The Bright Bird

I think it amazing the way some people think so much alike, though they have never met or spoken, and live many leagues apart.  This story which I now put before you has been in my head for nearly a week now, as a daydream, but this morning when I found LOTR fanfictions, I decided I should type it up.  I was startled when I read "Legolas's Beloved" which spoke of Aiwë, meaning small bird, for in my story is a character named Wren, called Bright Bird, or Little Bird as an endearment, who falls in love with Legolas Greenleaf.  It appears that only a Bird would suit as a partner for this Elven prince. 

*Disclaimer - All characters and locations in this story are Tolkien originals, save those which I have created myself.  I have borrowed nothing from other fanfictions.  If you don't recognize a name, the individual is probably of my own creation.  "Elrond's Hunters" however, I count as my idea, though most of those characters are Tolkien's.  Elladan and Elrohir seemed to me to be more than mere scouts, so I created a title for a group of skilled warrior-scouts called hunters.  I don't think that term was used in the book, though my brain may be deceiving me on that one. 

This story runs alongside The Lord of the Rings, beginning when the hobbits and Aragorn (and Galdalf) reach Rivendell, after Elrond has healed Frodo.

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Part 1 :  The Bird in the Glen

            Sam had fallen asleep in the chair beside his master's bed, and Gandalf did not have the heart to wake him, not even to tell him that Frodo was now out of danger.  Weary from the strain of helping Elrond save the young Hobbit, the Wizard, too, now wished to rest, but there was one last issue he had to see to first.  Though it did not pertain to the quest of the Ring, it was still of some importance to him.  He stood.

            "That was well and kindly done, old friend," Gandalf said, turning to Elrond.  "I fear he would not have lasted much longer without your aid."

            "In but a few hours more there would have been nothing even Elves could do for him.  He was indeed fortunate.  I am amazed that he lasted this long,"  Elrond replied severely.  His expression then softened into a tired smile.  "Hobbits are indeed wondrous creatures.  So resilient."

            Gandalf chuckled.  "Indeed.  But now that we can do nothing but let dear Frodo sleep, there is something else I would discuss with you."

            Elrond arched an eyebrow.  "Yes?"

            "How is our Ever-Child?"

            "She is much the same as when you last saw her, Gandalf," Elrond answered with a sigh.  "Her spirit strengthens, her wisdom increases, and her mind remains that of a young Elf-Maid.  Her skill with the knife and with horses is surpassed only by my sons, she is their equal in tracking and archery, and none can match her in stealth.  I do not understand how she manages."  The Wizard and Elf-Lord left Frodo's room that they might speak a little easier.  "The only real difference is that now she spends even more time alone.  She and my daughter have had a falling-out, it seems."

            Gandalf snorted.  "That does not displease you, I imagine.  What happened?  They were as close as sisters when last I was here."

            Elrond did not answer for few moments.  Finally he said, "You know why I always disapproved of their closeness, my friend.  There is something about her I do not trust.  I love here as dearly as if she was my own, but the way her manner switches so suddenly from that of a child to like unto the Wise troubles me.  Arwen called her 'Little Sister,' yet she is Arwen's senior by nearly half a century.  That is not much to my people, yet it is enough to be recognized."

            "It is indeed strange," Gandalf admitted.  "What broke their friendship?"

            Now Elrond laughed softly.  "Apparently Wren met Aragorn, and Arwen happened upon them whilst the two were speaking.  It is, I suppose, out of jealousy that Arwen will no longer speak to Wren, despite the latter's assurance that they only spoke of the goings-on of the world.  So Wren wanders the gardens alone, though it seems to trouble her not at all."

            "While her heart weeps for friendship, I imagine," Gandalf replied.  "That is why she was brought here by her father, remember, because of the dislike Men of that time held for the Half-Elven girl.  She chose the life of the Elves rather than of Men, yet because her mother, not her father, was of the race of Men she is more like them than, say, you are."

            "Yet no less Elvish than I."  Elrond was thoughtful for a moment.  "I wish her parents had not been killed.  Even her mortal mother would have been a great help in raising her.  I wonder if that is not part of why her mind remains so young?"

            "It may be.  I shall have to speak with her while I am here, if I can find the time.  You mentioned earlier that a council is gathering?"

            "Of its own accord, yes," Elrond stated with a nod.  "The Free Peoples are sending representatives here to seek council on the troubles in their own lands.  They shall arrive nearly at the same time."

