Elladan

Chapter Two: Mellon

In the silent moments after his finger touched the leaf, Elladan could not see or hear, but felt as if he were being tossed about by a thousand winds. Through the many-folded fabrics of Time and space he fell, until the wind stopped, and he felt something sturdy at his back and earth beneath his hands again.

He was trembling all over when he finally opened his eyes and saw that he was no longer in his overcrowded attic, but in a strange and foreign wood. Trees rose high above him, their tops hidden in the night. All around him was the deepest black, except for far away beyond the trees, where tiny pricks of light littered what he guessed was sky. A wind shook the stillness of the solitary spot and brought with it the sound of laughter. Where was he?

His mind palpitated with the realization that he couldn't be where he had beenÉHis father had been right. He had somehow gotten himself carried from one place to another completely different. But was it still on the earth? Was it still his own time? Could his dream of escaping completely from the life he knew finally have been achieved? He tried to hold back a giddy laugh as his hands groped in the darkness, searching for something that might tell him where he was. The fingers soon grasped a small plant and he held it close to his face. Right then the moon broke from the confines of a cloud, rising high above him through the treetops and shone its full light on everything. The trees stood like marble pillars, their silvery sides stark with the shadows, golden leaves lay about like piles of coins. The flower in his hand was small, with white petals delicately wrought as if by a master-jeweler.

Middle Earth. The truth was revealed in the moonlight's majesty. Danny was standing in Lothlorien, the Dreamflower, Laurelindorenan, the Land of the Valley of Singing Gold, the fairest of all places inhabited by Elves in the latter days. The trees above were mallyrn and the tiny flower was niphredil. Danny leaped to his feet and spun around, trying to take it all in. It was real. It wasn't just a book. Tolkien had known about it the whole time. And now he was there, in the story, in the lands he'd loved since he was five.
"But what part of the story, I wonderÉ" he whispered, standing up and looking around. "What if I've landed during a war or something? I do wish adventures came with maps!

He began to walk, in no particular direction, hoping that he was close to dwellings of some kind. Soon enough he came upon a stream, glittering in Turil's light, and bent down to take a drink. But the light also revealed a disturbing truth. Danny jumped back and screamed with horror when he didn't see his face in the reflection. Instead a horrifying mask with bulbous cat-eyes, fangs, and greenish-gray wrinkles stared back at him. He lifted his hand before him, and instead beheld a claw black and hairy, with grasping fingers and rending nails, moving in the same way he willed his own hand to move. Terror shuddered through him as he sprang up and looked down at what he had become. Danny's body was gone, and in its place was left a monster. His legs were bowed, his back hunched, his skin leathery and black. Elladan Weatherstaff had been transported to Middle Earth, to Lorien, in the form of an orc, the most dangerous and despised, perhaps, or all created beings. Fear clutched at his heart as he thought of what this meant. Lothlorien was a peaceful place; but its peace stemmed directly from the fact that its people were warriors. The Galadhrim were stealthy fighters, deadly shots with the bow, guarding the outposts of their land with a vigilance that even an insect could not escape.

"I'll be dead before I even see themÉ" he whispered to himself. "The Elves have no reason to believe I'm anything but what I appear to be.

The white beauty of the woods took on a sinister pallor, the excitement he felt melted into a pool of dread, as he scanned the surrounding trees, wondering if he was being watched at that very moment by unfriendly eyes. What, for just seconds, he thought would be a grand exploration of Lothlorien turned into a quest to find anyplace where he might hide. He crept slowly into the shadows, not knowing whether the next moment would bring a silent, lonely death, or simply more uncertainty. He followed the stream, until its banks grew steeper and brush began to grow up besides it. Danny slid wearily to the damp ground between the brush and bank, shutting his eyes to the endless, menacing forest. But he could not shut out the mist of fear that grew and grew upon him.

It was late morning before Danny awoke from troubled dreams. He ached from the night spent on the ground. The sun slithered lazily down to cast mottled shadows on the forest floor, the brook trickled contentedly beside him, and with the sun the full glory of Lothlorien was revealed. Yet Danny, for all the times he had dreamed of being there, could find no pleasure in its beauty. The flowers mocked him, the sun gave only light for his antagonists to see by, the trees and leaves hid only murderous eyes. He recalled the chapter in The Fellowship of the Ring when the Fellowship enters Lorien and is quickly headed off by the three Galadhrim brothers, Haldir, Orophin, and RumilÉStrider had been forced to convince them not to shoot Gimli the dwarf before the company was let in.

