“What is it, son of Thranduil, that you wonder?”

Legolas’ gaze snapped downward at the voice, and quickly he spun to meet the stare of the Lady of the Wood. He stooped into a low bow but stood upright again when no verbal response was made. Instead Galadriel bobbed her head before studying his face again and inquiring,

“Do you wish not to answer, or can you find no words to lay voice to your worries?”

“My lady . . .” Legolas began, but the words caught in his throat and he realized he couldn’t speak further.

“You are deeply affected by the death of Mithrandir,” she read instead, her eyes scanning his furrowed brow and downturned lips like the pages of a book. His wide eyes met hers; gone was his confident stare and firm jaw, his air of immortality and his trust that all would be well.

Galadriel continued, “You wonder what must happen to the being of a Maiar upon death, whether they venture to the Halls of Mandos as the Elves do or into the great unknown as the men do.”

Again Legolas nodded, feeling the bubble in his chest that had been pressing against his ribs and lungs since the fall of Mithrandir . . . or perhaps before they had even entered Moria.

“But you wonder something futher still, Legolas of Mirkwood, something which I cannot give voice to for you. What else rests so heavily upon your brow?”

“I . . .” he began, hesitated, then answered softly. Still his voice seemed to echo in the stillness of the forest, “I wonder if I might dare to hope that I am wrong in thinking . . .”

“In thinking?” she prompted.

“Might you know . . . the Princess of Arathilien. She did not stay in Imladris. I am sure of it.”

Galadriel gave a faint smile, “You are right to think that.” This did not appease Legolas, but rather made his heart plunge even lower in his stomach. She continued, “I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting this Princess, but still I watch her in my mirror for she has been chosen by the Valar in much the same way as Frodo has and Aragorn has, and perhaps as you have as well.”

“This does not set my heart at ease, I am afraid.”

“Perhaps this shall give you rest, then, that you shall again see the princess before her task is completed.”

Instantly, his worries latched onto the suspicious holes in the prophecy. Would he see her alive? Before her task was completed: would they meet only for her to then go get herself killed? Under what circumstances would he see her, or for how long, and was she in harm’s way even now? Legolas felt unworthy but not ashamed for his worries; he had never been a worrier before, but the fall of Mithrandir had only proven to him how fallible even the infallible actually were.

All he managed to ask was, “How can you know?”

“I am sure of it,” she answered vaguely, repeating his phrase. With an encouraging but distant smile, she turned and glided gracefully away.

Emerald had confided to Beven the horrible news of Mithrandir, though not until the next evening. To share it with everyone would have required explaining the book in order to answer as to how she knew, yet the sorrow weighed so heavily on her heart that she felt she might suffocate did she not breathe the words to someone. So she had whispered to Beven to wake her on his watch, and she had showed him the entry and explained whereby the snowstorm had occurred that forced them into the mines. Beven had held his sister as she cried yet again, but his insistence that Mithrandir himself had made the suggestion to go into the mines and that Emerald should feel no guilt of his death was less than convincing.

Alagedh’s reminder the following morning that Mithrandir had not found Radaghast at home when he had searched for him some months before also did not improve Emerald’s mood. Guilt and fear gnawed away at the edges of her heart until, exhausted and darker than Emerald had ever thought it possible for her to be, she again fainted when they paused for lunch. They were a mere seven miles from the fortress of Dol Goldur, which her brothers steered clear of with good reason.

“Are we to be glad she’s blacked out or anxious?” Tegryn asked as Hergest and Alagedh attempted to revive her to no avail. They splashed her face with water and slapped her cheeks and tried to sweet-talk her awake, but Hergest had packed no salts in his kit and Emerald seemed to need the sleep at any rate. At least she was still breathing..

“She does seem in awful need of a rest,” Hergest mused once they’d given up and simply propped her head on a rolled blanket.

“Only let us hope Radaghast has returned home since Gandalf’s unsuccessful visit,” Alagedh sighed, his hand lingering a moment too long against her cheek. “We are a long march from Imladris and Lord Elrond’s healing.”

