(This tale was read by me in ten instalments at the Green Dragon Friday roleplaying event )
My tale begins many years ago in the Woodland Realm of the Elvenking, whose name is Thranduil. This abode of the Silvan Elves lies in the northern part of that great forest once known as Greenwood the Great, but which is now called Mirkwood by men, by reason of the spread of corruption and the fell creatures brought there by the Dark Lord.
There lived there then a couple, whose names were Tarion and Nestoril, and the time came when their union was blessed with a daughter, whom they named Maelwen. Much as they loved their child, they were only able to devote a little time to her as she grew, for her father, Tarion, was an important figure in Thranduil’s court and was often called away to the halls to give counsel to his lord, and Nestoril, her mother, was skilled as a healer and her services were always in great demand.
So it was that Maelwen spent much of her time growing up in the care of her mother’s elder sister, Berathiel, whom she came to love dearly and to trust as if she were her own mother. Berathiel had suffered a great disappointment of the heart when quite young and had never married – in helping with Maelwen’s upbringing she discovered a new purpose in her life and was quite devoted to her.
Pleasing of form, with dark, sparkling eyes and raven-black hair, Maelwen blossomed into a beauty, even by the standards of the elves, who are the fairest of races. Her parents had hoped that she would follow her mother’s path and learn the healing arts, for they held traditional views and believed that such was a proper occupation for an elf-woman, especially for the daughter of someone of Tarion’s status.
Maelwen, however, was a headstrong maid and of an independent mind. She loved nothing more than to roam the woods and she was quick to learn how to use a bow and to hunt and to help to protect the Woodland Realm from the encroachments of the Dark Lord’s minions. Berathiel, her aunt, was supportive of her in this, and her father and mother, with only a little reluctance, accepted her choice as a worthy enough pursuit.
So it was that on one fateful day Maelwen had wandered far into the woods and came upon a rushing rill where it passed through an opening in the trees. Here she paused, and sat a moment, delighted by the merry music of the water. Her spirits buoyed, she raised her own voice in accompaniment, and the sound of her song was fair.
Close by, unseen, a youth, of the race of men, heard Maelwen’s song and for a moment stood transfixed, as if enchanted by that elven melody. Moving forward stealthily, he peered out from behind a small bush and saw Maelwen seated there, and he was at once captivated by that vision of beauty such as he had ne’er before seen.
This young man was a hunter from the small Woodman settlement a little way off and he was named Herebold. He was so filled with wonder at the presence before him that he forgot to withdraw to his hiding place and, on catching sight of him for a moment, Maelwen ceased her song and sprang to her feet, nocking her bow as she did so.
Yet when she looked upon the figure who stood helplessly before her, she found that her heart beat faster for he was most pleasing to the eye. A strand of flaxen hair fell carelessly across his brow and a pair of bright blue eyes gazed directly upon her, seeming to cause an involuntary tremor to course through her entire body, and for a moment she stood quite overwhelmed.
Many hours, then, did those two spend together, coming to know one another as together they spoke and danced and sang, roaming freely in among the trees. As the weeks passed, they would meet many times more, and there grew a strong and true love between them, though they well knew that both Elves and Men would frown upon their associating thus.
Indeed, when word reached her father that she had been seen several times in the company of a Woodman youth, Tarion summoned her to him and expressed, in no uncertain terms, his disapproval of these actions and in this he was supported by her mother, Nestoril, who spoke of how such liaisons had in the past ended in tragedy.
We may believe that Tarion did indeed believe that he spoke with Maelwen’s best interests at heart, though it should also be said that he felt his own reputation might be undermined by his daughter’s conduct. Nestoril may have had a little more sympathy for her daughter’s feelings, but she had spent too little time with her in the past to feel comfortable speaking with her now on such delicate matters, and besides, she would always be loyal to her husband.
It was her aunt, Berathiel, who encouraged Maelwen in her determination not to renounce her love for Herebold, though in truth little encouragement was needed. Berathiel had suffered in love in her own past, and it seems likely that she took vicarious pleasure in seeing the love that grew between Maelwen and Herebold, compensating a little, perhaps, for the bitterness she still harboured concerning her own history.
In any event, the lovers continued to keep company, roaming far into the forest together and taking more care than before not to be seen, and they were aided too by Berathiel who allowed them sometimes to meet at her own abode under cover of darkness.
One sunny morn, in a glade where they oft had met before, Maelwen came to Herebold and softly whispered in his ear that she was with child. Great was their delight as he held her close in his arms and told her how much he loved her, for the promise of new life is ever a joy to be celebrated, no matter the circumstances. Nevertheless, both knew that it would not be easy to gain the acceptance they would need to care for their child.
At Maelwen’s urging, they sought counsel from Berathiel who, having given the matter some thought, surmised that they should wait until the child was born before Maelwen took the babe to her parents in the hope that their hearts would be softened and that they would accept the situation. So, the story was put about that Maelwen had joined an expedition to scout the southern reaches of the Mirkwood and was expected to be away for at least a year – and during that time she remained hidden in the care of her aunt until she came to full term.
*************************************************
For a day and a night she suffered a long labour and, with only Berathiel as midwife and Herebold standing close by, at last gave birth to twin daughters. Although not dissimilar in appearance, one of the babes was born with wisps of flaxen hair, like her father’s, and the other was favoured with a sprouting of dark locks, the same colour as her mother’s.
Knowing that the fate of the two babies was, at best, uncertain, the couple took them straight away to the home of Fladring, a friend of Berathiel’s and a fine craftsman and worker in metal. There, he made for each of the infants a silver medallion on a silver chain and on each he engraved in runic lettering the name which Maelwen and Herebold had chosen for that child.
Berathiel decided that Herebold should remain at her abode while she and Maelwen went to give the news to Tarion, taking the babes with them, and they were accompanied there by Fladring, who was always eager to support Berathiel and, having no children of his own, was much taken with the newborns.
They had hoped that the very sight of the two innocents, his own grandchildren, would cause Tarion to have a change of mind, but, alas, it seemed that the reverse was true and the entreaties of Maelwen and Berathiel fell on deaf ears. Indeed, he seemed greatly angered, both by Maewen’s disobedience and by Berathiel’s interference and deceit and he barely cast a glance at the infants. On learning that the father of the children was presently at Berathiel’s home he urged them to tell him that he should leave the Woodland Realm by morn and never return on pain of severe punishment – as for Maelwen and the children, who he called by the name of ‘half-elven’, he said that he would think on their fate. Much as Maelwen wept and Berathiel pleaded, he did not relent.
Maelwen was much afraid for Herebold, for she knew he would not leave her, but Berathiel persuaded her that she needed rest and that they should sleep until morning. But Maelwen found she could not sleep, and she went to Herebold while Berathiel and Fladring, who had stayed to offer comfort to Berathiel after the harsh words she had received from Tarion, slept. The young couple took their weapons and few belongings, and carrying one babe each, they fled into the night, to where they knew not.
