I GOT MY FIRST FLAME!!!!!! Yay! Thank you so much to my lovely flamer. I feel so grown-up. *sniff*

But...I'm going to make a new rule. If you do insist on flaming me, please at least make sure that you get your facts straight.

Raistlin Majere: (cool s/n, btw) I think you have some very good points, and I'm going to address them, as some other reviewers might have the same inquiries. In the rough drafts of the first few chapters, Rhiannon talked the way someone would in the Dark Ages. This made her seem extremely stiff and emotionless, so I decided to drop the elegance.

In the original Greek myths, Centaurs were extremely vulgar and barbaric. They carried off other men's wives and beat their children. The only Centaur who was remotely "wise and kind" was Chiron, who, because of his knowledge of herbs and the stars, became the teacher of Asclepius, mortal son of the great god Apollo. But Chiron wasn't even related to the other Centaurs at all. He was the son of Cronus the Titan and was immortal. So, yes, Centaurs would use profanity. Obviously, such disgusting characters would be undesirable, so I improved upon what the Greeks wrote.

I have read the books. I read them when I was in fourth grade. You would have found out not only that, but why I employed the use of "that wench Arwen" instead of Glorfindel if you had read the author's note at the beginning of chapter six. I also needed the friendship between Rhiannon and Arwen.

I'm not going to debate the color of Elrond's hair with you. To me it looked brown, to you it looked black. But, honestly, who cares?

Katronette: About Rhiannon's name: interesting. I didn't know that. Thanks! Could the dark goddess you're talking about possibly be/be related to Epona? I know Rhiannon was sometimes associated with her and the description you used sounds familiar, so I think that might be where I got confused.

About the way she talks: As I said to Raistlin Majere, I tried the elegant archaic thing, but it didn't work for the kind of character I'm trying to create. But I do think I over-did it a bit. I'll work on that.

Dara Maeko: Yes, the dream will be explained later. But that's okay, I'm blond too. Just not Dutch... :)

Gaeldrisan: (love the s/n) I have no idea if they can out-drink a dwarf, but they can get drunk. It was because of this that they totally wrecked the wedding of Pirithous and a Lapith princess in one of the Greek stories. I think they even carried off the bride. *snickers*

The inspiration for a Centaur story came out of nowhere. I'm fascinated with the ancient Greeks and I also love horses, so Centaurs seemed to be pretty cool characters to write about, considering the reputation they now have. I think reading about Centaurs in the Chronicles of Narnia pretty much made me decide to write it down. (my two favorite series at the time were LOTR and Chronicles of Narnia)

Thank you to all of my other reviewers. If you haven't noticed, if you ask me a question, I do answer you, so feel free to ask anything. Here's my chapter.

***

Rhiannon lay awake for a long time that night after the Council. The emotions that she had been holding back for so long had finally caught up with her, and tears streamed shamelessly down her cheeks as she thought of her former life as an ordinary Centauress.

She wondered what Lugh was doing right then. She wondered if he missed her as she did him and if he was doing the same thing she was.

She missed her friend, Maire, and how they used to laugh and giggle over handsome young Centaur males.

She missed the crotchety old Mrs. Colhoran and her tiny tent that smelled like rosemary and lavender.

And most of all, she missed her parents. She thought that she had gotten over them a month ago, but she found herself crying over them more now than she had at their funeral pyres. She wished that her mother was there to comfort her and tell her how wonderful she was and that it would be alright. She wanted to hear her father's dry sarcasm and his deep belly laugh.

She was afraid. Never in her short five years of life had she thought that she would be as truly and profoundly alone as she was now. She cried even harder at that thought, feeling herself fall into a black, bottomless pit of self-pity that she thought she would never climb out of.

A cool wind caressed her tear-stained face and stirred her hair. She gasped and sat up, no longer crying, and remembered the words of the wind. *"But we will never leave you. You have The Gift, and The Gift will never leave you either."*

*I'm not alone,* Rhiannon thought. *In fact, I'm practically surrounded.* She got up and went to one of the many mirrors in her bedroom, looking disdainfully at the tear-tracks and rubbing impatiently at them.

*I've got to stop this. I've got to stay strong. I learned long ago that crying never got me anywhere, and here I am, sobbing like an idiot.* She sighed and plopped back down on her nest of sheets on the floor. Soon, she fell into a deep sleep.

***

She was flying again. *Okay, can we stop with the flying?* Rhiannon snapped. Then, to her amazement, she was on the ground. She hadn't flown down to the ground, she just appeared there.

*Whoa.*

She looked around her at the blackened, treeless plain until her eyes fell upon the huge tower in the middle of it.

*Orthanc,* she thought, surprising herself. She'd never even heard the name before.

She looked sadly at the charred ground and saw the ghosts of trees waving in an unearthly breeze. Physical pain shook her as she shuddered under the blows of many axes, and felt the anguish of long lost green lives.

She set her jaw and looked at the great tower, vowing to seek revenge on whoever had done this.

*Take me to this murderer,* she demanded of her dream.

Blurred shapes flew past her and she appeared in a large, circular room, occupied in the center by a half-pillar covered in a velvet cloth. There was something under it. She moved forward curiously, reaching out a hand to pull off the cloth.

Footsteps. She whirled around, prepared to flee. One of the several doors slammed open and in stalked a tall Man in white robes. He thrust the staff he was carrying towards a small figure trailing behind him and yanked off the velvet cloth.

He didn't seem to notice Rhiannon, so she inched closer, curious as to what was beneath the cloth.

It was a perfectly round crystal ball, like the ones Rhiannon had seen Seers use. The Man waved a hand over the crystal and muttered something under his breath.

