Renia put to rest
“Renia!” Maegwen called as she walked through the mists. The sky was grey, and she, Figwit, Legolas and a few other elves were out, searching for Gollum. Maegwen, however, was more worried about her horse, which she had loved and kept for so long.
“Renia!” she cried again.
“Maegwen! Silence! You are more likely to scare off the beast then to call it back with your screaming.” Figwit said calmly, putting a hand on her shoulder to quiet her. Maegwen nodded, and tightened the grip around the hilt of her dagger that lay in its little sheath. It was the one she had been found with when but an infant. Elrond had given it to her some years back, and she always wondered about it.
“Well, can we move on? I see nothing here.”
“That is what you think.” Said Legolas. “Come. See.” He was pointing to a patch of mud. “Orc passed here, and look there.” Now he bent down, and pointed to more prints. They were smaller, and there were evident toe markings instead of the dull footprint of an orc’s shoe.
“Gollum.” Maegwen said under her breath. Legolas looked up and nodded.
“This way.” He instructed. Maegwen followed half-heartedly, still grazing the trees for any signs of Renia. She really wanted to find her horse, and some hours previous she had high hopes of finding her. But now, they had dwindled significantly, and her worse nightmare was the thought of coming upon her beautiful horse, dead, blood soaking her splendid white coat and her sparkling black eyes void of life.
“Come on.” Said one of the Mirkwood elves, pulling her arm. “It is not a good idea to get separated in these woods in times like these.”
Maegwen nodded, and followed obediently. They got relatively far until they saw now that the sun was setting, and they decided to return to the House of Thranduil.
“We can continue again tomorrow.” Said Legolas. So they turned North, and Thranduil wanted to know all of what had happened. Legolas and the others explained, but Maegwen was silent. They all sat at a long table, eating, and Thranduil was kind enough, but this wasn’t home. She had been away but a fortnight and already she was homesick.
“Are you enjoying yourself here?” Thranduil asked. Maegwen was broken from the odd trance she had been held in. She noticed all else had left, save her and the king.
“I am.” Maegwen said politely.
“But you miss your home.” Thranduil said what she did not. Maegwen nodded.
“I do. I… I think I shall retire. I must wake early tomorrow.” She got up and bowed. “Thank you.” She went to her room and changed for bed. Figwit came in a time after.
“I am sorry we did not find Renia today. I know how much you loved that horse.” Said the elf sympathetically.
“I am sorry as well.” Maegwen retorted. She sat back. “Do you think we’re getting close? To the trail I mean.”
“I fear that the orcs have gone all the way to Dol Guldur by now, or are drawing nigh there while we rest.” Figwit said. Maegwen nodded.
“Is that where you believe they are from?”
“Reports from messengers tell that there are many orcs going to and from that place. But it is still very dark. Some of the elves are still scared to venture close.”
“I don’t want to go there.” Maegwen said. Figwit brushed hair from the girl’s face away.
“You miss Imladris, don’t you?”
Maegwen nodded. They talked a bit about how much longer they would be staying there. Figwit said about one week, or perhaps even a fortnight, but he doubted very long. Gilgnalad and the others too wished to return. So Figwit bid her good night, and went to his own quarters.
They went out early again the next day, before the sun had fully risen, and she saw the moon lingering in the east. Just as before, Maegwen had a hidden agenda, and was fully confident they would find Renia today. But as afternoon approached, and no sign of the horse. As the day melted away, she became deep into despair. She never thought this trip would turn out so wrong. When they had left Imladris, she believe that she would save the elves from her vision. But they were gone. And Renia was lost.
Maegwen was becoming slower as she took more time now to find Renia. She thought she saw something move.
“Renia!” she gasped, and tore off in the direction.
“Maegwen!” Figwit called, watching the girl run off through the trees and brush.
“What is she doing?” Legolas asked, stopping, and peering through the green in the direction she had gone.
Maegwen raced through the shrubs, thin whippy tree branches striking her in the face. When she arrived to where she thought she saw the movement, her heart fell. There was nothing. Nothing but deep crimson blood that speckled the lush green grass under foot. Maegwen’s eyes grew large.
“Oh, no.” She knew orc blood was not red, but black. So the blood was that of an elf. Or, what she believe, that of a horse.
