The tiny land of Mindon Enedh lay nestled between the Celebrant—Silverlode in the Common Speech—and rolling hills, which were the offspring of the Misty Mountains. It was a land few knew for only three homes were built there; and of those three, only Herth-Milui was, in Ithildin's time, still occupied by people. The story of the other two homes and what became of the fair folk who once dwelt there, is not told here for it is little remembered by the peoples of Middle-Earth and does not concern Ithildin or her journey. The tales of the Mindon Enedh can be found in the Great Book of Lore, in the study of Elrond Halfelven in Rivendell, Imladris in the Elven-tongue. Sadly, even the oldest do not remember the small, but great land in the hills and today, its legacy is all but forgotten.
Ithildin's first step in direction was east. East was where the sun rose each morning and the rising of the sun meant a new day, filled with new beginnings and possibilities. To Ithildin, this was what her journey was about. She followed the Celebrant as it flowed from the Misty Mountains. She journeyed many miles for many days, yet she tired little. Ithildin knew not what strength possessed her, but she knew that she had been blessed with such strength.
A fortnight after she set out from Mindon Enedh, the Celebrant joined with the Nimrodel, which also flowed from the Misty Mountains, south of Moria. The Nimrodel's beauty was long admired by the people of Middle-Earth, for its very babble was like the chorus of a thousand Ainur.
Ithildin, tired from a day's journey, rested her feet in its cool water. Immediately, she was rejuvenated and her spirits, which had lowered a little, were lifted. She felt a curious connection with this lovely stream, though she knew not what of. She closed her eyes and rested her head and allowed the music of the water to soothe her.
Presently, she was awakened by the cry of a gull. 'Strange that a gull should fly so far east from the Sea,' she thought as she gathered her belongings. The gull's cry had brought a queer stab of sorrow to her heart. Ithildin hoisted her pack, reached for her walking stick and continued on down the Nimrodel.
Two days passed when she found herself in the realm of a fair and beautiful forest. Nay, she soon discovered that it was an enormous wood, for it stretched out endlessly south before her. To either side of the Nimrodel it lay and its beauty could not be described with words. The leaves were golden. Not a pale yellow, or light brown, but gold as the golden sunset! The stems of the trees were silver and the ground, which did not bare a single leaf though it was late autumn, was green with grass soft.
The beauty of the woods beckoned to Ithildin, who felt a longing in her heart to see the heights of its tall trees. She strayed from the path and submerged herself into the woods west of the Nimrodel. Here, she walked and the majesty of the life about her was powerful and overwhelming. She could smell the sweetness of the flowers, though she knew not their names. Their scent filled her mind with thoughts of joy and happiness and in a sudden burst of energy, she sprinted to the nearest tree and leapt up into the air. Her hands caught the length of a branch high above her head and she knew not how she could have done this, for it was well above her. Yet, scarcely had she touched the tree when a clear voice commanded, "Daro!" from below.
In her surprise, Ithildin dropped down to the ground. But the creatures that surrounded her with drawn bows had moved faster and quieter than she could have perceived. Ithildin looked up in fear, for she had never before seen living people other than those who lived in Herth-Milui.
The creatures that stood before her were half a head taller than she. They possessed hair long and golden that shone in the waning afternoon sunlight. Their faces were fairer than the description of words for their skin was flawless and radiant, and their eyes were bright and keen. The creatures wore cloaks of grey secured by a beautiful brooch of silver and a green leaf. Yet, the beauty of these creatures could not hide the seriousness in their eyes and the firmness of their stances. Ithildin did not move and this was to her credit, for she was surrounded by Haldir and the Guards of Lothlórien, the fairest dwelling in all of Middle-Earth of the race of Elves.