            "Hmmm."  Gandalf looked thoughtfully back towards Frodo's room.  "I shall return to keep an eye on him until he wakes - that should please Sam.  However, I shall need to speak to these representatives as soon as they arrive.  Wren, I am guessing, will once again hide herself until all guests are gone?"

            "Actually, no.  She is making herself useful this time, acting as a stable-hand, seeing to the beasts of burden the visitors bring with them.  Her curiosity is at last overcoming her fear of rejection."  Elrond sounded pleased.

            Gandalf laughed.  "Good!  Though I imagine your guests would be horrified if they knew the stable-hand was actually a Lady of your House."  Their discussion turned to other, darker matters then, as they made their way through the Last Homely House, towards the Hall of Fire, to spread the news that Frodo was now on the mend.

            Looking across the Hall, Gandalf could see a small individual pacing across a short distance, looking quite distressed, while another figure sat watching him.  This one was Elvish in appearance, and seemed torn between sympathy for her friend's anxiety and amusement at how he chose to deal with it.  It was towards these two Gandalf went first, while Elrond strode to his seat at the end of the hall, where he would announce Frodo's recovery in a more formal manner.

            The Elf-Woman looked up and stood as Gandalf approached.  She smiled tentatively.  "Mithrandir, I am glad to see you again."  Her small companion stopped pacing and faced the Wizard, his expression frantic.  "I hope," she added, "that you bring good news.  Otherwise Bilbo is going to wear through the floor with all of this back and forth!"

            "Good news?"  Gandalf asked.  "Well, yes I suppose the news I have would indeed be good to some, though very bad to others."

            Bilbo was ready to explode with frustration.  "Now is not the time for speaking in riddles, Gandalf!" he exclaimed.  "Tell me plainly!  How is Frodo?"

            "Your dear nephew is sleeping, my friend," the Wizard replied somberly.  "He has had a very close scrape and will probably sleep for a few more days, but he is on the mend, thanks to the care of Master Elrond."

            The elderly Hobbit was so relieved his knees gave out and he sat down on the floor.  Gandalf helped him to his feet again.  "If you like, Bilbo, you may join Samwise in keeping an eye on him until he wakes.  Just don't wake Sam!  He is sleeping as well.  This has been very hard on him."

            "Of course, of course!"  Bilbo was overjoyed.  "I shall go at once.  Thank you!"  He started off, then paused and turned back to the Elf-Maid.  "You should come as well.  Perhaps you could sing for him and ease his resting."

            "Perhaps," she replied.  "First I would speak with Master Gandalf, then I shall see to your nephew, if he and Master Elrond approve."  Bilbo nodded and left.

            Gandalf chuckled.  "When did you start seeking the approval of your elders, Little Bird?  Last I was here you did not see a need for it."

            "Nor do I now," she replied steadily.  "However, I needed a reason to speak with you alone, and the little Master does not yet know of my - hmmm - willfulness.  Come, let us talk outside.  Elrond will announce Frodo's recovery in a moment, and then it will be impossible to hear well enough to think in here." 

            They walked out into the nearest courtyard and Gandalf sat down on a stone bench.  Wren walked softly to a nearby fountain and sat on its edge, trailing her long fingers in the water.  Birds sang in a nearby bush - one fluttered out and alighted near her feet, peering intently up at her.  It was tiny, of a finch-type, and she smiled at it and whistled softly.  It replied in kind, then rejoined its fellows in the shrub. 

            "You still speak to animals," Gandalf observed.  "That is a wonderful gift to have."

            Wren laughed brightly.  "It is indeed!  They listen better even than Elves, and do not complain if I go on at length.  Nor do they have any reservations about my blood.  Many of them are half-bloods, too, mongrels, hybrids.  They do not care.  Birds especially enjoy hearing about the wide world from different perspectives.  Though I fear I cannot tell them much."  She frowned.  "I have not left Imladris for any great length of time since I first came here."

            "There has been no need," Gandalf countered.  "Aside from learning to track and hunt you have never had any real reason to leave."

            She laughed again.  "Which is why I ask so often to be trained, even when there are none better than I to train me!  As long as I am learning, I am permitted to leave.  So I often beg Elrond's sons for aid in some small thing I have not yet mastered, and they take pity on the small Ever-Child and take her out of the valley to teach her."  She sobered.  "They have no knowledge of how far I wander while learning stealth.  They cannot track me unless I let them, so often I will give their skill the slip and go wandering.  Often for hours, once for several days."  Wren smiled coldly.  "They were worried, but we had quite a laugh once they finally 'found me.'  I had spent the entire last day following them quite closely.  They never noticed."  She looked back into the fountain.