They commenced to eating in a ponderous silence, broken after some time by Hergest inquiring, “What has her so upset, Beven?” The realization that Beven knew things they did not had already dawned on the remaining three members of the party, but they worked to respect Emerald’s decisions, as much as they might not like them. Hergest didn’t care too much to know anyways, but Tegryn and Alagedh were consumed by curiosity.

Beven glanced around at the other men. He certainly didn’t like keeping secrets, and were it him, he probably would have long ago divulged all. And really, he didn’t know everything; just more. Still, it was probably for the best if he at least shared with them that—

“Mithrandir has fallen.”

All startled at the announcement simply for the voice, for it had not been Beven that spoke. As quickly as swords were drawn, though, the figure stepped from between the trees.

He was shorter than Beven, who had always been the tallest and lankiest of King Orwig’s children, but taller than Hergest and Tegryn, and certainly wild looking. The braid of his long brown hair had caught leaves and twigs as he walked among the trees, and his bushy brown beard fell clear down to his stomach. Finally wrinkles had set in beside his dark eyes, which sat like aged river stones amid his tanned and freckled face. His cloak was a muddy brown but decorated by a belt of braided dry river weeds from which hung a wallet made of badger skin. A necklace of wooden beads and eagle feathers peeked through his beard and stuck out from his shoulders, almost giving him the appearance of having wings himself.

“Are you Radaghast?” Hergest asked, even as he eyed the knotty pine staff clutched in Radaghast’s strong hand. Even the youngest of the maiar was beginning to show his age, though, and in the shadows of the forest looked more like one of the Wild Men of the North than one of the mighty Maiar, the peer of Mithrandir and Saruman.

“So I have been called before,” he replied just as Tegryn stammed, “What do you mean fallen?”

Beven, already aware of the news, instead pressed, “Our sister—“

“Let her sleep. Girl looks like she could use it. You men might take better care of a small thing like that.” Before any could argue that really she made it rather difficult to take care of her, he continued, “Come on, then. There will be time for answers later. If you’ve finished your break, let’s get a start to make it home by night fall. We can hope my house has been left standing in my absence.”

Fortunately, Radaghast’s home seemed untouched except for a bag of seed inside the door that some small critter had gnawed through. The Brown wizard pointed to his one spare bedroom where they might lay Emerald to continue her deep slumber, while he himself set to throwing together a stew over the hearth in the big room. The aroma of boiling beef and hot tea made mouths water; after all, food had been less than ideal since leaving Imladris almost a month ago.

Until supper was ready, however, the men were given leave to explore the tiny abode Radaghast called home. His cabin, as it were, could not have been less like the grandiose marble halls of Elrond’s House, or for that matter the dark and cold cells of Saruman’s tower. Cozy and cluttered, the inside of the small wooden cabin seemed simply an extension of the outside to the indoors. The floor had been laid with uneven wooden boards and large worn carpets in muted browns and greens. The many windows were large and drapeless, though shutters could be closed on the outside during heavy storms. The ceiling too was wooden and mostly high, though Beven and Alagedh both had to duck through the door frames, and even Radaghast himself was forced to stoop a bit. Aside from the bedroom Emerald slept in and what appeared to be Radaghast’s own bedroom, a small room buried beneath books and organized collections of flowers and insects was clearly his study. The main room, large enough to fit the whole party though perhaps not for any extended amount of time, served for cooking, eating, and meeting. The furniture was made of wood and hay and pelts and not altogether comfortable, but suitable to support the men as they inhaled the bowls of stew Radaghast passed their way.

When the meal had been safely tucked away, Tergest turned to Radaghast and repeated his question from before, “What do you mean Mithrandir has fallen?”

“I have received word from Lady Galadriel of Lorien. The Walkers, finding the Mountains impassible from above, took to a path through the mines of Moria where they encountered a Balrog which has dragged Mithrandir down into the depths of the earth,” he answered simply, dabbing at his beard with a cloth to make sure no stew had hung there. He said it with such a steady, almost emotionless voice that his visitors wondered if he wasn’t affected at all. When his dark eyes were turned to them, though, they could see the sorrow contained there, packaged neatly into his eyes as though it were the only safe place to allow such painful feelings.

