disclaimer: Everything Lord of the Rings belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien and New Line Cinema. All the Pretty Little Horses... well I'm not quite sure who owns that, but it's a pretty famous lullaby, and by no means created by me. No profit made, no infringement intended. I own nothing but the voices in my head and the lint in my pockets.
by phoe
The two of them sat crouching among the lower branches, hidden by the thick foliage of the burly oak tree. Not a move did either make; not a sound did either dare. They were hunting and had just recently picked up the trail of their quarry. It wouldn't be long now until they had their game within their sights. When the underbrush below them suddenly shook with movement, two pairs of eyes shot to look in that direction, and the hunters instinctively readied their bows.
Cheerful voices drifted to their ears, followed by the appearance of two small fair-haired beings; one a lass no older than eight, and the other a lad perhaps two years her senior. Both were so similar in appearance, there was no doubt that they were siblings. They led behind them a stout little tan pony, who happily trailed its masters' every step. The pair were talking animatedly in high excited tones when unexpectedly the equine creature stopped and tossed its head in agitation. Exchanging curious glances, they turned to look back at the pony to see what could possibly have upset it. When it saw that it had the attention of the two young beings, the diminutive quadruped lowered its head, causing its long golden mane to fall into its eyes, and proceeded to graze the greenery that was so plentiful beneath its hoofs. The boy groaned and tugged lightly at the reins he held.
"Déor, come! You can eat after we get back," he pronounced firmly. When the pony continued to protest being denied its feed, the girl could only laugh at her brother's distress, the musical sound wafting through the air. When they finally got the beast walking again, they moved on, disappearing once again into the thicket.
The two still perched upon the boughs of the tree turned to look at each other after trailing the passing group with their eyes. Children. Now that changed everything. As if reading the mind of the other, they exchanged smiles and, leaping soundlessly from branch to branch, followed the small band of children and pony.
"Walda once told me he saw an Elf plundering his garden," the girl said, continuing their conversation from before they were interrupted by Déor's sudden stop. "The little sprite made off with a carrot and three squash before he could chase it out, he said."
"Walda fibs so often, you can never believe a word he says," her brother retorted, rolling his eyes. "Elves don't exist anyway. How ridiculous would it be to see a pointy-eared man, three feet tall, running around without any clothes on?"
"Who ever said they were without clothes? Of course they have clothes."
"They don't have clothes in Papa's story. The shoemaker and his wife had to make their clothes, remember? And when they received them, they just ran off. I don't understand how, if they knew how to make shoes, they couldn't just make their own clothes." He paused then, stooping down to examine a plant, before straightening and continuing on his way.
"What are we looking for again?" the girl asked, bending near a patch of weeds.
"The one with the yellow flowers and big leaves. Mum said to get a lot because Papa keeps falling into the rashy bush."
"You'd think Papa would be more careful while out camping. How do bushes give people rashes anyway?" she wondered aloud, sifting through the branches of a low-growing shrub. "And what happens if something eats it? Like a deer or a squirrel. Would they get ill? Or would they get a rash in their--"
The child stopped mid-sentence, eyes widening in surprise as the shrub before her began to rustle and shake. She quickly stood and backed up until she bumped into her brother.
"What is it?" she inquired, not daring to take her eyes off of the convulsing bush.
"Maybe it's an Elf," the boy suggested wryly.
At that moment, a hare sprang out without warning, zigzagging to and fro and spooking the pony as it ran through the creature's legs before dashing off into the thick vegetation. Déor reared then, and the reins were ripped from the young boy's grasp. Suddenly confused, the flustered beast turned to one direction and galloped off deeper into the forest.
"Déor, here!" the youth cried, chasing after the fleeing animal. His sister followed, but her legs were not as long as his, and she was not able to keep up. She soon had to stop to catch her breath and could only watch hopelessly as the distance between them rapidly lengthened.
"Folcmer, wait! Come back!" she called after him futilely, but he never heard her and was soon gone from sight.
When Folcmer finally came upon the runaway creature, the quadruped was calmly grazing on the long grasses near the base of a tree, as if all that had happened previously had been promptly forgotten.
"There you are, you naughty beast," he managed to get out, as he bent, trying to slow his breathing. "Shame on you, frightened by a little rabbit."
The lad moved closer and grabbed the reins, but yanking on them, found that they would not budge. He looked up and noticed in surprise that they were tied securely onto a low-hanging branch. He thought for a moment that perhaps Déor had somehow gotten them caught as he ran. 'But no, that's ridiculous. Someone must have been here.'
Freeing the reins, Folcmer tugged on them gently, but the pony merely butted him lightly in the chest and continued to graze. He sighed and was about to tug again when he caught sight of something near the equine creature's nose. Stooping in disbelief for a closer inspection, he was able to establish that it was in fact the plant they had set out to look for.
