The name Rhosgobel could have hinted at a small village, or even a city—but it was none of those. From a small clearing arose a tiny, wooden cabin, barely standing out against the surrounding pine trees. Its roof and walls looked rickety and askew, and they creaked ominously in the winds battering against the wood. Beside the little house were some beehives, shaking and shuddering as if all the bees inside of them were afraid of the raging weather—one of them had fallen down and spilled honey and broken combs on the grass. Both the flower garden and the herb garden close to the cottage were soaked by the rain, transformed into muddy plots of land, which would qualify more as a lake than a garden. Had the wind been soft and gentle, and had the sun been shining and warm, Rhosgobel would have looked like an idyllic, pretty little cabin in the woods. Now, however, it looked like a rough shelter from the storm.
But it had to do for now.
With a loud “Stop,” barely audible above the screaming winds, Radagast’s sled came to a halt. The wizard didn’t even bother unlacing the straps of the rabbit’s harnesses, but pulled out a knife and sliced the main rope. “Get inside, everyone!”
The rabbits didn’t need to be told twice, and darted towards the front door, where they disappeared through a few little holes.
Radagast tied his sled to a pole of the fence which surrounded the vegetable garden, just to be sure that it wouldn’t blow away. Then he loosened the hasty knots with which he had tied his foundling against the boards, and carried her over his shoulder.
Still as light as a feather. How remarkable.
A stray gust of wind made Radagast lose his hat, but he snagged it just in time. Quickly he stumbled towards the front door, bashed against it once, twice with his shoulder, and then stumbled inside.
“Phew. That’s over.”
Radagast could hear himself thinking again; only a faint whooshing reminded everyone inside that there was a storm going on outside. Radagast looked around his cabin. Everything was just like he left it, of course—somehow Radagast was always worried about burglars, even though he was the only one living in the Greenwood. The rabbits were busy carrying splinters, sticks, and—with some effort—woodblocks towards the hearth opposite of the door. That was what Radagast had promised them, after all.
But first he had to make a place for his strange visitor. Radagast shuffled over to the corner in which he slept. A small straw bed covered with linen bedsheets was the thing he was looking for, and with a small thud, Radagast placed the pony on his bed. He crouched down, and the first thing he did was to check on her breath. Yes, she was still breathing. He put a hand on her breast. Yes, she her heart was still beating. Her breast and belly, however shallow, moved softly up and down, and her breaths were steady, as if she were just taking a nap. Content, Radagast turned around to see the rabbits gathered right before him on the ground. They looked at Radagast with their shiny eyes.
“Yes, she is alright. She’s still alive,” Radagast said.
The rabbits kept staring at him.
“And yes, I will light a fire now.”
Radagast stood up to go get his tinderbox, but then saw that one of the clever little rabbits had already found it. It shoved the box over to Radagast’s feet.
“Thank you kindly.”
Within a matter of minutes, a small cheerful fire danced in the stone hearth, illuminating the cabin and spreading a warmth which chased away most of the drafts. All of the rabbits were gathered in a circle by the fire. Even when they were off duty, they still maintained the same order as the one in which they ran; so good was the training Radagast had given them.
Radagast himself was sitting with his back to the fire, looking at his bed and the sleeping pony on it. He realized with a shock that he hadn’t even looked at her for longer than a few seconds, and took the welcome respite now to observe her closer.
The pony was completely yellow, save for a pink mane and tail, which flowed in long locks over the mattress and on the floor. Radagast bent down, scooped the dangling bits up with his hands, and laid them onto the mattress. “Hmm… feels like ordinary horse-hair,” he mumbled.
Radagast hadn’t seen the eyes of the yellow pony yet, but he was already fantasizing about which extraordinary color they would have. With a pony that peculiar looking, it should certainly be something unique as well. Apart from her long, flowing mane and tail, there was another thing that stood out. On the pony’s flank, there were three little butterflies, fluttering in an unseen wind. Radagast couldn’t stop wondering what they were, what they meant, what they represented, or why they were there. Careful not to disturb her rest, Radagast rubbed his hand over the butterflies. No paint came off, much to the wizard’s surprise.
Now that he was closer to her, he saw a couple of bruises tainting her yellow coat, and a few red scrapes also ran down her legs. Probably of the trip, Radagast thought, and proceeded to examine the pony’s wings. Carefully, as if he was scared to break them, Radagast folded one wing out. It didn’t go that far, as its wingspan was about an arm’s-length. Radagast had seen many wings before; many wings of many birds. Many birds’ wings which he had set, healed, or bandaged, and this wing was no different; it was just bigger. Radagast saw a few missing feathers; a few were bent too. Nothing too severe.
But when Radagast looked down over the wing, he noticed strange black blotches covering the pony’s face and back. They looked like burn marks.
