Author's note: I have changed Mim's name to Kíli, since it was brought to my attention that Mim was the name of a petty Dwarf.

CHAPTER 1: Many Are Called

Late February, somewhere in Eregion

Talagan poked the burning logs before him, and gave another turn to the roasting quails. He leaned back against the trunk of a holly-tree and raised his eyes to the brow of the Misty Mountains at the east. The sun had just set, dyeing the eastern sky red. The young ranger inhaled deeply the evening air, the scent of thyme blending with the aroma of the roasting birds. At dusk, among the holly-trees and the cedars, Talagan felt at peace.

The sound of a twig breaking somewhere at his right made him sit up, all his senses in alert. Carefully, noiselessly, Talagan reached for his longbow. In the blink of an eye he snatched an arrow from his quiver, knelt and turned, bow nocked and raised towards the direction of the alarming sound.

"Who goes there?"

"A friend," replied a voice proud and clear, like the cry of an eagle soaring over mountainsides of untrodden snow. Talagan had heard this voice before – but where?

"Show yourself. Friends do not lurk in shadows."

Then a man stepped into the clearing, a man clad in a brown robe. And, much to the young ranger's embarrassment, several paces off his aim. The stranger's face seemed familiar, yet Talagan could not place him. Only when he saw the man's companions he remembered; under the White Tree. This man had the respect and friendship of King Aragorn.

As the brown-clad man approached the fire, sat on a log across him and warmed his hands, Talagan stared agape at his companions. What he had first thought as fur trimming on the stranger's hood was in fact a white cat, comfortably perched on the man's shoulders. A sparrow flitted around them and occasionally perched on the man's head and fingers. Cat and bird seemed to coexist in a bizarre truce – a fragile truce, judging from the gleam in the cat's amber eyes. Talagan thought he saw the yellow eyes of a wolf reflecting the light of the fire among the dense bushes behind the stranger, but no other beast approached.

The young ranger cleared his throat. "My apologies, my lord. I meant no offence."

The stranger smiled, and fixed his eyes on Talagan's face – eyes deep and brown like fertile soil after spring rain. "No offence taken, my son. And please, call me Radagast. I have been looking for you."

For a heartbeat, Talagan found himself at loss of words. He gave the quails another turn. "For what reason, if I may ask?"

"I am on my way to Aglarond," replied Radagast. "For a matter of grave importance, of which the king must know."

Talagan poked the roasting birds with his knife to check the meat. Although naturally suspicious of random encounters in the wilderness, his instincts told him not to fear this man. Something about him told him so – an air of serenity, a blessing in a tongue long forgotten danced around him, that even beasts furred and feathered trusted him. Then the words of king Aragorn dawned in his mind, words he had uttered under the shade of the White Tree: "…wisdom of claw and feather. Walk in peace, my friend."

Who was he to question the king's judgment? Talagan removed the birds from the fire, sliced them and offered the brown-clad traveler a portion. "Wherever you go, I will follow, Radagast, and I will be eyes and ears to the king."

Radagast nodded, and nibbled the roasted meat. Between bites, Talagan noticed that his new companion ate little, if any at all. Sitting still with his hands on his knees, the plate forgotten upon them, Radagast stared into the dark woods, lost in his thoughts. After a while, the cat took care of the roasted bird, climbing off Radagast's shoulders. The man made no attempt to stop him when the cat grabbed the whole chunks and trotted a few paces away, eating and growling at unseen foes lusting after his supper.

Later that night, between dreams and waking, the king's words haunted Talagan's mind.

"…wisdom of claw and feather…"

- - -

Early March, Aglarond

"Outrageous!"

Thrain cowered under the glare of Dwalin Ironsinger, Gimli's chief advisor. The Lord of the Glittering Caves, however, had not yet uttered a word. His gaze, sharp and focused, burned Thrain's face, as he stroked his beard. Then Dwalin spoke again, and Thrain wished for the rock beneath him to open up and hide him in its sheltering cradle.

"In all my years, I have never heard such foolery! Creatures of evil still lurking beneath the Ash Mountains?" His brown eyes blazed under thick, graying brows as he turned to Gimli Elf-friend. "My lord, surely, you cannot be considering this lad's tale as true?"

Gimli remained silent. His stare remained on Thrain, who felt small and insignificant before his lord, amidst the sparkling, multicolored glory of Aglarond.

