Rumil and all the Golden Wood are Mr. Tolkien's. I'm just borrowing them at no profit to me:)
She had not come today. He knew with the imminent birth, walking the distance to the Wood had become steadily more difficult for Lana. Perhaps, the trek was just too much today. Or perhaps, Hana had chosen today to enter Arda.
Rumil leapt from his customary tree, landing with a light grace upon his feet without thought or effort. His mind was occupied with his friend, the soon-to-be mother, and his future bond-mate.
He strolled idly to Lana's oak tree, placing an open palm against its rough bark. He had become so accustomed to her visits; now he found it difficult to imagine life without them, yet she was mortal, as would be her daughter. He toyed with the idea of a trip to the village, but dismissed it.
It might cause Lana more difficulties among her neighbors if an elf came to visit. With elegant ease, he set himself in her traditional spot beneath the young oak (by elven standards), and resolved to wait a half hour before making his patrol sweep once more.
As he sat, he cast his gaze skyward, marveling at the pattern of light that danced between the swaying limbs and fluttering leaves above. His perusal of the sky was suddenly rent by the arrival of a magpie, its black and white form stark against the silver, green, and gold of the wood. It alighted on a limb immediately above, a piercing eye fixed upon the elf.
The elf's blood ran cold, for the lore of ages had labeled the magpie as a harbinger of death. He let the tension bleed out of him, as he recalled the tales. They spoke of the magpie knocking at a window casement, not perching in a tree when pronouncing an upcoming death. He laughed at his own fear. All the while the bird watched him.
He pulled his eyes from that of the black-headed bird, and stood. Glancing about Lana's Clearing once more, he turned to resume his patrol, but froze, head cocked as he listened. Someone was entering the Wood. He pulled the hood of his cloak up, leaping into his tree for cover, and waited.
He had hoped it was Lana, but the steps were too heavy and too unsure to have come this way before. Instead, a man, one of the plains people, stumbled, distraught, into the clearing.
He must have run the entire distance from the village. He was winded, his head haloed by wild strands of blond hair, pulled from their binding at his neck as he ran through an unfamiliar wood.
"Hello!" the man called. "I beg you, answer! You must give aid. If you love my wife at all . . ."
Rumil cast himself from his cover, landing before the man. The Rohirrim fell back at the sudden appearance of the elf. "Lana?" Rumil asked.
"The baby. It is trying to come early. The midwife has not arrived from Edoras, and something is wrong," the man, Haman, said. "She trusts you, and I trust her," the man stated. "Will you help?" he pleaded, his gaze pinned to the slender figure hidden in the cloak.
"I am no midwife. But for a friend, there is very little I would not do," answered the lilting voice of the elf. The elf tensed for a moment, unmoving, puzzling Haman with his inactivity.
"Well? Will you come then?" the man asked. "With your years, you must have more knowledge than I."
"I will go. Further aid will follow. One more versed in the affairs of the childbed than I," Rumil replied, before bolting for the edan village. He left the man to follow. The magpie's eyes watched from its perch.
*Note: According to The Dictionary of English and Folk-Names of British Birds by H. Kirke Swann (1913), the magpie was documented within, in Irish folklore, as a sign of death if it knocks at the window (pg 150). To have two cross your path would be unlucky, and would require that you tip your hat, cross yourself, possibly spit over your shoulder (among other remedies) to protect against a death or ill-luck.