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The Wardens

Happy birthday, Marta! A TH-style fic for you.

Summary: Aiwendil hunts in Middle-earth. Two drabbles.


The Wardens

Once upon a time, Oromë and his servants roamed the earth, and looked to the succor of all good beasts. Aiwendil hunted in Oromë’s train, in form of a great wolf, ‘til they came upon a cove where –

up before them rose a great beast, square of head, bright of eye, immense paws lifting as she roared challenge.

Seeing her, hearing her call then, Aiwendil felt his heart turn in awe, and his form followed – tail to teeth like unto her he became, and fought and fondled and lay in her lair. He left her children, and wished her well.


Rána walks the sky now, as Aiwendil hunts in the poor, terrified forest. Its warg-haunted paths pass beneath his paws, which could crush their skulls with a swipe.

Lordly he strides, stalking in the shadows, following the howling pack – their scent is heavy, near…

He bursts upon battle joined: a great, growling man fights with bare hands – with bear hands and bristling hair. Aiwendil rears, roaring; the wargs, outflanked and terrified, bolt.

But the man remains, and dropping on all fours, moans. Then Aiwendil bows, becomes an old man behind his beard. “Well-met, child.”

The man looks up, astonished. “Grandfather?”


Notes: Marta's post about wall-paper in which Gandalf and Beorn recognize each other made me think of a few scenes I'd had in mind for awhile now, but never had a chance to write down.


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