The Messenger and his Donkey by Himring  

The Messenger and his Donkey

Some people said Lamaen could talk a hind leg off a donkey. Not all of them meant it kindly. They might not have as much experience of donkeys as he did, thought Lamaen.

Contrary to what others might think, Lamaen was perfectly capable of shutting up when it was called for. During the recent journey on which he had been sent out East—an unusual journey, for him, and one that had its hazards, still, although it was not as dangerous as it would have been a few years earlier—he had carefully kept quiet for considerable stretches of time so as not to distract the scout and the guards that had been sent with him from doing their duties.

It was a relief to be back on his home ground. In the royal stables he said a grateful farewell to the horse that had carried him faithfully on the longer journey and stopped to greet his usual companion, Lethril, before reporting up to the castle. After a short rest, he was ready to set out again with Lethril trotting along at his side, doing his customary rounds along the mountain paths of the Ered Wethrin.

‘You wouldn’t believe all I’ve done and seen in the past weeks, Lethril!’ Lamaen said.

Lethril’s long ears twitched.

As they steadily climbed the familiar narrow path, Lamaen went on talking to his donkey, unpacking memories and recent impressions as they crossed his mind, with no attempt to explain anything coherently, for of course Lethril was not trying to make sense of it all, he knew; she was just cheered and encouraged by the sound of his voice.

Lamaen’s whole job was—practically—gossip. He carried messages from Barad Eithel to minor military outposts, small villages, temporary camps and isolated crofts all the way southward along the western slope of the mountain range and picked up messages and news along the line, especially any worries or complaints that they might not think themselves of sending or had no means to send. Thus, his passing through at relatively regular intervals was like a thread that tied the scattered inhabitants of the area together and to the King.

Even as he chatted to his donkey, Lamaen was also very aware of his surroundings, back in his own mountains—the gentle soughing of the wind in the tree tops, a varied sequence of bird calls, water trickling down here and there over rock, the clicking and rolling of pebbles under their feet, a small shuffle of an unseen animal in the grass. Peace, he thought, was not often completely silent, although quiet the noises might be. He remembered too well the terrified, black silence that hung over the land at each incursion of the Enemy. That enemy was still back over there, of course, but nevertheless here it was now so much safer that he could just wander on this side of the mountains on his own. With proper precautions, of course.

He fondly patted Lethril’s back, who snuffled inquiringly at him and eyed his pack, hoping for a treat.

Chapter End Notes

The donkey's name, Lethril, is Sindarin for " (female) listener".

The journey Lamaen has returned from was a trip to Himring, and Lamaen carried a letter from Fingon to Maedhros. That story can be found here:
A Bit of a Bore