Arya stepped cautiously as she followed Círdan and his companions up the steep stairway. Her men followed closely, trailing down the cliffside like some sluggish brown snake. She had left five of them on the ship to guard it, but the rest were accompanying her. Colden and Laeric walked directly behind, talking quietly.
"Not very cheerful here, is it?" Colden was asking.
"Eh…" Laeric said, taking a whiff of the air. "It ain't bad. Not like some places I been. Jus' quiet, ye know?"
"Too quiet." Colden muttered suspiciously. "I feel like we're walking into a fuckin' ambush."
Laeric belted out a laugh, slapping Colden on the back. "Ye sure are funny, son. I've been walkin' into ambushes since before ye picked up that damn toothpick yer holdin'. And I can tell ye now, this ain't one."
"Age isn't the same as experience."
"No." Laeric agreed. "But I'd say yer lacking in both, laddy. Stop tryna play soldier, will ye?"
Colden glared at him indignantly. "Now see here, old man. I've been in more battles than you've even-"
"Seven hells!" Arya cut in exasperatedly, turning to face them. "Will you two shut it?"
Colden's face crumpled into a scowl. "Yes, my lady."
They trudged along silently after that, the waves breaking on the rocks below providing the only sound. After a few minutes, Círdan reached the entrance to one of the stone towers and stopped, waiting for Arya to catch up. When she did, he opened a heavy wooden door at the base, gesturing for her to enter. She walked through the doorway, but her hand strayed to Needle's hilt, eyes alert.
There was no need, as it turned out. Inside was a simple stone room, tall and circular, with a large gilded table at the center. Círdan entered, and spoke some words to one of the men with him, who departed down a different pathway along the cliff.
"Come." He said to Arya, indicating a chair. "I would have you sit with me. For it is strange that such a young maiden travels with a company such as you keep, and I would speak with you."
"I suppose it is strange." Arya said with a smile. She sat down where he had gestured, the wooden chair sliding smoothly along the polished floor as she pulled it out.
He pulled out a chair next to her, and the rest of her men took the cue, gradually filling up the table. When they had all come in, only four chairs remained empty. The size of the table was impressive, Arya thought. It seemed to be made for kings, rather than filthy, disheveled sailors. She was just about to comment on that when a procession of more tall, long haired men entered. They were all very similar in build and face, so that it would have been difficult to distinguish them if not for their different outfits.
In their arms they bore bowls, which they set about the table in front of each man. The bowls each contained a small fish set in a bed of leafy greens. After dishing out the food, the tall men walked out silently.
Arya looked around and noticed that all of the sailors were watching her. Waiting for her to start eating, she thought. The meal looked delicious, especially after several days of salted pork. But she hesitated, looking to Círdan. Experience had taught her not to trust anyone, no matter how good or honorable they seemed.
"Where we come from, it's customary… for the host to begin first." She told him.
His eyes twinkled, and she knew he saw right through her lie, but didn't seem to mind.
"Very well." He said. "But do not fear. You are in safe lodging now. I will not suffer any harm to befall guests in my own hall, especially not that which is inflicted by my own hand."
He lifted the utensils that lay in the bowl and took a bite out of the fish, then ate some of the greens. Arya nodded her thanks, and gestured for her men to commence with their meal. They did, and the room filled with the familiar clamour of a feast.
"So." She said through a mouthful. "I have many questions I would ask you."
"As have I." Círdan answered. "And as I have already told you my name, I would learn yours as well."
She swallowed, wiping at her mouth. "I am Arya, of House Stark. These men are under my command."
"So it would seem, lady Arya. But to what purpose do you lead them? And from whence do you come?"
"I…" She paused, trying to decide on how much to say. "I was leading them on a voyage of exploration. Searching for new lands. We come from Westeros."
"There is a name unfamiliar to me. Curious, that is, for I have travelled far and seen many things. How came you to the Havens? Clearly you are not of the Undying Lands."
Arya's forehead creased. "Um… No, we're not from… wherever that is. It's odd, actually. We were sailing Westward… Until we weren't. The stars shifted, and we found ourselves here, at your harbor."
"Strange tidings indeed." Círdan pursed his lips. "I do not fully understand you, or your tale. But I feel that it is the will of Ulmo that set you here. And I will honor his will, as I may."
"Ulmo?" Arya asked. "And who is that?"
Círdan smiled. "Yes, clearly some strange power is at work here. Ulmo is lord of these waters, and all waters in the world. He is a being greater than we, and wields great power and dominion."
"He's your god." She realized. "You worship him."
"In a way. Do you not partake in your own faith?"
Arya took another bite and chewed thoughtfully. "I do. And I serve my god well. But I would like to learn more of this place. Mithlond, you called it."
"Ah, yes." He said. "That is its name in our own tongue. The greatest surviving city of Lindon the old. We who dwell here were once in the service of Gil-Gilad, who was among the last of the great Elf Kings of old."