“Renia, Renia!” she cried, running farther, following the path of blood, tears blurring her vision. She could hear Figwit’s and Legolas’s and the others’ cries for her to stop, but she couldn’t. She had to find Renia. She loved her horse. Then all the memories flooded back. Back to the first time she had gotten Renia. It was a hot day, and a beautiful white horse named Nimloth was giving birth. Maegwen thought it was odd — she had never seen anything being born — but Elrond smiled when he saw her puzzled expression and brought her an hour or two later to see the colt. Maegwen thought it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. From that moment she knew that she would be friends with the horse forever. Elrond had seen the bright twinkle in her eyes, and Renia was given to Maegwen. They were together much, and went a lot to the Field and pranced around like the day would never end.
While memories of old haunted her thoughts, she could no longer hear Figwit or the others. Then, as she burst through a patch of trees, she gasped in delight and perplexity. There was Renia all right. But she was shaking, and her head was dropping and falling weakly. Then Maegwen knew why.
“Oh, no… no…” she ran over, but was just about trampled as the horse fell onto the grass. She ran to the horse’s side. She was badly wounded with too many gashes and wounds to count. There was also a thick blade in its shoulder, driven deep. Blood and sweat mixed and matted the horse’s beautiful coat. There was so much blood. So much blood…
“Oh Renia.” Moaned Maegwen, taking the horse’s head onto her knees at it laid on the ground, legs sprawled out. Tears streamed down her cheeks. The horse would not recover. She kissed the horse’s forehead and embraced its head. She felt like she was losing a family member or a friend – or worse.
“Maegwen!” came voices. “Maegwen! Maegwen, where are you?”
But she could not feel the strength to answer. Figwit and the others came eventually, and they were silent seeing her there, holding a bloodied horse, tears staining her cheeks. She fondled her mane, and then felt the horse give a last shutter under her finger tips. The horse looked up at her as if to say ‘thank you’ among so many other things -who would know- and then it’s long eye lashes flashed, and closed. Then the horse was dead.
“Figwit.” Maegwen said as she felt a hand rest on her shoulder. She stood and fell into his arms.
*This part was relitively short, so I will post the prologue below. It makes more sense of the story, because on some parts, I think people are mistaken on what exactly Maegwen is.
The Prologue and the Early Years
The night that Bilbo Baggins arrived in Rivendell was strange for two reasons. One was the fact that Bilbo was there at all. The old hobbit rarely visited — in fact he seldom came ever. But now he was staying there for good, as a much-needed vacation in his eyes. Rivendell was, as Bilbo had put it long ago, ‘a perfect house, whether you like food or sleep or story-telling or singing, or just sitting and thinking best, or a pleasant mixture of them all’. And Bilbo planned to mix them all. Age was creeping up on him, and even more so since he had left the Shire, and his precious ring with Frodo, his young cousin.
But the reason that night was so strange was not just that Bilbo had come. The second reason it was odd had little to do with the hobbit, unless there was an unusual coincidence no one was aware of.
Bilbo and Elrond sat and talked for a while, and about many different things. Quite a bit about Bilbo’s book (he kept bringing it up), and Elrond wanted to hear about the Shire and what life had been like since Bilbo’s last visit. They talked about the past, and some about what was to come. But their meeting was cut short when a young elf, a little less than 45, ran in with a bundle and the second reason that night was so particular.
The bundle was a little baby, sleeping soundly, sucking on her thumb. She was a very beautiful baby, with dark wisps of hair on her head and cute chubby cheeks, though that’s rather common around babies. Elrond looked quizzically at the child, apologized to Bilbo for his leave, and followed the elven boy, Figwit, off into the gardens.
“This is where I found her, lord.” Piped up Figwit in a high little voice, still holding the little girl. There was a patch of blue flowers that were packed down, as if something had been sleeping there. It was evident the child had been there more than a few hours. The air was becoming cool, and the baby in Figwit’s arms shifted.
“How did you find her?” asked Elrond, and he took the child into his own arms.
“I found her right there.” Figwit said, bright eyes shining, as he pointed to the patch of flowers. “I was playing in the stream and I found her and I picked her up and I came to you.” He said all this very quickly.
“Was anyone else here?” Elrond asked.
“No.” Figwit said. Elrond thought about this. Who and why would someone just leave a child out in the open with no shelter of any kind?
“Did you find her with anything?” Elrond asked. Figwit thought for a moment.
