"Our journey is nearing its end," said Dennenor as they mounted up and prepared to ride. "We should reach Imladris by the afternoon."
The morning was cool, made chilly by the damp, but the wind was calm. The sun broke through the clouds later that morning. Their route still took them south, and after an hour upon the road they met a small group of horsemen travelling north. They were not Elves and appeared to be armed. Immediately the group was on its guard.
"A friendly reminder," said Dennenor to Araquenval. "We are too far removed now from Angmar to successfully use the ruse of a party of officials from that land."
"You will notice I am no longer wearing the black robe," said Araquenval.
"Robe or not," Dennenor retorted, "a scant three days ago, when we took Beraid-i-Mithras, you claimed we were working for the Witch-King."
"I said that because I suspected they may have had an allegiance to Angmar."
"I hope not!" exclaimed Mîriel. "We hired them to do our work for us! In any event, I agree with Dennenor: Angmar is too far away now, and that ruse just will not work."
The other group had now stopped and appeared to be examining them carefully. The travellers approached, but when they came within hailing distance the others suddenly wheeled around and galloped off. The group now kicked their horses to a run and chased after them. The ones pursued looked fearfully behind them, obviously concerned at the gap closing between them. The chase continued for twenty minutes, until one of them called an order and the group turned off on a path that ran west into the forest.
"Let them go!" called Araquenval. "We will stay on the road."
Mindful of Sara, they slowed down again as they passed the westward trail.
A while later they stopped to rest, then continued their ride south. They went swiftly for another four hours until the horses began to tire. A shaded glade off the road afforded them a convenient place to stop, rest, and take lunch.
"Could someone cast that running spell on Sara when we start out again?" asked Bradlegar. "I mean, we've been going like the wind for the better part of seven hours now. Last time we used that spell, Sara ran for the longest time and never got tired."
"It's the way the spell works," Araquenval told him. "It allows you, or in this case, your pony, to run fast and long without tiring. But the spell ceases as soon as you slow down, and no longer has effect."
"Well, the way you people are riding, we'll be going at a full gallop right over the rim of the valley into Rivendell," said Bradlegar. "So I think the spell would be useful."
Araquenval agreed. "It would be. I will cast it as soon as we are prepared to ride. All you need do is get your pony to gallop, and as long as she does she will outlast any horse in the land."
Araquenval did as he had promised, casting running on Sara as they prepared to take to the trail again. The little pony ran along with the great horses the others rode, and showed no fatigue at the pace.
The remains of a strange circular tower came in to view on the south, most of its walls lying in heaps about the hill on which it stood. "Do we want to slow down and pay any attention to this at all?" asked Mîriel.
"I see no need to," said Dennenor. "And if we do, the spell Araquenval cast on Sara would break, and she would begin to tire."
So they passed it by; whatever dark and dusty secrets the keep held would wait for someone else.
The plains gave way to forest: ancient trees that towered high overhead, blocking out sunlight to the floor below. "Close we are now!" cried Dennenor. "For this forest is the one through which the River Bruinen flows, and shortly we shall meet the road which fords it just before the valley!" There was excitement in his voice, for Rivendell was his home, and he had not seen it in two years.
Ahead the trail was coming to an end, for it met with a great road that ran east and west through the forest. As they approached the intersection, something on the road caught their eye. They first slowed down, then stopped to examine the bundle that appeared to have been dropped there. It appeared to be a cloak, woven in a plaid pattern, and something hidden underneath. Mîriel poked at it with her spear. A grating noise they heard, as though the cloak was covering something very hard. Deftly she flipped it off, revealing a flat stone. Painted on it was a great, red eye.
Then came the arrows, flying in from all directions.
To the wild sound of battle cries, savage looking Hillmen began dropping out of trees all about them. Louder, more authoritative shouts came from the woods. Out from under the foliage emerged a dozen mounted Angmarim troops, taking orders from a man behind them dressed in a black robe. More arrows flew in, some hitting the Hillmen and felling them. Others struck their intended targets. Mîriel cried out in pain as one pierced her lower leg, and Rhôn took two on his arms. They were saved by the leather greaves he wore, but the greaves themselves were torn and would not see battle again.