“This is terrible news,” Alagedh sighed, not bothering to wonder how Emerald had known so soon. “What about the rest of—“ He stopped himself quickly, realizing perhaps he shouldn’t bring such things up in discussion so easily with someone whom had not been present at the council.

“You are right to stop yourself, and in future would do best not to mention the Fellowship at all. However, with me in my house you are as safe to speak as if you were with Elrond in his cold walls. Perhaps safer, since no eavesdropping Elves are lurking about. What with Dol Goldur and the spiders, no one dares venture near here anymore and I rather like it that way.”

“What about them then?” Beven asked, proving that Emerald might not know, or at least hadn’t told him anything further.

“They,” Radaghast answered, “Have passed within the borders of Galadriel’s wood and are there now, safe though weary. The ringbearer still carries his burden, as do the others, and except for the loss of a dear friend and a wise mind, and a very good heart, the sun continues to rise and set on these troubled times . . .” He bottomed up his mug, then stared into the bottom as though confused by the emptiness. “The Fellowship will continue on, as must the rest of us. Am I correct, little one?” He turned to face the hallway, the only one to have noticed Emerald creep into the door frame.

She frowned, “That is easy for you to say.”

“Easy for me? With my brother in all manner of speaking lying at the bottom of the known world?” Emerald coughed and gasped as he said it, as though Radaghast had reached forward and punched the wind from her lungs himself.

“But you did not send him there,” she cried.

“Nor did you. Vána be damned if you haven’t gotten too high a sense of your own importance,” he shook his head.

“But I—“

“Yes, you did. And Saruman called up the storm and my eagles weren’t there to carry the Fellowship over the mountain and Elrond allowed Isildur to walk away with the Ring when he knew it should have been destroyed and Aragorn relented to Mithrandir’s plan to take to the mines. So you see that we are all implicated and yet it boils down still to Mithrandir’s decision. Beven, then, can no more be held accountable for your decisions than you can for Mithrandir’s. We may pull all the strings we wish to and yet people will do what they do.”

Again Emerald opened her mouth to begin, “I know that, but—“

“We may all be nothing more than pawns in some great game of chess. Perhaps, little one, you are the queen piece. And yet you are still a piece in someone else’s game. Tomorrow you and I will take a stroll to Dol Goldur, but in the meantime: stew?” He had begun serving a bowl as he spoke, and now held it out to her with all the delicacy with which one might offer a crumb of cheese to a mouse.

“Legolas all but begged me not to venture near Dol Goldur,” she mused. The memory suddenly made her reflect with just the faintest smile, though alongside it came a splash of bitter worry. The idea of visiting such a feared place piqued her curiosity, but Legolas’ firm insistence she stay far away surprisingly did make her hesitate.

“Neither has he obeyed every request you have made of him, has he now? Even now he is with the Fellowship, tucked away for a moment of safety in Lothlorien.” Emerald inhaled sharply. He simply must be thinking of when she had asked him not to go . . . but how could he know of such a thing? How in the world might this wizard know of things so deep within her mind? Surely Saruman had not the same power or he would never have formed an alliance with her, nor Mithrandir or Elrond. “Besides which, the little princeling is an old friend of mine, and I doubt he trusts anyone in the world with your safety more than I, save perhaps the rest sitting now in this room.” Emerald followed his eyes, but they rested not on any of her brothers, but on Alagedh, who was staring at the ground deep in thought.

She hardly had time to think on this, though, instead repeating, “Princeling?”

“You seem surprised that others have their secrets as well,” he laughed, though still his eyes were on Alagedh. Knowing this, Alagedh shifted uncomfortably. “But come. Stew. I can hear your belly growling from here,” he insisted once again, bringing the bowl to her and motioning for her to come sit. She sighed and consented but secretly swore not to ever stop feeling guilty over Mithrandir. Hopefully, she thought stubbornly, Radaghast could read that on her mind, too.

Back Main Next