Soon after they left, Berathiel woke, thinking to look in on the sleeping babes and so she discovered that Maelwen and Herebold were gone, taking the babes with them. At once she woke Fladring, and she begged him to try to follow and find the young couple, which he did.
Scarcely knowing where they went, Maelwen and Herebold hurried through the dark woods. Their course took them to the south, where many evil creatures roamed, and not long before the dawn, though the forest was still in darkness, they were set upon by a roving band of orcs.
Terrible were the guttural cries of those brutes, as thirty or more advanced on the pair where they had made their stand. Bravely, Herebold took his bow, and his arrows flew true, felling two of the creatures. Yet he knew that he was heavily outnumbered, and he swiftly took the infant he carried and gently placed it in a patch of long grass, then cried that Maelwen should flee while he held the attackers off. Still carrying her own precious burden, she fled into the trees, but a small group of the orcs saw her leave and broke away from the others in pursuit of her.
Several more orcs fell to the arrows of the Woodman youth as he staunchly held his ground, but one particularly ugly brute leapt upon him and brought him to the forest floor where he was impaled on the spears of several more. So died Herebold, but as the orcs looked to discover the contents of his pack, they were beset by arrows which flew from the darkness and, in disarray, they withdrew into the night.
Then up stepped Fladring, and great was his sorrow to see the Woodman fallen so – but as silence once more fell upon the woods a faint cry was heard from a place nearby and Fladring swept into his arms a dark- haired babe.
Under normal circumstances Maelwen may have easily outrun the small band of orcs who had broken off to follow her. However, she was wearied by all that she had so recently endured, and she knew that she could soon be caught. On reaching a patch of shrubby undergrowth she took the babe she held, and with a gentle kiss placed it where it was well-hidden from sight. Then, issuing a challenge to her pursuers, she ran, seeking to put as much distance as she may between her child and herself.
Jeering triumphantly, the orcs took up the chase and although she was able to let loose a few arrows as she ran, she was soon overtaken. Hard pressed to fend off her attackers and having suffered several grievous wounds, she managed to break free and looked to escape into a deep thicket, but her tunic caught on the thorns of a briar. One of her pursuers, seeming to summon up all the hatred his race had for elves, plunged his dagger deep into her heart and she died where she fell.
Just before the dawn broke a forester by the name of Aldgar, who had set out to inspect his traps, heard cries coming from the woods some distance away. By the time he reached the trees the noise had ceased, but just as he was about to set off back to his Woodman village, he was assailed by a plaintiff cry from the nearby vegetation. Cautiously, he made his approach and there, half-hidden, he espied a newborn child, with flaxen hair, and he swiftly lifted it into his arms.
**********************************************************
It was with heavy heart that Fladring returned from the far forest. He had searched the area near where Herebold fell but had discovered no sign of Maelwen or the other child. He did, however, find several patches of blood on the forest floor and concluded that they, too, had succumbed to the orcs.
Fladring first took the surviving infant to Berathiel and great was her grief when she learned of the fate of Maelwen and Herebold and of their other child. He then went straight to Tarion to bring him the news of his daughter’s fate and that of her lover and her children. Of the surviving child he said naught, for he remembered Tarion’s anger when he had first seen the two baby girls.
One might think that Tarion would be filled with sorrow at this news, and we must assume that this was so. But grief will often be expressed in rage and terrible indeed was the wrath of Tarion on learning what had transpired. He mightily cursed the young Woodman, but the brunt of his anger was directed towards Berathiel, whom he blamed for all that had happened, and he swore that he would make her suffer for what she had done.
So violent was his rage that Fladring was mightily afeared for Berathiel, and afraid too of what Tarion might do if he discovered that one of the children still lived. When he returned to her, he found Berathiel cradling the infant close in her arms, her face stained with recently shed tears, but softly singing to the child which slept contentedly. When he relayed to her Tarion’s angry words and threats, Berathiel said that they should leave at once and take the child far from Tarion’s reach.
So it was that they took two pack horses and secretly made their way far into the forest to a place in the shadow of those mountains which are named Emyn-nu-Fuin. Few elves came to this place for the mountains were the haunt of many evil things, but it was here, in a hidden place discovered by Fladring, that they made a home.
There it was that the child of Maelwen and Herebold was raised, knowing only Berathiel and Fladring for mother and father, and nothing of her true parents or their fate. Fladring had removed the medal where he had inscribed her name, to be kept safe until such time as she might be told the story of her true parents. She grew to maturity much more quickly than any elf and at twenty years she was possessed of something of the beauty that her mother bore – and oft did Berathiel quietly weep as, looking on the child, she remembered Maelwen.
Fladring taught her how to use a bow, and hunt, and they would spend many hours together in the forest where she learned to love and care for the trees and plants and came to know the ways of the woodland creatures there. She learned as well how to avoid those vile things which they would sometimes encounter there, and she mourned for the once great forest, now so blighted by corruption.
Berathiel, though not a skilled healer like her sister, Nestoril, showed the girl the uses of some of the common herbs and roots which grew there and taught her too some of the songs and tales, that she might learn something of the lore passed down by the elves through the ages.
Together, Berathiel and Fladring did all they could to take the place of her lost parents and just as their love for her was great, so did she love them dearly and knew them as father and mother. They did, however, avoid all contact with the world they had left and always urged that she should shun the company of any she might meet, of whatever kind. She, though ever curious, was obedient, and in truth saw few others, even from afar, in that lonely place.
Great had been the sorrow felt by Nestoril, Maelwen’s mother, on learning of her daughter’s death and, though always loyal to her husband, she had struggled with the angry rage he directed towards her sister. Yet when some years had passed with no news of where she and Fladring had fled it seemed to Nestoril that his anger had abated and, in its place, there resided in him a weary bitterness. She found too that with the passage of time she missed Berathiel’s company more than she ever thought she might, and she was increasingly troubled to think what might have befallen her.
Berathiel, too, missed seeing her sister and felt some guilt that she had not been able to let her know that she was safe. One day, when the other two were out in the woods, she secretly made the long journey to a glade which she knew that Nestoril visited regularly in search of healing herbs. Sure enough, as she peered furtively from the trees, she saw her kneeling before a patch of undergrowth from which she carefully plucked the leaves of something growing there.
When she saw her sister standing there she rose and when Berathiel stepped forward the two warmly embraced. For several hours the two sat and spoke of all that had taken place and shared their sorrows. Berathiel related how she and Fladring, fearing Tarion’s wrath, had fled and she described the secret place where the two had made their home. For long years Berathiel had guarded her secret, shared only with Fladring, and the burden of her knowledge weighed heavily on her. So, swearing Nestoril to secrecy, she at last told her that one of Maelwen’s children had survived and was now grown.
Then they parted, and Nestoril returned to Tarion’s side, greatly conflicted by Berathiel’s story. She was loth to betray the trust her sister had placed in her but felt too that it was her duty to tell Tarion what had been revealed to her. Also, having discovered that one of her granddaughters was still alive, she dearly wished that she might meet the girl and get to know her.