Realizing the Angmarim troops were more of a threat than the Hillmen, Bradlegar plucked the flask containing the stun cloud gas from his pouch and pitched it at a tall man in the front rank. It broke, releasing its contents. The men clutched at their heads and sides as bolts of pain shot through them. A puff of wind carried the gas back toward the group, but toughened as they were by their long ordeal they withstood its effects. Not so lucky were the Hillmen closing in behind. Many fell as the gas drifted by, one dying in great pain after inhaling a large volume. The man in the black robe cursed and pulled back from his men. Araquenval blasted a lightning bolt into the troops in front, putting one of them out of the fight as he was sent crashing off his horse and into the men behind him.
Seeing a fierce looking Hillman advancing on Araquenval, Dennenor kicked his horse forward and drew his mighty sword from its sheath on his back, pulling it in a great arc over his head. But an ill-timed arrow struck his horse and the animal bucked. Trying to maintain his balance and stay in the saddle, the Elf flung wildly about with his sword. It crashed first into Araquenval, who cried out as it broke a bone in his left arm, then into the Hillman beside him, who suffered a shattered shoulder. On the other side of the group, Luinár drove her spear through a Hillman who foolishly ran in too close.
Grasping her horse tightly to stay on, through her pain Mîriel saw a strange sight: bodies now were falling from the trees! All about her Hillmen and troops were falling to the ground, affected by the stun gas and pierced through with arrows. Behind her, Rhôn ordered his horse to kick at a Hillman he noticed running in on him. It did, with deadly results, and the unfortunate man collapsed with both his legs shattered. It kicked again, and the man stopped moving altogether.
Swiftly applying a dose of deadly jegga poison to an arrow, Bradlegar loosed it at the man in the back of the troops. The black priest stood shock still for several moments after the arrow struck, then began to shake violently as the poison coursed through his system. In less than half a minute he fell from his horse and struck the ground, and moments later perished as another blast from the stun cloud hit him.
Screaming in terror now, the ones remaining turned and fled for their lives into the woods. Luinár rode in after them, crashing through the undergrowth on her great horse, slashing away with her sword. All about she could hear the sounds of battle: obviously friends as well as foes had been lying in wait at the crossroads.
When she came out of the woods a couple of minutes later, Luinár could see her sister was already at work taking care of the wounded. She had cast a spell take care of her own wounds and now was tending to the others. For Araquenval's arm she cast a spell to heal the fracture, and for Rhôn she administered a dose of gefnul.
Dennenor rode around to inspect the body of the man in the black robe, but even as he did so two Elves came out of the woods. One was of average height, dressed in a outlandish outfit of bright colours. The other was rather short, but he carried a great sword, which even now sent flames erupting from the blade.
"Hail, Escarnol!" called Dennenor.
"Hail!" called the shorter of the two Elves.
"A good day," said the other, quite jovial, "and a fun one, too!"
"Fun for you, perhaps," said Dennenor evenly, "but we have seen more of battle these past few weeks than we care to remember."
Escarnol gazed back at him, then smiled. "Ah, Dennenor! We seem to have lost you for a bit." The other Elf friend laughed heartily and slapped him on the back.
Dennenor smiled and responded, "A bit, you say? We have just blazed a trail across Angmar, fought dragons, taken towers, killed Trolls, and defended villages from the wiles of the Witch-King!"
"All that?" replied Escarnol. "Are you just trying to make us feel guilty, making all that up? I suppose we ran a little fast; in the heat of the battle I forgot we had an apprentice with us! I do not know how those Trolls found us, though: one moment we were walking through the woods, and the next they were there, as though they knew where to find us." He gazed at Dennenor again, then beamed a large smile and slapped both his hands on Dennenor's shoulders. "Well, you are back now, and no longer look like an apprentice!"
"Training by fire," said Dennenor. He grinned. "My teachers will be surprised when I return to Imladris and begin sparring with them again!"
