Disclaimer: Not mine.

Title: Regained Childhood

Rating: T

Chapter Six

Siniathúr ran, crashing through bushes and nearly running into trees. He flew across the landscape despite his short legs, something uncanny carrying most of the burden of his physical weight. Panic and fear coursed through his veins, making him continue to run. His tiny chest heaved, his fragile limbs felt like wet paper to him and all he wanted to do was sit down.

These feelings in fact had happened several times but just before Siniathúr thought he would collapse despite the voice in his mind screaming RUN!, a blanket of warmth would seem to drape over him and disappear, taking his aches and weariness with it and leaving strength behind. Every so often he would feel a jolt and though later when he looked back, he was sure that after these jolts the scenery would change.

Siniathúr could hear no footsteps behind him. And he dare not look around to see if anyone was following. All he could do was run

Siniathúr woke up, lying on a carpet of decaying leaves and dirt. He felt tired and achy, and all he wanted to do was go back to sleep. His limbs were so very heavy and he felt especially drained. But he wanted to know where he was, to know if he was in any danger of being found by elves. The panic from earlier had gone leaving only fear. Siniathúr was fearful of the elves. He knew know, once he panic had gone, that they weren’t grotesque monsters, well not physically. They were monsters in silver suits. Seemingly good on the outside but dark and treacherous on the inside.

He had thought he had found somewhere where he could actually be happy but instead he had found another hell. The memories of pain that had been dredged up about his relatives paled in comparison to his more recent memories. He had tasted what love was. But it had been a lie and that hurt more than anything else.

Those people he had come to really trust had betrayed him, they had hurt him. Looking around at the place where he had lain down his head, Siniathúr saw he was in what looked like the hollow of a tree. The entrance to his hide out was a distorted oval. Peeking outside it, Siniathúr saw he was several meters from the root covered ground. The trees surrounding the one he was in now, looked rather old. Sunlight barely filtered down through the gnarled branches that formed the foliage.

Siniathúr pondered where he was and how on earth he had managed to get up to his current place. Withdrawing back into his shelter the little elfling pondered the events of last night. He certainly remembered wh...what had happened with the elves, he remembered running and running. It fact it seemed he had run all night. Siniathúr mouth turned down in a frown, he had thought his magic had been gone once he became an elfling.

It seemed to Siniathúr that his trust in those who he had thought loved him hadn’t been the only thing broken. The something that had sealed his magic had broken as well or at least partially damaged. He wondered if he could do full out magic or whether it was only accidental magic, acting on his emotions. Yawning slightly, Siniathúr felt very tired indeed.

His hiding place to him was a good one. It was off the ground and provided haven from things that lurked the ground. Settling down in his shelter, amidst the leaves and dirt that had been blown in by past winds, Siniathúr slipped back into a fitful trance filled with beautiful monsters with pointed ears.

The Valor looked down at the tree where the elfling lay. They had failed. They had been able to give the elfling a home but it had turned out all wrong. They had put the elfling in a place that had caused him pain. Now he was alone in the great forest of Fangorn where the Ents roamed.

They were truly disappointed at the elves. They had done something awfully atrocious to the little child. They knew that the little elfling would not forgive his race anytime soon, if ever. But as much as they knew the elves deserved it, there were some who they knew were utterly broken by what had happened, be it those who had tried to stop it and those who had seen what a truly horrifying crime they had committed.

All they could do was make sure the elfling was safe where he was. He needed time. But as a child not yet four, he would need a capable guardian. Though someone that was humanoid in status such as an elve (entirely out of the question), a dwarf, hobbit or one of the race of men might cause discomfort for the tiny elfling.

That decided the matter. The trees would keep Siniathúr safe from the outside world till he went out into in by his own terms.

Treebeard opened his eyes as he heard the whisper being carried along the wind through the trees. The leaves rustled with urgency, carrying their message to their destination.

“...Shepherd...elfling...protection”

“...To the east...hurry...venerable...hurt...”

Treebeard’s golden eyes open wider as the message sunk in. He needed to get to the hurt young one. The elves had taught the Ents how to speak. The old elves had always wished to talk to everything and Treebeard was glad they had been like that.

The fourteen foot high Ent set off, beard swinging as he followed the tree’s he shepherded whispers. He was curious to why an elfling was not with the elves where it belonged. But dark time were coming, he could feel it in his roots. He would guard the elfling like he guarded the trees.