Folding back the wing, Radagast turned around and began pacing to and fro, making sure to search in every corner of his house, making sure to search every shelf and table for pans, glass vials, herbs, books about medicine, and anything else he thought might help the wounded pony heal. As he was busy collecting, Radagast quickly snagged a book about mythological creatures in Middle Earth, secretly hoping that the yellow pony with wings would be in it.
For the next few hours, Radagast set to work. He created a strong-smelling concoction of stamped herbs and boiling water, with which he gently dabbed the pony’s scrapes and wounds. With the aroma of the first potion still lingering in the air, Radagast started on the next one, a magical potion which would make sure that the wounds and burns would heal quickly and painlessly. He muttered many words of a language ancient and foreign over the bubbling cauldron, and then smeared the green paste on the pony’s sore spots.
A few birds came flying down their branches, suspended through the cottage, and landed on top of Radagast’s head. Tilting their heads and hopping from one spot to the other, they were no doubt wondering who this winged creature was, and if it was perhaps related to their own kind.
“I have no idea,” Radagast said, finishing treating the last ash-marked burn. He wiped the sweat off his forehead and slumped down on a wooden chair. Despite the pony’s injuries being only light, and definitely non-lethal, Radagast still felt nervous. He guessed that the pony was unconscious, and that she would probably recover with some rest. But on the other hand, she could also be in a coma, and take a month to wake up. With a worried sigh, Radagast reached for the book on Middle Earth’s mythical creatures, put in on the table, and began to read by the light of a small candle.
The birds hopped from his head onto the tabletop and stared at the wizard with tilted heads.
“You tell me,” Radagast said. “You’re the flying experts, after all.”
But the birds had no idea, and fluttered up and away.
Radagast leafed through the thick, leather-bound volume. “P… p… p… pony,” he muttered under his breath. The word, ‘pony,’ was not in it, however. Of course he found Shadowfax, and a big host of other well-known steeds. Some had served kings or warlords, carrying them bravely into battle and sometimes even out of them. Others had been messengers, prized for their almost supernatural speed at which they had delivered vital information about politics or military business. The last chapter was about the horses of the elves, who were supposed to be magical and have powers of their own. Radagast quickly skipped that part, however, as he knew it was only based off speculation. It was a book made by men, after all, and men—even if they claimed otherwise—had often not had that many dealings with elves, and nor did many want to.
Nothing.
Nothing on horses gifted with the ability to fly, but Radagast didn’t give up. He leafed further through the book, his tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth. He searched for the word, ‘wing,’ but found nothing useful. Then he searched for, ‘bird,’ but found only famous falcons and falconers, carrier pigeons, and the great eagles with their king. Nothing, however, on flying horses.
With a heavy sigh, Radagast closed the book, sprinkling dust into the air. “Nothing, nothing, nothing.” He stood up, and put the book back on its shelf, next to countless other books about countless other things. Animals, herbs, natural medicines, farming, crops, the seasons, and even some books containing ancient knowledge and spells that were forgotten to the world. Radagast had all gained them from Gandalf, who had taken the effort to collect his friend’s favorite topics and bring them along at every visit.
“Oh! I wish Gandalf were here. He would definitely know what kind of creature she is. He has travelled almost everywhere in Middle Earth. Surely he must have seen something like this yellow horse on his path, don’t you think?”
But as he turned around to look at his rabbits, Radagast saw that they were gone, probably to the vegetable garden to save what could be saved from the destructive storm.
Then Radagast lightened up. His thoughts traveled to the animals he had befriended, and he remembered the pair of peregrine falcons which lived on his roof in a nest. Long ago, Radagast had built a birdhouse upon his own cottage. He had decided to make it a bit big, and then wait and see what kind of bird would come and call it its home. It proved to be a couple of peregrine falcons, one of the fastest birds in Middle Earth.
Radagast pulled on his mantle, throwing the hood over his head, and braced himself to brave the storm once more, albeit for a short time. The door almost flew into his face, and he heard a loud sizzle as the wind intruded the cottage and made short work of the hearth fire. Radagast gritted his teeth, and stepped outside.
“Hello! Anybody home?”
But the wind grabbed Radagast’s words and flung them far away.
“Hello! Mister and Missus… eh…” Radagast tried to concentrate and remember their names, which was a daunting task of its own in these conditions. It was as if the wind tried to blow every thought out of the wizard’s head, but after a few minutes, Radagast lighted up.
“Swiftwing! Arrowhead! Are you there?”
A duet of high-pitched squawks returned Radagast’s call, and Radagast could see some scuttling feathers.
“Swiftwing, Arrowhead, do you know of ponies that can fly? Have you ever heard of such a creature?”
