𝐍𝐘𝐌𝐌𝐑𝐈𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃 ━ lord of the rings

One: Fleetfoot

It was still dark when Nymmril awoke from his shallow slumber: The thin slither of the moon was riding low in the skies above the Ford of Carrock. The glowing crescent sent light fleeting through the cracks in his shuttered windows, white and pure as it poured onto his face where it rested atop his pillow and staining his eyes even when they were closed. But that is not what woke him, no indeed, for he had spent many nights sleeping beneath nothing but the moon, with only its precious rays to keep him company in the dark: It would take more than his oldest companion to rouse him from his sleep.

What caused his dreams to fade from reach of mind and memory was the sound of the heavy wooden door slamming shut and being barred, and then it was the whispers of voices speaking low and close in the darkness beyond Nymmril's room. If he listened closer, he could hear the quiet, quick breaths of a dozen or so sleeping bodies and the rustling of the hay as they turned gently in their sleep. One of the voices was Beorn, that he knew for certain because try as he might to be quiet the man was large and loud and unashamed, and even his whispers rocked the foundations of the house - such was the strength of the Great Bear.

Beorn was the one who had woken him, slipping in through the front gate with black blood beneath his fingernails and anger in his usually kind eyes, but it was not his housemate who kept Nymmril awake; it was the voice of the stranger he was speaking to and the mystery that surrounded it. It was familiar, though from where the young man couldn't bring himself to recall, and exuded a wisdom far beyond anything he could ever wish to perceive.

A shiver of excitement shook his spine as he gathered himself, for it wasn't often they had visitors all the way out in the Fords, and though most passers-by ended up as fodder for his own jaws, if they were bold enough their quests usually became his own. He loved adventures, with all his heart. But he hadn't been permitted to go exploring or wandering for decades now, not since the dragon had swept down from the South to claim the treasures beneath the mountain as his own.

Nymmril crept excitedly from beneath his thin blanket, leaping from bed gracefully, and with feet falling light as a feather he went to investigate. Were there nothing to separate his view from theirs he would've easily blended into the shadows quiet as a mouse and simply observed, but his door had other plans and simply creaked open eerily at the push of his hand. The sound of the wood on its hinges alerted both Beorn and his companion for they hushed immediately, turning towards him quickly.

"Nymmril. You are awake, it seems," gruffed Beorn, looking down at the figure beside him to exchange a glance.

"Yes, Beorn, it seems that way doesn't it?" The young man answered with a grin, stepping into the room so he was clearly visible. With eyes being sharp in the fading night as they were in daytime, he saw perfectly the man with the pointed hat tucked beneath his arm and with a beard of trodden snow. He narrowed his eyes at the stranger inquisitively.

"I have seen you before," Nymmril spoke softly, "long ago, it feels. Or perhaps in a dream."

Beorn made an odd huffing sound, folding his strong arms across his chest, but the stranger stayed silent for a few moments, observing the young man with keen eyes before he replied:

"It was many years ago that we met, Fleetfoot my old friend. Why it must've been when you were just a cub."

"Fleetfoot? I haven't been called that in years! Why, dearest Gandalf! it has been a while has it not!"

"Indeed it has been far too long, Nymmril. But I am not here just to visit, as I was telling your keeper Beorn here." The wizard tapped his staff on the ground and turned aside, whispering something to the bear-man. Beorn growled but said nought in return, striding over towards his ward. A large hand was placed on Nymmril's shoulder, squeezing it gently before the shifter continued on to his own quarters, leaving the tall man alone with Gandalf the Grey.

"I hope you and your companions are here for a good reason, Gandalf. I'd hate to see you all eaten by Beorn - I can do little to stop him in his bouts of anger."

"I would not ask you to get in between us, my boy. But pray, how do you know I'm not here alone?" There was a gleam in the old man's eye and he was smiling softly in the faint light. The crack of dawn was beginning to break through the bleary black outside, pinks and golds sending a glittering hue through the small windows onto the floor, yet outside it was still grey and dull where the sun hadn't yet broken through many of the overcast clouds. Nymmril returned the smile, exposing pointed canines.

"I can smell your friends, Wizard. I am younger than Beorn, and not so eager to ignore my senses in this form. You have come with a company of fourteen - a dozen-and-one dwarves and something I have not smelt before."

"Ah yes, well," Gandalf replied, taking a seat on a tree stump in the corner, "you'll meet them in the morning, hopefully. But do not tell Beorn yet - he doesn't like dwarves, not after Smaug's shadow came over these lands. I fear he might eat them if I do not take the proper precautions."

Nymmril let out a tinkling laugh, throwing his head back as he leaned against the wooden walls.

"My lips are sealed, Gandalf, on one condition: You must take me with you, wherever you and your companions are destined to go. I haven't been allowed out of the Carrock in what seems like centuries!"

The wizard seemed to ponder this, placing his hat back atop his head and twisting the hairs in his beard in thought. His wooden staff lay across his lap harmlessly.

"It will be dangerous, though that has never stopped you before. Very well, you can come though I can't say my company shall be too happy about it. I fear dwarrow can be rather stubborn at times and they aren't very open to meeting new cultures."

"Thank you," Nymmril said gently, eyes warm in the rising sun. "I would ask where your adventure is taking you but I fear the answer is a long one and I should like to get back to my bed for at least a few more hours."

Gandalf nodded understandingly, waving the man off with a free hand. The wizard fished around in his cloak for a couple of seconds before he drew out a long wooden pipe, placing it between his lips and almost chewing on it as he drew out a small sachet of pipeweed. "Indeed," the old man answered, "It's a long tale - and not mine to tell. You shall have all your questions answered in the morning, Fleetfoot."

Nymmril bowed, flaxen hair flopping over his eyes as he grinned tiredly, bidding the wizard goodnight ("or rather good morning") before reversing back into his room, squeezing his eyes shut and awaiting the dream world. Sleep came to him quickly.

--

Basically I reread the entire LoTR book series as I do every year( incl. the Hobbit and Silmarillion) and apparently my prose has changed drastically because of it, so i thought I might as well attempt to sound like Tolkien and post something at the same time! Hope you enjoyed x