Dwalin snorted. "Surely, the lad must have misunderstood. Such fool–"

Out of the corner of his eye, Thrain saw Gimli waving at Dwalin to be silent. Only then did he dare to raise his head and face his lord. Gimli stroked his beard, his eyes looking past him, as if old memories had resurfaced. When he focused his sharp glace back on Thrain, Gimli's voice echoed of longing for times and friends long lost – but never forgotten.

"Younger and foolish I was, Dwalin, when I heard the tale of a friend who fell long, battling a creature of fire and shadow. In the shadows of a wood older than any mortal recollection, he spoke of dark tunnels far below the deepest delving of the Dwarves. There, at the uttermost foundations of stone, unnamed things dwell." Gimli leaned back on his seat, his eyes now fixed past Thrain. "Was he a fool, he who spoke of this?"

Another voice answered Gimli's question, and all heads turned to see the stranger who had stepped in the Hall of the Lord of the Glittering caves. Thrain glanced over his shoulder and saw two Men standing there; a young one who stood agape in the brilliance of the Hall, his gaze tracing the veins and the spirals of red and gold and green around them. His older companion, though, leaned on a wooden stuff adorned with leaves and feathers, and his gaze, warm and honest, met Gimli's gaze with the silent ease of old friendship.

"It was I whom they called fool," the brown-clad man said, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. "Yet he who called me so proved to be a greater fool, Gimli Elf-friend, as you well know." He slightly bowed his head. "Well met again, Lord of the Glittering Caves."

Gimli rose from his seat and he too bowed. "Well met, my Lord Radagast." He waved at a seat close to him and then at Thrain. "Do you know of this evil Thrain, son of Torin, speaks of?"

Radagast took the offered seat, while his younger companion stood at the back, his eyes darting sideways, shifting his weight from one leg to another. For a moment, Thrain felt pity for the young Man, but then his attention turned back to his lord and his guest.

"Indeed I do, Gimli. I too have heard word of an evil lurking beneath the Ash Mountains."

"If I may ask, my lord, how did you hear of this? It is my understanding that Thrain came here straight from the excavation site, and spoke to no one about this." Dwalin's eyes burned with suspicion under his furrowed brow.

Radagast glanced at Thrain, then at Gimli, a hint of mischief curling the corner of his mouth. "A little bird told me."

Thrain had never expected such a lighthearted – if not rude – answer, but Gimli seemed to share the joke, stifling a grin under his beard.

"Enough of this," said Gimli and stood. "Let no Man or Dwarf speak ill of the hospitality Gimli Elf-friend shows to his guests." He motioned to Radagast. "Come, friends, and share our supper of roasted meat, mushrooms and cool ale. Once our stomachs are full and our thirst quenched, we will talk more of this."

Radagast stood, following Gimli's request. "I trust that your gracious invitation extends to my companions?"

"Of course! But I see only that skinny lad – are there more waiting outside?"

Radagast stroked his beard. "This is Talagan," he said, "one of the king's rangers. "Excuse his aloofness, Gimli. His kin are unaccustomed to large gatherings of people. Two others wait just outside, unsure whether they'd be welcome in your halls."

"Well met, my lord," said Talagan and bowed his head, his cheeks a bright pink shade.

"Well met, young ranger," replied Gimli. "And call the others in, Radagast. Any friend of yours is welcome in my halls."

Radagast waved a pattern in the air and spoke two names. "Isilme, Niben, come!" He had hardly finished his words when a white cat trotted inside the hall and a sparrow flew in. Both animals hurried to the man in earthen brown, and the cat stroked its arched back against his robes and the bird perched on his shoulder.

Gimli's eyes darted from cat to bird and back to cat, frowning. "I am sure that we can provide seeds and crumbs for your feathered friend, Radagast. And we have too many fat rats for your other companion."

"Mreoow."

"Isilme would like some boar as well, Gimli," replied Radagast. The twinkle of mischief in his eyes flashed anew.

Gimli rolled his eyes and showed his guests to the dining hall.

- - -

There was hardly any food left on the tables when Radagast leaned back on his chair. Again, he had hardly eaten, as Talagan noted. A piece of bread, a slice of cheese, a sip of wine, an apple; the brown-clad man ate little, but his eyes warmed when the cat purred on his knees and the bird chirped on his shoulder, as though their joy was nourishment enough to him. Gimli took out his pipe and offered some of the Halfling's Leaf to Radagast, which he accepted with a slight bow of his head.

Puffing his pipe, Gimli turned to the young Dwarf. "So, Thrain, tell us again what happened after that creature attacked your friend Kíli."

