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The breeze was fine, as was the sun through the leaves of the Mallorn trees. I walked the same paths I could easily walk in the dark, even if my eyes were closed, I would not veer off course. I had kept watch over these paths, these trees, for many ages. It was all my home - every inch of soil, every trampled leaf and even the air, itself. The land was in me and I in it.
"Haldir! I have found it. It fell just short of the ladder." My brother stood holding out a key, one that had fallen from my satchel earlier in the day. It unlocked a chest filled with treasured things--at least, they were treasured to me. It contained a ring that belonged to my mother, the sword of my father, and various writings they had sent to me during the war that took my father's life.
These I kept, not only for myself, but for my brothers, as they had little left of our mother and father. Most of their lives had been spent with me. It was unnatural to be orphaned as an elf, but after our father was killed, our mother's spirit was broken so that it could not be renewed. She died soon after.
They would have been reborn far away in Valinor, but Lothlorien was our home, and so I had raised Rumil and Orophin myself, teaching them to fight with bow and knife, sword and hand. I wished them to be more skilled than ever our father had been. It was the best way I knew how to protect them, as I could bear to see no harm come to them.
"It was just here," Rumil pointed at the base of the ladder to my fret.
"Thank you." I took the key and slipped it into my satchel for the moment, but I would keep it safely in the fret from now on. I did not wish to damage the chest in order to open it, for this, too, had belonged to our parents. I would not risk dropping the key again.
Tonight we were to take dinner at a great feast to welcome the Lady Arwen to Lorien. She had been absent for an age, and her grandparents were most pleased at her return. I was given leave to attend, which was rare, and I felt honored for it. I assigned my best elves to the Northern border for the night, and joined the party, seated about the center of the largest Mallorn trees, lit by the light of Galadriel. Many were there - young elflings included, as Lady Arwen was very fond of her cousins and the smallest ones among us.
While a host of our gathering sang songs in celebration of the Lady's visitation, one of the littlest elves--a female with golden hair and grey eyes, tilted her head at me and stared. Most elven children did not look at me, let alone approach, as they seemed to find me too stoic. In truth, I did not mind them. I thought them downright charming, I confess, with their little inquisitive eyes and tiny hands, but to be a Marchwarden came with a certain learned countenance. Most who did not know me, saw me as some sort of rigid statue of an elf. I was told that, at times, I could be a bit intimidating. I supposed this was true, but it did seem necessary if I was to ward off the evils that might seek entry here. It would not do to carry a stature suggesting to a passing orc that I might offer him some cakes and a warm welcome.
I was engaged in some questioning from Lord Celeborn about the duration of time between orc encounters, when I felt a tugging upon my cape. I turned my head and then looked downward to find the golden-haired elf child standing right beside me.
"Marchwarden. My father says you bravely tend the lands of our people. He says you fight many foul beasts to keep us safe." Her voice was soft, lilting and sweet as a little bird. I smiled a bit.
"Yes. I endeavor to keep us safe, as do my soldiers."
"Once, as I lay awake at night, I thought of great mountain trolls and became afraid. But then I remembered you and your brothers were here and, should a troll approach, you would smite him with your sword," she said, cutting at the air with her arm. "And I was comforted and no longer afraid."
At this I chuckled. "I would do just that, little one. Although I might prefer to use several arrows, as mountain trolls are very large, and I would not go too near him, if I can help it."
"Oh. Well, then you shall shoot him with all your arrows and then he would be dead."
"Indeed. Quite dead. I promise."
She smiled, a sweet, pleased expression that relayed relief. Then she reached into her pocket. "I have treasures with me. I collect them as I find them. See, here, a rock with sparkling flecks, and this one that looks like a gem, and OH, my favorite thing...an acorn. It is almost white, instead of brown, as all the others."
"It is very unique," I offered.
"Yes. It is my favorite and I think it brings me luck," she reiterated. "But..." She looked down at her little hand and rolled the acorn in her fingers, then she looked at me with eyes wide and thoughtful. "You need more luck than I do," she said. "For I do not fight any mountain trolls." Then she held out her hand. "You take it."
"Oh, but I could not take your most precious magical acorn," I said.
"No, you must!" she insisted. "Please. It is a gift. Thank you for killing the orcs. And for shooting the mountain trolls with all of your best arrows. Here," she said, taking my hand and pressing the little acorn into my palm.
Then I felt a great swelling in my heart, and a prickling in my eyes, and I swallowed it down, smiling into my hand. "I thank you, dear one. This is a precious treasure, indeed, and I shall keep it safe with my other treasures, knowing it shall bring me good fortune with mountain trolls."
"Yes. And orcs."
"And orcs," I said.
She hesitated. "I do not know if it will work with Oliphaunts, for they are very large."
"That is quite all right," I said. "There are no oliphaunts in our part of the world," I assured her.
"Oh. All right," she said, nodding happily.
I put my new treasure in my satchel, and when the feast was over, and I had returned to my fret, I fetched the key to the chest that sat against the moonlit wall to my left. Unlocking it, I lifted the top and wrapped the tiny acorn in a cloth, intending to put it away as I had promised. Then I reconsidered, closed the chest, and gathered some thin rope twine, burrowing a little hole near the top of the acorn and threading the twine through this, as a sort of necklace. I tied a knot tightly at the top, and slipped it over my head, tucking the acorn beneath the hem at the neck of my cloak.
It was, after all, supposed to bring me luck.
Taking up my bow and arrows, I descended the ladder of my fret and took to the paths towards my comrades. Mountain trolls stood little chance against me now.
