When winter first begins to bite
and stones crack in the frosty night,
when pools are black and trees are bare,
’tis evil in the Wild to fare.[1]
It was Rhîw in Mirkwood, least favourite of all the seasons of Middle-earth to the heart of Legelion son of Gellin; for his forest friends, trees and birds and beasts, all for the most part slept while awaiting the first green buds of Spring.
The wind blew cold from the North, bringing snow from Ered Mithrin, though the deep drifts that lay upon the forest floor were not of snow but dead leaves powdered white. And over them ran the elf-boy, leaping and hooting, heedless of peril in his joy; for though he delighted more in sweet grass and the scent of woodland flowers, there was yet something about the dead of winter that made him feel very much alive!
Beneath his bare feet the dry leaves crunched and crackled, for even now he went unshod, his only concession to the winter weather was a warm woven cloak with its hood raised to shield his elven-ears from the chill wind.[2] Above the barren boughs the sky was iron-grey, the sun no more than a pale gleam behind the clouds.
At last he halted in a clearing, and for a moment stood silently watching his breath cloud the icy air. Warmed by his pulsing blood, he threw back his green hood and gazed at the ancient oak that stood alone at the heart of the frosted glade; its wide arms yet bore gold-brown leaves silvered with hoarfrost, and its slow voice was silent in its slumber. Yet he thanked it for its vigilance and kneeling between the broad gnarled roots, he dug into the chilled earth with blade and hands till his fingertips brushed smooth carven wood, and he drew forth his buried treasure with a grin of triumph.
* * *
'This is fine wine!' remarked his father. 'It brings warmth to both heart and spirit.'
'Aye,' smiled his son, 'the very finest, for it comes from the great gardens of Dorwinion!'
Gellin raised a brow at Amdirren, his wife, but there was a gleam in his eye. 'But the wines of those vine-clad valleys are for the King’s feasts only!'[3]
'They are indeed,' his son agreed. 'But Teitheron Tegilbor keeps his chambers nigh the cellars of the Elvenking's Halls, and always he has a flask of leather full-filled. And when I visit, my steps lead through those very cellars, and Galion the king's butler knows me now and lets me pass unheeded; nor does any Elf wonder overmuch to see an elf-child brazenly bearing a small cask, or gainsay him if he says it his errand to take it to the feast-halls!'
'He is a shrewd Sinda, your scribe!' laughed Gellin. 'And I deem I know wherefore he makes his abode so deep within the caverns... but you, my son, are yet more canny than even he!'
Legelion stood and bowed merrily to his laughing kin gathered in the red firelight. Indeed, the elven-vintners[4] of Dorwinion were renowned for their heady vintage; wine of such potency it was necessary to but sip it from small bowls lest the drinker becomes addled and overcome with drowsiness!
'Would that we had a cask such as this for our comfort during the Fell Winter,' said Amdirren his mother, licking her reddened lips.
'The Fell Winter?' asked Legelion, his curiosity aroused.
'Four and fifty years ere you were begotten there came a long and bitter winter to the North realms of Ennor, so cold that the Forest River was frozen and ice and deep snow covered Mirkwood beyond the Emyn-nu-Fuin and over even the Men-i-Naugrim!' answered his father.
Legelion made to count upon his fingers, but Echeleb reached forth his long hand and laid it upon the boy's thin wrist.
'In the 2911th year of the Sun,' he said kindly, and the elf-child smiled gratefully; for though his father's father could not read the elven runes, ever had he great skill with reckoning, and Legelion oft wished this had passed down to him. The elder Elf gave him a wink and sipped his wine. 'A favour repays a favour!' he grinned and raised his bowl to toast the son of his son.
'Indeed, so bleak blew the wind from the North that even Echeleb clad his feet against its frost,' chuckled Delloril, his wife, 'and its moaning through the frozen forest barely could be heard above the moaning of my newly-shod husband!'
The merry laughter of the gathered Green-elves resounded through the gelid glade.
'Yet I deem the Long Winter was more evil, though it touched not the Woodland Realm,' said Amathel, Legelion's kinswoman by marriage.
'And which winter was this, now?' the boy asked.
'Wellnigh three hundred years after Amdiran and I were wed, there came cold and great snows out of the North and the East of Hithaeglir which shrouded all Eriador and the lands south of the mountains; it lasted for nigh five months of Men. I and your brother were afield upon a secret errand in Rochand, and the Horse-lords suffered grievously in the frost and in the dearth thereafter.'
The boy glanced at Echeleb, who answered his unspoken question. 'Two hundred years and twenty have since passed.'
'Alas for the Rohirrim!' said Legelion sadly. 'But for how long is a month of Men?'
'Thirty days,' she answered, and the elf-child gaped at her with wide eyes. 'Aye,' the elf-maiden nodded, 'For nigh a hundred days and fifty they endured misery and death, but not by bitter cold and famine only. For we were amazed to behold that even the Long Winter cooled not the wrath of men, and the Rohirrim were beset by the swarthy Gwathuirim from beyond Sîr Angren and fell invaders from the East; and from the South the foes of Gondor sailed to swell their number and aid in their assault. Grievous were those dark days, indeed.'
'And it is told that in the afterdays of each,' said Tawardil, father of Amdirren, 'the melting of the ice and snows brought yet more misery and hurt to the very face of the earth, for great floods swept across i Mbair Annui.' Reneth, his wife, gently took his hand in her own. 'Following the Long Winter the swift Onodló burst its banks and the wide marshes of Nindalf were thus formed; and after the Fell Winter the deep floodwaters of Gwathló devastated the land of Enedwaith and brought the town of Tharbad to its ruin.'
‘Alas!’ said Legelion, and in his fair young face there was great distress. 'What evil fortune!'
'Come now, good people!' cried Gladhron, brother of Gellin. 'This glad cask of Dorwinion vintage calls for mirth, not tales of despair and death! Let us have a song from the boon-bringer!'
'A song, Legelion! A song!' the Elves called gaily.
And thus in his high clear voice, the elf-child sang the merry tale of his mischance with a she-bear under the green Summer trees, while the fire grew brighter and the wine-cask lighter.
* * *
[1] The Fellowship of the Ring, "The Ring Goes South"
[2] "Elves were [...] somewhat slender, graceful but strong and resistant to the extremes of nature."
- The Complete Guide to Middle-earth, Robert Foster (George Allen & Unwin, 1978)[3] "It must be potent wine to make a wood-elf drowsy; but this wine, it would seem, was the heady vintage of the great gardens of Dorwinion, not meant for his soldiers or his servants, but for the king's feasts only, and for smaller bowls, not for the butler's great flagons."
- The Hobbit, "Barrels Out of Bond"[4] " It therefore follows that Dorwinion could have been one of those realms established by Sindarin Elves early in the Second Age among the Silvan Elves of the east."
- Was Dorwinion An Elf Kingdom?, Michael Martinez
It should be noted that this tale is set in Winter of the 2978th year of the Third Age, after Legelion had but lately come to thirteen years of age in Autumn; also that these anecdotes are not in strict chronological order.
|
|
xxx |  |
