Eyes In The Dark by LadySternchen

Eyes In The Dark

-Arda is filled with "brownies, fays, pixies, leprawns, and what else are they not called, for their number is very great- 
I'm not going lie, when I first received my prompt, I was like 'how am I going to make a story out of this?', but then, little Denethor decided to introduce himself in my head, and helped me out with this story. Set after Lenwë and his people left the host if Olwë, but still before they established true settlements. 

“Atar! Atar, wake up!”
Denethor shook his sleeping father frantically, not daring to look either left or right, scared that the eyes would again gleam in darkness, looking at him out of the shadowy branches of the tall trees that grew by the banks of the great river.
Earlier that day, his mother and uncles had left the camp to hunt, and whilst they had let Denethor follow them for a while, teaching him a little along the way, they had sent him back to his father once the hunt truly gathered momentum. So he had returned to his father, only to find him fast asleep. Aware that he was not allowed to wake others unless there was an emergency, he had taken to throwing pebbles into the river, then gathered sticks and pieces of bark, and observed which was carried to greater speeds by the current. That game never failed to keep him entertained, though there was a downside to it: once one ran out of boats, one had to leave the riverbank to search for more. It had been on one of those forays that he had seen the eyes, malicious, green eyes, gleaming at him. BIG eyes. And many. And then the rustling had started, moving in ripples through the leaves as if caused by a high wind, though the air itself was still. Denethor had been sure that this was some kind of fell monster, probably one of the ancient Shadows the grown-ups still talked about in hushed voices, and he was equally sure that it would come for him if stayed in this spot for just another moment. Without making a sound, he ran back to the camp, his eyes fixed only on the ground before him, terrified that if he would dare to turn around, he would see the monster right above him, in its full terrible heinousness.
As much as he had tried to avoid it, his imagination had taken off with him, and he saw himself running up the sloping riverbank, dodging the close-growing trees like a small rabbit that fled a hungry predator, and above his slight form, he saw the monstrous worm make its way swiftly through the treetops like a vast, elongated spider, with many hairy legs and those fearsome green eyes, sitting in pairs upon its fell head, right above the maw of long, pointed teeth. On and on it went, so that even from his bird-eyes-view, Denethor could not make out the end of its tail.
He had started to sob, terrified, wrenching himself away from that image, reminding himself that this was only in his head, that he had, after all, no proof of the monster being there. He could slow down, and look up, and maybe there would be nothing but the starry skies above him. But in the end, he had not dared, and after all, who said that the monster could not hide itself swiftly, or, even worse, make itself invisible?

He could no longer hold back his tears as Lenwë awoke with a start now, drawing his hunting knife, gathering Denethor in his arms and rising swiftly from his camp all in one fluid movement.
“What is it? Denethor, what happened?”
His father’s voice was low and hoarse with trepidation.
“The monster. The m…monster is… coming for us!”
Lenwë moved silently and carefully like a lynx, while Denethor, with his head pressed against his father’s chest, could hear his heart pounding frantically. Yet with every careful step his father took, he seemed to become calmer, until he finally lowered Denethor to the ground, crouching down with him.
“There’s nothing there, Denethor. Look. All is clear and calm.”
Only then did Denethor dare to raise his eyes, first to Lenwë’s face, then, as he truly saw nothing but pity in his father’s blue eyes, to the treetops above. There was nothing there, nothing but branches and leaves and above them the star-strewn sky.
“Can you tell me what you saw?”
Denethor nodded and told his father of the huge green eyes in the branches and the rustling, and of the creature that had formed in his head. When he had finished, he again chanced a look at his father, and saw that he was clearly fighting down a smile.
“Ah, a fell monster that is indeed, my son. We’ll have to do something about it. See here!”
And he swooped Denethor again into his arms and rose with him.
“We tell the monster ‘Behold, fell beast, here stands Denethor the Valiant, son of Lenwë, who dwelled already by the shores of Awakening and who knows no fear of the likes of you, and you shall not pass me, nor dare to harm me or my kin!’”
Then, suddenly, his father lowered his voice, whispering in Denethor’s ear: “Ai Valar, now it is enraged! See how it bares its many sharp teeth and glares at us with those dreadful eyes? Alas, now it lowers its hideous body to the ground on its long hairy legs…”
Denethor whimpered, the picture in his mind’s eye so vivid that he was convinced that he was really seeing the monster.
“But fear not!” his father went on, swooping to pick up a long stick “Now meet your doom, creature of the Shadows, as Quendi are hardy and no fitting dinner for any beast!” he called to the night, brandishing his stick, and then added to Denethor: “Ha, there goes. It should have listened! Now we poked it in the eye! ’Look at you now. You don’t look terrifying at all anymore with your eye watering and bloodshot and half closed. Begone now!”
Lenwë stood motionless for a moment, then looked triumphantly at Denethor, laughing.
“There it goes now, weeping and afraid. Do you hear it? Saying ‘Alas, before such mighty a warrior, I must flee!’?That one shall not bother us again! We shall hold a great feast in honour of Denethor, who defended his people against so horrifying an enemy!”
Now Denethor was laughing too, and together, they returned to their camp.
“You are making fun of me, Attu!” Denethor said, once they sat down. Lenwë only smiled and pulled him closer.
“No, I am not. I do not doubt that you saw something! I only think that the monster might have been bigger and fouler in your fearful imagination. But now you know how to deal with such beings, if ever you happen to encounter them again!”
“But what is it I saw, then?” Denethor asked, again feeling worried. His father looked absent-mindedly into the distance.
“Arda is filled with brownies, fays, pixies, leprawns, and what else are they not called, for their number is very great. Small creatures that live here with us, neither animals nor Quendi.”
Denethor gaped at his father.
“H..have you ever… seen them?”
Lenwë shrugged.
“Some of them. Some live in the trees, and they are, by the way, most likely akin to those that so frightened you. Others live in the water of the river, one might mistake them for fish if one doesn’t look carefully, and I am sure there are many, many more.”
“Are they good or evil, Attu?”
Again, Lenwë took his time to answer Denethor.
“Some are evil. Remnants of the great Shadow that hunted the woods surrounding Cuiviénen, servants of those Lord Oromë has named Melkor…”
Denethor felt a shiver run down his spine at the mention of the name alone.
“But the legend says he’s been thrown down. You told me that…”
“You are right!” his father interrupted him, not unkindly. “That’s what was told to us, that Melkor was overthrown by the Valar. But still the foulest of his servants carried on, on their own account, and amongst those servants must have been some of those little peoples as well. Others, that are no less mean, are so of their own account, without being subject to the Shadow. Many are good, though, and do nothing more threatening then tease us good-naturedly sometimes. But really, most of them are neither good nor evil but mind their own business, wanting to be left well alone by us.”
Silence fell between them, and Denethor felt the relief settle over him, and with relief came sleepiness.
“How do I know whether they are of a good or an evil kind?” he asked in a thick voice, needing an answer to that question before sleep overwhelmed him. His father hoisted him more securely onto his lap, cradling him slightly.
“Ask your heart, Denethor. Feel the darkness. Does it seem menacing to you?” he answered lowly. Denethor shook his head.
“Then you have nothing to fear. Now sleep. Likely, your mother will be home with a nice supply of food once you wake.”
“Will you stay with me?” Denethor asked in a very small voice, eyes already firmly shut. He felt rather than heard his fathers chuckle.
“Of course I will, Denethor the Valiant!”