Legelion stood agape at what lay before his eyes. The road had crested the summit of a long slope from which he looked across the expanse of the Long Lake, barely able to descry its distant eastern shore. But he could see clearly the object of their journey, and though he knew it was named Lake-town, never did he expect the town to sit amid the lake; yet there it was, squatting like a large toad in a shallow mere. It stood upon great stilts set into the lake's cold waters, and it was wrought entirely from wood.
'So much wood!' he thought. 'How many trees were hewed for its making, I wonder? And whence did they come, for there is no forest here?' But then he understood why the nearby hills were bare, and his heart grieved to think of the many trees that had therefore perished. But this was ever the way of Men, he had learned from Teithoron: to dominate and exploit the bounty of the world for their own needs, heedless of the effects their deeds would have, either now or in days yet to come.
The sun was rising steadily in the East, and as it shone through the breaking clouds he shaded his eyes with his hand and closely examined the settlement. Never in all his young life had he beheld such a thing, and though it was wondrous to him, there was also something disheartening about it. And it seemed the Lake-men knew not the skill of making smokeless fires, for unwholesome dark fumes writhed up into the air above the many rooftops.
His musings were abruptly interrupted by a stern voice calling from up ahead.
'Come, Legelion,' called Maeriel. 'We are in haste. Tarry not!' Thranduil's ambassador was still unsure about the boy's inclusion in the small trading party she led, but he had besought Teithoron Tegilbor and been given leave to accompany them on their predawn passage down the Forest River.
She had chosen to reach the town by the road that ran along the western shore past Esgaroth of old, rather than by the Lake-town docks, for she deemed that although water travel was fitting for trade goods, it would be unseemly for the new Ambassador of the Woodland Realm to arrive thusly; for she was to remain behind and dwell within the town thereafter, and desired therefore to make an impression on the townsfolk of noble elven dignity. Thus their boats they had left at the edge of the Long Marshes, and they were continuing their journey on foot; though in truth, it had been her wish to come mounted regally on horseback, but the Raft-elves had refused to carry horses on their barges.
'Nembadeth said to look at the city gate for a guard named Várthrek, who has been forewarned of our arrival,' she told her group. 'He shall guide us to the Council of Ware.'
Legelion dutifully followed her towards the high gate, where she was met by a red-headed man. The elf-boy stared, for never had he seen anyone with hair the hue of a fox's fur!
'You must be Maeriel, the new Ambassador,' the Man said with a bow. 'Várthrek is my name. Welcome!' He led them across a long wooden bridge to the town's entrance, where a woman in a sky-blue robe of rich fabric awaited them. 'This is Dagrun, our Captain of Market,' the guard told them.
Behind them in the shadows a stout boy lounged against a barrel picking at his nostril, and unseen by the adults he stuck out his tongue at the young Elf. Bemused, Legelion thought this must be some mannish custom of greeting, and returned the gesture with a grin. With narrowed eyes, the Lake-town boy scowled back at him, and the elf-boy was alarmed by this rude reply. Instinctively Legelion sent forth his thought; never before had he touched a mortal mind, but he guessed it would be alike to the elf-minds of his kin. But the mood of the other boy made his thought recoil in dismay, for behind a narrow feckless mind he sensed unfounded bitterness and malice, and he fervently hoped that others of this boy's kindred would prove more friendly.
Maeriel introduced the six members of her party, and ended by saying, 'The young one is Legelion, who has but lately begun learning the Common Tongue and wishes to gain experience thereof speaking it with Men.'
'Then my son shall be his guide,' smiled Várthrek in reply to Maeriel, and at these words joy stirred in the elf-boy despite the upset he had just endured, for he was eager for friendship and the company of other children. To befriend the son of Várthrek would be an unlooked-for boon!
'Saevarr!' the guard called, and to Legelion's dismay the fat boy slouched over, and he noted then that he had the copper hair of his father and a sullen look upon his face. Legelion cast a beseeching look at Maeriel, but the Grey Elf was speaking in earnest with the Captain of Market. Várthrek glanced down at the elven boy. 'We shall retire to the Dragonbone Inn when our dealings at the Trading Hall are done. Saevarr will bring you there in two hours to meet up with your master.'
'She is not my...' Legelion began, but Várthrek had turned his attention back to the conversation at hand as the group moved away to follow Dagrun along the wooden walkway.
Saevarr stood before Legelion, looking him up and down.
'How old are you, and what is your name?' he asked.