Thrain cleared his throat, his cheeks now nearly as red as his bushy beard. "We thought him dead, my lord, for the creature was attached on his face, blocking his nose and mouth. But he still breathed, and the healer tried to cut that fiend off. Every time he tried so, however, the creature wrapped its tail tighter around Kíli's neck, choking him. Until one day we found it lying lifeless on the ground."

Dwalin took a sip from his mug. "It had just died? Or did the healer do something that resulted to its death?"

Thrain shook his head. "Nothing, sir. The healer swears that all his attempts to remove the creature resulted to superficial cuts, if any at all. The creature had just died, and Kíli was well, breathing and talking, although paler than usual. But since his appetite was as ravenous as ever, we thought that it was over." A sad smile curled the corners of his mouth. "It was not."

Talagan felt a shiver down his spine. Despite the roaring fires, the strong wine and the Dwarves' welcoming disposition, the mere thought of being underground made him edgy. The young Dwarf's tale only added to his trepidation. He glanced at Radagast, who watched Thrain, his eyes focused and unblinking on an otherwise calm face. Talagan inhaled deeply and took another sip from his cup, hoping that the wine's aftertaste of thyme would ease his nervousness. It did not.

Thrain cleared his throat again and continued his tale. "A few days later, after supper, while we were sitting around the fire listening to Master Delin's tales from the war, Kíli looked sick, as though he had eaten too much. Someone offered him a mug of ale to wash the bitter taste down, but this only made him worse. Poor Kíli's discomfort soon turned to intence pain, and he fell to the ground, twitching and clutching his chest." Thrain paused, his eyes shut and his fists clenching the arms of his chair so hard that his knuckles had turned white. When he spoke again, his voice quivered with hatred – hatred and pain. "The foul beast ate his way out of Kíli's chest."

Many a gasp followed Thrain's words. Radagast's voice, calm, soothing, broke the uneasy silence. "What kind of creature, Thrain? Like the one that had been attached on your friend's face?"

Thrain shook his head. "No, a different one; one with rows of sharp teeth and claws, fast and stealthy. Master Nóli never got to his axe to kill the filthy fiend – it vanished into the shadows of the lower tunnels." Thrain hung his head, his brow crowned with droplets of sweat despite the warmth of the hall.

"What became of it?" Gimli puffed his pipe, his furrowed brow in contrast with his calm voice.

After a moment of silence, Thrain spoke in a low, weary tone. "There have been sightings of it – mere shadows sliding across walls, a hiss, a graze of talons against granite and limestone. Then a shriek follows, the cry of an unfortunate kinsman who falls victim to its insatiable hunger. Many have delved into the lower tunnels never to be seen again – not even their remains."

Gimli tapped his fingers on the table. "This is indeed serious."

Dwalin nodded. "We must dispatch a group of trained warriors to the site – young miners are no match for such beasts." He turned to Thrain. "Tell me, lad, has Master Delin secured the area?"

"He has, sir," Thrain replied. "We have barricaded the tunnels the creature is supposed to lurk in, but we could not tell whether we have contained the threat or not. All excavation work has stopped, and the miners have all moved above ground. Even so, another one vanished during the night before my departure."

Radagast stroked his beard. "I believe that the king must hear of this. My ranger friend will convey to the king the account of this incident, but perhaps Thrain should travel to Minas Tirith as well, in case King Aragorn needs additional information."

"And so it shall be," Gimli's roaring voice thundered in the dining hall. "Thrain, son of Torin, will travel to the white city and Gimli, son of Gloin, will march to the Ash Mountains!"

Dwalin raised his hand in protest. "My lord, surely, you cannot –"

"No, Dwalin," replied Gimli, shaking his head. "I have grown restless and my axe has long thirsted for fresh game. I will go."

Dwalin bowed his head in defeat while, across the table, Thrain stared at Talagan wide-eyed. The young ranger's heart longed to see Minas Tirith again, but he had never traveled with a Dwarf before. On the other hand, nor had had traveled with a man who talked to animals before meeting Radagast.

This would be an interesting journey.

Additional notes (and a couple of questions):

The line "Wisdom of claw and feather" comes from my haiku "Brown Spirit" I wrote for Radagast. hangs head in shame Pimping my own stories…

I'd like to know whether the "voices" of canon characters ring true since I'm more accustomed with writing original characters.

How was description in this chapter? Too much? Too little?