Chapter One: The Leaf
An elf gazed out into the harbor, eyes dazzled by the sun's dances on the surface of Ulmo's and Oss''s home. His ship was nearly ready. Two elves stood behind him, though they were not dressed for travel, as he was. He turned to one of them, a lady clad in black, with black hair pulled back into warrior's braids. The elf held out something to her, a scroll sealed in silver wax.
"Here it is, as I promised, Galadhriel. Mayhap the Wise will know best how to distribute it, and Eridhras best how to decipher and hone my mad scrawlings.
She handed it to the elf beside her, a golden-haired Silvan with princely bearing, who unrolled it and scanned a little. He looked up with a pained expression.
"Cousin, " he said, "it will take me at least a century to fix that. And I only read the first sentence.
The ship-bound elf smiled and shook his head.
"I cannot help you. I simply compiled what has been sent! Just make sure it is read, Galadhriel Vornionien, Princess of Mirkwood. Just make sure it is read.
Forwith, I, Galadhriel Vornionien, keep my promise. Here is the tale as written by Elladan Arathorn, son of Theadore, calledWeatherstaff, compiled by Rumil of Lothlorien, and honed to the page by Eridhras, younger Prince of Mirkwood. May Eru bless its reading.
"The road goes ever on and on, down from the door where it began
Danny hummed as he squinted against the wind down at his own road, which ran to his own door just over the next hill. The rain drove past the hood of his long woolen cloak and ran in happy waterfalls off his nose and chin and smiling lips. He stopped for a moment, breathing deeply the scent of wet November moor, letting the cold refresh his weariness. Soon, however, he turned his eyes back to the road and the hill, knowing he would catch it from his mum if he didn't get back too "the door where it began" before supper.
Soon he could see the lights of his home ahead, overwhelming the mist, gently beckoning him to hurry. Before he could turn aside from the main road, however, a figure came hurrying up from the opposite direction and jovially greeted him.
"Fine evenin' to ya, young sir!" bellowed the man, who was wrapped up so completely in a long wool coat that you could only make out his eyes and a bit of his bulbous red nose above it.
"And to you, Mr. Baconslow!" said Danny trying to sound hurried, but to now avail.
"The roads will be a fine disaster on the morrow, don't ya think?
"Er, yes. Indeed. I really
However, Tad Baconslow was known for his particular long-windedness and would not give up the opportunity of conversation so quickly.
"I say," he said, eyeing Danny's medieval mode of dress, "what's a respectable young man like y'self doin' out on such an evening?
He also fancied himself constable by hereditary right; even hundreds of years after things had ceased to work in such a way. As he put it, "The Baconslows have been the law in Telshire since William the Conqueror. Me ancestor was granted the title by the king Ôimself, and no newfangled votin' system Ôill change that!
"I was, er, just walking home from a jaunt in the woods, sir." Said Danny.
Mr. Baconslow nodded, the suspicion in his face not abating as he tipped his hat. "Give me regards to yer mum, little master! See ya at kirk
With that Danny turned toward home, and Mr. Baconslow hurried away, shaking his head and muttering. His friends at the Red Snake got an earful over their ale that night: "Them Weatherstaffs up at the Manor. Strange lot and that's fer sartan. The boy was wearin' a cloak! And carryin' a bloody great sword as well! There's tell of strange doins' in that house there is My Alice tells me that their daughters speak in tongues when the mood catches Ôem, and that father o' theirsÉHmm mm. He'd a been burned for witchcraft if this town was still what it once was. They say Ôe's a scientist, but I don't buy it. Just pokin' Ôis nose where it don't belong Ôe Ôis. His drinking fellows nodded their heads knowingly. The Weatherstaffs were uncommonly strange. Everybody knew that!
The great oak door of Telshire Manor soon shut behind Danny, and he stood in a slowly growing puddle of muddy water in the slate-floored hall.
"Elladan Arathorn Theodore Weatherstaff!" his mother's voice called from the basement stair.
"Young man," she said, walking into the room, "didn't I tell ye to come straight home if the weather turned foul? When she spoke it was not in English, but in a language that rolled softly off the tongue, dropping delicately into the mind of whoever heard it. When Danny answered he spoke in the same way.