            Gandalf sighed.  "Some get the Sea-Longing, you have Wanderlust.  Small wonder, since your mother was one of the first of the Rangers."

            She looked up sharply, no trace of childish innocence in her now.  "I did not realize Rangers came into existence so early.  I thought they only appeared after the break in the line of kings."

            "No.  Even during the days of Gondor's glory Númenorians would often take to wandering the Wild as scouts, Rangers, if they felt they for some reason did not belong in Gondor."

            "Lovely," Wren sighed.  "So this lack of belonging is a family trait."

            "Speak no ill of your mother's line, child!" the Wizard demanded.  "She was a second-cousin to Valandil of Anor, and of the line of Elendil, but her father was only half Númenorian, half something shorter, less noble.  Fortunately the only trait your mother acquired from that other race was the lesser height.  She lost none of the nobility of her blood.  Though obviously the lack of height is passed on, since you are considered small even among Men."

            "And my father was a distant relation to Elrond, slain by Orcs while trying to bring my ailing mother to Rivendell.  I have heard the story before.  It makes my own isolation no easier."

            Gandalf looked up into the trees above him, listening for a moment to the rush of a nearby waterfall.  After a brief pause he said softly.  "I suppose not.  I heard about the disagreement between you and Arwen."

            "Foolish," Wren scoffed.  "I have no reason to try to steal her love from her, but Aragorn and I are kin.  Upon learning that, I wished to know all he could tell me about the world, from the eyes of Númenor.  I heard her there, and should have said something I suppose, but was so engrossed in what he was saying I did not wish to interrupt.  She could have spoken.  Foolish," she said again, "of both of us."

            Silence fell between them for a few minutes then.  Night was falling and the sounds of birds were fading, replaced by the songs of other night-creatures.  A star appeared overhead.

            Finally, Wren broke the silence.  "Well!" she exclaimed, child-like once more, "I suppose I should go answer Bilbo's request that I sing for his nephew.  It should do him no harm, though I am concerned how it may affect his manservant."  She looked inquisitively at the Wizard.

            Gandalf smiled.  "Bilbo came to no harm through that strange gift of yours.  I think it would do Sam good as well.  Has your singing ever really changed a mortal for ill?"

            "Yes.  Back in the village where I lived with my mother.  Though I was very young, my song still had power, if somewhat uncontrolled.  Many mortal beings found themselves ill changed by my voice.  Some were made lustful, others violent, others had their hearts darkened.  They seemed to become more of what they already were, but feared to openly display."

            "But now you have more control."

            She sighed.  "Again, yes.  I seem to be able to strengthen the good in mortals now, rather than whatever is in their hearts.  Still, Hobbits are strange creatures, and I know not how they might react."

            Gandalf smiled.  "I would not worry overmuch.  However, would it be possible for you to simply shield Frodo from the inevitable nightmares, rather than stopping them entirely?  Some of what we might learn from any talking he does in his sleep could be very important."

            "Well I shall certainly try my best!"  She stood stepped lightly over to him and kissed him on the forehead.  "Thank you, Mithrandir.  It is always a comfort to speak with you, especially in times of growing darkness.  Tomorrow the Free Peoples will begin to arrive, and Elrond will call Council as soon as the Hobbit is well enough.  I look forward to their arrival.  I have never seen Dwarves."  She turned and sprang off down a path that would take her directly to Frodo's room, leaving Gandalf to wonder at her insight.

            Wren sat on a stone at the edge of a small pool, watching the reflections of the stars on its clear surface.  At the upper end of the glade a waterfall cascaded into this pond, disturbing it, so she always found herself drawn to this lower end.  She could still hear it, but the water was clear as a mirror.  A young fox had strayed into the glen and now slept in her lap while she gently stroked its soft fur.  His tale had been a sad one - both parents were dead, taken by wolves, along with his siblings.  He was the only one still alive, though he hadn't expected to live much longer, until he came by chance to Rivendell.  She offered to protect him for as long as she could or as long as he needed her. 

            I am gaining quite a few friends among the beasts, she thought.  Two years ago she'd found an owl, three years past a fawn, who was now a mighty stag, and in the spring of last year an injured young hawk had come to her.  All were now fully self-sufficient, yet still followed her often. 