“No.” he said at last. Then he brought out something from behind his back, and Elrond jumped a little.
“I found this with her though.”
It was a little odd seeing the young elf, standing there innocently, big bright eyes staring up with a malicious dagger in his hand.
“Let me see that.” Elrond commanded. He took the knife and looked at it. It was completely unadorned by anything, and was very bland. Elrond tried to think of a people who made weapons of this sort of make, but could not come up with any. Then he looked to the child. She was obviously a human child, and was much much to young to be left on her own. But it was evident that the baby had been put there in hopes of someone to look after her.
Then the child opened her brilliant green eyes and Elrond’s heart was pierced. He could not turn her away.
“What are you going to do?” Figwit asked, stirring Elrond’s thoughts. Elrond looked upon the smaller elf and smiled. From that day forth, the lord acted as though the small baby was his own daughter. He named her Maegwen, partly to do with the weapon she was found with.
As Maegwen grew old, Elrond occasionally called on the help of Celebrought, Figwit’s mother, for help in the up bringing of the little girl. But for the most part, he did well. He had, after all, broughten up three of his own children, as well as another’s.
The orphan girl was well behaved as baby, but once she grew to the age of four, she became very active. She was ever wondering farther off on her own, but came back, and though she did get herself into much trouble, it was all that could be expected.
She and Figwit grew together, and Figwit began to mature, and while Maegwen grew to the age of a young woman, he too developed into a grown elf. But before that, when both were still young, they played much together, though Figwit was the one with restraint. They would go off early in the morn and return when the sun was gone.
When Maegwen was eight, she was very pleased to discover she had a sister, as she counted Elrond a father. Arwen Undomiel returned from Lorien, at Elrond’s bidding, for all the mountains to the east and beyond that were growing perilous. Maegwen took quick liking to her sister, and liked to play with her. She looked up to her sister, for she was very beautiful and was very wise. When Maegwen grew to the age of 16 in the year 3017 of the Third Age, she became very interested in her origin and where her parents were.
It was a night much like the one she had been found on, when Maegwen went and found her father, who was in his chambers, hunched over a desk, writing messily on a piece of parchment. The room was dimly lit, and Elrond turned when there was a soft knock on the door.
“Maegwen!” smiled the lord, beckoning her to him. She walked over, and crawled onto his lap. She was getting big for this, but she felt safe in his arms.
“Elrond… I need to ask you something.” She asked quietly, looking him in the eyes.
“What is it, Maegwen?” wondered Elrond.
“Why am I here? I mean… I am obviously not your blood daughter. I am nothing like Arwen, and I am not an elf. I do not understand.”
Elrond sighed, and sat up higher. Maegwen got onto her knees in front of him, and looked up at him.
“I suppose you are old enough to know. You are mature for your age, though I was hoping you were older when I told you. But you deserve to know. Somethings, however, are quite dim and unknown, even to I. There are answers, but I cannot give them all to you.”
Elrond then told her all that he could. He told her about when she was found, and how it had ‘changed his life and all others around him for the better’. Maegwen was still not comforted by this. She wanted desperately to know where it was she came from.
“Did not my parents love me?” Maegwen asked. “Why would they leave me?”
“I am sure that the decision was for the best.” Elrond eased her, putting a hand on her shoulder. “I have my own theory, but it is only a guess.”
Maegwen was surprised to find out that Elrond had indeed, after finding her in the garden that night sent out searches for possible parents to the child. There was a group of a half-dozen orc dead carcasses found near the High Pass, but it was unlikely that they traveled that quickly. Elrond’s first guess was that the parents of Maegwen had left her there, then fled, but there were so many inaccuracies and errors possible with this supposal that the lord asked her not to get her hopes too high. And it was too late to know for certain.
“I always thought of you as a gift from the Valar.” Elrond said with a far-away smile. “The stars were shining so bright when you were gifted to me.”
Maegwen smiled, and embraced her father tightly. He was so kind, and always seemed to know what to say. She was glad Elrond was her father.
But she still always wondered.
**Sobs** I WAS AT SUCH A WRITER’S BLOCK!!!!!!!! I had not idea what to write. But I needed to explain somethings. And I like prologues. Even if I obviously can’t write them. Read the other parts, I SWEAR they will be better!! It might be confusing for someone who just read number 3, then the prologue, but OOPSIES!