"Aye, you did mumÉ" He hung his dripping head and grinned. "But the woods are so, if I may say, Magical, in a storm! The wind and the rain dueling in the treetops, the leaves dancing all around you in the great gusts, and the mists Ôopening reluctantly in front and closing forbiddingly behind you' as Mr. Tolkien would say. Besides, I was bein' beset by a family of cave-trolls. They kept Curuglin and me busy for quite some time. He winked and hung up his cloak, revealing the sword that hung at his side.
Mrs. Weatherstaff shook her head.
"You're as daft as your father, Elladan. Daft as your father and twice as disarming. She smiled and kissed him on the forehead.
"Aye, mum. And you're the one who married him.
"Come now, who did you really run into?
"The Honorable Constable Thaddeus Baconslow, if you must know.
"Oh, I see. No arrest attempt this time around?" she said, smiling.
"No. But when he saw the sword, he looked as if he thought I might stab him where he stood. I was just out practicing
"Mr. Baconslow can overreact at times. Don't let it bother you.
Him and everyone else in Telshire," whispered Danny to himself. "Right Mum. It doesn't bother me one whitÉ" But he did not sound convinced at all.
"You were careful now, weren't you, Elladan? Ever since your grandfather made you that thing I've been having visions of lost fingers and gashed limbs I still can't see how you can manage to fight as well as you do with that sword when all you have to practice on are trees and hedge-heather. It's as if you can really see the inanimate object before ye sprout pointy ears, black armor and fangs!
Danny's eyes looked far away, out the window to the wood from which he had just returned. "I wish I could, mum. I wish I could
"Danny! Oh Danny you're back! Mae Govannen, mae govannen!
The sound of laughter and excited feet pounded down the upstairs corridor. Three brazenly red-colored heads peeked over the banister, pigtails sticking from them at weird angles. Danny laughed at their eager, gap-toothed smiles. These were his triplet sisters, Elanor, Idril, and Tinuviel. He gave an exaggerated bow. Mae gevannen, my fair maids! I have come from afar and hoped that I might refresh myself at thy table?
The girls came tumbling down the stairs, giggling hysterically, and threw themselves at him, knocking him backwards a few feet.
"Oh Danny!" said Elanor rapturously. "We thought orcs had gotten you, Da said you'd surely fight them off, but we said that he'd have to go and rescue you, but we knew that you and Da could give Ôem a fair whipping'! Her eyes were bright with seven-year-old adoration
"Well, I didn't run into any orcs this time," he hung his sword up atits place on the wall, "but I did put a few cave trolls to flight. Curuglin did some mighty deeds today, Elly!"
They both looked up at the sword on the wall. It was long and strong, its leather scabbard laced with etchings of silver leaves, and the hilt and the pommel were adorned with green stones. When his grandfather, a sword-smith, presented it to him on his 16th birthday, Danny named it Curuglin, Elvish for "skilled and shining eye. For all the months since he'd taken it everywhere, and become quite good in the handling of it. He could even hold his own against his father and uncles, who'd been trained in swords-manship since they were boys.
"Danny," said his mother, "I believe you have an English paper due at the end of holiday. Why don't you work on that while you wait for dinner? The girls will help me in the kitchen.
All shoulders sagged slightly at this dictum, but he headed obediently upstairs as the girls fell in behind their mother. Closing the door to his room behind him, he looked around. Rain beat insistently at the windows that lined one wall. The other three were covered with paintings that his mother had drawn of her one passion: Middle-Earth.
The meeting of Beren and Luthien Tinuviel hung above his fireplace; Aragorn, wielding the sword Anduril, stared stoically down from the wall by his bed. There was a long narrow landscape of the Shire painted around the molding. Even the furniture reflected, much like the rest of the house, a quiet Elven beauty, all hand carved of oak and upholstered with green, leafy patterns.
