Blemish
Before he set out, Downie had told Théoden of his quest; Théoden, and no other. “It seems my memory is flawed,” he had said. “I thought the reason I left the Havens and journeyed hither ‘cross four thousand miles of treacherous ocean on a tiny raft was my search for the perfect cup of tea; ‘twas not so. The Western Land have grown steadily more distant since the exodus of the elves, slipping gradually into a deeper layer of the metaverse. To make the journey is impossible, or nearly so. Some friends of mine sent me back, so that I might heal the rift and bridge the way for the return of the elves. This I learned from a pitiful creature named Sméagol, and also of two rings that were required, two rings which I now seek. Or perhaps it was three; the message was unclear.”
“But why do the elves want to come back?” asked Théoden.
“Ask that not. Ask, rather, why we departed. After the defeat of Sauron, and the apparent destruction of the Great Ring, it was believed that the magic would drain from Middle-Earth. Those of us who felt we could not live in such a land set out for the realm beyond. And yet things were not as they seemed; when but few of my people remained, Ray the Wanderer revealed the Ring, intact, in a newer, purer incarnation. Using its power, he reunited the lands of men, which had been torn asunder in the wake of King Aragorn’s tragic demise.”
“So why...” began Théoden.
“Indeed. Why did not Ray reveal The Ring sooner?”
“I was going to say, why are you talking in such an old-fashioned manner?”
“Ah. I have been reminded of the old days; my melancholy is upon me. The merry fellow you knew is no more.”
“Merry? You?”
Downie told no-one but Théoden; Théoden, of course, told everyone. A meeting of the council was called, but Downie had already gone on his way.
The common-room of The Tipsy Cat was dimly lit by hanging lamps. The conversation turned to silence as Downie stepped across the threshold.
“Hail, fellows,” said Downie. “What is the name of this village?”
“This is the town of Bucklerum,” replied the barkeep.
“Town? It seems a shade small, to merit such a title.”
“It’ll be a town soon. We’re expanding fast. As soon as we’ve cleared a little more of the woods, it’ll be lovely round here.”
A shadow of anger passed across Downie’s face. “Cleared the woods? Cleared away the sacred forest of Lórien?”
“Not all of it. We have to keep the woodcutters in work, after all. And they say there’s a place where no one goes, a place where elves still lurk.”
“Last time I passed by this way, there was no settlement here.”
“There have been houses here for nigh on thirty years,” said the barkeep, suspiciously.
“I ought to...” said Downie, and drew his warharp, and hesitated. “I ought to sing you a song, to pay my passage through your friendly little town.”
Jolly old Tom Bombadil
Here’s a question that I ponder:
Upon what mud do your feet tread?
Where is it that you wander?
“I stomp through fields where man dwells not
I skip through many a garden plot
Even in lands where trespassers get shot
For I’m Tom Bombadil-lo!”
Jolly old Tom Bombadil
How is it that you feast?
Do you pick ripe fruits and gnaw on roots?
Or dine on the flesh of beasts?
“I dine on what providence sends to me
Like mushrooms bright or the bark of a tree
I chew on grass or I swallow a bee
For I’m Tom Bombadil-lo!”
Jolly old Tom Bombadil
What strange things have you seen?
Have you walked on frost and deserts lost
And all things in-between?
“I’ve seen ponds where minnows sing all night
And forests where the pigs take flight
‘specially when I’ve eaten mushrooms bright
For I’m Tom Bombadil-lo!”
The song continued for a dozen more verses, and when it was over, the men of the bar laughed and cheered. And Downie smiled, and gathered the tiny coins they threw to him, and wept inwardly for the lost treasures of his people.
Next day, Downie entered the forest itself, and marvelled at the tragedy of its decline. Where once the leaves had stayed gold through winter, now there were only twigs laid bare.
“’twas never thus in my day,” he mused, and wondered when, exactly, his day had been.
An arrow sang past his head, and lodged quivering in the trunk of an ancient tree. Impassively, Downie doffed his adventuring hat, revealing his elven ears.
“Apologies,” came a voice. “You looked like a human.”
Downie turned. “I know you,” he said. “Your name is Haldir, is it not?”
“I know you too,” said Haldir, darkly. “I thought you had left this land.”
“I did,” said Downie. “And if you weren’t so busy shooting arrows at me, you might have noticed that I am being followed by Another, one who it not of our kind.”
Haldir looked around, but the figure Downie had heard behind him along the way was gone.
“I aimed to miss, of course,” said Haldir, recovering his missile.
“I am aware of that. If that had not been so, then one of us would no longer be standing here,” said Downie, ambiguously.
“What brings you so long a way?”
“I wish to consult the Mirror of Galadriel.”
“Come,” said Haldir, and he showed the way.
“Is this all that remains of Lothlórien?” said Downie, from the mount of Caras Galadhon, casting his eyes upon a scene of decay.