For a good while, Radagast explained to the peregrine falcons everything that had happened. The lightning bolt, the strange pony, and a very detailed explanation on her physical features. At the end of his tale, his throat felt sore because of the battle between his voice and the howling of the wind, and for a tiny moment, Radagast felt like a fool, asking two birds if they had ever heard of flying horses in the middle of a thunderstorm. But nevertheless, after a very rainy half hour, he got his answer.
A small grey head with a clever eyes came into view and looked down on their friend. Quickly it retreated back into the wooden structure; even the peregrine falcon didn’t want to spend too long in the ungodly weather.
But Radagast had already seen his answer in the falcon’s eyes: “No.”
“Thank you!” Radagast yelled, and then hurried back inside.
With a thud he closed the door behind him, and gave it a bash with his shoulder for good measure. He felt a little disappointed at the fact that he still had no idea what in Middle Earth lay down on his bed, and he sighed under his breath. Radagast hung his cloak to a branch sticking out of the wood, when he felt something brush against his leg.
“Oh, hello there,” Radagast said to the rabbit, ”back again to the warmth?”
But the warmth had almost left the cottage again, and had seeped through the many cracks in the wooden walls. The rabbit was rubbing its nose against Radagast’s leg and pointing at something with its little front paw.
“Of course, I’ll do it immediately,” Radagast said. He grabbed his tinderbox from the mantelpiece, crouched down by the blackened logs, still hot to the touch, and started throwing some sparks into the hearth.
But the rabbit kept tugging at his robes.
“Yes, yes, I’m almost done. Don’t worry about it, little rabbit, I’ve done this a million times.”
“H-h-hello?”
Radagast sighed. “Yes, I know you’re there. I know you’re cold. Just let me focus for a small little moment and then we can both enjoy the fire again.”
But then a shock like an icy, rain-bearing gust of wind made Radagast’s body jolt. He bumped his head against the mantelpiece, but ignored the pain as he was too busy realizing something.
His rabbits couldn’t talk in human speech.
No animal friend of his could talk in human speech.
Radagast spun around on his knees, not even bothering to stand up, and gazed right at the yellow pony, staring into her eyes on the same height as his own. She had deep-blue eyes.
Both pony and wizard gave out a yell. The rabbit quickly fled to another room of the cottage, completely forgetting about the fire. The birds stopped tweeting and followed the rabbit, knowing when their human friend needed a little space. A few mice and squirrels shot across the floor into their little gaps between the boards, and a second later, Radagast and the pony were alone.
The pony’s eyes grew in horror, and she felt panic flash its tendrils around her chest. She breathed in and out frantically, and let out another yell. Withdrawing from the wizard, the yellow pony fell backwards, landing on the bed where she had lain moments ago. She felt the tendrils of panic searching for her fight or flight instinct, failing to find it, and instead making her curl up into a yellow-coated ball of fright.
Radagast had rolled back at the sudden yelp, plunging into an awkward roll and finally coming to a standstill against the all too familiar mantelpiece. This time he didn’t feel the bump either, as a burst of adrenaline, cultivated by the sudden shock, tempered the pain.
When at last everything was silent again, save for the creaking of the cottage, teased by the wind, and the spattering rain against the roof, amplified like the hollow body of a lute, Radagast stood up straight. He wasn’t entirely sure what to do. He wasn’t even entirely sure that the creature had just… talked. Radagast knew he often imagined his own animals speaking to him, which was more than understandable, having spent more days of his life among animals than among humans; and, of course, being able to understand some animal languages. Slowly, wincing as every step creaked on the wooden floor, Radagast advanced on the little, shivering ball lying on his bed. Above the sound of his footsteps, he could hear her chattering teeth.
“You… You don’t have to be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you.”
No answer came; Radagast stepped closer.
“Do you… speak the common tongue?”
Again, nothing but clattering teeth and shaking hooves.
Radagast tried something else; she was a horse, after all. “Can I help you perhaps? Would you like anything? Water? Hay? A carrot maybe?”
This time, Radagast was sure that he heard something, but the sound was muffled and distant, lost in a whisper and a wheeze.
Very carefully, Radagast bent over the trembling heap towards where he figured her head should be. Very, very faintly, he could hear what she was saying.
“I want to go home, I want to go home, I want to go home,” over and over again with a high, soft voice.
Again Radagast jolted. This pony could talk like he did. But he quickly whisked away his astonishment, for Radagast knew enough. This pony had probably lost her group and had wandered around the forest. Who knows how long she had been walking through the dense shrubs and giant trees; lost, scared, disorientated. Who knows how long she had been looking for her friends, her family, the strong stallions which would watch over her.