For as long as Danny was aware, his family had lived as close to J. R. R. Tolkien's literary world as possible. Their home, Telshire Manor, had housed the famous author for a few weeks once, and had been bought by the Weatherstaffs just before Danny's birth. His mother was a philologist, an expert on language, and the whole family spoke Sindarin and Quenya, the tongues of the Elves of Middle-Earth. Danny knew that the known vocabulary of these languages was very limited, so he assumed that his mother had made up quite a bit herself in order to bring about the full language they spoke at home. His father was a quantum physicist, or, as his school-friends referred to him, "some sort o' mad genius." Danny knew him, though, as the man who'd taught him how to use a sword, how to survive in wood or moor, and had painstakingly taught him the finer points of Tolkien expert-dom.
His parents had fallen in love with John Ronald Reul Tolkien in highschool, and continued their passion into adulthood, eventually even naming their children in Elvish. Most of their neighbors in the village of Telshire thought them strange and uncanny. They always would speak of "those Weatherstaffs" whose son walked around with a sword on his belt, and whose daughters spoke in unintelligible languages. Nevertheless, the family happily ignored them, preferring to let the "hobbits down in Telshire" think what they wanted. Indeed, Danny often felt the part of Strider, one of Tolkien's myriad of characters, watching above the outskirts of the village, unobserved and unwanted.
Danny looked down at the finished paper on his desk. It was entitled "Gen. Montgomery and the British Soldier of 1939-45. His history teacher, Dr. Kirkmountain, was a WWII buff, and had assigned the paper before the winter holidays. Danny knew that the venerable doctor might appreciate some extra effort put into it, so he planned to include pictures and short bios of the British WWII soldiers from his own past. Both of his grandfathers and four great uncles had served in all branches of the "last Good War. The photographs would be in the attic, he knew, buried in the trunks of family artifacts and heirlooms. He'd have to go on an expedition for them in the morning.
Mr. Weatherstaff brought a huge notebook full of mathematical equations to the table that night, and didn't look up from it until dessert was served.
"What is so important, Theo dear, that you would ignore your family at table?" asked Mrs. Weatherstaff.
"Oh, tesseracts and such, Aurelia. Nothing very interesting.
"Have you been reading that L'Engle woman again? You know that she's just a science fiction writer, not a scientist, Theodore.
"No, but I've been thinking, thinking right hard, mind you, about such things. I mean, what if L'Engle is right, and there is such a way to find a wrinkle or a rip in time itself? There are countless other dimensions out there, countless possibilitiesÉ" he held up a sheet of paper, covered with the graphs, runes, and theorems of his profession. "What if the reason that Lewis and Tolkien were able to write so brilliantly about other times and places was that they'd actually found a way to be there?
He looked expectantly into the faces around the table, hoping to see signs of enthusiasm. All he caught was an exasperated expression from his wife, and the fact that Danny seemed to be studying his empty plate very hard. Finally Idril spoke.
"Daddy, you really are mad, like they say at school, aren't you?
"Mad m'gel? Is that what they are teaching you in those confounded classrooms?" said Mr. Weatherstaff, looking stern.
"Molly says I haven't got a proper Christian name," pronounced a very somber Tinuviel, "and that I ought to be re-christened.
Danny leaned across the table. "Well you can tell Molly that her name once meant
"Elladan! Please remember to never slander a woman, even if she has been rude!" reprimanded his mother.
"Tinuviel," she continued, "you have a perfectly proper Sindarin name, one that any lady should be proud to wear. Don't let your school friends boss you into believing that the title ÔNightingale' is strange or unbecoming.
"Yes, mum. I did tell them that they were silly to care
"They were, Tilly." said Mr. Weatherstaff. "School children are certainly crueler than they used to be, eh, m'dear?
"I'm afraid so darling.
Suddenly, Danny looked up from his contemplation of crumbs and said, "I wish Father were right.
"What's that, Elladan?
"I said I wish Father were right. What if we could somehow escape into a place like Middle Earth? Our world does get frightfully boring and cruel at times. Tilly shouldn't have to worry about her name; I shouldn't have to feel invisible whenever I walk down to Telshire. SometimesÉ" he sighed, "sometimes I wish I could just leave for a little while.
"Oh, Danny." said his mother softly. "Even Middle-earth was boring and unbearably cruel. Think of the expanse of the Dead Marshes, stretching featureless and dull from the Mountains of Ash to the Emyn Muil, steeped in the memory of lives lost. Or consider the slaying of Beleg Strongbow by Turin his best friend! In many ways Middle-earth was probably worse than this world in which we have been placed.