Over the next few days, she observed her husband closely and even tried to test him by reminding him of their daughter and what had happened to her and of Berathiel’s part in it. This, though it brought some words of bitter regret, did not seem, as it appeared to her, to evoke any of the anger that he had once displayed. Perhaps, when we wish hard enough for something, our judgment is clouded, and we see only that for which we wish.
So it was that Nestoril decided to share all that she had learned with Tarion. At first her words elicited no response, then he asked her to repeat what she had just told him more slowly. When she did so he rose from where he sat and, seeing the look upon his face, Nestoril recoiled. Wordlessly, he looked to don his travelling gear and took his blade and bow.
Swiftly, Nestoril, seeing that she had badly misjudged Tarion’s state of mind and fearing his intent, fled from his presence and ran to where her horse was stabled. Then she galloped through the dark forest, heedless of any dangers there, to the place where Berathiel had told her she had made her home. As she rode, she fancied she heard another rider not so very far behind. When she arrived, she found the little family seated together at a table eating a frugal supper.
Hurriedly she warned them that Tarion was close behind and that he knew of their secret, at which Berathiel cried out loud and grasping the bemused youngster by the shoulders urged her to run quickly and hide in the forest. Fladring quickly thrust into her arms her hunting knife and her quiver and bow. He then took the silver chain where hung the silver medal which bore her name and hung it about her neck. Berathiel passed to her a small pack then thrust her out into the night, bidding her to run for fear of her life.
It is by no means certain that Tarion would have harmed the girl, for his anger had always been directed at his wife’s sister. Berathiel, however, having once endured the pain of losing Maelwen to tragedy was terrified that, even if he did her no harm, Tarion might now take the girl from her.
The terror in Berathiel’s eye and the urgency with which she was pressed to leave, led the girl to believe that she was in imminent danger, and one may well imagine her own confusion and dread to have her happy and peaceful world so rudely shattered. Forgetting all caution, and knowing not where she ran, she sped through the dark forest for a full hour. At last, lost and bewildered, her natural sure-footedness left her for a moment, and she found herself falling until, with barely a splash, viscid waters closed over her head.
***************************************
Aldgar, the Woodman forester, gazed in wonder at the baby he now held in his arms. Although he could no longer hear the cries which had drawn him to this spot earlier, he knew that even here at the forest’s edge lay many dangers. Seeing and hearing no one in the vicinity he wasted no time in carrying the infant back to his home in the village where his wife, Ragwaen, awaited his return. About the child’s neck he discovered a silver chain on which hung a medallion inscribed with symbols he could not read. This he took and put it by for safekeeping.
Aldgar and Ragwaen, though they married when they were young, had never been blessed with children and this was a cause for deep regret on Ragwaen’s part, for she had now reached an age at which any hope of childbearing had all but passed. She reached out at once to the waif which Aldgar had carried home and the couple determined that unless the child’s parents became known to them, which seemed unlikely, they would bring her up as their own.
The Woodman village where they dwelt was a poor place where folk scraped a living hunting, fishing, and growing a few grains and vegetables in the poor soil thereabouts. The folk there had little with which to trade, and so had little contact with other Woodman settlements. They had even less with the elves, who were seldom seen and were regarded with deep suspicion. It is often the case that that which we know least well is what we fear the most.
As years passed, Aldgar and Ragwaen devoted themselves to the task of raising their foundling ‘daughter’, and what they could not provide her with in material things they more than made up for through the love they bestowed on her, and, for a child, that is the greatest gift of all.
Ragwaen taught her to sew and stitch linen and leather as well as to bake bread and to cook. She taught her too the songs and rhymes that her own mother had taught her and, when she was old enough, Aldgar told her tales of great warriors and heroes in the wars of men. He crafted her a small bow and taught her its use and showed her as well how to stalk the deer which strayed from the forest and how to trap and skin a coney. She learned from him something of the art of woodcraft and by the time she reached her eighteenth year she was well able to survive an expedition into the forest.
By that time too she was already grown into a handsome young woman, with twinkling blue eyes and a head of flaxen hair, cut short. Certainly, her appearance had begun to attract the interest of some of the village lads of her own age, but there was, too, something about her which set her apart from her fellows and many in that place regarded her with some wariness and caution. She was already taller than many of the boys and even at a young age her fleetness of foot had meant that she could easily outrun her contemporaries.
All in all she was a happy and carefree soul, but it was at this time that her happiness was to be rudely shattered. A man, a stranger, came to the village one day. He said that he had been driven from his home in the South and was seeking work. He was sickly and pale in appearance, and he went all around the village asking if he might have a little food in return for doing any job that might need doing. None there was willing to help, for all strangers were looked upon with distrust, but Ragwaen took pity on him and gave him a little bread and allowed him to sleep on the floor. He left the next day to take his chances further north and was not heard from again.
A few days later the first of the villagers fell sick. Within a few days over half were laid low with fever. Pale and enfeebled they were unable to care for themselves and there was no healer there who might provide a remedy. Aldgar and Ragwaen both took to their beds and lay there shaking with a palsy, soaked in sweat. More and more of those folk fell to that cruel plague and soon the old and weak started to die.
Their ’daughter’ tended to Aldgar and Ragwaen as best she may, for she, alone it seemed, was untouched by that sickness. She went around the village too, carrying water to those in need and offering what comfort she could to the sick and dying. For three long weeks that plague ran its deadly course and only then did the afflicted begin to slowly regain their strength. Many had died, and to her great sorrow Ragwaen, the only mother she had ever known, was one of that number.
The plague had taken a devastating toll on her little community and as it began to recover, she worked tirelessly, comforting those grieving, bringing food to those still too weak to fend for themselves and, saddest task of all, helping to build the huge pyre where they burnt the bodies of those who had died.
Aldgar made only a slow recovery from the sickness for his heart was heavy for the loss of his beloved wife of so many years. He was greatly comforted by his ‘daughter’s’ ministrations and her presence gave him a reason to live once more and slowly he regained his strength.
One might imagine that the good works the girl had performed while the plague raged might have earned her increased respect and standing in the eyes of the surviving villagers, but this was not so. As she went about her daily tasks, she would often see folk looking towards her engaged in whispered conversations which were abruptly cut short as she approached. Over time, it became clear to her that her continued good health when all around fell sick, together with remembrance of her uncertain origins, having been found abandoned at the edge of the forest as a babe, had combined to lead some folk to believe that she was not a natural-born woman and was possessed of some kind of magical powers – and as such was a danger in their midst.
Aldgar heard some of this speculation and, although he did what he could to allay these suspicions, he was increasingly concerned. He spent a lot more time with her away from the village using a little cabin he kept on the forest fringe. Sometimes they would spend one or two happy days out there, hunting by day and sharing a tale or song at a bright campfire under the stars by night.
Once, while they were stalking a young buck close to the edge of the forest, she caught a movement through the trees there and just for a moment glimpsed a dark-haired girl staring out directly at her – but at that moment the buck bolted, startled by some sound or movement and, instinctively, she gave chase. When she returned, the girl was gone.