Radagast thought back about one time when he had found a stray horse, some years ago. It wasn’t anything like the yellow, winged creature he had found now, but a great brown mare who had lost the rest of the group to which she belonged. In the end, after a long and thoughtful conversation with the animal, Radagast had figured out where she had come from; the plains of Rohan, land of the horse-lords. She had been in very bad shape when he found her, almost starved to death. Radagast had fed her back to health, and had even used her as a pack and riding animal from time to time, until the day that she had regained all her strength, and Radagast had to acknowledge that she was not his own. He had eased the mare, whispered the location of the grassy plains of Rohan into her ear, and sent her on her way. He had never seen her again since. Lost in the cloud of nostalgia, Radagast realized that he hadn’t even given her a name. He wondered if this horse had a name.
So Radagast knew what to do. He walked to the tiny kitchen, seeing a few of the rabbits which had fled the scene nibbling on some leftover vegetables. Grabbing some lettuce, some carrots, and filling a bowl with water from a barrel, he returned and put both food and drink down next to the bed. “You must be hungry, my little pony. You can have some of this if you want. I have much more if you’re done with this and you’re still hungry.”
Perhaps it was hunger, perhaps it was the friendly, high voice of Radagast, or perhaps it was both. The yellow pony’s nose twitched, and she sniffed the air. Very slowly, she peeked from beyond her hooves, and saw both the lunch on the ground and the wizard opposite of her. She blinked her big, blue eyes; she could see again, but only realized that now. That little fact certainly eased her mind. She craned her neck, reached down, and took a bite off one of the carrots. She didn’t stop until it was all gone, and only then did she dare to look up at the strange creature before her, who was gazing at her as if he’d never before seen a horse eat vegetables. “Thank you,” she said.
“You’re most welcome,” Radagast said back. The pony flinched at the sudden sound, as if Radagast were screaming in her ear. She too, had to get used to his voice and his talk.
Radagast saw it. “Shall I leave you alone for now? I still need to make some food for myself as well.”
The yellow pony nodded, so Radagast retreated to the kitchen.
Evening fell over the Greenwood. Slowly but steadily, the wind became tired of blowing and settled down more and more, until it was nothing more than a refreshing breeze. The trees stopped moaning and rustling, having lost most of their leaves already. Rhosgobel also stopped shaking and creaking, and the rain lost its their cloudy allies, so slowed down grudgingly and then disappeared altogether. A bright, full moon shone high in a star-speckled sky. Radagast almost didn’t even need to light any candles, he could see perfectly what he was doing under the silver moonlight.
Radagast’s night animals quickly skittered outside, deciding that this night would be perfect for hunting; calm and brightly lit. His chickens went to their pens to sleep, and most of the birds fluttered to their hanging branches. Only a few of them remained awake with Radagast in the kitchen, no doubt unable to sleep because of the delicious scents of Radagast’s cooking skills.
Radagast was making a vegetable stew. One by one he threw the ingredients into the pan while humming a gentle tune and stirring the brew. Of course he knew that horses didn’t normally eat food like this, but he still kept some behind for his guest, just in case. An hour later, he hung his head above the cooking pot and breathed in deep.
“Hmm… It’s missing something…”
Radagast opened a couple of cupboards, pulled out a small jar, and sprayed some of the contents into his brew. Once more he sniffed above the stew.
“Yes, just right!”
With a big spoon and a content smile, he filled his bowl and headed back to the living room.
“Hello again,” Radagast said cheerfully. Then he looked down and saw that the little pony was staring at her empty bowl. She muttered something so soft, Radagast couldn’t hear it.
“Would you like some more?” Radagast asked.
Raising her head, but avoiding the wizard’s gaze, the yellow pony tried to say something. “Eh… I… I would…”
“Don’t be shy, little pony. You’re my guest, after all.”
“I… I would like to have some of that, ” the pony said, nodding towards Radagast’s steaming bowl. “It… it smells so good.”
Radagast chuckled. “Of course it smells good, because it is good. You can have this one here; I’ll get some for myself. It’s vegetable stew, by the way, my favorite dish.”
With that, he put down the bowl and disappeared back into the kitchen. A few minutes later he re-emerged with another bowl of stew, sat down, and began slurping up the delicious brew.
They ate in silence. Both creatures were too hungry to talk, and before long Radagast had refilled their bowls two times. He had also grabbed a hunk of bread and shared it with his pony visitor, just slightly amazed by her appetite. Radagast wondered when was the last time she’d eaten, and if she would be able to cook something as well, already having displaying the gift of flight and speech.
Suddenly, one of the birds, not yet asleep, swooped down upon the table and began nibbling at some breadcrumbs.
“Alexander, shouldn’t you be sleeping?” Radagast said to the bird.
The little bird gave out a tweet, and then flew over to the yellow pony to land on her ear. It had obviously chosen a side. It let out a few tweets, and looked with accusing eyes at the wizard.
“Who would have thought,” Radagast said, “he seems to like you.”