"Elf Kings?"
"Truly," He said, "You are from a land far different from this one. Have you not then heard of the first born, the elves, children of Eru Illuvatar?"
Arya shook her head slowly. "I don't think so. None of that sounds familiar to me."
Círdan sat back in his chair and gazed at her. His eyes were deep and soulful, yet bright and intelligent at the same time. Looking into them was like staring into a vortex of stars.
"I am not of your race." He said after a moment. "Nor are any who live here with me. We are the Quendi. Elves, the men call us. Alike to them, but far older, and without the blessing of mortality."
Arya stopped chewing and cast him a sidelong glance as his words sank in. "I would call you a liar, but from the moment I saw you, I knew you were no mere man. Can you not die, then?"
"We can perish on the battlefield, at the hand of another. But age and time have little meaning for us."
"Well." She finished eating and pushed her bowl away. "I have certainly never encountered anyone like you in all of my travels. But what will you do with us now? I would like to explore more of this land, if I could. It seems like there is much I could learn."
"I would not have you depart yet either." He said. "I wonder though…" He cleared his throat. "It seems fate now is in our favor."
"What do you mean?"
"A letter came, not two moons ago." He started. "It bid me to ride to Imladris with all haste, for a gathering in the house of Lord Elrond. Verily, I was not intent on going, for there are matters on this very shore that require my attention more desperately. "
He paused, surveying the men in the room. They were eating loudly, without manners or utensils, and bits of food littered the floor. Arya didn't mind; she ate like that herself sometimes. And these were sailors, not used to dining with lords or ladies. Luckily, Círdan didn't seem to mind much either. He just sighed and looked back to Arya.
"However," He carried on, "It seems to be now that I should ride there today, and you along with me. Speaking with Elrond may answer a great many of both of our questions, for he is wise in lore. Indeed, it may chance that you were sent here for a purpose. Who can say? These are indeed strange days."
"So you want me to ride with you to see this… Elrond?" Arya repeated slowly. "How far is the ride? And do you have enough horses for my men?"
"The ride is about four days." Círdan told her. "The gathering is to take place in seven. I might spare five horses, but no more. Most of your crew would have to await your return here in the Havens."
Arya thought hard. She was supposed to be exploring, right? Meeting new people? Maybe she should go, and find out more about this country. And maybe Círdan was right. Maybe she was here for a reason, and had a part to play, before the end. But could she trust these people with the lives of her men?
I'll be with Círdan. She thought to herself. If worst comes to worst, I can take him hostage.
Her decision made, she rose from the table and clinked her fork against the empty metal bowl in front of her. Everyone quieted down, and she felt uncomfortable as all of the eyes in the room once again fixed on her.
"Lord Círdan," She announced, "Has offered to take me to see a master of lore, who may be able to tell us something of our predicament."
She looked out over the room. Most of the men were staring at her blankly, but a few started whispering to each other.
"I will accept his offer." She continued. "I think we all want answers, and this seems to be the surest way to get them. But I can only take four others with me. Who among you is willing?"
Immediately, the sailors erupted into noise, shouting and raising their hands, all clamoring over each other. She tapped the bowl again, and they quieted down gradually.
"I take it that all of you are willing. Alright, then. I'll choose."
She scanned the crowd, searching. She considered several men, including a heavy-set man with a great black beard who was holding a large axe, a small, wiry man who looked like he would be a good thief, and a young, stout fellow with a jagged scar running across his face.
"Laeric." She said. "And Colden. You two can accompany me."
Both men rose, and Laeric gave a small bow. "I'm honored, m'lady."
"And you." Arya pointed to a tall bald man with a large hammer strapped across his back. "What's your name?"
"Barroth, m'lady." He answered in a deep, scratchy voice. "If you choose me, though, I'd ask you to take my brother Teidrin as well. He's a good lad, and loyal. I'd not be separated from him, if that's possible."
His words made Arya think of her own siblings back home, and she smiled sadly at the memories.
"Teidrin can come." She agreed. "And the rest of you will stay here, for now. Treat your hosts kindly. I should return within the fortnight."
"Then it is settled." Círdan spoke aloud. "You five will journey with me to Imladris. We will take our leave ere midday." He raised his hand in farewell, then turned and strode from the room, leaving Arya alone with her men.
"Are you sure about this?" Colden asked quietly, walking up to her. "I do not trust these men."
"No." Arya responded. "I don't either. But we cannot hope to learn more without taking some risks. I believe this is necessary."
He nodded reluctantly. "True. But my heart warns me that we should turn now and sail back. Get away from these pointy-eared cunts."
"And then what?" Arya asked. "I don't think we can go back home now. Our only option is to move forward."
"I'm just saying. This man could easily be leading you into a trap."
Arya smiled ruefully. She hoped she was doing the right thing, but the whole situation was so unprecedented that she wasn't really sure any more.
"Maybe he is" She told Colden. "Who knows? I guess I'll just have to take my chances."