Changing of the Guard by Grundy

Changing of the Guard

Read Changing of the Guard

Thranduil peered dubiously at the mystery creature.

Strictly speaking, it had only needed one of them, for it wasn’t a very large creature. But both marchwardens were equally curious – both begotten in the Third Age and hazy on creatures of earlier days – and had hoped their king might recognize it.

One had asked hopefully if it was a young ent.

“It is definitely not an enting,” he said firmly to the two wardens who had brought it before him.

He had seen entings in his younger days. They resembled young trees. Thranduil had never seen any tree that looked like this.

“What happened to it?”

It hadn’t so much as twitched when carried in. He couldn’t tell if it was simply unconscious, or in poor health.

“Men,” one of the wardens replied, distaste plain on his face.

They had been encroaching closer on the forest of late, and not just on the lake side.

“I do not think they did it any harm,” the other warden said thoughtfully. “Or meant any, ether. They were simply cutting wood when the creature fell from the sky. It stood, began to speak, saw their axes, and fainted.”

“Perhaps it is kin to hobbits?” the first warden offered dubiously. “It’s certainly small enough.”

“If this is a hobbit, they have take to very eccentric fashions of late,” Thranduil snorted. “No hobbit I know of is covered in...”

He trailed off. It wasn’t clear to him what the creature was covered in – fur seemed to strong a word, but fuzz was not usually how one described such things. Either way, even its coloring was unique – bright orange and yellow. It had what appeared to be an enormous moustache that somehow put Thranduil in mind of a walrus.

It also did not have sufficient fingers or toes for a hobbit.

Thranduil frowned, unsure what to make of the creature.

It was beginning to stir. One eye opened, then another.

“I am the Lorax!” the creature exclaimed, bolting suddenly upright. “I speak for the trees!”

“Indeed?” Thranduil asked in bemusement. “The trees here have not needed anyone to speak for them before.”

And yet…

With his people slowing fading or sailing, someone had to look after the Greenwood.

Thranduil himself had long been reluctant to sail, but he wished to see his son again. And if the old promises were true, perhaps his wife as well. But he was reluctant to leave what had once been his kingdom unprotected, to decline or perhaps be destroyed.

With no entings for many long-years, the Onodrim were not seeking new realms or new trees to herd. But there had been times before when Men had been careless of the forests.

This might no longer be Greenwood the Great, but perhaps it could be again. If someone cared enough for it.

“There are a good many trees in our fair Greenwood,” he said, removing his flower crown. “If you truly wish to speak for them, my realm is yours, good Lorax.”