The yellow pony gazed up and saw the bird sitting contently on her ear. It shifted a few times, and then hopped over to settle on her mane, deciding that that would be a more comfortable spot. The pony saw that it was a robin, burying its cheerful red belly into the warm pink hairs of her mane. A smile curled on her lips at the familiar, tickling feeling. It reminded her of home and all of the other animals she called her friends. Silently, the pony wondered if he could sing as good as her own birds. A soft, warm feeling welled up inside of her. It was as if the warmth of the hearth fire had just started to warm her now. The glow spread from her hooves to her head, and pretty memories of home drifted by before her eyes. She felt a little more at ease now with a warm home, a full belly, and pleasurable company. If only just a little.
“Yes,” the pony said with a voice as soft as silk. “Is he… yours?”
Radagast smiled as well, seeing the change that had befallen his frightened new guest. “Yes he is. I found him one morning when he was just a tiny little egg. His mother had left the nest behind, I think. Perhaps she thought the wilderness just a tad too wild and dangerous, and decided to move to a better place. So I took the egg, along with the whole nest, into my house and, well, from one came another, and soon he was born. We have been good friends ever since, and he likes to play with my other robins as well. He has learned a lot from me, and the other way around too.”
“What a wonderful story,” the yellow pony said, eyes glittering. “What was his name again?”
“Alexander,” Radagast said, “Alexander Robinson.”
The tiny little bird, having heard its name, peeked from the flowing pink hairs and dropped down on the bed, as if he wanted to introduce himself to the yellow pony. He tweeted, head held high, and flapped his wings a few times, showing off his beautiful scarlet belly.
Radagast looked at the scene with gentle eyes. Finally he couldn’t withhold his curiosity any longer, and he asked, “Do you have a name too, little pony?”
The pony looked up from the bird to meet Radagast’s gaze. “Yes. My name is Fluttershy.”
“Fluttershy,” the wizard repeated. His mouth worked even after he spoke the word, as if tasting the strange combination of syllables. He had never heard such an unusual name. It sounded kind of funny, but also strange and foreign. Outlandish. Somehow Radagast had the feeling that this yellow flying pony was not from Middle Earth.
Suddenly he started. Alexander flew away. “Oh! Where are my manners. I haven’t even introduced myself. My name is Radagast the brown, warden of the Greenwood.”
The wizard reached out a hand, and Fluttershy, after a moment of hesitation, returned the handshake—Radagast felt that her hoof was still shaking a little bit.
“Is there anything I can do for you, Fluttershy? You don’t have to be afraid of me, you know. I wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
Fluttershy looked down at the floor. She had no idea where to start with the thousands of questions which inhabited her mind. She had suddenly woken up in the middle of a strange forest, deafened, blinded. Then she’d fallen unconscious and woken up in this strange house with this strange creature. She opened her mouth to speak, hesitated, then spoke anyway. “What… happened?”
Radagast shoved his chair closer to the yellow pony and put his elbows on his knees, looking straight at her. In the light of the moon, Fluttershy could see his old, gentle face covered in wrinkles. His eyes spoke of a million extraordinary things seen in his life, radiating calmness and wisdom beyond comparison. But the most striking feature was his long beard, streaked with grey. Fluttershy couldn’t help but think about of all the paintings she had seen of Starswirl the Bearded in the halls of Canterlot Castle, who had worn a beard much like Radagast’s, only whiter.
And Fluttershy kept looking at him, as Radagast told of the moment he had seen her lying on the forest floor, right in the middle of a growing storm. He told her about how he’d put her on his sled and rode back to Rhosgobel in the furious weather. And his tale was surprisingly short. Those were the only moments he had spent with Fluttershy up until now, and of course he couldn’t possibly know what had befallen the little horse before those.
Fluttershy trembled with the tale, and silently considered herself lucky that she was unconscious during the wild ride to Rhosgobel. But… where was Rhosgobel?
Radagast wasn’t at all surprised that Fluttershy had never heard the name of his home, as only a handful of people in Middle Earth actually knew about it and where it lay—a secret Radagast intended to keep. But of course he would tell it to Fluttershy; it could do no harm. “It’s in the Greenwood,” he said. “My house stands on the southwest border of the woods, but actually I consider all of the Greenwood my home, as I need the forest and the plants, the streams and the earth, as much as they need me.”
“They… need you?”
“Indeed they do. I am the warden of the Greenwood, Fluttershy.”
Fluttershy raised an eyebrow, but even that motion was gentle and soft, as soft as her eyes. “What does a warden do?”
“I… Well…” Radagast suddenly found himself at a loss for words. Actually he was the one who had questions on his mind. How could he possibly explain his important, delicate task to a simple woodland creature? He tried it anyway. “I look after the owls and the deer, the squirrels and the mice, the robins and the wolves; but also after the plants and the trees. I make sure the balance of nature is upheld, so that there is no chaos in the woods.”
