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Disclaimer: I don't own LOTR or the Silmarillion, or anything Tolkien for that matter.
Fourth Age, 176Wren plopped down wearily onto a particularly large tuft of grass. Oftentimes she wandered the woods and meadows near her family's farm, but today her adventuring had taken her farther than usual. It was not even noontime (her stomach had told her) and already she had crossed the brook and gone past the tree that was so large, she believed in her nine-year-old mind that it must have been there at least since the world was created. Her grandmother had once told her a tale of a goddess of the plants and trees and animals who would sometimes take the form of a huge tree whose top touched the sky itself, and whose leaves dripped with dew of pure sunlight. Ever since then Wren dearly wanted to see the goddess, but her grandmother only laughed and said that Yavanna (for that was the goddess' name) wouldn't suffer herself to be seen by a mere mortal. The little girl, however, was undaunted and always tried to sneak up on the great tree to try to catch Yavanna by surprise, but today success had again eluded her.
Wren lay in the grass awhile and watched the butterflies and bees go about their work, but soon became bored, as young children will. She got up and dusted her dress off, picked up her horse doll (who had promptly been dubbed Shadowfax after she heard stories of the great maeras), and once again set out on her roughly northeastern course. The meadow soon ended and she once again walked in the dappled light of the forest. She went with a bit more caution than before, for she hadn't gone that way very often. After a while the trees began to thin, opening up to a large expanse of open fields. Wren stopped abruptly. She had never come here in her travels. Gazing out onto the sea of grass, she spotted a large patch of white daisies nodding in the breeze. Overcome by the universal attraction of little girls to flowers, she skipped happily over. Sitting on a flat rock in the middle of them, she busily began to construct a daisy chain as her mother had taught her. Despite her somewhat clumsy hands, she soon had a full crown of them, which she placed on her head before pursuing other matters.
For a while she played with Shadowfax, reenacting epic battles against evil that she had thought up on the spot. Oftentimes she imagined herself a brave Elf princess of old. She had been enamored of the Eldar ever since she could understand her grandmother's tales. More that seeing Yavanna, she wished to meet an Elf, though it was well known that almost every Elf had departed over the Sea by the time King Elessar passed away. That had been nigh on fifty years ago, so by all accounts none of the Firstborn remained in Middle Earth.
After the mighty Princess Wren and her faithful steed Shadowfax vanquished quite a few Dark Lords, she once again set out across the field, picking a couple daisies for her mother as an afterthought. As she walked, her ears picked up the sound of running water. She soon came upon what seemed a little-used path, for the grass on it was shorter than the surrounding field. She began down it, imagining herself galloping along. Ahead she caught the glimmer of sunlight on water. She ran towards it, and found that it was a river.
It was fairly wide, but no more that a foot deep where she looked over. Wren had immediately decided she must cross, but knew that she really should be heading home. Her parents knew that the land was safe, thanks to the constant patrols, but many things could happen to a little girl come nightfall. Wren debated within herself for a while, but her curiosity won out in the end. She was about to step in the water, but decided to take off her fairly new shoes, feeling this would help consolidate her parents for her late return. She once again set out to ford the river, treading carefully through the icy cold water.
She soon reached the other side with only a few stubbed toes to show from the rocky river bottom. Just ahead of her lay a thick stand of trees. A muted rumbling, like that of a waterfall, seemed to come from beyond it. For the first time on her journey Wren felt fear creep up on her, but she firmly grasped Shadowfax and plunged onward, now feeling that she was on some unknown quest. Strangely enough there seemed to be an old path through the trees. She followed, looking all around her. As she came around a bend, an awesome sight met her eyes.
Spread out in the narrow valley before her was a city. There were numerous beautiful buildings whose architecture was so intricate and delicate-looking it was a wonder that they even stood. The river ran through the valley, creating a waterfall and flowing under a narrow bridge upstream of Wren. In front of her was a large, sprawling house with numerous balconies and statues and gardens. Something was missing, however.
The city was deserted.
As hard as she tried, Wren could make out no sound besides the waterfall. She crept quietly through the gates in front of the large house. She noticed that a layer of old leaves covered most everything, though nothing was rotting or falling apart. As naïve as she was, Wren sensed the valley was filled with sadness; a yearning for things as they once were. She wondered for a moment who had lived there, but a quick glance at the statues told her. The sculptures were of tall graceful beings with flowing hair. They looked down on her with knowing, though distant, gazes. Without even noticing their pointed ears, Wren knew she walked in an Elven city of old.
Immediately she wondered if an Elf might still be living there, though she knew in her heart that was impossible. She then decided on the next best course of action: to pick up her epic adventure again, with this house as her castle. She walked through the doors that were curiously open, pretending she was returning from a victorious battle and was now greeting her lords and advisors. In her mind's eye she saw them, fair and wise, welcoming her warmly and congratulating her victory over Morgoth (another name she drew from stories of old).
She climbed some stairs and walked down a hallway to a wide room. Going out onto a balcony overlooking the city, she imagined her people cheering for her and her brave warriors. Her victory had been stunning: she had defeated Morgoth herself, and not one of her own had been slain, and none remained of the tens of thousands of orcs, twelve huge dragons, and twenty odd balrogs. Leaning onto the rail, she closed her eyes and imagined walking through the streets, greeting her people, for she loved them and would defend them at all costs. Now she pictured herself returning to her palace, where someone waited for her outside the gate. She smiled to herself. No matter how rough and tumble a princess might be, she always needed a prince. Hers was tall, fair, and dark haired, with gray eyes the color of evening.