"That's all I need, a forest full of trigger-happy elves," he muttered. He smiled a little to himself. Of all the adjectives he'd ever heard describing elves, "trigger-happy" wasn't one of them, and yet it was almost ironically hilarious that it was the only one that now mattered. But the smile quickly settled back into a morbid frown. Despair was all he felt now. No one in Middle-Earth, except for the terrifying, real orcs, would even get close enough for him to explain things. He was marked for death. Men, elves, dwarves, even hobbits, would hate him before he said a word.

"Maybe I'll get a glimpse of the elves before they kill me. I've always wanted to know what they looked like And as babyish as he knew it made him look, he stuck his head in his hands and cried.

Out of the trees a voice called. It was a song, sung well and heartily. Danny listened, glad that the language was familiar to him. It told of the wooing of Aredhel by Eol the Dark Elf, a tragic event that led to the fall of the great Elven city, Gondolin. But the singer seemed to take it rather comically, singing a merry chorus of "bent old Eol and Aredhel, the wench that couldn't duck a spell Soon another voice cried out over the song.

"Enough! Enough, my kinsman! Where did you learn that sacrilegious song, Rumil?

The talking, more like shouting, continued as the group came into sight through the trees. Danny ducked down closer to the ground, trying to find the maximum amount of hiding space with the best amount of view, trembling as what he longed for and what he dreaded grew nearer.

There were four of them, all elves, arguing rapidly in Sindarin. Danny studied them intently, noting the difference between their faces and those of men. They were built like their younger brethren, and yet they weren't. They were taller than any man he'd ever seen, and yet they did not seem unusually so. Their features held a delicacy that was almost feminine, only it was wrought together with a strength exceeding the most powerful man's. Their eyes were not unnatural colors, but were shades of natural colors not humanly possible.

The first was very tall, taller than most of his race, it was clear. He had long black hair that hung shaggily to his shoulders, keen black eyes, and though his face was fair, it seemed also grim, ridden with many cares and much grief. His trappings were plain and sensible; no ornaments could be seen, not even a silver buckle. All was gray or green or brown to blend with plain and forest.

The other three were garbed essentially the same, all in Lorien gray with silver ornaments sparkling on belt, wrist, and boot. All wore the gray cloaks particular to their homeland, all were golden haired and merry. In fact the only ways to tell them apart were build and eye-color; the first had the largest build next to the dark one, with silver eyes; the second was very spare and bony, with forest green eyes; and the last seemed almost too small to be an elf, not much bigger than Danny, with eyes a violent shade of blue. This last one seemed youngest and merriest of all, he practically skipped with happiness..

Danny nervously watched them grow nearer. His limbs stiffened as they stopped right at the stream bed. The young, merry one seemed to be agitating for a rest.

"No, not here!" Danny moaned inwardly.

They all sat down on the bank, utterly unaware of Danny and his telepathic protests. All he could do was squash himself down as far as his bent body would allow. For a while he just closed his eyes and prayed for them to leave him in peace. He could not help himself, however, and soon he was examining from afar the richly decorated, and obviously deadly, bows and daggers of the elves.

"Let's just hope they don't intend to use them on me," he thought. "How I wish I had an Aragorn to vouch for my character.

Soon the youngest walked down to the stream and leaned over to drink only a few feet from Danny hid. Danny tried to freeze, tried to hold his breath; but the minute the elf's hand touched the water he too froze. Slowly he scanned around him with his eyes, like he could sense that something was amiss. The other elves seem to catch on to his mood, their talk fading, replaced by tense silence. The dark one drew his bow off his shoulder. Danny couldn't tell his own breathing was audible or not, but it sounded like thunder to him. The young elf heard something though, and looked up. Their eyes met.

Orch!" cried the elf urgently, fitting an arrow to his bow with a movement that Danny could scarcely see. Things began to happen very fast. Danny launched himself from behind the bushes just as the arrow let fly. He felt it sting past his arm as he turned to run. He didn't get very far before he felt a foot on his neck and a dagger at his back.

Danny bit his lip and braced himself, his whole insides twisted at the thought of death, but a killing thrust never fell. His captor seemed more interested in questioning him.

"You, orc," a voice said very loudly and slowly, "Do - you - speak - the - common - tongue?

This annoyed Danny somewhat.

"No need to shout at me, sir! I speak Sindarin well enough." The Elvish fell out of his mouth as naturally as English. There was a surprised silence, the pressure was taken off his neck, and he was yanked upright. He looked into the harsh face of the tall, grim elf. The other three stood behind him, bows ready, looking thoroughly alarmed.

