White Wolf

Summary: An elven-born skin-changer and his wolf pack encounter the Nine Walkers.

Disclaimer: If I owned it, it wouldn't be called fanfiction. If you don't recognize a name, then either the character belongs to me, or you need to study up on your Tolkien. The idea for this story is mine, inspired by my love of wolves and my fascination with Tolkien's Beorn. Please don't steal.

Mithril's Pack

Mithril closed his eyes, sniffing the wind for the signals it sent him. Squirrels moved cautiously high above him, among the trees of the Misty Mountains, carefully out of reach of the wolf. An occasional bird passed overhead, but other than that, the area was empty. Mithril could ask one or two to give their lives to sustain the five hungry wolves, but conscience denied him that choice.

The great white wolf-changer sighed and turned back to his pack, the four loyal wolves that he had led for years – the few wolves around still independent of Sauron and his allies. His body language and low whine signaled his disappointment at the lack of game, and the large black beta wolf Ranyar, his second-in-command, whined back in question. Mithril cocked his head as he ran through the list of possibilities.

Finally Mithril turned his head toward Eregion, the region men call Hollin, and signaled for the wolves to follow. Ranyar fell in behind. Following a few feet back was Raina, a good-natured dark gray female. After her was Vasar, a small reddish-gray female. Last came Ausa, a light gray male with an extraordinary sense of hearing. All hoped that they would find game more plentiful in Eregion.

Two days later, after one brief rest and several stops to find water when snow was not abundant, the pack arrived at the edge of Eregion. Mithril slowed warily, sensing something amiss in the region. Ranyar, Raina, Vasar, and the young Ausa spread out behind in defensive stance. All probed with their ears and noses to find what their eyes could not: a sign of animal life. Mithril sniffed about, locating the stale scents of deer, foxes, rabbits, ground squirrels, and many birds. All of the scents were weeks old. Turning to Ausa, his eyes asked what the gray wolf heard. Ausa made no move, and Mithril knew that his friend had heard no creature stir.

Lowering his head and tail in defeat, Mithril snuffed into the grass, dissapointed. Raina approached, chin and tail nearly scraping the ground in deference to her leader. She whined comfortingly and lightly licked beneath his chin. Ausa did the same, followed by Ranyar and Vasar. Encouraged by his pack's show of support, Mithril lifted his head. As resolution returned to him, his tail drifted up. His animal instinct urged him to lead the pack in hunt song, but a howl in unknown country could have dire consequences.

Moments later he expanded his chest and loped forward once more, setting his long stride to that of the tireless wolves. He was determined to find game for his hungry pack, and if hunting proved fruitless, he would do what he must for them to survive – even if that meant straying close to humanity.

Mithril, once known to elves and men as Celebriner, had left civilization long ago. His white hair, yellowish wolf-like eyes, and odd habits marked him as forever different, an outcast. He learned to survive in the wild and grew to like his wolf shape more and more, eventually meeting up with the wolves that would make up his pack. Now he could not remember the last time he had taken elven shape.

Perhaps, he pondered as he loped along, it had been at his first meeting with Beorn. The pack had stumbled upon the gruff bear skin-shifter somewhere in Mirkwood decades ago, and though Beorn had no love for wolves of Sauron, he had quickly warmed to another of his kind. There was another opportunity for food in Beorn, but Mithril hated to beg food off a friend. He'd much rather steal from the hated human race, slaughtering their livestock for food. It was an easy living, catching the slow, fat animals, but one Mithril was cautious of, and used only as a last resort.

For the present, the white wolf led his pack south through Eregion, thinking of the once-bountiful lands of the Horse-lords, the Rohirrim. Perhaps the game had moved there since the pack had last visited the area several summers ago.

A sudden, muffled woof from Ausa warned him to stop. He turned quickly to see what the gray wolf had heard. Ausa was staring intently to the south, in the direction they had been running. Mithril turned back and listened, hoping to hear the sound of some sort of game. He cocked his head, unable to hear what Ausa had heard, but caught a faint whiff of people.

Four of the odors were similar to each other but unfamiliar to the wolves. Mithril noted the food smells that emanated from the four, especially, and a cold, metallic scent hanging about one of the four. Two smells belonged to humans, both of which lived in areas out of the pack's range, one to a dwarf, easy to recognize by their usual stench of earth and rock, one to an elf, a refreshing perfume of flowers, trees, and other growing things, and one to – Mithril paused – an Istari. The pony, seemingly being led by one of the strange-scented creatures, excited Mithril's hunger, in the savory smell of horse flesh as well as the food crammed into packs connected to the beast. The overall scent screamed to the wolves that this group was by no means thrilled about whatever their journey called for. Vasar noticed a faint line of antagonism in an odd breeze, and this was silently communicated among the wolves.

The pack had frozen behind him. They looked to him for a decision.

Mithril's hunger and curiosity won out over his fear of people. He signaled the pack to approach carefully. They trotted silently for a couple miles, then slowed until they were within sight of the strange group. Hiding beneath a meager bush, Mithril saw that the elf was already alert to their presence, but was not surprised. Though the pack was well-hidden and had made virtually no noise, Mithril knew well the sensitivity of elves. The elf continued to stare in their direction, but did not smell or appear overly alarmed, simply wary. As one of the humans approached him, words were exchanged, but at that moment Mithril was distracted by Vasar's quiet, pleading whine. She was uncomfortable this close to humans, as was the rest of the pack, and wished to leave the people far behind. A low growl from Mithril told her that he had decided that they would stay for the moment, and his word was still law in the pack. When he turned back, the Istari had joined the elf and human, and the rest of the camp had fallen silent and still, watching the ones Mithril decided were the leaders.

"…move on, or send someone out to investigate?" the gray wizard asked in a whispered Westron, the Common Tongue.

"I see no reason to flee until we find that this presence Legolas has sensed is a threat," the man replied.

"Yet I would prefer to err on the side of caution," the wizard warned. Turning to the elf, he asked, "what kind of creature is this thing? Can you tell?"

The elf, Legolas, shook his head hesitantly. "There are more than one, I know. They are…partly natural…yet partly not. I can feel nothing else."

"Partly not…" both man and Istari murmured, unsatisfied.

"Aragorn and I could approach whatever they may be, and find if they are indeed a threat," Legolas said. The Istari looked undecided, then shook his head. One of the small, strange-smelling people behind him shifted uneasily.

"No," the gray one said. "We do not wish to alert these things to our presence if they are unaware. We should continue on our path now, and put off our meal until we are certain of our safety and of the safety of our quest."

The mention of a quest was curious to Mithril, but the thought of a meal pushed him to a quick decision. He and his pack would trail this odd group and steal some food in the night. Many bundles in the camp smelled of different types of food, and Mithril was hungry enough to resort to thievery. It didn't occur to him to ask for food. He knew without thinking that such an approach would be fruitless. With a look to each of his pack members, he silently let them know his plan. Vasar's lip twitched in protest, but she said nothing.

Crouched among the brush and rocks, Mithril's pack lie in wait. When the strange group was finished packing and had erased all of the visual signs of their camp, the wolves stood up and followed them silently, light and dark shadows flickering across Eregion.

*****

Mithril – Truesilver

Ranyar – Wanderer

Raina – Smiler

Vasar – Veil

Ausa – Apparition

Celebriner – Silver One

A/N – Coming up next: focus on the Fellowship as they face this new threat…or is it?

Please review! Questions/comments/criticism welcome.

~~Astarael~~