These were the last happy days the two spent together, for her father had aged swiftly since the death of his wife and perhaps the sickness had taken its toll on his vitality. Their hunting trips ceased, and she would only leave the village when absolutely necessary, devoting much of her time to Aldgar’s care, for his condition worsened rapidly and he was confined to his bed.
She had now reached her twenty first year and because she spent more time around the village, she attracted more attention from her neighbours. A few might bid her good day, largely out of respect for Aldgar, but most ignored her and went out of their way to avoid her and one group of youths of about her own age took it upon themselves to taunt her whenever they saw her. The leader of this group was a well-set boy by the name of Barmod, and often as they passed by it was he who would call out ‘Elf’ or even ‘Witch’ and they would follow, hounding her with jeers and insults.
One day she needed to go to a nearby rivulet to wash their linen and, seeing no one around, she made her way there, passing warily through the village. As she knelt by a pool in the stream and set about her task, she suddenly heard a cry and looking up saw Barmod approaching with his fellows urging him on from behind.
In his hand he wielded a stout branch which he raised threateningly and began to taunt her: “Hey, Elf-girl, we don’t want you here. Why don’t you get back to the forest where you came from?” He took a couple of steps closer, and the girl returned his stare, her piercing blue eyes seeming to discomfit him greatly. “Alright, I’ll have to make you then!” and with this he came at her, his makeshift club raised once more as if to strike.
I doubt that she could explain exactly what happened then. All she knew was that a slight jolt passed through her body as she stared directly into the youth’s eyes, and it seemed as if the sluggish waters rose up around Barmod and swept him to the centre of the stream, where he lay floundering and spluttering. It was not deep, so apart from the blow to his dignity he was quite uninjured and rising to his feet in shock, he ran back to the village as fast as he could. His fellows, once they had recovered from their astonishment, likewise fled.
The girl quickly gathered up her laundry and returned to their home where, still in shock herself, she recounted to Aldgar all that had happened. The old man was greatly perturbed, and in some pain, he rose from his bed and bid her collect their packs and weapons and make ready to set off for his cabin, for he well knew that the villagers would not let such an incident pass and he feared for the girl’s safety.
Sure enough, as they left their home and started out, they could hear shouting in the distance, as if a crowd was gathering but they were able to leave without hindrance and, with Aldgar leaning on her all the way, they slowly made their way to his cabin. She at once bid him rest while she lit a fire, for thunder clouds were gathering on the horizon, but he stopped her and bid her sit and listen carefully to his words.
She had always known that she had been found by Aldgar as a baby, but now he told her the full story of the shouts he had heard which had brought him to near where she lay, right at the edge of the woods. Now, too, he gave her the medallion on the silver chain which he had kept all these years and bid her place it around her neck. She looked in wonder at the gleaming medal and the strange inscription there.
Then Aldgar kissed her and told her that the time had come when she must take up the search for who she really was – and he bid her go into the forest and seek out the elves, for he felt certain that the writing was in elvish script and only from them might she discover her identity.
She started to say that she would not leave him, but he hushed her and told her that he knew that he was near death, and it was his wish to die in the place he had lived all his life. Besides, he lacked the strength to journey into the forest.
The girl sorely wept, for as he whom she had called ‘father’ set out back to the village, she was alone for the first time in her life and all she had ever known was lost. Still sobbing, she began to make her way towards the forest but as she started out a bolt of lightning split the skies, a crack of thunder sounded, and the heavens opened.
**************************************
There is a river in the Mirkwood which is known in the Common Speech as the ‘Enchanted Stream’. None may now tell how it came by that name or who it was that cursed its waters such that any who entered would fall into a deep sleep and lose all memory.
It was into this stream, running through the trees in fear of she knew not what, that Maelwen’s other daughter fell at dead of night. At once, all memory of her flight from Berathiel and Fladring’ s abode and the inexplicable urgency with which they bade her flee, was lost.
The waters which closed over her were black and strangely sticky, as if tainted by some foul stuff, but the stream was swift, and her slender body was lifted by the current and carried far downstream. At last, as if tired of its burden, the river rudely cast her lifeless form upon a muddy shore and there she lay for a night and a day.
She woke in darkness, her cloak and tunic stained by foul river mud. Bemused, she took stock of her situation. Lying on the ground close by she discovered a small pack, while a yew bow and a quiver of arrows were strapped to her back and a hunting knife hung in a leather sheath at her side.
A pale moon had lit the spot where she woke, close by the river, but as she moved off beneath the trees she was engulfed in darkness and stumbled often, tripping on roots and buffeted by unseen branches. It was as if, although all memory of what had gone before was gone, her body retained that primal impulse to flee from danger and the occasional cries and howls of unseen creatures close by added to her sense of urgency. So, she ran through the night until, scratched and bruised, she fell, exhausted, on to the grass which grew in a small glade, and slept once more.
When she woke, she wept, for she was alone and, try as she might, she was unable to recall aught of her life before her awakening by the stream and she knew not who she was. Her sobbing was that of one in despair yet had any been there to see her they might have detected in her dark eyes, behind the tears, a spark which told of a zest for life and a steely resolve to face up to adversity.
For three long years she made a life in the forest, alone. She quickly discovered that she could use the bow and was able to hunt for food. She knew too, as if by instinct, the uses of plants which grew there and what was good to eat and what was not. With only the birds and squirrels for company she spent her days roaming the woods and hoping that something would spark a memory as she desperately tried to remember something of her past.
Once, she heard voices raised in song which came from a stand of trees some little way off and excitedly she started to make her way towards that most welcome, and strangely familiar, sound but as she drew closer, she was gripped by a sense of doubt and dread as if some unseen force was willing her to stop. By the time that moment had passed the forest was silent and the singers had departed.
On another occasion, hunting boar, she came close to the forest’s edge and there she saw a man and a young girl. The girl was slim and of about her age, but her short-cropped hair was the colour of straw. She held a small bow and seemed to be stalking a young buck which had strayed from the trees. For a moment it seemed as if the girl glanced in her direction but then the buck, startled by some sound, bolted and the girl set off in brisk pursuit, with the man following at a slower pace and she did not see them again.
Sometimes, while bathing in one of the hidden forest pools, she would stare at her own reflection in the water, imagining in vain that the serene and pretty visage which calmly returned her gaze would one day speak to her of who and what she was. Often, too, she took the silver medal which hung at her throat and ran her slim fingers across the symbols there inscribed, but they had no meaning for her.
The third winter that she spent alone in the forest was a hard one. Ice covered the pools where she drank and bathed, and the ground was hard with frost. So, when at last the earth began to warm once more and green shoots began to appear on the trees and shrubs and even here at Mirkwood’s edge woodland flowers bloomed in small patches of unexpected colour, and birds began to build their nests and a buzz of insects could be heard, she too felt a lifting of the heart.
All through the winter she had felt a growing need to seek beyond the forest in search of her own past and so it was that she now set out, not a little afraid, for she had no clue as to which direction she should take or who or what she sought.