A gasp behind her woke Wren from her thoughts. Standing framed in the archway was the prince (or at least someone exactly like him, she thought), staring at her in surprise.
Wren gave a small yelp, but did not move as he approached her slowly. "Who are you?" he asked quietly, stopping a couple yards in front of her.
"I-I'm sorry, sir, I found this place on accident…I'll leave now sir!" Wren stuttered, making for the archway. He caught her with a strong arm, however, laughing to himself. To her own surprise, Wren didn't struggle as he placed his hands on her shoulders and knelt down.
"Do not worry, little one. I mean you know harm; I only ask your name."
"I am Wren, sir," she answered, gazing at him in wonder. "Begging your pardon, sir, but are you an Elf?"
"I am," he replied as he stood. "Do you like it here, Wren?" he questioned as he gazed out on the city. Wren did not reply. He turned to her and noticed a troubled look on her face. "What is the matter?"
""Begging your pardon, sir: I think it's beautiful…" she paused. "But it makes me feel sad inside, for it's too quiet. I should like to have been here when there were more people, laughing and talking."
"There was much of that in Imladris, once." He sighed. 'Though that was long before you were born."
"Were you here then?"
"Yes."
"Why haven't you left, over the Sea?"
The Elf paused at her question. "I am slowly making my way to the Havens, though I still care very much for this Middle Earth, and do not wish to depart to the West just yet, with the rest of my kindred."
"Do you miss them; your family, your friends?" Wren asked, looking up at him.
"Very much so, little one." He stopped, and then smiled slightly. "But come now, for I will tell you of Imladris as we walk, and we shall keep each other company, if you wish."
Wren smiled as she took his hand. He showed her around the House of Elrond, telling her of the great Halfelven lord, his advisors Erestor and Glorfindel, his sons and his daughter Arwen, and a great many others besides. Wren asked much about the Lady Arwen, "For the King Eldarion is her son, is he not?" she asked, and the Elf nodded. "I should like to see the King someday, sir. Do you suppose I shall?"
"I do not doubt it, Wren," he chuckled. They walked then to a stone-lined courtyard. When the Elf told her she stood in the place where the fabled Council of Elrond was held, Wren's eyes went wide, for the tale of the War of the Ring was well known to every child in those parts. She walked around the outer edge, envisioning all those legendary figures sitting there. A stone table still stood in the center. Wren knew that was where the One Ring had been placed, and she shuddered slightly as she brushed her hands over the surface.
Later they wandered through the overgrown gardens, where the Elf told Wren of the many pranks played by Elrond's twin sons, Elladan and Elrohir, when they were young, and even when they had come of age. Wren constantly erupted into fits of giggles. "I did not think, sir, that Elves would behave so. I have only ever heard stories of great and powerful ones."
The two sat down on a stone bench. "You would be surprised to know that little Elves and children such as yourself are very much alike. It is only with the passing of countless years that we gain great wisdom."
"Yes, and we die too quickly to learn much at all," Wren sighed, suddenly seeming very much older. Despite her age, she had often thought about how very short a time Men lived in this world before passing out of it, having experienced it with the death of her grandfather. That in part was the reason she listened attentively to her grandmother's tales, for she wished to learn as much of the world as she could, while she still lived in it. "I wonder, sir, what is it you think of this Age of Men? For we are mortal and weak, and many Men have evil in their hearts. Do you—" she looked up with worry in her eyes, "Do you think we shall be all right?"
The Elf did not answer at first; instead he looked up at the rustling treetops. "What you say is true, and it has troubled my heart also. We Elves have long looked down on the Second Born. There are Men who are easily corrupted, though one must also remember that there are Men whose hearts are strong and pure. As with any race, there is weakness, but there is also honor and valor to be found." He put an arm around her small shoulders. "If you can trust in that, Wren, if you can trust in yourself, then yes, you shall be all right."
Wren was still for a while, looking out onto the old gardens in silence. Suddenly, she smiled. Wordlessly she took her now half-wilted daisy crown off and handed it to the Elf. "Thank you very much sir. I must head home now." She got up and walked away, but turned back. "I hope, sir, that you shan't worry too much about us, about Middle Earth. Maybe it is time that you went to the West, for I am sure that your family misses you too." She smiled once more. "I hope you might take that daisy crown over the Sea with you to remember me by, if it's not too much to ask, that is," she added quickly, reverting back to her nine-year-old self. "Farewell!" with that, she left.
"Namárië, young Elf-friend," he whispered as she disappeared around the corner. A smile played on his lips as he looked down at the forlorn-looking flower chain, which he placed carefully on his head. Then he too stood and left the fair city, his heart now drawing him west to the Sea.
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Thanks for reading! I'll probably update this with review responses, so if you asked any questions, check back here.
California Mountain Girl – Thank you! Sometimes I feel like I get over-descriptive…what can I say, I love adjectives ^^ I do hope this will be a start to more LOTR fics. I've actually started typing up one dealing with the Haradrim, though it probably won't be going up anytime soon. Let's just say I've changed the beginning three times already, and might be changing it again. *mumbles something about hating intros*
Hioga-Chan – Hey dearie! Thanks for reviewing. Yeah, this is heavy compared to my other fic (three words about it to everyone else out there: Monty Python parody). And yes, Wren is an OC, and my Elf probably is too, but since I didn't give his name, it leaves room to speculate.