“Galadriel ordered us away,” said Haldir. “Only I remain. I, and one other.”
He escorted Downie down a flight of white steps. The basin was there, intact, unscathed by the passing of time, and Downie breathed a sigh of relief. The rot had not spread so far as that.
Beside the basin sat a maiden in a tattered wedding gown, brushing her hair and singing softly to herself, words of aching beauty. A melmith, she sang, dùath orodhîth lóm. Oh grey love, fading like mountain mist.
“Linmîr?” said Downie, knowing her at last.
She turned then, bringing half of her face into the light. Her fairness was enchanting, like the dawn-light mirrored off a gentle stream.
“You return to me now?” she said, and laughed harshly.
“When else should I return?”
“Never!” she said. “Unless you can go back some nine-score years to right your wrongs.”
“My wrongs? I have done no wrong. I regret nothing.”
“No wrong? Then leaving me at the altar was no wrong? Destroying the life of the one you swore to love was no wrong?”
“I was called away by a ranger of my acquaintance. He needed help in defending a human village from the Yrch. I was late, nothing more. I sent word.”
“Too late. Much too late. I would have killed myself then, for the humiliation, had not Galadriel wrested the knife from my grasp.”
“But you didn’t! You survived! Why did you send me away when I came to you? Why would you not see me?”
“It is more that I did not wish you to see me...” said Linmîr, turning her face fully in his direction and sweeping aside her long tresses to reveal a face marred by a single scar. “You see now why I could not go to the Western Lands. Accidents will happen when one is wrestling for a knife...”
“Is that it?” said Downie. “How ridiculous.”
“You find me ridiculous? Of course you do.”
“That’s nothing. Compared to some of the humans I’ve been consorting with, you’re Lúthien herself.”
“You always were a liar, Downie. If you came here to beg my forgiveness, save your breath.”
“No, I just came here to use the Mirror. For a long time I held a candle for you, but you have extinguished it now.”
“My deformity had extinguished it, you mean.”
“No, your madness. Only your madness.”
Haldir burst in on them, dragging a scrawny creature by its neck. “This monster claims to be a friend of yours,” he said.
Downie looked at the wretch with disdain, grey skin burned black. “I thought as much,” he murmured.
“Should I kill it?”
“No, spare him. He has done me one service already. Perhaps he still has a part to play.”
“Sméagol has played his part!” replied the creature. “Sméagol has paid for his sinss!”
“Tell me, Sméagol, what do you think of this woman?” said Downie.
Sméagol looked at Linmîr, then looked away. “Do not torture Sméagol! We cannot bear to look at her faces!”
“See?” said Linmîr. “I am so repulsive, I repel even this toad.”
“No!” said Sméagol. “The lady's beauty is so great, it burnses us like the fires of the sun!”
“Now will you understand?” said Downie.
“To the foul, only the foul seems fair,” said Linmîr.
“Enough of this!” said Downie. “I came here for one thing alone.”
Lifting the silver ewer, he poured a measure of spring water into the basin, and waited for the ripples to settle.
“I see the rings,” said Downie, at last. “One is in a dragon’s hoard. The other... is in a dark place. I think it’s someone’s pocket. It’s not much to go on, but it’s a start.”
“Pockets? Gollum!” said Sméagol, choking a little on his own bile.
“Come, Sméagol, what do you see when you look in the pool,” said Downie, lifting his head closer.
At this, Sméagol grew frightened, and struggled. “No! Nassty elf magic!” he cried.
“Look closer!” commanded Downie.
Sméagol looked, and froze, and it was clear that he saw something within, but what it was, he spoke not of. Instead, he reached out, and touched the pool.
“No!” shouted Downie. But too late. The foulness of his fingers at once turned the waters of the mirror into a muddy puddle.
“Precious!” cried Sméagol. “They steals it from us!”
But then he calmed down, and it seemed as if a little of the bitterness and rage was gone from him, drained away into the sacred pool.
Haldir led them away from Lórien.
“Tell me, do you know anything of the events of the Great Ring War?” said Downie, as they travelled.
“A little,” said Haldir. “I met the Fellowship as they passed through this land.”
“Of whom do you speak?” said Downie.
And Haldir told a tale of a group of nine who had set out from Rivendell, and of what became of them. And he told of how Galadriel and a mysterious Blue Mage had travelled together to Isengard, at the time of the death of Sauron, though for what purpose, he could not say. And Downie mused upon this and grew troubled.
Before they parted, he spoke to Haldir once more. “You should tell her that you love her,” he said.
“How do you...” said Haldir, sore amazed.
“Why else would you have stayed?”
“She does not return my love. She cares only for you.”
“Even so, she needs to feel loved.”
“But if I told her, she would not believe me. She would send me away.”
They sighed, and parted ways, and spoke no more. Downie looked around for Sméagol, but Sméagol was gone.
~SDC~
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