            She smiled, and turned her thoughts to the injured Hobbit inside the Last Homely House.  Gandalf's request had been a strange one, but had worked well.  She had left even as he was returning, and he had seemed pleased with her effort.  She had started off to her own rooms then to rest, but along the way had nearly run into Aragorn and Arwen.  Even as she'd seen them they had spotted her, and, not wishing a confrontation, Wren had fled into the gardens.  Let Arwen explain that one, she thought.

            For a long while she sat in silent contemplation, when suddenly she heard voices nearby, drawing her out of her thoughts. 

            "Well that was a rotten trick!  Now where do we go?"

            "Don't know.  It was a lovely place to see the stars though.  I don't think they did it to be cruel."

            "No, I guess not.  I don't rightly think Elves can be cruel.  But even if it was just for a bit of mischief, it was not very kind.  We don't know our way around!"

            "Oh come off it, Pip!  No harm can come to us here, remember?  Someone will find us eventually and put us on the right track."

            "Eventually, yes, but I am getting rather tired.  It's been a long day!"

            The voices drifted away, and then close again.  Listening, Wren almost started laughing.  Leading strangers off and abandoning them was a favorite game among some the younger and less noble Elves in Rivendell.  They would then watch while the visitors blundered about through the many twisting paths and eventually would lead them back to the House.  It was an odd sport, but since no harm ever came of it, Elrond saw no reason to forbid their games.

            Suddenly they drew quite near.  The fox in Wren's lap pricked up his ears and sat up with a small yip, loud in the silence of darkness.  The voices stopped, as did all sounds of their movement.  She could not even hear them breathe.

            "Peace," she told the fox-cub, then gathered him in her arms and stood. 

            "What was that?" whispered one of the voices.  The other remained silent.

            They don't sound like Men, Wren thought, and they speak the Common Tongue.  More Hobbits?  Yes, she decided.  Did not Gandalf mention others?  "Step forward but a little more, friends, and I can show you the path you seek," she said calmly.

            "Who said that?" hissed a voice from a nearby tree.  Wren looked up.

            "It's the Bird," whispered another.  The Elf then spoke louder.  "Oh go on then, spoil our game!  We were about to lead them back."  The two young Hobbits blundered through the bushes and found themselves standing on the cool flagstones of a well-used path.  They looked at each other in surprise, then up at Wren.

            "You know very well what they have been through."  Wren replied coldly.  "They do not deserve to be tormented thus, not even in jest.  They have come with the Bearer through great peril.  You should learn when not to meddle.  There will be other guests arriving very soon - play not with them!  You shall feel the wrath of Lord Elrond, else, for they are coming with burdens of their own, seeking counsel.  Find other games!" 

            "What, has Master Elrond or Mithrandir told you these things?" sneered one, from a slightly different direction.

            She turned toward the voice.  "Nay, I have learned this from the creatures of earth and sky, and the wind, too has brought these tidings.  Master Elrond says little, and Mithrandir less.  They know knowledge reaches me from other sources."  Her friend owl chose that moment to come winging in to land on a nearby tree branch, and there was a gasp from within that tree. 

            "Alright, then!" muttered yet another Elf.  "We shall see about that!"  And they all took themselves elsewhere, with Wren's bright laugh following them into the darkness.

            Her laughter faded into a sigh, and she smiled at the Hobbits, then turned to the owl.  "Thank you, my friend," she said in its own tongue.  "That was well done."  The owl hooted proudly, glad to be of service, and launched herself from the branch, gliding back into the night.  Wren laughed again.

            The elder of the two Hobbits stepped forward cautiously.  "Th-thank you," he stammered.  "I hope we have not caused you trouble."

            "No," she said, smiling at him.  "It is no trouble.  They enjoy their games, and I do not begrudge them that, but they should choose their targets more carefully."  Again she laughed.  "At the very least they should have waited until you were rested!"

            "So, you will show us the way back to the House?" asked the other, he suddenly noticed the fox in her arms, staring intently at him with bright black eyes.  "Is that a -"

            "Yes this is a fox-cub."  She set the little creature down, and he trotted over to the Hobbits.  The younger one petted him tentatively, and the fox licked his hand.  He gave a nervous laugh. 

            "Does he have a name?"

            "I do not know.  I have not asked him."

            Both Hobbits stared at her.  "Asked him?" inquired the elder.

            Wren nodded.  "But nor have I asked you your names, and for much the same reason:  I simply have not gotten that far.  However, since we are discussing it, I hope you will introduce yourselves."  She smiled.