"Yes, but, I don't know. Somehow it's different in the stories. I feel as if I don't belong here. At times, like when Quentin Maccardy caught me reciting The Song of Beren and Tinuviel and wouldn't let me forget it for a week, I feel as if I was made for that place that unfolds every time I open one of Tolkien's books. You know how I feel, don't you, mum?
"Elladan, I
"Oh come Aurelia." Interrupted Mr. Weatherstaff. "Let the boy dream. We did the same thing at his age, often enough.
"Yes, I know. But how much Time did we spend doing so, Theodore? I just don't want my son to spend his God-given hours and minutes pining over something that cannot be, then wake up suddenly wondering why his head's gone gray! Our time here on earth is too short for that.
She pierced into Danny with her beryl-green eyes, and he looked down, properly chastened; though you could not say that his spirit was ever properly subdued. He fell asleep that night to the sound of Elvish voices lifted up in their houses' battle-cries, of Orcs screeching out their defiances, of the singing of many blades as they were pulled from their sheaths, and Curuglin shouted with sunlight as battle was joined before Danny's dream-filled eyes.
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Far away in time and space, long ago and now, an Elf stood on the banks of a stream, as it danced jigs up and over its stony beds. A warm and pleasant breeze from the south played with the green birch-leaves above him. Summer was come to the Nimrodel, and the woods of Lothlorien would be gilded with the light of sun on mallorn leaves; but Galadhlas of Mirkwood was not thinking of his surroundings or the approaching promise of long, warm days. His dark, intense gaze was focused on the other bank as he waded across. He didn't seem to notice the soothing coolness of the water ease the weariness of many miles walked from his feet. His eyes did not leave the path ahead as a massive mallorn tree, silver-boughed and golden-leafed, loomed ahead. His pale face was hard and stern as he stopped just beneath it and looked up.
"Come, cousin!" he said to the tree-branches. "I know you've been watching me for a while now. Show yourself!"
Nothing but the tittering of birds met his expectancy.
Tulo dad! We have no time for this! We wanted to be well north of Caras Galadhon before evening, and its near noon now, so stop your impudent staring and come along!
He shook his head and looked despairingly upwards once more. He was not surprised when soon afterwards a gray-cloaked figure flipped from a branch above and landed behind him, laughing merrily.
"Still like talking to trees, eh, Galadhlas?" said the young elf, leaning against the mallorn trunk.
"RumilÉ" said Galadhlas, not hiding his impatience, "Where is your brother and when will you Galadhrim learn the importance of punctuality?
Rumil shrugged.
"When time stops. My brother, oh attentive cousin, is right above you.
Galadhlas looked up at the lowest branch of the tree to see Haldir, the child of his mother's brother, perched easily upon it. A small smile of recognition flashed across his face.
"Blessed be the Elves of Lorien, Haldir son of Rilorn," he said, "who could sneak up on the all-seeing Manwe if they had the patience to try.
"And blessed be the Elves of the Greenwood, kinsman, may their timeliness never falter!
Haldir leaped lightly down and the two embraced.
"What hindered you, son of Vornion?" he asked. "We expected you days ago.
"Orcs lurked in the Emyn Muil and the lands north of there. I was forced off my path several times, and finally had to go miles out of my way and change our meeting place, so thickly did their parties bar my way.
"I trust there was not any fighting involved," said Rumil, looking him over, "seeing as you have managed to come back in one piece.
Galadhlas turned to him and glared. "Ten orcs will not be returning to their dens this winter.
"Ooh!" answered Rumil, grinning mischievously. "I acknowledge my mistake, oh mighty warrior. Then, with a more serious face, he asked, "Have you, er, happened to catch that one with no ears yet?
Galadhlas suddenly seemed to gaze at something far away, and shades of bitter memory floated beneath his eyes.
"No. Ashkaluk the orc-captain still walks free.
Rumil was silent, now sorry he had brought it up.
"Come," said Haldir after a moment, "we will meet with Orophin at the Silverlode. We have a long road before us yet.