That wasn’t an answer Fluttershy had expected. But it was also an answer which was very familiar to her. The task Radagast mentioned was very similar to her own. “That’s… a good task,” Fluttershy said. “I-I love plants and animals too, you know. Love them a lot. Often I also take in sick or injured animals to help them get better. It’s my special talent.”
“How remarkable,” Radagast said. He could see the glimmer in the pony’s eyes, and he knew that she wasn’t only speaking the truth, but revealing her most intimate profession as well. For a second, he considered telling her about the rest of his task; the part of which even the most clever men knew nothing about; the element of the world most mortals ignored—but of course, he couldn’t tell that to anyone, and doubted if anyone would understand.
Fluttershy stopped speaking, looking at the doubtful face of Radagast and wondering whether she’d said something wrong. The piercing eyes of the wizard suddenly looked unsure and searching for words, and Fluttershy averted hers in the awkward silence. She looked instead around Rhosgobel, and found plenty of things to look at.
The closest thing Fluttershy could compare Rhosgobel with would be Zecora’s home. Just as in Zecora’s cottage in the Everfree forest, shelves of every possible height and length snaked against the wooden walls. Each of them was packed to the rim with bottles, vials, bowls, pestles, jars, and many more objects which Fluttershy couldn’t recognize. Often there were herbs, flowers, or powders inside the jars, and now that Fluttershy paid more attention to it, she noticed the mixed, funny smell atop the smell of Radagast’s vegetable stew, which they emitted. Other things were stacked upon the shelves as well. Books, mostly, but those were scattered all around, not just on shelves. A few wooden chests without locks, a few candles here and there, and two or three barrels, almost larger than she herself, filled the rest of the cramped living room. Fluttershy wondered just how many of those Radagast had made himself.
Suddenly, Fluttershy saw something sparkle in one darkened corner of the house. She squinted her eyes to see what it was. A crystal, but not only that. The crystal was embedded into a staff, the top split and gnarled like twisting fingers, which held the crystal in place. It shone with a pale blue light, seeming to pulse brighter when she looked at it. A cold and curious light.
Fluttershy couldn’t stop looking at the staff, which looked eerily similar to a unicorn’s horn, the way it shone strangely in the darkness. A shiver ran down her spine, as Fluttershy started thinking about everything she’d just seen. The herbs and ingredients wouldn’t only be handy for making stew or seasoning other dishes, but could also be used in potions, much like Zecora did. And the staff… It looked so much like a unicorn’s horn. Could it be magical? But that meant that Radagast would be a magician. Was this strange creature gifted with the art of magic? Was it a good magic, or an evil kind of magic? Fluttershy thought all of this over, but still decided to ask the question. Carefully, as if it might break upon her tongue, she asked, “Radagast, are you… a magician?”
So after all, Radagast didn’t have to wonder whether or not he would tell his true nature to Fluttershy, as she’d already guessed it. “Yes,” Radagast said. “I am a wizard. One of five, actually.”
Fluttershy didn’t know how to react, and felt herself shuffling more to the back of the bed, until she felt the wooden boards of the wall prod her in the back.
“No you don’t have to be afraid!” Radagast said, motioning with his hands. “I’m not an evil magician. And neither are the others, in fact. I specialize in magic used to heal things, to bring life. My task is not only to uphold the balance of nature, but also the magic which runs through all of the Greenwood. It connects every living thing together, and the slightest imbalance might contort chaos or destruction.”
Seeing his explanation having no effect on Fluttershy, and searching for her evading eyes, he decided to tell her even more, although he wasn’t sure if she would understand all of it. Radagast cleared his throat and stroked his beard. “I am a wizard, Fluttershy. Long ago, I was sent from the undying lands here, to Middle Earth to do a task given to me by a much higher power.”
Radagast swore he could see Fluttershy flinch at his words, and reckoned her still very afraid, so he continued in a softer voice.
“Each of us, Saruman, Gandalf, the two blue wizards, and me, were given a different task to perform in the mortal world. Together we form an order, with Saruman the White being the leader of them. He lives in the great tower of Orthanc in the valley of Isengard. But I haven’t spoken to him in a while, so about his doings, I cannot tell you much.
“Gandalf, on the other hand”—Radagast closed his eyes and let out a chuckle—“is one of my best friends. His full name is Gandalf the Grey, and his task usually involves travelling from land to land and delivering news and messages vital for Middle Earth’s politics. Sometimes he visits me, and then we have long, pleasant chats about the world beyond Rhosgobel and the Greenwood. A world in which I try to keep my hands off as much as possible. I’m sure you will like him as well. He can be quite… jolly sometimes. Especially after a visit in the Shire, among the Hobbit folk he so adores.”
Once again, Fluttershy’s eyes opened wide for a split-second, before returning to the uncomfortable gaze.