'I am Methlegel Feveren son of Gellin son of Echeleb Túbeng, but I am known to all as Legelion. Fifteen years I have lived under the stars, Moon, and Sun.'
'Fifteen? Oh, come now. My cousin, Ragnar, in Dale is fifteen, and he's five and a half feet. And I am ten years already, and shall soon be five feet. I am a whole half foot taller than you.'[1]
'We grow in body slower than Men, but in mind more swiftly,' Legelion answered. 'Have you not met Elves before?'
'Oh, yes,' Saevarr replied, ignoring the slight, though Legelion wondered if the boy had the wit to mark it. 'I've seen Elves before, but only tall ones. Yet you're such a scrawny thing! And where are your shoes?'
'I have no need of shoes.'
'Your master's wearing shoes,' Saevarr crowed triumphantly, deeming a point had been scored in his favour in this debate.
'Maeriel is a Grey Elf,' was Legelion's reply, 'but I am a Green-elf. And she is not my master.'
'Why's she called a "Grey Elf"? She ain't grey... and you ain't green.'
Legelion sighed. This was going to be a very long two hours!
* * *
Despite the disagreeable company, Legelion's heart was filled with delight; for every sight, smell, and sound was new to him, and his senses were overwhelmed. Indeed, even the rough damp wooden boardwalk beneath his feet felt nothing like the smooth landing of the Raft-elves. His stout companion noticed his wide-eyed wonder at the high storied buildings that stood on every side.
'Have you never seen a house before?' he asked with scorn.
'Such as these? Nay, I have not.'
'Where do you live then?'
'In the home-tree of my kin, a vast silver beech in a green glade.'
'A tree? You dwell in a tree? Are you a squirrel, then?' laughed the son of Várthrek harshly. 'We roast squirrels here! Would you like one?'
'Whatever for?'
'To eat, of course!'
'O, Tauron!' the elf-child muttered, but aloud he said, 'Thank you, but no. I do not eat flesh.'
'What? Why not? You really must be a squirrel!' Laughing spitefully, he took the Elf's hand and pulled Legelion roughly towards a market stall; there, to his horror, he saw a line of small roasted bodies hanging in a line.
'Law aníron aes!'[2] he cried, and strode swiflty away.
Running to catch up, Saevarr panted, 'What's the matter? Were those your friends?'
'Nay,' replied Legelion, 'my forest friends are chiefly rabbits!'
'Oh, coneys,' his tormentor smiled wickedly, 'we eat them, too!'
* * *
'So why did you come to Lake-town with the other Elves, Squirrel?' asked Saevarr. 'Are you an apprentice?'
Legelion marked the byname he had used and smiled to himself, for he could abide it though the boy clearly meant for it to be an affront; though he deemed them not as his forest friends, he was indeed fond of the furry creatures.
'Nay, I came not to trade. I began last year to learn the tongue of Men, and when I heard that the trading party was to visit your settlement, I asked if I might come too so I could practice my speech,' he said.
'So that's why you talk queerly, is it?' Saevarr's plump lips curled in a cruel sneer.
Legelion glowered at him, but the son of Várthrek was enjoying Legelion's discomfort and he laughed aloud.
'Perhaps I do. For I am yet learning, though I shall improve,' the elf-boy told his companion, 'but through my efforts there is something I can do that you cannot.'
'And what's that?' Saevarr asked with narrowed eyes.
Legelion smiled brightly. 'Iston gin eithad be edhellen, a nin ú-cheniog!'
* * *
Legelion gave a cry of delight. He had descried a market stall selling toys the like of which he had never seen before, all beautiful and well-crafted. Stick horses there were and puppets on strings, and wooden swords and shields, and carven animals and soft dolls. He cast his eager eyes over the balls of leather and brightly painted wood, the kites of many hues and the spinning tops and rattles. But best of all, to the elf-boy's mind, were the toy musical instruments, small, but of perfect make; he raised a tiny tin whistle to his lips, and grinned at its enchanting tones. Saevarr glanced askance at him, for little did he like the unquenchable cheerfulness of the young Elf and he was determined to daunt him.
'You say you are fifteen years of age, Squirrel, but you play with toys that are made for little children?'
'They bring joy to my heart,' he replied, 'is there aught wrong with that?' And playing a merry tune, he danced a circle around the stout boy.
The tradesman came forth to watch the frolic. 'Greetings, little masters,' he said. 'You have a fine eye for quality, that there is of real dwarf-make!' He peered shortsightedly at Legelion.
