Lintaran by Los Gloriol

Swift King

Read Swift King

The Forest of Orome gathered many beasts and birds, a home to the woodland animals and to the many hunters who sought the sport. Of these creatures, one was held in highest regard and entered even into lore and legend. Lintaran, he was named, ‘swift king’, for none could take aim on the mighty stag of Orome’s lands. His antlers were said to be the height of a man; his eyes could pierce the flesh if he so chose, and with him he brought a wind that would bring the heartiest to their knees. But none, save the third son of Feanor, greatest of the children of the Iluvatar had the guile to hunt such a beast. Now Celegorm was fearless and stout of heart, strong-willed and noble in both mood and mind. He could speak the language of bird and beast and oft conversed with each. A faithful companion he had, Huan the wolfhound of Valinor, and never did one tarry long from the other.

 

It came one day that Orome blew his great horn and the game was started, and quick were Celegorm and Huan to follow. Through the woods the lord rode atop his famed steed, Surinen, with his hounds at his side. There were deer aplenty and mink and foxes with prized fur to be had, but Celegorm drew not his bow, feeling something better was to be found. And his heart had not led him astray, for in the valley there grazed Lintaran, mightiest of all deer that had ever been. The lord took aim, wanting the prize as his own, but before he could release, the eyes of the stag fell upon him.

 

“You have caught me unawares,” spoke Lintaran, “And it may be that I can outrun your arrow, lord, but Huan will surely have me. If battle we must, then let it be fair -- the hands of yours against the antlers of mine.”

 

The lord thought on the words of the beast and found them fair. He commanded his hounds to remain and entered on foot to the valley below. For three days and three nights they grappled under sun and moon. The antlers of Lintaran were indeed the height of an elf lord, and sharp, like the end of a well-polished blade, but Celegorm had strength and courage and at last he pinned the stag by his throat. His knife was unsheathed, his heart hot within and he raised the blade high into the air, but at that moment Celegorm the Fair was moved to pity. He fell to the side and forfeited his right to slay the beast. Lintaran rose to his feet.

 

“Why do you let me go?”

 

“It would be foolhardy to kill the one who is to sire yet stronger and greater prey, more cunning even than himself,” he said. “If I were not a true hunter and had no love for these woods or my sport then I would slay you now and claim my trophy. But nay, that would be folly.”

 

“Then I bid you farewell,” said Lintaran. “May I never have the misfortune to meet with you again.”

 

“The misfortune you will have, and I will claim what is mine in the end,” said the hunter. “But that day has not come.”

 

And so the stag fled before the feet of Celegorm and feared him ever more, for he believed the mighty hunter would come again.

 

But with the dawn of the Silmarils and the doom of Mandos written, it was believed that Celegorm the hunter would never return to the woods of Orome. And learning of this, Lintaran, though glad to be free of his foe, felt he had lost a worthy opponent. In honor of him he sired a beast so great that none could ever hope to fell it, save the third son of Feanor. For what is life if not a challenge? Lintarin remains ever watchful hoping the game will start anew.