As it was, she followed her own instinct and this took her far through the forest, travelling north and west. So it was that she left the trees behind and came to a place where a fertile valley was spread out before her, and through that valley a mighty river ran. The meadows there were carpeted in blooms, and it was with a light step that she made her way down to the bank of the river, which was swollen with meltwater from the distant mountains. Following the riverbank, she came to a place where a rough road crossed the water at a fording place and with the roar of the flood filling her ears, she made the crossing.
Now, as she looked ahead, she felt a stirring in her blood which seemed to urge her to follow a very particular course, though she could not have told where it might lead. Before her lay high mountains, whose higher reaches were still covered by the snows, but it was here that she felt she must make her way. The climb through the foothills she took in her stride, for she was young and agile, but the climb soon became more difficult, and flurries of snow impaired her vision.
Yet that which drove her on seemed ever more compelling as she came to the heights, and she soon found herself struggling against a fierce blizzard and battling through deep drifts of snow. Just as she began to feel that she had no strength left to go on or back, and that all the warmth was drained from her body, she sensed that the climb was over and that she was now descending. With one final effort she pressed on until the ground seemed to give way beneath her feet and she felt herself falling helplessly.
***************************************
The thunder roared and bolts of lightning split the skies. Driving rain stung the girl’s cheeks as she ran blindly towards the forest, bareheaded, her fair hair damp and slick. The ground quickly turned to quagmire beneath her feet, greatly impairing her progress. By the time she reached the trees she was exhausted and fell to the floor, sodden and covered in mud. There, for a few brief hours, she slept, freed for a short time from the emotional turmoil she had so recently suffered.
When at last she woke the storm had passed and although water still fell to the forest floor in great drips from the canopy above, she could see that the rain had now stopped. Still quite close to the forest edge, a few stray shafts of sunlight lit the dell where she had spent the night and she took the opportunity to eat a little dried biscuit from her pack and to wring some of the water from her damp clothing.
One might imagine that she would be filled with despair, having lost all of those whom she had ever known and loved, and conscious that she could never return to that place she had once called home. Yet had any been there to look upon her then, they would have observed that those twinkling eyes had turned a steelier blue. She clung to the tale the man she had called ‘father’ for all her years had told her, of her discovery as a babe, abandoned at the edge of the woods, and his belief that the elves might provide an answer to the mystery. She stared hard at the elven symbols on the medallion he had found with her, which now hung at her throat, as if by doing so she might induce them into giving up their secret, but when they did not, she gathered her things and, with firm resolve, set off into the forest with only the vaguest idea of which direction she should take.
For several days she made her way deeper into the forest where the undergrowth grew more densely, and even by day little light made its way through the closely packed branches. She made as much use as she could of the trails and passages made by forest creatures but at times her progress was slow as she had to either cut her way through with her hunting knife, ill-fitted for such a task, or re-trace her steps where the thicket became impenetrable. However, the lessons she had learned from the old forester served her well and she seemed able instinctively to find a path or to avoid dangers, such as the wild boar which from time to time crashed through the nearby vegetation.
For those first few days she was able to survive on fruit and berries she found, and once on honey stolen from a nest she discovered in a hollow tree. At night she lit a small fire where she made camp, though she slept but little for the sounds of the forest by night were a sharp reminder that predators were not far away. As days passed, she began to sense a change – the trees and bushes where she might have looked for fruit were barren and on many the leaves were dying. No longer did she hear birdsong or see any of the creatures she might expect to see during the daytime, while the sounds in the night rose to a cacophony of howls and screeching. It seemed, too, as if the very air she breathed was thick with a sickly, cloying odour whose source she could not determine.
One evening, having followed a narrow trail made by some animal, she came to a small opening in the trees and thought that she would make camp there for the night. The day had been warm, and the air was thick with the soporific scent which seemed to permeate that part of the forest. Drowsy, she rested for a moment and, lying herself down upon a mossy outcrop of stone, she fell at once into a deep sleep.
She woke to the touch of gentle fingers caressing her cheek and opening her eyes she saw the smile of a beautiful young Elf-woman who kissed her lightly and sang to her a song of such heartfelt love in a voice of purest silver. The elf bid her rise and they were at once joined by a young girl with raven hair and laughing eyes who took her by the hand and led her to where an older man and woman stood. As they turned to face her, she was at once filled with joy and wonder, for here were Aldgar and Ragwaen, whom she had called father and mother, and they smiled and kissed her. She heard then the sound of a merry tune played upon a small pipe, and she saw that the Elf-woman had been joined by a young man whose flaxen hair matched her own, and he it was who played for them. The young girl took her by the hand once more and together they danced there for a while, and she delighted in this company. At last, all came together and for a moment joined in warm embrace.
Throughout this episode that sweet, soporific scent had filled the air but now she detected a subtle change, and a whiff of acrid, sulphurous fumes reached her and at the same time the figures around her withdrew to the edge of the clearing, all save the girl who still clung tightly to her hand. To her horror, then, the images of Aldgar and Ragwaen began to undergo a terrible change. Their faces grew haggard and both grimaced in pain as their bodies convulsed and in these throes of agony they clawed at their clothing and, where it ripped, she saw the corrupted flesh beneath. Helpless she watched as howling in pain both fell to the ground where, it seemed, they vanished and in their place there stood a terrifying figure.
Near twice as tall as any elf this creature stood on two stout legs, its scaly skin the colour of the earth, its face a snarling visage and from its skull two twisted, pointed horns, each the length of a man’s arm. It held a curved bow and on its back a quiver loaded with black arrows. Straightaway, and with a cry like to curdle the blood, it took aim, and she watched in horror as first the young man who had played upon the pipe and then the gentle Elf-woman fell before those cruel shafts, flowers of blood staining their garments where they struck, until both lay bleeding on the forest floor.
She had no time to see what happened to their lifeless bodies for their executioner now turned to face her and as it did it grew in stature and was transformed into a giant representation of the Woodman youth, Barmod, who had once tormented her so. In his hand he held a club, nearly as big as a tree trunk, which he raised as he came towards her. At the same time myriad voices called from within the trees all around her, mimicking the cries with which the village youths had once taunted her – ‘elf!’, ‘witch!’, ‘abomination!’. Terrified, she fled into the trees, not knowing where she went, and as she did so she slipped the hand of the girl, who had remained at her side. Blindly, she ran through the undergrowth, her face scratched, and her tunic torn by the thorns and briars. All the time, she was beset by the cries of her tormentors, on all sides, and she expected that at any moment she would be confronted by them, until at last their noise died away and she fell, worn and weary, to the ground.
For a moment, she lay in silence. Then she was assailed once more by that cloying scent, a strange mixture of sweetness and acridity, and from close by, within the trees, there came a plaintive cry. She could not have said why but it was immediately familiar, and she knew that the girl whose hand she had held earlier was calling to her, beckoning, and that she must answer its summons. So began a desperate and futile chase in among the trees as that pleading voice, filled with longing, called to her and urged her to find its owner. Always, it seemed so close, yet remained just out of reach until finally it was heard no more and, frustrated and exhausted, she dropped to the forest floor and slept.
