The Littlest Warrior

The realm of the woodland king was not far from Imladris, only a few days travel across the Misty Mountains and then one long, severely hard ride through spider infested forest. Or, in times of emergency, (though they were loathe to go underground) through the secret passages the elves had carved through the hills. One of the Horse Lords could make it there in half the time of the average human, and an elf on a good mount in half of that. You had to be quick when traveling through Mirkwood; the spiders, though not particularly bold or overly aggressive in small numbers, would take any advantage presented to them to make luncheon of a lingering traveler. So it was with great haste that the emissaries from Imladris made their way to the underground fortress of King Thranduil.

The Elven King and his chief advisor, an old and wizened elf as ancient as the dawn, listened intently as the representatives from Imladris told him of the attack on the ostler’s son and the decimation of the village in the south. As they related the story, a strange glint of recognition shown in the old elf’s eyes, and it accompanied the look of fear on his face. Thranduil was quick to note it, and bid the elf to speak.

“There is a legend…,” he began, “…more a myth than anything else, of a being with gold-flecked eyes whose touch brought with it death.” “The story tells of the guise in which this would-be conqueror will come. It has ever been nothing more than a children’s fairytale, a tale of spirits and witchcraft to be told around the campfire, and as I recall – there is a puzzle…a riddle of sorts, which supposedly provides the answers to how this creature can be defeated.”

“The tale of this beast is held in a book of magic spells…very rare,” he mused, “very rare.” “Fortunately my liege, we are in possession of one of only two copies in existence… unfortunately, to my knowledge there has never been anyone who has been able to solve the riddle.”

The king sat silently for a moment or two, the decision was an easy one; he would not sit idly by and allow his brethren in Imladris and Lothlórien to suffer at the hands of this creature. However, he did not wish to appear too ‘compliant’, after all, one did have one’s reputation to consider, and a king who appeared too eager to relinquish his assets to others set a dangerous precedent for future negotiations.

“Bring the book to me, we will examine it and see if there is any merit to its claims.”

The counselor bowed and backed quickly out of the room saying, “At once my liege.”

While he waited, Thranduil paced slowly around the room feigning oblivion to the two Imladrian elves who were still on their knees in front of his throne. The Elven king was accustomed to a certain ‘protocol’, and demanded it from all who came before him. Unlike the other realms, Thranduil’s subjects took to a knee when their king entered a room. The eye-to-eye contact that was allowed in Lothlórien and the outright informality of Imladris was not his cup of tea. No, to the contrary, he felt that a king must be respected, and he saw no reason to exclude these Noldos from that which he expected from his own people. ‘Besides,’ he thought ‘…it will do them good to experience how a real kingdom is run’.

Twenty minutes later the much-harried advisor returned to the throne room covered in dust and sweating profusely. Quickly taking a knee, he made his apologies, “I beg pardon my liege for taking so long, but the book was difficult to locate, it was secreted deep in the archives.”

Thranduil positioned himself in an elaborately carved oak chair beside a nearby table. Gesturing at the center of the board (table), he indicated where he wanted the book placed, and the advisor rushed to make it so.

“Show us,” he ordered, employing the royal ‘us.’

The old elf moved quickly to position the book in front of his king. Turning to the appropriate page he said, “Here it is my lord, the tale of the beast, and the riddle that tells how to destroy it. The riddle is written in a language that is unknown to me, and as far as I know there is no one who has ever been able to decipher it, let alone solve it,” he said sarcastically as he glanced over his shoulder at the still kneeling Noldos.

The elf’s tone, though directed at the Imladrians, was distasteful to the king. Thranduil believed in setting the example by which his people lived, and if anyone was going to be churlish towards these elves it would be him, and he made a mental note to put the advisor in his place at the first opportunity. The king examined the pages thoroughly, there were no words that seemed familiar to him, and he too was unable to translate the text. Looking up from the book, he raised his hand and snapped his fingers drawing the attention of the kneeling elves. Motioning them forward he waited until they reached the side of the table and then he posed his question.

“Tell us…does the Lord Erestor, formerly of Lindon, still reside at Imladris?”

The two couriers knew that Thranduil was well aware that Erestor was Lord Elrond’s Seneschal, and that there was no way that he would live anywhere else, but they answered the king’s question nonetheless.

“Yes, your majesty, Lord Erestor still abides at the Last Homely House.”

“Very well then…you will take this book to him; Lord Erestor has always impressed me as an elf of great intellect, if there is anyone on Arda who can decipher this text it will be him.” The king’s statement was pointed, designed to take his advisor down a peg or two, and he eyed the elf deftly, watching as he lowered his head, his cheeks flushed red with embarrassment.

“As you will Your Majesty.”

“Speak to the sentry outside the door, he will show you where you may replenish your supplies for the trail and he will guide you back to the surface."

"Thank you King Thranduil, my Lord Elrond wishes to convey that he is deeply in your debt, if there is ever anything that you need…”

The king waved off the completion of the sentence, “You may tell him no debt is owed, our only debt is to our citizens. We owe them safety; I will take his warning about the beast to heart and make sure that my warriors are alerted…that my people are safe. Thanks to Elrond’s watchfulness I am now better able to serve my realm. The two of you risked your own safety to ride here to warn us of this threat, and for that I am grateful,” he said as he tipped his head in acknowledgement of their sacrifice. “Go now, retrieve your supplies and head back to the trail, Elrond no doubt awaits your return.”

The emissaries bowed once more to the great Elven king and backed out towards the door. As they turned to leave, the counselor also bowed and made to leave the throne room. His exit was almost complete when he was unceremoniously stopped in his tracks by the voice of his king. Thranduil’s eye held a roguish glint as he said. “Not so quickly Counselor…a word if you please.”