Treebeard stepped into a clearing. He had followed the whispers of the trees for most of the day and had been led here. Looking around, golden eyes fondly surveying the trees that were his friends and who he was guardian for against Orcs and dwarves. A strong whisper, to his right drew him closer. One of the trees had a hollow in it and with Treebeard’s piercing eyes he could see a tiny bundle within its depths.

Taking a step back, Treebeard settled down and waited for the little one to wake up, closing his eyes and becoming as still as the trees surrounding him. If it was one thing Ents had in more so than anything else, it was patience.

double break

The twins Elladan and Elrohir sat next to each other on the branch of the tree. White bandages graced their hands and closed and cold expressions dominated their pale faces. Underneath those bandages lay only healthy skin with a hint of discolouration. The bandages were only kept on as as a stark reminder, to them and the rest of the elves, about what had happened.

If one looked closely enough, one would see that the two held hands, hidden from the outside world by the cloaks that they wore on their shoulders. Their eyes every so often would fill with tears before the salty liquid would subside, pushed back behind the masks they know wore.

It had been a week since dear tiny Siniathúr had been attacked.

Yes, much had changed about the twins. They no longer were the pranksters they used to be. They no longer smiled nor in fact showed any emotion other than cold disdain and rarely when it passed their masks, sadness.

They had retreated into their selves, making their own little world where only the two of them existed, where the only visitor could be Arwen and when they were feeling less cold, Glorfindel. Arwen had helped them try to intervene against their gr...Lady Galadriel (a title they said with disdain refusing to acknowledge her as a relative of theirs). Glorfindel, though had tried to help, had led Siniathúr into an ambush and so was on a thin line with the twins.

Their father...they hadn’t talked to him in a week, nor had they even looked in his direction. They loved their father dearly but, their bonds with him were fraying, unraveling and disappearing. They knew if they never saw Siniathúr again then they would never again acknowledge their father as what he was, their father.

When their mother had departed the shores of middle earth they had hunted Orcs to forget the pain. Their father had forbid them to leave Rivendell, a message delivered by a pale Erestor.

What also had made the two elves withdraw into themselves was the fact that nearly all the elves in Rivendell had been on the plot. It seemed the thirst for revenged had outweighed many an elves common sense regarding the tiny elfling. Now they had lost him.

Many were afraid they would lose the twins as well.

Elrond sat in his study, Glorfindel sat across from him. Both were pale and seemed strain. Guilt nearly consumed them. For a week they had been searching high and low for the little elfling they had hurt. For a week they had come up with nothing.

The elfling couldn’t have gotten far, with his fragile physical form. Yet, they had no clue where he was. The delegations from the other Elven kingdoms had returned home, baring the bad news with them. Word of the lost elfling had spread throughout middle earth. Though there were bad feelings towards the leaders of them, deep down they knew they could feel no real ill.

Given the chance of finding the elfling's abusers, they shamefully would have done the same.

They had paid the price and had lost an elfling.

Glorfindel seemed to have aged a 1000 years over night. He felt a deep down weariness and sadness. He had caused hurt to the little elfling and pain for Elladan and Elrohir who he had protected in their childhoods. Arwen had retreated to her room, withdrawing from the halls of Rivendell. She had nowhere else to go, refusing to go to her grandmothers. She only interacted with the twins, but they were not as they used to be. Glorfindel wish that Estel would be there to be able to comfort her, but he knew Elrond would not allow him.

Glorfindel was in Elrond’s study to report the results of today’s search. Again, nothing was found. The relationship between the two Lords had become less than it used to be. Sometimes they could talk as they used to be able to, but other times the air between the two were so tense that each had to leave the others presence.

It was agony for Glorfindel.

67 years later

Treebeard walked amongst the trees, Siniathúr sitting on to his shoulders and listening to Treebeard talk. He was currently talking about the trees of the forest and what vegetation would be edible to an elfling like him.

Siniathúr discreetly shook his head in amusement. He had heard and learnt this speech of Treebeard’s off by heart. He knew nearly everything about the forest that he had lived in for more than 60 years of his immortal life. He also knew to have some fruit with him, as Treebeard’s speeches could go on for hours and hours, even a whole day once.

The relationship between the two had grown throughout their years together, to that of mentor and student from the child and guardian it had been. They talked together in Elvish throughout the years and Treebeard had at one stage tried to teach Siniathúr Entish but unfortunately the little elfling didn’t have the lung capacity to actually pronounce the words properly.

Treebeard finished off his speech and turned to look at Siniathúr. A solemn look came into his piercing eyes.