A pinprick of red light appeared at the center of the ball and steadily spread outward until a fuzzy image came slowly into focus.

Rhiannon inched even closer, her heartbeat pounding in her ears, her breathing fast. She saw that the red light was actually a kind of fiery eye and she was immediately reminded of her strange dream.

*That's Sauron,* she thought. *Or, his Eye, at least. What's this Man doing talking to the Dark Lord?*

She was about to find out.

A deep, warped voice issued from the crystal. "Is my army finished?"

"Nearly, my Lord," replied the Man. "The final plans are in place."

A rumbling noise that Rhiannon supposed was a chuckle echoed around the circular room. "Good. And of the Ring?"

Here, the Man looked a little nervous. "Ah, my ah, spies have reported to me that, ah--"

A low growl from the crystal made the Man talk faster. "that they can't penetrate Rivendell's defenses," he finished in a rush.

The growl increased in volume. "And why not?" Even the question sounded like a threat.

"Elrond's and Gandalf's combined magic are too strong for me. But we do have some news," he added hopefully.

"Yes?"

"A Fellowship has been assembled and they are going to take action."

"And you can stop them?"

The Man looked uncertain, but answered, "Yes, My Lord. You needn't worry about them."

Something shook Rhiannon's shoulder. She looked around, but the world turned fuzzy and unsteady. The conversation between the Man and the Dark Lord became garbled and she fought to gather to her the now evanescent unreality of her dream.

"Will you cut it out?" she shouted out loud, but it was too late. She jolted into the waking world with such a force that it made her dizzy. A confused hobbit gazed down at her fearfully.

"Oh, sorry, Sam."

He smiled shakily. "That's alright. I wasn't too keen on gettin' out of bed m'self."

She groaned as she rose up on shaky legs and shook her head to clear it. "Do I need to be up for any specific reason?"

Sam looked startled. "We're going today. Didn't you know?"

Rhiannon gasped, suddenly a lot more awake. "I forgot! I'll be ready in twenty minutes," she promised Sam. He nodded and went out of the room, leaving her by herself.

She took a deep breath and looked around her room, then headed to the bathroom. She took the jar of rose petals from the shelf and ceremoniously sprinkled them on the surface of the bubbling water in her hotspring/bathtub, thinking, *Since I'm probably not going to have a proper bath in a long time, this is the best occasion I can think of.*

When she was as clean as she could get herself, she ran a brush through her long hair and wove it into a single long braid that hung down her back. The hairs that framed her face refused stay in the braid, so she swiftly braided them into small individual braids.

Rhiannon looked at her reflection in the mirror with approval. She had once seen a barbarian Clan of Centaurs pass through her Clan's lands under treaty. In that Clan, even the females fought. She remembered seeing one particular Centauress. She had had dark hair, like Rhiannon's, that she kept woven into hundreds of tiny braids that hung around her face and swished along her back. Her tail had been woven into one long braid also. Rhiannon thought she looked much like that warrioress. She smiled grimly at her reflection and turned away to pick fresh tunics.

Since she had brought nothing into this strange world but her bow and her waist pouch, she didn't have much to pack. She selected several simple tunics, some light-colored for hot temperatures, some dark-colored for cold temperatures. Digging further into the wardrobe, she found a long, hooded cloak. She swirled it around her shoulders and found that it was long enough to cover her horse-half, too.

When she was finished, Rhiannon looked around her room and found herself unwilling to leave. Even though this wasn't her true home, she had found her magic here. It was these trees just outside the window that had conversed with her on her first day here. She went out on the balcony to say goodbye. The trees were sad at her leaving, but she promised them that, someday, somehow, she would come back.

She picked up her pack and shook back the small braids swinging around her face, then marched out of the room, trying to keep a straight face.

She wandered down to one of the many gardens, saying goodbye to each of the plants, and asking for favors from some of them. The waist pouch she always carried with her already contained some dried herbs, but fresher ones were always better.

When she had harvested enough, she first trotted, then cantered swiftly to the gates of Rivendell, where everyone was supposed to meet. The rest of the Fellowship was already gathered there, listening to last-minute instructions from Elrond. When he heard the hoof-beats, Elrond turned to Rhiannon.

"I would like to thank you once more for all that you have done for us. Words are not enough to express the gratitude we all feel." He beckoned to an Elf standing behind him. The Elf stepped forward, holding something long and thin wrapped in a cloth. Elrond took it from the other Elf and turned back to Rhiannon, offering her the bundle.

She reached out hesitantly and when her fingers met the smooth, hard surface of the thing Elrond was giving her, she knew exactly what it was.

The cloth fell away, revealing a long, shining sword of the lightest metal Rhiannon had ever seen. The hilt was set with moonstone and jade, for protection; black onyx, for self-control and wise decisions; and aquamarine, for courage and protection. Rhiannon touched the stones reverently. It seemed that all her lessons with the local hedgewitch had finally paid off.

She looked back at Elrond, speechless, but the look in his eyes said that he understood. She buckled the sword's sheath around her waist and put her waist pouch on the belt instead. Then she turned to stand among the Fellowship.

The goodbyes were tense and filled with emotion. Finally, the company turned away, and Rhiannon walked out of the gates of Rivendell, her eyes filling with tears.

***

Well, how do you like? Rhiannon was a lot more emotional in that one. Oh well. I put a new name in here for you, so here's how you pronounce it.

Maire: MOY-ra

Usually, the a has an accent over it, but accents don't work on ff.net, so I can't do that.

Please review! Bye!

-littlehorse :)