“But I’m trailing off here,” Radagast said, taking the gesture as a hint to get to the point with his story. “I’ll try to explain to you how it all works, and what I do here in the Greenwood.” Radagast shifted on his seat, as if bracing himself for the words he would speak. “You see, Fluttershy, there is an unseen force here in Middle Earth. It is not something you can see; it is something you must feel. It’s an energy, an essence, which flows in every living being.” He pointed at Fluttershy, then back at himself. “It flows through you, through me, through all the plants and animals you can think of. But if you ask anybody else about it, they will either call you mad or a sorcerer; I suppose the two go hand-in-hand.”
Fluttershy still wasn’t daring enough to look at the wizard’s striking eyes, but her ears were aimed in his direction.
“It’s called magic, Fluttershy. It’s a concept not many understand, but it’s here and it has always been here. We as wizards are able to draw upon this energy and interweave it with our own. We can make words which summon the energy and then bend or shape it to our liking. We can make potions or brews infused with this energy to do marvelous things. We can steer it, amplify it, and sometimes even give it to others… or take it away.”
At those last words, Fluttershy shivered.
“It is a very delicate thing, magic, and must not be taken lightly. That is why only five of us are naturally born with the ability to control magic on such a big scale. Of course, there are other magical races. Elves, for example, have a natural talent for learning magic and a knack for using it. They can learn spells, craft magical objects and enchant them to make them even more powerful or possess special abilities. In a certain way, magic can be learned, from books written by older minds and steadier hands.”
All of this Fluttershy not only heard, but understood. She thought back and compared the magic described by Radagast to her own knowledge of the magical arts. Magic was an everyday thing for her. It was not that she was magical at all, but she had many friends who practiced certain types of magic. There were Celestia and Luna, the princess sisters who used their magic to raise the sun and the moon. There were all the unicorns in Ponyville, using simple spells to make everyday life even more pleasant. And of course, there were her friends. Rarity the unicorn, gifted with the magic to decorate and make things nicer. To create all kinds of artistic works and fashion; a skill Fluttershy sometimes felt a bit jealous of. And Twilight Sparkle, the alicorn princess of friendship, who had studied magic all her life and had earned with that both the wings of an alicorn and her ascension to royalty; to be the princess of friendship and represent the most powerful element of the six: magic.
But not only did the magic of Equestria cause comfort, creativity, or friendship. Fluttershy’s mind strayed to darker times and darker places. To the evil king Sombra, who had used his dark, hate-fueled magic to corrupt the horns of other unicorns and the very essence of the Crystal Empire. To the evil Queen Chrysalis who fed on the love of other living beings in order to use magic and produce a swarm of hideous changeling ponies, capable of using their magic to shapeshift into other living creatures. The pictures of the changelings flew by before Fluttershy’s eyes in a never-ending swarm. Not only was it their frightening look, but also the paranoia they had induced among the population of Canterlot—and her friends—that made a cold feeling creep through her body. Lastly, her mind encountered Tirek, the centaur which had absorbed and stolen the magic of unicorns only to become stronger himself, and to which even Twilight Sparkle, almost, had to yield.
Fluttershy retracted her hooves and wrapped her tail around herself as if to protect against her own thoughts. She tried to speak, but only a breath escaped her mouth. She tried it again, and this time she managed to form words. “I-I-Is all magic good?”
She knew the answer the moment she posed the question.
Radagast’s features darkened, and he furrowed his brow. “No,” he said with a grave voice. “There is also black magic. As magic can be learned, it can also be abused. With great power comes great responsibility, and not everyone in the history of Middle Earth has been able to prove himself worthy of wielding magic. Kings have used magic to gain power only for themselves. A Dark Lord had forged a magical ring, forged it with both fire and hate, to empower himself and enslave other races. His most unfortunate victims were nine human kings, who received lesser magical rings from the Dark Lord and were ignorant enough to think that it was an act of peace, perhaps even friendship. It was not. They were deceived, and their spirits had been stirred and employed to serve the Dark Lord, obeying no one but the Dark Lord and his ring, the One Ring. A long and terrible war has been fought over that ring, and still the artifact hasn’t been destroyed. It has simply… vanished and forgotten.”
“What was he called, the d-d-dark lord?”
“I will not speak that name aloud,” Radagast said. “It will neither ease your mind nor lighten the mood. His title will have to suffice.”
But even at the mention of the title, the fire in the hearth stirred uneasily. Even the light of the moon was extinguished for a moment, as perhaps a thin, ragged cloud obscured it for a moment. There was a silence.
Suddenly Radagast stood up. “I can hardly see you in front of me, little pony,” he said, trying to sound cheerful despite the lingering memory of the darkness. “Let me get some candles so we can see to whom we are speaking and listening to. To whom and to what,” he added.
As Radagast began scurrying around and digging in chests and boxes, Fluttershy thought about everything she had heard. Not only about the magic, but also about the names she had heard so far. Middle Earth, Gandalf, Hobbits, the Ring; all names which sounded familiar to her.