******************************************************
When she awoke, she noticed at once a stirring of the leaves in the upper branches as a light breeze blew. The odour which had filled the air for so long was gone, dissipated by the cleaner air which reached even there at the base of the trees. Her head, too, seemed clearer and as she reflected on all that had occurred, she could only imagine that she must have suffered a kind of dreamlike hallucination caused by some impurity in the air, though what caused it she could not surmise. It struck her, though, that those apparitions of people known to her were very real and she could not help but wonder who the others in her visions might have been. With this thought foremost in her mind she stiffened her resolve to renew her quest to uncover the mystery of who she truly was.
She still had her weapons, but she had left her pack back in the small clearing and she knew that she could never easily find that place again, for she guessed she had travelled many miles in her wild chase through the trees. This meant that she no longer had an easy means of lighting a fire and she had lost the rest of her food supply. Undeterred, she set out once more, trusting that her instincts would set her on the right course.
For many more days she continued her journey through the unforgiving forest. She survived on the few roots and mushrooms she could find, but she often went hungry for no fruit grew here and there were few animals. At night she slept in the open, with no fire, and often she heard some unidentified night creature passing nearby as she lay there motionless, her knife ready in case of an attack. Yet all the time something inside her told her that she was drawing ever nearer to the place where her story had started.
One night, after a particularly arduous trek through especially dense forest, she was unable to find any kind of open space where she might camp, and she was so tired that she immediately lay down at the base of a tree and fell into a deep sleep. She was woken by something soft being gently drawn across her brow and she made to raise her hand to brush it away but when she did so she discovered that she could not move her arm, for it was secured to her torso by strong threads. At once, she made to rise but found that struggle as she might she could not move. It was still night and as she peered into the darkness she heard a scuttling sound, as if something was moving at speed across the ground and this was followed by a menacing hiss. Then, looming over her prone form, came a giant spider from which exuded a foul stench. The creature inspected its prey and began the task of binding it securely in strong silken thread.
She found that although she could not move her arm from her side, she had some movement at her wrist and, as the filthy creature wrapped its legs around her, she was able to reach the hunting knife at her belt and to cut some of the threads binding her lower arm. Then, taking a firm grip on the hilt and thrusting upwards, she pierced the soft underparts of the spider. She was at once immersed in foul-smelling, glutinous liquid which poured from the wound and the creature emitted a loud, whistling hiss before scuttling away. Quickly, she cut the threads to free her limbs and looked to get away from that place as fast as she was able. But as she ran, she was surrounded by hissing and clicking on all sides and the sound of skittering legs as spiders ran to discover the source of the disturbance. At one point one of them dropped from a tree directly in front of her and she could see its jaws moving towards her. As she plunged her blade into the huge, many-windowed eye of the creature it let out a high-pitched scream. Sidestepping, she fled into the trees, not stopping until she could no longer hear her scurrying pursuers.
Just two nights after her escape from the spiders she came to a place where the trees thinned out a little. It was still only afternoon and a thin sun shone through the treetops here. All at once she heard voices up ahead and she made a cautious approach then stopped to listen. The language they spoke was not any she knew, and their words used many guttural accents, but she had had no contact with any living soul for many days and she was curious to see who these folk were. Stealthily, she peered out from behind a bush and saw that a group had stopped a little way off and seemed to be arguing about something. She saw as well that they stood on what appeared to be a well-worn trail which she doubted had been made by any animal. Wishing to get a closer look, she moved in their direction using the young trees and shrubs at the edge of the trail for cover. What she saw was a group of eight or nine squat, grimy-skinned figures and, although she had never seen their like before, she knew that these must be orcs, for Aldgar had described such creatures to her in his stories.
As soon as she realised what the creatures were, she looked to withdraw but her eagerness to find some kind of company had made her careless and she was spotted by one of the creatures which, with a threatening growl, pointed her out to his fellows. The whole group immediately turned towards her and one, who unlike the others carried a bow, loosed an arrow which found its target just above her ankle as she turned to flee. The rest of the group, with spears raised, rushed towards her as, in acute pain, she hobbled towards the trees. Realising that with her wound she could not outrun them she turned once more towards her growling, leering assailants and, taking her bow, loosed several arrows in quick succession, bringing down at least one of their number. For a moment the attack faltered, but seeing one of their number fallen their howls of rage grew louder still and they were quickly upon her.
At that moment there came the sound of a horn from the trail, and two of the orcs fell to the ground with arrows embedded in their throats. The group barely had time to turn to see this new enemy before they were cut down by a hail of arrows delivered by a group of elven bowmen, clad in leather armour with cloaks in green and russet hues.
Their leader approached the girl while his fellows inspected the fallen orcs. As she stood before him speechless, he stared hard at her features, as if perplexed. At last, he spoke. “I know not what you are but know that any who trespass here must answer to my lord King Thranduil, for know that this is his Elven Realm.” She made to reply but he raised his hand to stop her. “For now, we will tend to your wound as best we may until we may bring you to our healers. Your story must be told in Thranduil’s court where we will take you now.”
****************************************************
Rivendell, or Imaldris as it is known by the Elves, lies in a narrow valley which nestles in the foothills of that high and forbidding range known as the Misty Mountains. Under the protection of Elrond Half-elven it had long provided refuge for those fleeing from the agents of the Dark Lord and elven scouts regularly patrolled its borders.
One such was Thurien, known as Mistrider, who, as he did most every day, rode out one morning just before dawn to survey the hills to the east of the valley. It had been a hard winter and even now in late spring snow still covered the upper reaches of the moors. As he came to a steep slope on the edge of the snowline he was met with light flurries, and he could see high on the ridge above him that even this late in the year a lot of new snow had fallen in the night. He was about to turn the pony around to return to the valley below when he detected a sharp cry from the slope above. Quickly dismounting, he made his way upwards towards the place from which the cry had come. His progress became increasingly difficult, for the snow was deeper here, but at last he saw a dark shape which stood out clearly against that white background and, as he came closer, he saw that it was the prone figure of a young girl, face down in the snow. Gently, Thurien lifted her and was relieved to see that she still breathed. Wrapping his own cloak about her he carried her, with not a little difficulty, to where his pony stood waiting. As the girl showed no sign of regaining consciousness, he secured her in his saddle and ran alongside as they made their way back into the warmth of the valley and to where she might receive proper care from the healers there.
She awoke to find herself lying in a soft bed in a small high-ceilinged room. The walls and floor were decorated with azure tiles and above, in a deeper blue, a representation of the night sky where shone the moon and many stars. A soft voice spoke and there appeared at her side a beautiful Elf-woman dressed in a flowing green robe. “You are awake. You have slept long, for you were exhausted but you suffered only a few bruises from your fall, which we have salved.” As she sat up in her bed the girl found that she was now dressed in a loose-fitting white robe. Reaching to her throat she discovered that the medallion which hung there had been removed and she made to speak but the Elf-woman put her finger to her lips and said, “It will be returned. There is much which needs be said. Come, take my hand, Lord Elrond awaits. I will take thee to him now.”