"Fréa, look! I found--" He stopped when he discovered for the first time that his sister was not there with him. He turned about frantically, not able to spot the girl anywhere. "Fréa? Fréawyn!"
He ran back a few steps in the direction he had just come from, calling her name, but still he was not able to find her. Looking to the sky, he saw how dark it had gotten before he had even taken notice. With one last look around, he finally mounted the small pony and retraced his steps in the direction his family had set up camp, calling out for his lost sister the entire way back.
It was so dark, and she had been wandering for what seemed like hours. Every tree looked like the one she had just passed, and in the gloom she thought she spied eyes glowing watching her from the undergrowth. Gone was the sun, and with it went the warmth of its rays. It had suddenly become so cold, and she shivered, clutching her skirt in her small fists. She tripped over a jutting tree root and stumbled onto her hands and knees. Too tired to go any further, she settled herself into a cradle of roots at the foot of a great oak. Her vision began to blur with tears, and she allowed them to fall as she pressed up against the rough bark.
Just as she was about to fall asleep, she heard a faint lilting voice rise in song. She sat up, listening as the singing grew louder, and she was able to recognize the words as they resonated throughout the forest.
hush a bye, don't you cry, go to sleep ye little baby
when you wake, you shall have all the pretty little horses
blacks and bays, dapples and greys, all the pretty little horses
It was a song Rohirrim mothers often sang to their young children while putting them to bed. A song her own Mum used to sing to her and her brother when their eyelids were heavy with sleep.
go to sleep, don't you cry, rest your head upon the clover
in your dreams, you shall ride, while your Mommy's watching over
Pushing herself back up onto her feet, she tried to follow the voice, for the lullaby was the only familiar thing she found in the darkness of the night. But each time she thought she had gone close enough to discover who the vocalist might be, it would stop and appear again somewhere further off, growing fainter the more distant it became.
when you wake, you shall have all the pretty little horses
blacks and bays, dapples and greys, all the pretty little horses
...Until finally, it stopped. She came to a standstill when she could no longer hear the soothing cradlesong, not hazarding to move a step should it start up again. She strained her ears against the darkness, and soon she heard something. They were voices, but not the one she had been following up until now. They grew louder as she walked toward them, and before long she was able to make out a name, her name.
Recognizing her Mummy and Papa's voices, she ran to them, calling out to them. She ran as fast as her legs could take her and abruptly found herself in her Mummy's arms, her Papa and brother joining in the warm embrace.
She would not relinquish her hold around her Mummy's neck, but being too tired to rise, she had no choice but to allow herself to be carried to bed. Raising her head slightly, she requested in a small voice, "Could you sing me that song? The one with the horses?"
A ways off, still well within the wood, a figure watched the joyful reunion from under the cover of the trees, the distance not hindering the sight from reaching his keen eyes. He smiled as the being in the branches above him leapt down to join him on the ground, and raising an eyebrow, turned to him. "So much for the hunt, eh, Elrohir?"
Still picking the leaves from his hair, his brother returned the smile and shrugged. The twins turned from the happy scene and walked off, making their way deeper into the trees and filling the night with their light chatter.
"It's interesting to hear what is told of us now a days. Three feet tall indeed."
"Perhaps they've gotten us confused with Hobbits. Their pointy ears could be misleading."
"But running around without clothes? I should certainly hope not."
"Be glad that they did not confuse Elves and Dwarves!"
"Ai! Now that would be a frightening thought."
"The story about an Elf plundering that Walda's garden, does it not remind you of the story Frodo told us of young Pippin and Merry?"
"Aye.. How I miss those cheerful folk."
"Indeed, they were such gay company."
The twins fell into a thoughtful silence then, remembering the old days. The whole forest seemed to swell with the sound when both Elves let loose a heavy sigh. Then, as though he had an afterthought, Elrohir turned to his brother.
"Elladan, who's Santa Claus?"
finished Jun '03
note: Tis done! Wow.. something that isn't a poem. It's short nonetheless.. I'm not capable of coming up with anything otherwise. But here's a first, it was all written in one day! Well.. sort of. I started at 8 on the 31st of May, and finished 4:30 June 1st morning ;; Finished in one sitting anyway. Yea, you can tell right? With the quality of this piece of work *pokes it with a stick*
blacks and bays, dapples and greys, all the pretty little horses
Can't you just picture a Rohirrim mother singing that to her children? That's the one scene I kept picturing that basically got me started on this fic.
Yee, and the twins! Since not much is known of their fate, I had them remain in Middle-earth, but then I realized I probably made an error, because if they had decided to remain rather than traveling to the Undying Lands, wouldn't they have become Mortal? Eh.. let's just cover up that plot hole and hope no one falls through... *grabs shovel*