A snap sounded, and a bright, orange flame danced on top of a candle, held tightly in the wizard’s hand.
And at that same instant, it dawned to Fluttershy.
The Lord of the Rings, The Fellowship of the Ring. Part one of the trilogy.
It was the book Twilight Sparkle had given to her. She had insisted that Fluttershy should read it, although she didn’t want to tell why at the time. Of course, Fluttershy never let her friends down, so she had started reading the book. The cover looked nice enough: a wide river flanked on either side by enormous statues of kings, holding out their hands in a sign of welcome—or was it a sign of warning? Fluttershy had read about the cheerful Hobbit folk; short and pointy-eared, enjoying the peaceful, quiet rural life, much like Fluttershy herself did in her own cottage in the woods. Then Gandalf came along, and visited Frodo Baggins, one particular Hobbit, after his uncle Bilbo had gone to travel. From then on, however, the tale had quickly darkened, and Fluttershy hadn’t enjoyed it that much anymore. Gandalf told Frodo many mysterious things, the tale about the Ring which Bilbo had left behind for Frodo—exactly the same story which Radagast had told her. After that, the book went darker and darker, growing more uncomfortable by the page. Ringwraiths, evil servants of the Dark Lord, chased Frodo and his friends on their journey to the elven city of Rivendell, transforming what should have been a merry hike into a bone-chilling death-race. But Fluttershy couldn’t take it anymore at that point. Barely halfway through the book, she had closed it and put it on her mantelpiece with trembling hooves. As much as she loved to help and do favors for her friends, Fluttershy had decided that the book was simply too scary for her, and was going to talk to Twilight about it.
Except that she had simply forgotten to talk to Twilight about the book. Forgotten, or reluctant? Perhaps a bit of both.
Having read only a small portion of the trilogy, Fluttershy hadn’t reached the part of the book were Radagast was mentioned—which wasn’t long at all. Barely a few sentences were written about Radagast the Brown in Tolkien’s trilogy, but that didn’t stop Radagast from existing right before Fluttershy’s nose.
Radagast just finished putting the last candle into a makeshift chandelier, when Fluttershy asked another question. “We are in Middle Earth, aren’t we?”
Radagast looked up from underneath the chandelier, the glow illuminating his confused face, although he knew he could have seen this one coming. “Yes, of course we are. Didn’t I mention that to you?”
“I… I think you did. Sorry. I just wanted to be sure.”
“No need to apologize, little mare,” Radagast said, climbing down from the table to settle down on his chair. “I understand that you must be very confused.”
“Yes… I am.” Then Fluttershy yawned, much to the wizard’s surprise; he had probably never seen a horse yawn.
“Are you feeling tired, Fluttershy? Oh, silly me, of course you’re tired. You know, we can talk more in the morning if you want. I would love to know some more about you as well.”
Fluttershy nodded, and let out another yawn.
“You can sleep right here if you want, then I’ll sleep on the ground.”
“Are you sure?” Fluttershy said. “I can sleep on the ground as well. I don’t want to be a nuisance.”
Radagast recoiled as if he suddenly saw a mouse. “Of course you’re not a nuisance! You are my guest, and I want you to feel at home in my humble cottage. You can sleep anywhere you want. I just want you to be comfortable. You know, I’ll go and get some more blankets. Winter is getting closer and closer, after all.”
With that he trotted off, up an unseen ladder to the second floor. Dust sprinkled down and Fluttershy heard the wizard’s clumsy footsteps reverberate through the wood. After a minute or two he returned, carrying a bunch of cloaks and sacks made of ragged brown linen. “Here you go, pony,” he said, throwing them all right on top of the little horse.
Fluttershy giggled as she dug through the dusty cloths, digging herself out of the pile. When her head finally emerged, she gazed at the old wizard, who bore a funny smile on his face. “Thank you,” she said.
“Don’t mention it,” Radagast said. “I look forward to our conversation tomorrow. I’m sure it will be very exciting… eh… to me I mean.”
“Yes,” Fluttershy said, and started arranging the pieces of cloth to make a little nest for herself.
Radagast slid the table to the side and the chair with it. He draped a few of his spare cloaks on the ground as a makeshift mattress. Then he went to the kitchen, emptied a few sacks, and rolled them up to serve as a pillow. When he came back, the pony was already asleep.
“Even her snoring is soft,” Radagast observed.
As he laid his head down on the sackcloth, he felt the soothing wave of sleep wash over him like a gentle current. What a day it was, and what a day it would be tomorrow. However, before Radagast slid into the dreaming world, he heard a faint sound from his right. A faint, soft voice, almost a whisper, talking in the darkness, repeating the same words in a droning cadence; “I want to go home, I want to go home, I want to go home.”
Tomorrow, Radagast thought, I’ll help you get home, Fluttershy.