As she was led through the Halls of the Last Homely House the girl marvelled at the wonders she saw. High, vaulted ceilings, tall statues of elven warriors and heroes, fine tapestries depicting tales of long ago, bubbling fountains of crystal-clear waters and everywhere the elves who dwelt there, nodding and smiling as they passed and murmuring their soft greetings. At last, she was brought before Elrond, in his own chambers, and as her guide departed, he bade her be seated for there was much he would ask her and much he had to tell.
For all that she was in such an unfamiliar place and that she sat now with one whom others called ‘High Lord’, she was strangely at ease in his presence and as she gazed into his grey eyes, she instinctively felt that she could trust him completely. So, when he asked her to relate to him her story, she willingly told him of her awakening by that murky stream and all that had happened since. When she had finished her narrative he rose, and for a moment placed his hands upon her head, and she did not flinch for she felt a healthful glow such as she had never felt before. He returned to his place and in his eyes she could see that he looked upon her with warmth and understanding, though had she looked more closely she might have seen pity there too. This is what he told her then.
“I do not know how ye came to awake in the way you have described. The loss of thy memory is the result of some enchantment, or perhaps some poison, so powerful that I am not able to fully restore it to you – the damage that has been done is too great. I have done as much as I am able. Know too that ye are, as am I, half-elven, the result of a union between a mortal man and one of elf-kind. Such unions are rare and no word of any such has reached this place for many a year.” At this point he took from his robe the medal on a silver chain which she had worn at her throat. “This,” he said, “I have taken to our crafters here and am told it is made by one from the Elven Realm. I believe that it is there that ye must go if ye would discover the beginning of thy story. If ye would go I will arrange for an escort to accompany thee with a message for King Thranduil who rules there and is known to me.” He handed her the medal and chain, then spoke again. “The letters there inscribed do spell thy name. Would ye hear it? And will ye go to Thranduil’s court?”
She paused a moment, bewildered as she tried to assimilate all she had just learned. Then she nodded in answer to his questions.
“Go then, Maegwine, with my blessing and my wish that ye shall find that which ye seek and that the answers ye shall find bring thee comfort.”
******************************************
A small party of scouts returning to the gates of the great hall where King Thranduil, Elvenking, held court, hidden deep in Mirkwood, would not normally have attracted much attention, but the sight of the fair-headed figure of a girl, her hands bound at her back, riding behind their leader, caused more than a stir of interest in those who observed it.
She was taken at once to one of the healers there who examined the wound above her ankle and applied a soothing salve which at once relieved some of her pain. “That will take a little time to heal for the orc’s arrow has bitten deep,” said the Elf-woman who attended to her. “Now you must undress.” Her clothes, along with her weapons and the silver medallion she had been given by Aldgar, were taken from her and she was given a plain but clean smock and taken to a small cell where she was left. A little later she was brought food and water and after that she slept. When she awoke an elf came to her cell and she saw at once that he was dressed very differently from those she had so far seen, wearing a fine red tunic decorated with gold and silver braid, and a purple cloak. He gave a short bow before announcing:
“My name is Ithilbor. I am sent by King Thranduil. You must tell me who you are and what caused you to enter our realm. Know that you should speak truthfully for your fate will be decided by your words.”
She told him then the story of how she had been found, seemingly abandoned, as a babe and of her upbringing in the Woodman settlement. She told of all that happened there and the circumstances of her leaving. She told, too, of her journey through the forest up to the point where she was rescued by the elven scouts. For all that she was held prisoner and that her fate was uncertain, she felt as if a great weight was lifted from her as she told the story of her life to this stranger, because she felt that she could now do no more to satisfy her pressing need to uncover the secret of who she was. The elf listened carefully to all she said and when she had finished, he spoke. “I will relay all that you have said to the King. We will speak again.”
The next morning the Elf-woman gaoler who brought her food came with fresh water and a blue robe and bid her wash and dress. When she had done so she was led through stone corridors to a room where a dark-haired girl was seated on a bench at the centre. She wore a pale green dress of similar cut to the one she now wore and as the girl turned to face her, she was at once struck by the resemblance to her own features and by the realisation that this girl was so very like the apparition she had danced with in the forest. At the behest of her escort, she seated herself next to the girl on the bench and at that moment two figures appeared from a door on the far side of the room. One was Ithilbor, the smartly dressed elf who had spoken to her earlier, who she now realised was one of King Thranduil’s courtiers, and the other a sinewy elf dressed in the workaday garb of a craftsman.
Ithilbor spoke first. “You have both come to this place seeking knowledge of your own origins, though you came here by very different roads. Here is one who can tell you much of what you wish to know. It is a long and sad tale, but one that must be told. I would ask that you listen well.”
The second elf stepped forward and it seemed that as he looked upon the two girls seated before him, shifting his gaze from one to another, he marvelled, and a tear was in his eye. Then, regaining his composure, he announced, “I am called Fladring. Know that you are sisters, born on the same night. Let me tell you those parts of your story which up until now have been hidden from you.”
So Fladring told them of their mother, the elf Maelwen, and her love for their father, the Woodman Herebold and of the part played by their aunt, Berathiel in aiding them and protecting them from the anger of their grandfather, Tarion. He told how his close friend Berathiel had brought the babes to him with their parents, who had chosen their names, and how he had etched their names on the medallions he had crafted.
At this point he produced from his tunic the silver medallion which had been taken from the fair-haired girl and passed it to her. “This is yours,” he said. “The name here engraved is Maewine, for that is the name chosen for you by your parents all those years ago.” The girl took it from his hand and placed it around her neck but, clearly deeply moved to learn her true name, did not speak.
Fladring told then of how their parents had fled from the wrath of Tarion and of how they had both been killed by the orcs but had managed to hide the baby girls from their attackers. He spoke of how he had found Maegwine near where her father had died and taken her back to Berathiel and how the two had taken her to his remote cabin when Tarion refused to accept the child and of how they had lived there secretly for so many years. As he spoke of these things the girls joined hands as they sat, and both gently wept as they heard of what had befallen their mother and father.
Finally he told the story of that night when their grandmother, Nestoril, came to his cabin to warn them of Tarion’s approach and of how they bade Maegwine flee into the forest. When Tarion had entered the cabin he was furious with Berathiel but as he raged Nestoril spoke up as she had never done before and bid him be silent. She then asked where her granddaughter was, for she had only recently learned that she still lived. Chastened by his wife’s censure, Tarion set out to find the girl, but he could not.
For many days then did all four search the woods in hope of finding Maegwine, but all in vain. Each of them then reflected on their own part in bringing about the tragedy which had led to the deaths of the young couple and their children and after a year Tarion, Nestoril and Berathiel, reconciled in their grief but dispirited with their lives in that place set off together on the journey to the West. Fladring, however, made a promise to Berathiel that he would remain until such time as hope of any news about what had become of Maegwine had passed.