"Where did you learn the Fair-Speech, orc? Tortured some prisoners into teaching you, know doubt! He shook him, his grip tighter than before.

"Not at all! My parent's taught me. And I'm not an orc!

The Elves looked at him as if he'd just claimed he was Lady Galadriel.

"Well, I know I may look like an orc, but I'm a man! Well, a boy, really. I don't know how or why I got like this. But I'm not evil! Please don't kill me - I just look like one - You have to believe me - you have toÉ.. His rambling drifted into silence, for his interrogator's expression had not changed. The dark elf just put his dagger to Danny's throat and said, "Give me one good reason why I should.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rumil stared down at the orc as Galadhlas questioned him. He'd never seen an orc before, they'd only been disturbing bogeys that his mother had called down on his head whenever he got into trouble. He never dreamed he would meet one within his home's own borders. He feared what this strange intruder could mean for those he loved, and yet he couldn't help feeling curious about it. This orc was smaller than he'd imagined. And more pitiful too. Rumil knew that he should be angrier or more suspicious than he was; but seeing it now, pleading for its life, he was glad that his arrow had only cut the orc's arm. The thing just didn't fit into his idea, at least, of how an orc should act. Why had it come alone into Lothlorien? Why had it given up so quickly? There was a fine sword hung at its waist, why hadn't it tried to use it? His cousin looked fully intent on killing the thing.

"Galadhlas," he said, "Why be so quick to judge this being's purpose?

"Rumil, it's an orc, whether it professes to be or not. They do not often hunt alone, and never without a purpose. I know orcs, cousin, in a way that I pray you will never have to. How do you know he is not part of an attack from the mountains, or Mirkwood? Do you wish to see your land in flames?

"But Ð it - it doesn't seem right. He doesn't feel like an orc.

"Oh, so I suppose you'll be replacing the Lady of the Wood soon, all-knowing one?

"I -

"Kinsman," said Haldir, "if it proves that this orc wishes us harm I would be the first to condone sending his body down the Celebrant to Anduin. By all means he looks like an orc, runs like and orc, Manwe knows he smells like an orc, it remains to be seen whether he fights like one; but he does not speak like one, and I think it is in this that Rumil finds his hesitation.

"It is not as if I have ever heard one," said Rumil, "but do they not tell that orcs are harsh of speech, and would corrupt even the purest of Quenya to refuse on their tongues? Yet this thing speaks as fair and even as a man, and in as goodly an accent as any of our kindred.

"If my opinion matters at all," said Haldir as he relieved the orc of his sword, "I don't think we can rightly kill it.

"You are march warden of Lorien, cousin! By the law of your land trespassers' lives are forfeit if you so choose!

"I don't so choose.

"I, at least," said Orophin, "do not wish to be party to the spilling of innocent blood.

Galadhlas laughed scornfully. "You fools! Can't you see that this is someÉsome plan of the Shadow to put us off our guard? Do you desire, Rumil, to wake and have the last thing you see be your brothers dead before you?!

"Not at all, Galadhlas. If it is, indeed, evil, would we not feel it without a doubt? I sense no malice from yonder shivering wreck, whom you seem intent on killing eventually.

"You Galadhrim view mercy too highly. Galadhlas' face was cold and sneering, his dagger still laid tight against the orc's neck.

"But what if he is telling the truth, cousin? I have heard of stranger enchantments than the turning of one being into another.

"Then what do you prescribe we do?! Just leave him to perhaps wreak havoc? Wait months until the Lord and Lady return from Rivendell?

"We shall take him with us then! The Istar, Radagast the Brown, lives in Mirkwood. Would he not know what is to be done with an orc that calls itself a man? We could take him that far, and then continue on our way.

"Yes! Th-that's b-brilliant!" rasped the orc suddenly, struggling to get as much breath past the knife blade as possible. "Radagast knows much of animals and beings of all kinds. He'll know how to help me, I'm sure of it!

"Dino, orch!" said Galadhlas. "We did not ask your council nor wish for it,

The orc ignored him and turned to the three elves who had, so far, been favorable towards him.

"Please, take me with you. My father taught me how to live in the wild, and I can defend myself if need be. I would not hinder you.

"Well, the thing is certainly brave," said Haldir. "Even King Thranduil would take pause before crossing Galadhlas son of Vornion!

Rumil grinned. "I'm glad someone has finally gotten around to it." He looked back at his cousin, whose mood seemed blacker than ever. "What could he do? There are four times as many of us as there are of him. If he has a desire to escape and does, then he just goes back to his fellows and does us no harm. If he desires to murder us all, we are as amply able to silence him forever.