Having completed her ministrations, Mîriel remounted. She rode over to the cluster of Elves and said to Dennenor, "Perhaps your friend here could help us get to Rivendell. We have important messages to be delivered; we cannot afford to linger here."
Dennenor agreed. But before leaving they searched the body of the black-robed man. He carried very little on him; all the Elf found on him were five gold pieces. "This is strange," he said. "This man appeared to be very important, yet he had so little. I would have expected a magic ring or necklace. But not a just simple pouch with five pieces of gold."
"They have been able to steal what they wanted," said Araquenval. "The probably did not have to pay for very much."
"I do not think he will be doing either in the future," said Mîriel. "And unfortunately the gas that Bradlegar released on the fighters appears to have ruined their armour, so we cannot salvage even that."
Silvanar, the Elf accompanying Escarnol, looked at the bodies lying there and said, "I suppose Elrond will want this cleaned up. Perhaps he can do some of his magic stuff and just make them go away, or something like that!
In response, Escarnol smiled and said, "Perhaps he will get you to come out here with a broom and sweep them up."
"No, no!" laughed Silvanar. "My job specifically is to sing a lot of songs and to make wine! Someone else will have to do this."
Laughing and chattering, the two Elves began riding eastward on the road. Then they looked back at the group and Silvanar asked, "Are you coming, or what?"
"Let's move," said Mîriel, and they all turned their horses to follow.
The rode for an hour along the Great East Road. Escarnol and Silvanar led the way, singing and laughing. Along the route other Elves quietly slipped out of the woods and joined the procession behind them. At length they came to the ford on the Bruinen, and crossed without incident the cold, swift waters of the river. Once across, all the Elves became visibly more relaxed and sang a song of greeting to their land.
And so they sang as they travelled east toward their home.
Suddenly Escarnol left the road. The others followed, and for twenty minutes they travelled an unseen path through tangled forest. Finally, after crossing through two shallow ravines, they came to the edge of a deep, narrow valley that appeared to have been carved out of the earth as if by a giant hand. At the base of the valley, across a narrow stream, sat a great house. Now riding at the front with the other Elves, Dennenor turned to his companions and called, "Imladris! Rivendell!"
They descended into the valley, crossed a narrow bridge over the stream, and arrived at last at the house. Elves came out in great numbers to see the group, for it was not often that visitors of this stature came visiting. Some went into song:
"I also prepared another song in case you did not come back," said Silvanar to Dennenor. "Would you like to hear that one?"
"Not today," said Dennenor, smiling. He pulled out the Elf-stone they had found in one of the Troll-holds they had taken, holding it high for all to see. The brilliant green gem flashed and sparkled in the warm, pure sunlight of Rivendell. The others watched it joyfully until Dennenor lowered it again and put it back into his pouch. He turned to face his friends.
"Welcome!" he said to them, and to the others he seemed more joyful than they could ever have imagined him to be. "Welcome to Imladris, my home! No other place in this land, save perhaps Nan Fastataurë, will you find lodgings so safe and tranquil. Your armour is not necessary, and you need not sleep with your sword by your side!"
"And now we bid you enter," said Escarnol. "You are not unexpected, and rooms we have prepared for you. Some time this evening, after the sun has set, Elrond will meet with you. Until then, take what refreshment you may wish."
And so they entered the House. The burden of their long and terrible journey from Angmar fell from them, and the wounds they had suffered in their many battles healed and were felt no more.
Although normally the thought of being inside a building was abhorrent to him, Rhôn-Hari-Rhôn wandered about the Last Homely House in awe. Unlike so many others, this one was friendly and open, and he did not feel trapped when he went in. He wandered up and down the halls, into and out of rooms, often interrupting conversations as he went through. The House was a fair place, made more so by the gentle and carefree Elves, and the sight of one as homely as Rhôn, going about dressed in only a loincloth, caught most of its residents off guard. For the most part, though, they quickly recovered their composure and let the strange, squat visitor silently examine the room before he turned and went out again.
Bradlegar again found himself the centre of attention, for although Hobbits were not unknown to the Elves, they were still rare, and even more rare for one to be at the house. An Elven man and maid quickly took the little one under their wing. They led him on a grand tour of House, introducing him to everyone they met as the Pheriannath who had bravely led two Elves and four humans out of Angmar. Bradlegar blushed at the praise, but was not strong in his attempts to correct them.