When Fladring ended his tale Ithilbor spoke to the girls, telling them that new quarters had been prepared where they may stay together until such time as the King was ready to make a judgment on what should become of them, based on the missive he had received from Elrond, Fladring’s narrative and their own stories.
The girls were told that they were free to roam the halls and the woods in the immediate vicinity although they were asked not to stray further, and for the days which followed both were aware that although free, they were always watched. Yet they were scarcely troubled, for they took such delight in each other’s company. They would sit together for hours talking of trees and plants and animals, for both loved the woods and forests. There was often music playing in the halls and glades and they danced together long into the night and sang as well for each was blessed with a voice as melodious as that of their mother. While the girls were constantly gladdened and amazed to discover how often they thought the same thoughts or looked to utter the same words, Ithilbor, who visited them frequently during this time, noticed the subtler differences that set them apart. To him, it seemed that of the two Maegwine appeared far more comfortable in the company of elves.
Ever since Elrond had placed his hands upon Maegwine’s head she had begun to have brief flashes of memory which she could not quite place. During the time she spent in Thranduil’s court this became more and more frequent. She would sometimes hear a snatch of song and find that she could join, though she could not recall having heard it before, or hear a tale and know its ending. Fladring, too, would often come to see the sisters and would tell her of the years she had spent with himself and Berathiel as she grew up and he would encourage her to remember some of the things they had taught her then and it seemed that she might be recovering at least some of her lost memories.
On a day when summer was drawing to a close, Fladring came to the girls and told them that the time had come for him to make his journey to the West where he might rejoin Berathiel, who in truth he loved dearly, as he had promised that he would. Both girls were saddened that he was leaving but Maegwine’s sorrow was the greater for she had grown to love him dearly, not least because she knew that he had played such an important role in her own life. He kissed both tenderly and promised that he would bring news of them to Berathiel, and to Nestoril and Tarion too.
*************************************************
On the day when King Thranduil was to pass his judgment on the two girls, they were led into his courtroom hand in hand, wearing the dresses, one green, one blue, which they had been given. There in that mighty hall, carved from the living rock, were many of the important elves in the Woodland Realm grouped beside a huge wooden throne. There sat Thranduil, Elvenking, a crown of leaves and berries upon his head and an elaborately carved wooden sceptre in his hand. Facing the throne, set apart, were two small chairs and the girls were bidden to take their places there. Seated thus, in the presence of the King, made to feel insignificant in this great hall with its towering stone pillars and now without the comfort of a sister’s hand, each of them felt, just for a moment, that same loneliness she had once before known.
As the girls had entered a low murmur had arisen from those assembled there but now Ithilbor, who stood at the King’s right hand, called for silence and Thranduil spoke, addressing both of the girls:-
“Your mother, Maelwen, was of the Firstborn and from this place, and her own father, Tarion, was my trusted adviser. Although your father was of the race of mortal men, the Secondborn, it lies within my power to decide what choices I may present you with. In doing so I have considered your own testimony regarding the lives you have led, and information provided by the crafter, Fladring.”
He now turned to Maegwine, and addressed his remarks to her alone:-
“You, Maegwine, spent most of your young life with Fladring and Berathiel who taught you much of the lore of our kind. In the letter sent to me by High Lord Elrond, he writes of that affliction which robbed you of memory– he believes that with time some, though not all your memory, may be restored to you. During the time you have spent in this place I believe that you have found yourself familiar with some of our history and that you find pleasure in the company of my people. Because of this I would be happy for you to remain here and to live out your mortal life among us as an equal.”
He turned then to Maewine and spoke to her alone:-
“Maewine, by your account you were raised in the world of men and never had dealings with the Firstborn until my scouts found you on the borders of my realm. Your story is indeed tragic, but I do not believe that you could make a life among us here. You should return to the places where men dwell and seek a life there. In acknowledgement of your elven kin I will provide thee with a mount and some equipment and my scouts will escort you to a place of safety. You should leave within a day.”
At this the King rose and made to leave while Maewine fall into despair. Then Maegwine, finding courage she did not know she possessed, rose as well and going to her sister and throwing an arm about her, spoke up thus:-
“Proud King, did you think that I should stay here with you while my sister, who has suffered so much, is left to fend for herself in the world once more? I thank you for your offer, but I will go from here with Maewine, with or without your blessing. The life you offer to me here is a great gift indeed, but it may not compare with the gift I received when I discovered that I am not alone in this world, that there is one to whom I am bound in blood and whom I have come to love dearly even in such a short space of time.”
With that, she took Maewine by the hand and they turned and left the chamber without so much as a glance at Thranduil, who stood astonished, for he was not used to being spoken to thus.
Maegwine and Maewine left the Elven Realm the next day. What became of them, no one quite knows. There are no records of them having returned to any of the places where men dwell and some have suggested that they may have gone to Rivendell, where it seems certain they would have been welcomed by Elrond, but none there have any knowledge that they ever did.
What seems most likely is that, rejected by both their mother’s and their father’s people, they kept company together and ranged far across Middle Earth, haunting the wild places and fighting evil where they found it. For it is certain that those who collect the tales and legends of past times have found odd references to a pair of wood-maidens, sometimes referred to as elves, aiding a traveller on the road or rescuing a child from a flood, and it is said too that the orcs tell of twin huntresses, one fair, one dark, who will appear without warning and exact a terrible vengeance on all their kind.
In my own research into the facts surrounding this tale, I discovered the following poem, in among the papers of an old hobbit who spent much of his life travelling Middle Earth and collecting old tales and stories:-
Of Mirkwood, which in shadow lies,
A hundred curious tales are told,
Of good and evil, right and wrong,
And some to make the blood run cold.
Few venture on those woodland trails,
Yet those who do tell that they’ve seen,
At forest’s edge, and deep within,
Two wood-maids, clad in gold and green.
Of slender build and fleet of foot
In leather dressed from head to toe,
One dark, one fair, all else alike,
Together through the tall trees go.
They lightly trip beside the stream,
In woodland glades go hand in hand,
Half-elven sisters, running free,
Their legend grows across the land.
Hunting wild and savage beasts,
As one their arrows they let slip,
Yet oft will spare the gentle deer,
Who from a forest pool do sip.
Some say they on a night have heard
Harmonious voices raised in song,
Of joy that two are joined once more,
Of sadness for an ancient wrong.
Those who do walk the forest paths
Tell how when by foul orcs beset,
Twin tempests to their rescue came,
With blade and bow cut down that threat.
Deep in the heart of Mirkwood hide
The Dark Lord’s minions, fierce and dire,
Yet terribly they fear those maids
In whose eyes burn an elven fire!
Across the years their legend grew
Their deeds re-told in minstrels’ lays,
Until, at last, their story done,
Together they did end their days.
High in the heavens two bright stars shine,
Close trace their course across the sky,
While high in Greenwood’s canopy,
On silver wings two white doves fly.
The End