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Danny stood at the top of the attic stair and surveyed the ocean of trunks, boxes and old furniture that swelled up nearly to the ceiling. The trunk he sought was somewhere in that wreck of cardboard and oak, and he had meant to find it before lunchtime. He was not so sure of himself now. His grandfather would be over for a sword lesson soon enough, and Danny already had Curuglin hung at his side. The last thing he wanted to do was spend his day digging through piles of heirlooms covered in allergens. Oh, well. Maybe he would find the box quickly and without hassle.
He tried to get his bearings in the dimness. Sunlight shone through the eastern window, but it was pale and tired from fighting its way through the still dusty air. Everything blended together in the close twilight, and he could barely see. Danny took one step, only to trip and fall to the floorboards, upsetting a precarious pile of boxes on the way. Sharp edges rained upon him, and a small box hit him right on the head, landing in front of his nose. There was nothing particular about the palm-sized box, but the glint of silver upon it caught his eye. He picked it up and saw that it was made of a smooth gray wood, plain, practical, and was stamped in silver on the lid with the Elven rune for G. Danny noticed that it was heavy and burdensome in his hand, despite its size.
The box was not a strange thing to have around the house, since his mother kept replicas of almost anything Elvish that was make-able. But he was curious why it was stuffed away in the attic when it could easily have been adorning a table in the parlor. Danny lifted the lid, and a brittle scrap of paper floated to the floor. There was Elvish script written on it, but, strangely enough, it was translated to English words. He read aloud,
Touch that which in both worlds dwells,
Both in forest and secrets so gray,
Leave the safety of home, hearth and hill,
To one year and a different day,
Take reflection of the dark beings,
Fear will walk Ôneath the golden-boughed tree,
Journey with those who trust nothing,
When red covers black you'll be free.
What the bit of verse could mean he could not devise, but his eye was quickly caught by something much more interesting. In the bottom of the box lay a leaf. Not an ordinary leaf like oak or birch, faded and brittle with time; but a leaf the color of refined gold, delicately shaped, fresh and young. It shone brilliantly in the close air of the attic, its only blemish being four spots of crimson-deep black that marred its complete beauty.
To Danny it seemed to never come completely into focus, as if he were viewing it through a very deep pool. And whether because of its own loveliness, or because of some woven magic of the place from which it came, he could not take his eyes from it. Slowly, and a bit unsteadily, his hand reached out to touch it.
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"How much farther until food and sleep, Haldir?" asked Rumil, yawning.
"With Galadhlas leading, brother, who knows?
The sunset had long since faded from the tops of the mellyrn, but the troop still marched on. They had been joined by Haldir and Rumil's brother, Orophin, at the river Celebrant, and now the foursome made their way steadily northwards. One more day of traveling would bring them to the border of The Fair Wood and the wild, uncouth Wilderland, and Galadhlas was intent on reaching it before then.
Rumil hurried from his place in the rear and fell in next to his cousin, matching his long strides perfectly.
"Galadhlas, why do we hurry? If we are to travel all the way to Mirkwood with you, and traverse the dangers of Wilderland there and back, can we not linger under the leaves of our homeland until we reach the border? We have no real need for haste.
Galadhlas stopped and looked up at the stars that slid their tendrils of light through the golden canopy above. "Yes, I suppose that my homeland can wait for me one more night. We'll camp on that hill ahead. I often forget how beautiful is the land of my mother's birth.
When they had camped and built a fire, Rumil spoke up again.
"So, why the sudden journey home, cousin? I thought you relished hunting in the Wild.
"I do. I go now to visit my sister, Galadhriel. Until last month she hunted with me and my brothers; but she was wounded badly in a skirmish with some orcs. Landroval the Eagle, a friend of our house, carried her home. I go now to Kemenril to see her, and bring news of the hunt to our father. I asked for your companionship because you are my kinsmen and my father has sent word that he has business to discuss with Haldir.
"We go gladly." said Orophin. "It has been too long since the Elves of Lorien walked in Greenwood the Great.
"And it will be good to see Squirrel again," said Rumil.
"I do not have to remind you that she despises that name, cousin?" said Galadhlas.
"Ah, but if I remember rightly, it was your idea to call her that!
The travelers slept peacefully that night, knowing that within that land no watch was needed. They were unaware that not so far away from the embers of their fire, a shadowy figure had appeared.