Dennenor and Escarnol went about the grounds and met many friends, and all were glad that Dennenor had come back to them. Perhaps Escarnol felt remorseful at having abandoned him on the trail two years before, for he and the others in the group had fled when the Trolls attacked. He tried in many ways to make his regrets known to Dennenor, which Silvanar would make light of, to the chagrin of them both.
Late in the evening a bell sounded, and the group was gathered together and taken to a balcony high on the house. East it faced, and the setting sun cast an orange glow on the clouds that enshrouded the walls of the valley above them. Then the sun slipped below the western horizon, and the group was taken inside again to a large room, where sat a large table.
Many important folk were seated there, most of them Elves, but there were men among them as well. Many Dennenor recognized: Glorfindel; Erestor the sage; Gildor and Glorion; Círdan the Shipwright; the golden-haired Galadriel, Queen of Lórien, and her daughter Celebrian, the wife of Elrond; but there were others faces he could not identify. Later they were introduced, and among them were the three Istari: Saruman the White, Radagast the Brown, and Gandalf the Grey; and important Dwarves and Kings of Men. And on a raised chair at one end of the table sat a rugged Elf, his face at once young but immortal, framed by long black hair that swept down to his shoulders. He examined each member of the group closely; then at length he spoke.
"I welcome you to Imladris, the Last Homely House," said Elrond. "Please take a seat." He paused while the guests made their way to chairs reserved for them. "You have arrived here at an opportune moment. We have just convened a council of the wise, and you are invited to sit in on this session and relate to it your story."
And Araquenval stood up in the midst of them and told the story of their escape from Angmar. Upon the many battles they had fought along the way he did not dwell, but he spoke at length of Fael-Linnis and his realm in Nan Fastataurë, and of the slaying of Corlagon, the Dragon that had once guarded the southern pass out of Angmar. Then he brought forth the letter entrusted to them by Fael-Linnis, and in the presence of the Council of the Wise he read it.
A silence fell around the room as Araquenval finished reading the letter. Others there translated it from Quenya into Westron for the benefit of the people gathered there who could not speak the ancient language of the Elves. Elrond asked Araquenval for the letter. Immediately he handed it over, and Elrond and Erestor examined it intently for several minutes, conferring in hushed tones. Then Elrond looked up and addressed the others.
"This is a serious matter indeed," he said. "The language alone is enough to convince me its author is none other than Fael-Linnis. And Erestor and I can also see bound into the parchment that which other eyes cannot, for Fael-Linnis put there runes and signs that only we can search out. They carry powerful words of protection that doubtless made successful the mission of the party who carried it from Nan Fastataurë."
One of the Kings at the table bristled. "Who is this man that purports to live in evil Angmar?" he asked. "Why should we pay any heed to his words?"
"He is not a man," responded Elrond, "and we should heed him precisely for that. As he said in this letter, he has inhabited Middle-Earth since the Sun first rose in the sky: three Ages of men. And he is even older than that, as he dwelt in Valinor long before the Sun was put into the heavens. He was old when I was young, and I have known him from my earliest days.
"The threat to the world is real indeed. It is fortunate the news should come when we are gathered together. All other matters we were to discuss should now be put aside while we determine what do with the information that has arrived now."
Long the Council of the Wise discussed the letter and the Shard. Araquenval joined in earnestly, while Dennenor held back, uncertain if one as young as he should speak to so great a gathering. Rhôn watched the prceedings in silence, bewildered by it all. Luinár and Mîriel made an occasional interjections, and even Bradlegar said a word or two, until he fell asleep. Waiting until a lull in the discussion, Luinár quietly picked him up and carried him out.
Noticing this, Elrond said, "There is much we still need to discuss. The sun set no small time ago, and others in this room, I am sure, are tired as well. Let us rest in this tonight and think about it tomorrow morning. In the afternoon we shall meet again to determine what course we shall chart."
At that, the Council retired for the night.
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