'Bless me!' he exclaimed, 'but you're an elf-child!'
The boy curiously returned the old man's gaze, for his face was lined with wrinkles and his thinning hair was white; never had the boy seen the ravages of age amongst his own kindred.
'Aye,' he said. 'I am a visitor to your fair city.'
'A "city"?' laughed the trader kindly. 'No, if 'tis a city you truly wish to see, you should follow the road north to Dale. But what do you think of our town upon the lake?''
Legelion pondered the question for a moment. 'It is all strange to me, and thus I find it pleasing. But there is too little here that grows and is glad.'
'And does that make Squirrel sad?' sneered the voice of Saevarr from behind.
The old man's smile faded. 'Oh, 'tis you,' he said. 'Mind now, I'm watching your sticky fingers!'
Legelion glanced down at his companion's pudgy hands. They were soft and white -- hands that had never done toil -- but they were unsoiled. The trader's voice broke through his confusion. 'So what will you be buying, little master,' he asked, his smile returning to his face. 'That fine whistle, perhaps?'
'Alas,' the elf-boy said, 'I have no coin and cannot pay for it.'
'No coin?' the son of Várthrek jeered. 'Are your people poor?'
Legelion was puzzled by the word for the Elves of Mirkwood used no currency, but bartered betwixt one another at need. In trade with Dwarves and Men coin was indeed used, and also gems and jewels, but to him the concept of wealth or greed was entirely unfamiliar.
'We are not hapless,' he replied in misunderstanding.
'The lout speaks of riches,' frowned the old man, shaking his hoary head, 'though he never spends coin when he can steal what he wants.'
'My father is a Guard of Lake-town, and I shall tell him of your insult!' Saevarr stamped his foot.
'By all means, please do,' responded the trader. 'He listens to nary of my complaints about your thievery, perhaps he'll listen instead to you!' Turning back to Legelion he said, 'I have no need of your coin, child. The humble joy my toy has given you is payment enough for me; please accept it as a gift, mellon nin.'
Legelion's eyes shone, both in gratitude and at the old Man's unlooked-for use of the elven tongue. 'Annon allen, elvellon!' he said, while Saevarr's scowling face turned red in speechless fury. Holding the whistle to his breast, the young Elf bowed.
'Im Legelion estannen,' he said, and the old man returned his courtesy.
'Fjolnir i eneth nîn.'
Clutching his gift to his heart, the elf-boy waved farewell with a broad smile.
* * *
Turning a corner, Legelion espied a line of men standing before the door of a wooden hut. It was somewhat taller than height of a man, but its girth was such that perhaps two men might stand toe-to-toe within. Cut into its door was a hole in the shape of the sickle moon.
'What is this?' he asked, puzzled.
'It's a privy,' Saevarr replied with a scornful shrug.
'I do not understand,' said Legelion.
'What do you mean? Don't you have them in your tree-village, Squirrel?'
'I do not dwell in a village but a glade, and we have no so such... huts. What is it for?'
To Legelion's astonishment, Saevarr's plump pallid cheeks flushed rosily and he leaned close and whispered in the young Elf's ear, and Legelion's eyes widened in amazement.
'You have a special dwelling for to...'
'Of course,' he said quickly. 'Why, what do you have, then?'
'We live amidst a broad forest... what more do we need?'
'That's vile!' Saevarr exclaimed.
Legelion sniffed the noisome odours exuding from the fouled waters beneath the "privy" and laughed.
* * *
Legelion watched with rapt amazement as a man swiftly shuffled three walnut shells that hid a lone dried pea, while onlookers wagered coins on the pea's whereabouts. 'This seems a merry jest,' he said to his listless companion.
Saevarr gave a world-weary sigh. 'Do they teach you nothing in your evil forest, Squirrel?'
'Why do you call it evil?'
'Everyone knows that its too perilous for merchants to travel through, that it's fraught with orcs and wolves and -- you know -- evil necromancers!'
'You forget the giant spiders,' said Legelion absently, his keen eyes upon the shells, 'and the shades and wraiths.'
'Giant spiders? Shades and wraiths?' yelped Saevarr.
'It is true,' said the young Elf, 'that evil things dwell within Taur-nu-Fuin. The "Forest Under Night", that your kin renders poorly as "Mirkwood",' he added helpfully, aware that Saevarr's plump features had grown wan and damp. 'But the forest itself is not evil, it is corrupted. This taint exists in Lake-town even, but in the hearts of folk, not the town itself.' He nodded to where he espied a Man cutting the purse from another's belt. 'O, and there's but one Necromancer only, and he it is that corrupted the whole greenwood,' he continued grimly, even as his eyes glittered with mirth. 'Be grateful that my home stands between the Shadow and yours... there would be more than squirrels roasting should his servants come hither!' And he tootled his tin whistle merrily at the son of Várthrek.
