The Forgotten Princess

Tales For Children

"Find her! Find her!" Saruman exclaimed. He was furious, so utterly frustrated and angry at how much he had wasted and how much he had risked and how absolutely insolent he had been for the past seventeen years. He had had one job, one mission, and he knew now that he would suffer for his idiotic behavior.

Leaning his staff against the wall, he sat down in his stone carved throne. His fingers tapped relentlessly upon the arm, his fingernails scraping the arm with a ear-splitting screech each time. All of this time, she had been under his very nose.

He had had spies and Uruks pour through all of the major villages seeking an elvish child but he had forgotten one place so small it was only on a select few of Rohan's maps. A little town in the Outer End, Broadacres, no longer even a village by definition. How had he missed her? He couldn't have.

Something larger was at work, a power so great that only a member of the High Council could wield it. Who? Who?

Suddenly, a wave of angry passion overtook the White Wizard and, standing, he took his staff and banged it upon the ground, leaving behind black burn marks on his floor. So many questions to be answered, so complicated, even though all he sought after was a little child.

A little child!

But why, why did he need this child so bad? To help with the cause against those insolent traitors who refused to join the Great Eye. Prophecy upon prophecy, poem upon poem, and song upon song had been written about this supposed Savior or Destructor. Nothing really told him why she was so powerful, so important.

Taking a deep breath, he cleared his mind of all ferocity and actually thought.

Think.

Saruman used his staff as a walking stick, shuffling over his white robes, his silky white beard tumbling down over his chest. He got to his bookshelf, using his long-finger nailed finger to track his search, running them across the spines.

Some of the books' titles were written in Sindarin, Quenya, Noldorin, Gnommish, Black Speech and occasionally in Dwarfish. He snatched any book from the shelf that brought any ideas. In fact, he had to call upon a servant to help him carry the numerous books to his chambers. For he was an old man and wished to pour over his studies in peace, quiet, and comfort.

It was deep in the night when the White Wizard had finally finished reading. Nothing. Absolutely nothing and no word from the pack of orcs he had sent out to pillage the Outer End. Pillage. Not burn. Only if they didn't find her would they burn.

He had read dozens upon dozens of books, his servant Wormtongue bringing more books whenever he finished one. With a tired hand, he had dismissed the books he had currently finished reading and an exhausted Wormtongue brought back Saruman's last rounds.

The White Wizard knew not either to laugh or be infuriated at what Wormtongue set before him. The dirty, musty dust of it making a mess on his table.

It's was called simply, "Sén an Pents." (Tales for Children.)

Yet, his curiosity got the better of him and he began to turn the crusty pages, which made a loud cracking sound as he did so. He was a bit surprised that the pages didn't crumble at his hand.

Flipping to a random page he read intently:

"The child will be born of a reunion of Lúthien and Beren's everlasting love. It will carry a strong and ancient power only few on this Arda possess. Her life will be riddled with grief and wherever she goes, death will follow in her wake. When she finds her destiny, they say, the world will quake with her grief and she will be wrought with tears unnumbered and die, too consumed in sorrow for anything else. 

The child unwanted
The child forgotten
And undaunted
The child who was dropped
And picked up again,
Heart in hand
and hand on breast
She will lie but she will never rest

In the battle of blood and death
She will fall, blood on hand
Her name is unspoken
Her life unknown
She remains unbroken
Forever her name lies forbidden
Through her hand
All will fade
All will perish

Saruman slammed the book closed, a dust cloud rising up in plumes around him. It explained a little but why, why was she so powerful? If her power wasn't harnessed correctly, she could look powerful and he could look weak.

The Master would reject him and seek her out for her power. That couldn't happen, the White Wizard would harness her power for his own. If only he knew what power she possessed. He opened the book to the page he had read the poem from and reread it, when he had finished, as if there was something he was missing.

And there was, at the bottom of the page, written in in Ancient Quenya was the following stanza:

In dreams she walks
and paves paths unknown.
Power unharnessed or
power trained
She will walk the world
in ways we never knew

That, that, was something to go off of.

Instantly, he threw aside the book of children's tales and broken and scuffled through his remaining book piles. "Othaalpatia" the title didn't roll off the tongue as most elvish. It seemed awkward and it was so old it was considered Primitive Elvish and he didn't know if it would work but it was his only chance.

"A Dreamwalker is a theorized personage of skill of a higher caste than even a King, though might not be treated as such. He or she will have immense power while Dreamwalking. They will be able to mentally disable, emotionally scar, and break into dreams of any powerful character. If Kings are ever threatened with the uprising of such a being..." The text went on to describe the political issues that may uprise with such a powerful character at court.

Saruman knew now and he almost wish he didn't because now he knew that his armies were in danger if this child, this girl, of all
things could destroy his armies and he could not match her.

If he told the Master of what had happened and how he had let go of the child and skipped over the small outlying villages who knew how he would be punished.

"Find her!" he yelled again.