Galadhlas looked from the faces of his three friends to the disgusting, groveling creature they'd had the mischance to find. Travel with thatÉthat thing for weeks? He recoiled at the thought. This would be the first time since that day that he would meet an orc and not attempt to kill it. But he could not endure the enmity of his cousins if he did that now. He had no choice. He took his knife from the thing's neck and pushed it towards his youngest cousin.

"Very well. Rumil, you started this, so I give the orc into your care. You will walk behind it and keep watch over it. If it moves even a finger in a hostile manner, I expect you to be the one to kill it or be killed by it. Food, water, shelter, all will be your responsibility. Will you abide by this? Rumil shrugged.

"Of course. As if I had any choice in the matter.

"And you, orc," Galadhlas continued, gravely, "will you swear by every speck of honor in you, if you have any, to obey my command at all times, to betray us not, and if we are attacked to fight for those who are about to so foolishly take you in? Remember, betrayal will bring only swift death.

The orc drew himself up as well as he could and stared boldly at the elf.

"I swear, in the name of Iluvatar who holds all men to their oaths, to give you my loyalty and my life. If I go back on this promise may it be to me as you have said.

The Mirkwood elf took the orc's sword from his cousin. "I will keep this until you prove the truth of your words. Come, we have lost much time.

He turned and sprang away into the trees, leading them at a brisk pace northwards.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Danny followed close on the heels of the second Lorien elf, wondering with whom he'd fallen in. He dark one, Galadhlas, had called the youngest elf Rumil. Could it be that he'd run into the three Galadhrim brothers from the book? He was relieved that they'd decided not to tie him at all, though he wasn't sure it was a good sign that they were treating him as if he wasn't there at all. Danny soon found that his orcish body enabled him to run faster than he usually was able, without tiring. He kept up well with the three in front of him, and was sometimes obliged to slow down so Rumil could catch up; though the young elf seemed incredibly embarrassed and sullen whenever this happened.

Soon the wood-pillared forest grew thinner, and gave way to shrubby hills and dells of mossy stone. As the sun set they left the last tree behind them, and by the last vestige of red-gold light Danny saw the gray Wilderland stretched before him, between the marble-blue edifices of the Misty Mountains and the molten-silver waters of Anduin. Beyond that lay an endless sea of black trees: Mirkwood.

The attitude of his traveling companions didn't change as the days passed. While Galadhlas was the only one to show outright hostility, drawing a dagger whenever Danny was within ten feet of him, the others simply treated him like he was a man with an unpleasant and unsightly disease. They rarely spoke to him except to utter instructions, and they never looked him in the eye. Danny could tell that Rumil was at least curious about "the orc," but a fear greater than his curiosity forced him to keep his distance.

Danny was nearly delirious with the silence, one evening as he munched on lembas, the elvish waybread, trying to ignore the sting of the arrow-scratch on his arm. It had gone unattended since his first day, and he didn't know how to care for it himself.

"Orc?

Danny looked up. Rumil had left the others, and stood a few feet away, concern on his face but reluctance in his eyes.

"Is your arm alright? I know I cut it that first dayÉbut is it still bothering you?

"A little. It only smarts a bit.

"May I, er, look at it? Galadhlas is the more skilled healer here, but I am not sure he would be willing.

"At least you are.

Rumil examined the gash for a few minutes, then sat back on his heels and frowned.

"It healed over without being cleaned. I'll have to open the wound again to drain it, so the infection won't become serious.

Danny winced, then nodded firmly.

"Very well. I thank you for your concern. Er, will it hurt very much?

"I know not - I have never been wounded before. But you have reason to trust the skill of my hand, for my teacher was my own father, Rilorn, healer to the Lord and Lady.

He took the knife from his belt and without even a warning, grabbed Danny's arm in a firm grasp and sliced into the old wound. Danny cried out at the sudden fiery pain, an orcish howl his throat could not help. The sound caused the elves around the fire to start in consternation.

"Shhhhh!" hissed Rumil, as he cleaned the cut and wrapped a linen-strip around it. "Galadhlas wants us to be as silent as possible as we travel. We are now between the fastness of the Shadow in Southern Mirkwood and the dens of the Orcs in the Mountains. Our danger will be greatest from here until we reach RhosgobelÉNo wonder Galadhlas is all gray and sour.

He pulled a face so akin to the stern Elf's that Danny had to smile, though it turned to more of a grimace when Rumil poked his arm again. Rumil chuckled merrily.

"I like you, I think, orc. I don't trust you, yet, but I like you.

"Good," said Danny, "I do not ask you to trust me.