* * *
At last two hours had passed, and Legelion was eager to return to the inn where the Elves awaited. But there was a question that burned within his heart, and as they climbed a steep wooden stair he asked Saevarr, 'Why is it that you dislike me?'
'Why?' the boy repeated. He halted and stared down into the smaller boy's face, his fists clenched. 'I don't dislike you, I despise you. You're all so different from we Men... so strange. You're taller and stronger and faster, and it is said you can work magic! They say you're wiser than us, and you live forever... and look at you. You can't even grow up like normal people! You're all fey and unnatural!'
'So you dislike me not for who I am, but for what I am? That is unfair. What have my kin ever done to you?'
'Unfair?' Saevarr retorted angrily. 'And it's not what you Elves have done, it's what you are that vexes me. I've watched your kind as you visit here, or pass by on the road to Dale or Erebor... always singing and harping. And do you know what's "unfair'? What I don't see? I don't see Elves that look like me! You're all so tall and slender and graceful... and comely! The "fair folk" they name you... I hate you all for you remind me that I am not!'
Legelion was dismayed by these words, but wrath rose hot in his heart and his eyes flashed. 'And I'm the first Elf you have known who is of a size that you deem you can daunt?'
'Indeed, Squirrel' the son of Várthrek smirked.
'You are naught but a cruel and craven brute!' the young Elf bared his teeth in a fierce grin.
'Me craven?' Angry tears sprang to Saevarr's eyes, 'My father says that all you people do is hide in your forests while Men fight. And they fight battles that you began... but you do nothing. He says that instead you're all now leaving Middle-earth, running away over the sea!'
The young Elf's heart cooled. 'Not all,' he said softly. 'Some yet choose to remain.'
'So what? What good are any of you?'
'My teacher says that it is for us to share our love of the world with you, and stay your reckless desire to hold sway over it. He says you are also Children of Eru, and through Men will come His healing of all the hurts of Arda.'
'Eru!' spat Saevarr. 'Your gods mean nothing to me or mine, and your teacher is a fool! Why don't you just use magic to mend the world or defeat your foes? To aid us defeat our foes!'
'Speak not thusly of Eru Ilúvatar, the Father of All!' Legelion rebuked. 'And I know not what you mean by "magic" unless you speak of the virtue of the Elves, which is neither a power nor a weapon and cannot avail us in war.'
'Words and more words!' cried the boy, and tears of rage shone on his plump cheeks. 'My father says that all Elves do is talk and talk, while men must fight and die. So talk all you want, but know that I don't care what you have to say!' He pointed a trembling hand, 'There's the inn. Go back to your people and your tree. Begone, Squirrel!' And he stamped off along the boardwalk, cursing Legelion and all his kind.
* * *
Maeriel and her group sat together with Dagrun at a hearth-side table in the cosy gloom of the Dragonbone Inn. Legelion was relieved to mark that Várthrek's red head was not among them, for he had heard enough that day of what Saevarr's father thought and said. But the Captain of Market eased the coldness in his heart with a warm smile as she beckoned to him across the common room. She was for a moment nonplussed when he leapt lithely upon the tabletop and sat down upon it with his legs crossed, but she made no comment. Instead she asked, 'So did you enjoy your tour, Legelion, and was it fruitful? Did you learn much?'
'Aye, I did indeed,' he nodded, taking the cup that Maeriel offered him and tugging thoughtfully upon his toe. 'I heard some of the speech of Dale, and it is alike to Annúnaid... Westron, I mean, but the Common Tongue is spoken strangely here. And your folk are unlike my Elven kindred, but in some ways alike; for there is both kindness and ill will, and sadness alongside joy. My visit has been... enlightening. I thank you for this happy chance.' He smiled and sipped his wine, and its taste was bitter-sweet upon his lips.
* * *
[1] This is indeed a nod to Bergil son of Beregond of the Guards of Minas Tirith in The Return of the King, a far more pleasant child!
[2] Kudos to RealElvish.net for the Sindarin phrases.
It should be noted that this tale is set in the 2980th year of the Third Age, when Legelion was but fifteen years of age; also that these anecdotes are not in strict chronological order.
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