood. I could see it in his eyes. He did not need to hear all of the arguments Radagast and Beunon had formulated, their idea had merit, and he could see clearly. "My great ancestor gave the lands around Lake Nurnen in Mordor to be their own long ago, but either the land or their memories defeated them. They left long ago. It is a land unfit for our kind, through fate good or bad we cannot know. Let the land remain free of peoples so long as my descendants and those to succeed them rule."

Both kings had been openhanded with their provisioning, and we continued our journey with content stomachs. Most precious in Radagast's eyes was the fruit the King of Gondor had given him. It had fallen from the white tree in the palace courtyard, a tree of a line reaching back to time unreckoned. Radagast had reverently placed it in a large sack full of seeds, cones, and nuts he had been collecting from every land we passed through.

We had to travel north and east again, crossing the foothills of the mountains above Gondor. Late winter was melting into early spring by then, and the snows were treacherous. Radagast spoke often to the ravens and hawks of the mountains, having them scout out the path ahead. Twice they saved us from walking head on into newly opened chasms in the ice. Though long and unpleasant, the journey was luckily uneventful. After leaving the hills, we hoped the land would grow greener, but it was not so. Everything was barren. The rushes were alive but dry, and the only greens came from tenacious pondweeds with the occasional stunted pine.

By the foul smell enveloping us we knew we had arrived at our destination. Radagast and Beunon had dismounted and were leading the horses. Pansy trotted along behind them warily. I refused to move from Radagast's hat, and the magpie sunk her talons into his shoulder. We could see in the fading light that it was a forbidding place, a network of swamps filled with rotting weeds. Strange pale lights flickered in the distant, will-o-wisps shimmering like trapped stars. We knew if we looked in the water, that ghostly faces would look back. No one looked.

All were awake, waiting in the early morning dark.

Grey clouds emerged in the eastern sky; wolves' tails herald the eminent arrival of the dawn. Heartbeat by heartbeat the sun rose, a red orb shedding ruddy light over the barren land. It shone on the waters of the Dead Marshes, slick and metallic, the taint of freshly spilt blood.

Radagast laid his staff on the ground and knelt on the boggy borders of the marsh. Stagnant water rose to dampen his already dirty knees. Oblivious to the creeping dampness, he shut his eyes and began to speak. His tone was ever so gentle and sure, as he might use on a deer or a spirited horse. He murmured words of calming in languages long dead, staying very still. It was impossible to say if that was out of a slow building power or sudden fear, but only his lips moved slightly, his beard quivering a ghastly red.

We could not understand the words, though we knew if he meant us to understand we would. We knew his meaning from the rise and fall of syllables, a breathing sort of rhythm. He spoke to the revenants, telling them that they were no longer under thrall to any power other than their own. They held themselves trapped. Their battle was long gone, their bodies rotted away. Their conflict was over, their enemies long dead. It was time to set themselves free.

The faces melted away, thousands of years of putrefaction all in an instant, only in a beautiful way, peaceful. The capricious nature of the orcs returned to the elements, to fire and air. The men were released—their bodies back to earth and stone, the rest beyond the confines of the world and all knowledge. Though surely they went to the Halls of Mandos with the dead of their kind, something of the elves lingered.

The sun rose fully, spreading a kindly golden light on the kneeling wizard, the fleeing spirits, and us, his audience. Revenants gone, its volume less, the waters contracted as if gathered by an invisible hand in a sunlight net. It became a pure spring; gladly pouring out waters into the land, such as it had been once before evil had twisted it. A fledgling river appeared, first a stream babbling like an infant, then widening and singing in an adult tongue all its own. It ran on south and east, spreading, challenging the mountains and the drought of Mordor.

Reeds sprang up from the newborn banks and silken sands, an armed host waving blades and spears in the just awoken breeze. They cut the air into slivers, bending and swaying with ancient elvish voices raised in song. From that moment to the ending of that world, the water shone with the light of elven eyes and reflecting the beauty of the Queen of the Stars.

Radagast took his staff from the ground, grasping it tightly and heaving himself upright. He breathed in deeply, enjoying the fresh scent the wind carried from the west. His normally sanguine face was pale with effort, his swollen knuckles white from the strength of his grip. He half turned back to us, smiling, and his face was unclouded by sorrows. Though tired, his visage was unlined.