Siniathúr lay curled up on his side. It was night time and he was laying down on a tree branch ready to go into a resting trance. He was in the place where he had first met Treebeard all those years ago. He had helped Siniathúr so much to get over the mental pain of what had happened and in those first few days the physical drainhis accidental magic had caused. He still didn’t know if he was ready to forgive the elves. They had let that...that rape his mind. That wasn’t something that one got over anytime soon.

Sighing, Siniathúr thoughts strayed to what Treebeard had told him that day after his speech on edible material. Treebeard knew the forest was becoming unsafe. Yet he could not leave it. After all it was named after him. Fangorn is Treebeard’s Sindarin name. Today he had told Siniathúr about the Old Forest. A place near somewhere called the Shire. A place that Treebeard made him promise to flee to if they were attacked by Orcs.

If they were attacked by Orcs, Treebeard knew he could no longer protect Siniathúr. It would be safer in the Old Forest. Treebeard had told him once there he should seek out a person by the name of Tom Bombadil. Siniathúr hoped that it wouldn’t come to that. He was comfortable with Treebeard.

Sadly they were attacked. Siniathúr had strayed too close to where the Orcs were, distracted at trying to find food. They had detected him and given chase. He had run. He had called for Treebeard but no one had come. So he ran.

Siniathúr kept on running, but being only a 67 year old elfling , his legs were still very short and therefore the Orcs were catching up fast. Siniathúr turned his head to see how far the Orcs were away, when he missed the root that stuck up more than the others and trip. Tumbling and landing on his back, Siniathúr saw a wicked looking axe descend before a brown, barked arm hit the Orc wielding the axe with bone cracking strength.

The Orc went flying and Treebeard charged toward the Orcs who were threatening Siniathúr. The fight begun to get further and further away from Siniathúr, who was just standing up, trying to get over the shock of nearly being decapitated. Siniathúr saw an Orc sneak up behind Treebeard with an axe in hand.

Shouting out, Siniathúr voice wasn’t loud enough to here over the shouts and roars of the participants of the fight. He wouldn’t get there in time by his own two feet. The familiar feel of his magic reacting to his emotions began to stir, and just as he was about to appear at Treebeard’s side, the Ent himself looked Siniathúr in the eyes and roared “OLD FOREST!!”

Siniathúr felt his destination that his emotions wanted him to go to waver and change. Before he could gather his thoughts he disappeared and didn’t appear anywhere in the Forest of Fangorn.

Aragon under the alias of Strider made his way towards Bree. He travelled with measured steps that were silent. He paused. Something felt wrong. The air felt taught as if something was about to happen. He was a mile away from Bree, so help was not that far away. Crouching down and drawing his sword, Strider waited for something to happen.

A few minutes passed and still he waited. His elvish upbringing had taught him patience was a virtue.

The event happened quite suddenly. One moment there was only empty air and the next a small body was on the ground, a small moan issuing forth. Strider tightened his grip on his sword and crept forward.

Siniathúr let out a moan as he landed on the ground. Where was he? He could hear no sounds of fighting and it looked like early afternoon. His body felt so much drained. He must have travelled a great distance, and it was taking its toll on the elfling. Suddenly a face appeared in front of his and a sword was pointed at him.

A man’s face barely visible in the waning light was above his. Grey eyes gleamed in the face and Siniathúr was sure he wore a surprised look. But what had Siniathúr really on edge was he could not see if this person had pointed ears. He could not see if he was an elve. Siniathúr started to panic. The feeling of fear and panic that had overwhelmed him on that night and the times he had had nightmares was coming back. The only humanoid beings he had seen were Orcs and they looked nothing like elves. This person, however, did.

He wondered if his own ears were showing under the tangle his hair had become. His questioned was answered when the stranger simultaneously sheathed his sword and spoke one word softly.

“An elfling?”

It did nothing to stop his rising emotions.

Thank you so much more the reviews from you guys. They are very much appreciated.

AN

Did I tell you guys what I had decided on the age of maturity yet?

Well its 500 years old. Gives me more room to move and plot. Give Harry more childhood

Also excuse any problems with anything in the story. I haven’t actually read the book (only up to when they get to Rivendell). So I’ll be using Wikipedia to get info.

http : / / en . Wikipedia . org / wiki / Ents

http : / / en . Wikipedia . org / wiki / Old Forest

http : / / en . Wikipedia . org / wiki / Tom Bombadil

2951 – When Harry is found by Treebeard

3018 – When the fellowship is formed

Please Review :D