Color the Stars: Chapter I

The sons of Elrond had found the human child alone in the dark woods and brought him to Rivendell. Even as he stood before the lord of Rivendell, grimy and smeared with soil, the boy's resemblance to an elf was startling, especially the eyes. It was declared that the boy would stay in Rivendell and be taught the ways of the Eldar.

Seven summers passed and the boy lost his elven features. His hair grew unruly and thick, his face was always dirty, he dressed like a hobbit, and he was clumsy in manner. He could not wield a sword or cast a bow, although he tried his hardest. When he was taught the ancient lore, he always muddled up the names.

Many of the elves said it was just the Man in his nature and so they named him Danlin, a name given to many human boys.

But Danlin did have redeeming qualities. He was the artist of Rivendell, wielding a brush with skill equaling old Nimdor's, who painted Celebrian's portrait centuries ago. For this reason, Galadriel of the Golden Wood invited him to Lorien.

Danlin jumped at the chance. He packed a large roll of paper, his brushes and paints into his haversack. To keep his ink sticks from breaking, he stuffed them into his socks. Then, he hung his traveling hat on his bedpost and went to sleep.

At the crack of dawn, Danlin rushed to the stables, where Master Elrond had told him to meet his guide. Danlin hoped the sons of Elrond would be traveling with him; they were friendly and nice to him, even if he had the blood of Men in his veins.

Two horses had already been prepared, and they stamped the ground, neighing spiritedly.

"You're late," said a voice.

"Sorry," he puffed, still catching his breath.

The elf helped him on the horse and Danlin hoped he wouldn't fall off.

Actually, the ride wasn't that bad. When they reached a stream, the elf allowed him to stop for breakfast. While his escort rubbed down the horses, Danlin cooked.

It was a very good meal, even if the sausages were slightly burnt. Danlin thought they tasted better that way.

"I hope Lorien food is good," he commented.

His guide just smiled.

Danlin bit into a juicy pear. "I mean, Rivendell elves just don't seem to eat very much. I'm only eleven, and I eat twice the amount of food you do. And I'm still scrawny and you're taller than me."

He thought for a moment. "Well, you've had a thousand years head start." He nibbled the pear down to the core and threw it into the river.

Then he washed out the frying pan while the elf filled up the canteens. And they were on their way again.


* * *

The orcs made good time through the woods. Although their Master could not spare them any horses, they were still fleet of foot. They had been sent to the Misty Mountains to find the creature Gollum.

Dispatched in bands, each sought to find the creature first and win the favor of their Master. They spread out in every direction, hunting for their prey, following the wind. When night fell, they still pursued, following the stars.

* * *

Danlin had gathered a bundle of twigs and brambles and tried to start a fire. He hit the flint so hard, sparks jumped everywhere, but just as he'd got a fire going, he was out of wood.

He trudged off for more. It was dark, and brushwood was hard to find. The moon was high overhead when Danlin realized he'd collected enough branches to thatch a roof. Then, he realized he was lost. Lastly, he realized he didn't know the elf's name, so he couldn't even call for help.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, he yelled at himself. How can you talk to someone for a whole day and not know the elf's name? Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He wandered around a little more, the firewood still in his arms. Danlin wasn't afraid of being in the woods; he had been living with elves long enough to know that elves were never afraid, and so he shouldn't be afraid either, even if he was just a human.

Still, the wind was breathing down his back and the moon looked a bit greenish. The sky was cloudy and the trees hid the stars. It was a creepy. He folded his arms over his knees, buried his head in his arms and tried to sleep.

He must have spent hours like that, his eyes shut, and his ears open, listening and hearing nothing. Then, there was a pat on his back, and he slowly raised his head and brushed his messy hair from his eyes. Then he smiled.

The elf helped him up. As they walked back to the camp, the sky began to flush pink, like the tender rosebuds that grew in the gardens of Imdralis.

As Danlin yawned away his sleepiness, he remembered to ask, "What's your name?"

"Arwen."

Danlin repeated it, and tried to find the elvish translation. "Arwen, 'outside maiden'. What's that supposed to mean?"

She shrugged and shook her head. The sun was lighting the sky aglow, and the light seemed to frame Arwen's dark hair, making a hazy halo.

"Well," Danline said, as he trudged on, "I'm glad to meet you, Arwen."