Turning away again, he uttered words of power and struck the ground with his staff. We expected a violent crack with the strike, but instead felt rather than heard a dull thud. Like the first strike of a shovel into a dormant garden. Distilled golden sunlight spread over the ground, rippling, spreading out like honey over bread. An amber glow suffused the parched earth, running over the dreaded mountains and pouring cleansing light into the distant lands, removing ancient poisons and bringing life to every grain.

He sunk back to his knees, head upon his breast, utterly spent. New white veins ran through his auburn beard.

It was his friends' turn. I scampered from my perch on Narbeleth's head to the ground. I carefully dug a hole by the new river and put in a nut I'd carried from Lorien, then gently patted the earth over it. Other squirrels, the half dozen that had followed us from the foothills of Gondor, began to take acorns, seeds, and nuts from Radagast's sack to plant. As we worked others joined us, small creatures of all sorts began to emerge and seed the land, some running far away, no longer tied to the pools of brackish water. Chipmunks scurried back and forth, enjoying the softer earth.

Birds swooped in, geese and ducks, thrushes and blackbirds, magpies and robins, swarming around Radagast. He sat back, still weak, and spoke to them in a newly hoarse voice. He was clearly asking them to bring seeds from home, and forests long distant, and bring them back. The magpie flew over, joining the throng. She perched on his shoulder, cawing uncertainly. The other birds reeled around, a huge dark cloud looming over us before skimming away.

A funny hoarse sound came from the water, accompanied by high-pitched sounds like baby chicks. Radagast moved over to look for the voices' owners and laughed aloud. Wrinkles formed around his eyes, and he wiped away a tear. Frogs were plopping around in the water, croaking and peeping merrily. Below them tiny fish reflected sunlight from their mail-clad backs. He quietly observed, "Mordor, the dark land, it doesn't fit anymore. The land needs a new name." He looked around, eyes drifting over the warm colors blossoming everywhere. "From now on it shall be called Laurelonde, the golden haven."

Over the next days three Ents came, each treeherder leading Entish trees and treeish Ents. Rough pines, graceful birches, smooth rowans, stately maples and tall oaks all migrated over in a last great burst of magic and energy. They wadded through the dirt, churning the soil, inadvertently plowing it for more delicate plants. Carried in their branches were insects and perplexed baby birds.

Large creatures took longer to come. Beunon swore once he returned he would tell the bears of the rebirth of Mordor, and the prey species would find their own ways in. Hunters would not enter the land for fear, and so many a deer at bay found sudden freedom in the supposedly cursed land.

We remained for some time, watching the land burst into a new spring, one such as had not come for long years. Radagast was very quiet and very calm. Though he was no longer especially weak, all his restless energy was gone. Eventually satisfied, he decided to return north.

It was a slow journey, and sad. Radagast finally felt free to leave, his obligations fulfilled, but that brought with it a renewed reluctance. One late midsummer afternoon we parted. He was to leave Middle Earth and sail west; Beunon was to ride east on his promised search for the Entwives. Radagast bid us farewell, petting me one last time, and kissing the magpie on the beak before letting her fly off his shoulder. I leapt onto Laire's hindquarters, and Beunon began to ride east, leading Narbeleth. I kept watch on the west, on the sun striking Radagast's hair and turning it into copper flame, until I could see nothing but the sun.

* * * *

"Well? What happened to Radagast after he sailed? To Beunon? What are you doing here?" Cerina sat further upright, red notebook fallen neglected on the ground.

The squirrel gave her a shrewd grin, almost a smirk, if rodents' facial structures had the muscles to do that. For an instant she glimpsed someone else entirely, a humanlike face of beyond human beauty with starlit pools and forest glades in his eyes. It was a face full of ancient wisdom that could belong to nothing mortal. She blinked, and saw only a squirrel again. A talking squirrel, true, but still just a squirrel with furry brown ears. He shifted on his haunches slightly, looking like a cocky version of a child chanting 'I know something you don't know.'

"Those," he said, "are tales for another day." He scampered off the branch, which bounced lightly being released from his weight. Dry needles showered down as he skittered away, still grasping his precious acorn.