            "Meriadoc Brandybuck," stated the elder, bowing.  "Though usually I'm just called Merry."

            "I'm Peregrin Took," the other added.  "Everyone calls me Pippin."

            "Merry and Pippin, I am honored to meet you.  I am Wren, Half-Elf of the House of Elrond."  She, too, bowed low.  "You have come here with Frodo, the Bearer of the Ring, have you not?"

            Merry nodded.  "We've heard he's doing better, but past that no one will tell us anything."

            "Or let us see him," said Pippin, sounding irritated.  "'Samwise and Bilbo are visitors enough.  He doesn't need to be crowded.'  So says Gandalf."

            Wren laughed.  "And, of course, Gandalf would be correct!  But be cheerful.  Frodo is sleeping, and will sleep for at least another full day.  You are not missing much, little ones."  She held out a hand to each of them.  "Come!  I will take you back to Lord Elrond's House."  And, with Merry on her right and Pippin on her left and the little fox - whose name, they discovered along the way, was Refsil - running ahead or leaping at their heels, they made their way back into the glow of the Last Homely House east of the Sea.

            Once inside, the Hobbits looked up at Wren and were astonished.  Never had they seen a being so fair, for they had not yet beheld the Lady Arwen.  It was said, that of the two Ladies of Elrond's House, Arwen was the more beautiful if you preferred the dusk, Wren if you preferred the dawn.  Wren herself vehemently denied this, saying Arwen was the more fair either way, but where Arwen was called Evenstar, so Wren was called the Dawnstar.  However, the Hobbits at that moment believed that Wren must truly be the most lovely thing in all of Middle-Earth.

            Though small for an Elf, Wren was still slender as a willow-wand, with skin slightly more golden than white.  Her eyes were the deep blue of the eastern sky just after the sun has set, and they glowed with the Elven light.  Her pale golden hair was braided back from her delicate face and held with a silver band.  She wore a gown of silver-green with a belt of silver links wrought in the shapes of leaves at her waist.  "There," she told them, not noticing their awe, "now you stand again within the House of Elrond.  I trust you can find your way from here!" 

            The Hobbits nodded, and a voice rang out from nearby, interrupting any reply they might have made.  "There you are!  We were beginning to worry.  You two should be taking your rest."  Looking up, the three saw a leather-clad Man making his way towards them.

            "Strider!"  Exclaimed Pippin.  "We are alright.  Apparently we were the objects of some Elvish game, and Wren here ended the game and brought us back."

            "Did she?" he replied, watching her.  Suddenly he bowed.  "Thank you, Bright Bird.  Gandalf was nearly beside himself with worry, thinking Pippin had gotten them lost."  Pippin gave an indignant exclamation, which Strider ignored.  "However, I believe if they will take themselves back to the Hall of Fire, Master Elrond will show them to their rooms."  He smiled down at the Hobbits.

            Merry, sensing some kind of strain between the Elf and their friend, shushed Pippin's protest and drew him away in the direction of the Hall, leaving Wren and Strider alone.

            "Strider now?" Wren asked in a detached voice.  "You have more names each time we meet, Lord Aragorn."

            He shrugged carelessly.  "That is my name in the village of Bree, where I met them.  I don't mind it - there are worse nicknames - and it keeps them from asking questions, as long as I continue to look rugged and menacing."

            Wren arched a delicate eyebrow and turned to look out into the courtyard.  "I suppose it suits a Ranger," she replied softly, "though not one of the Dúnadan."

            He stared at her, a frown forming on his lips.  "That is precisely the point."  After a moment's silence he continued.  "What is going on?  When we saw you earlier you fled as if we were from the Enemy, and now you are cold.  It is not like you."

            She struggled with her answer for a moment.  "I did not wish to see the Lady Arwen.  Of late I have been the object of much scorn from her, and did not wish to wage a confrontation in front of you.  As it is, I should be going, or I will still hear it from her later.  I am watched always."  Wren turned to go, but Aragorn took hold of her arm.

            "Why would two as close as sisters be at each other's throats?" he demanded.

            With a strength born of desperation Wren jerked her arm free and turned to face him.  "Ask your Lady!  I have no wish to speak of it at present, though I would love to hear whatever reason she might give.  Perhaps then I will tell you what I know of the matter."  She bowed, and when she met his eyes again, she let pain cross her face.  "Forgive my rudeness, but I dare not be found speaking with you.  Good night my Lord."

Wren quickly departed, leaving Aragorn to stare after her in bewilderment.