Arya shouldered her pack, shifting the heavy weight to her left shoulder. Though the pain in her right arm had mostly subsided since the attack on Weathertop, there remained a lingering presence of weakness that often caused her to use her dominant left arm instead, whenever possible. She hoped it would go away soon; it would only hinder her on the battlefield.
She stood with the other thirteen travellers, all with packs of their own, and Bill the Pony, who was laden with several bundles. All of the other horses, including Findel, had been deemed too much for the journey, and had been left behind. Elrond had said that such beasts would only draw further attention to the company, with few benefits to outweigh the cost.
The early morning air was thin and chilly, biting through even the thickest garments. Only a few birds could be heard overhead; the forest around them was quiet and still, it's occupants still sleeping. Though some of her company had been disgruntled at waking up so early, Arya was used to it and made no complaint. She was wearing the outfit that Glorfindel had prepared for her. It fit just like her old one, but with less wear and stain. She fingered the Stark symbol emblazoned on the front. The familiar pattern felt good under her fingertips. She had sewn it in fabric so many times with Septa Mordane that the feel was almost as recognizable as the sight.
Boromir, Legolas, and Gimli stood apart, brooding as they awaited the Elf lords who were due to bid them farewell. Arya stood with her men closer to the gate, silently watching everyone else. Gandalf, Aragorn, and the hobbits were near to each other, conversing quietly.
Finally, they arrived. A large procession of elves, headed by Elrond and his daughter, Arwen. Arya caught herself searching the crowd for Glorfindel, and kicked herself mentally. She knew that he had left already with a company of his own, taking the Eastern paths into the mountains. She hoped to see him again, but nothing could be certain. Not even her own survival.
Elrond stopped short of the company, his procession coming to a halt behind him. "Now, it seems, is the hour to bid farewell." He said, arms spread grandly. "That we shall do, though it is not a pleasant task. For you shall set out ere break of day to lands far distant, and who can say what perils you shall meet? Nevertheless, it is with a hopeful heart that I wish you good fortune."
Gandalf stepped forward and bowed. "You have our thanks, my friend. Good fortune we shall need on the road that may await. I say farewell to you also."
Then he turned and whispered something to Frodo. The young hobbit slumped visibly, looking back, then set off down the dirt path ahead of them. One by one, each member of the company followed. Arya took up the rear, directly behind Colden and Laeric. She hesitated before stepping forward, casting one last glance back at Elrond, who stood watching her. He gave a brief nod, giving her the motivation she needed. She followed the rest of the company southward, away from the safe haven of Rivendell she had only just come to appreciate.
The first leg of the journey was deceptively easy. After the first steep incline out of the valley, they traversed rolling meadows and hills, the terrain smooth and well-trodden. They stuck to a wide dirt road, lined with light forests on either side. To Arya's surprise, there were no other travellers on the road at all; in fact, there weren't even many animals. It was as if the country had been abandoned. The silence was eerie, ringing in her ears louder than any noise could have.
"Where is everybody?" She asked Aragorn, who was walking beside her.
He kept his eyes fixed on the road in front of them. "For a time, not long ago, many came fleeing up this road from the terror in the east. There were families, with women and children. They flooded into the Breeland, which the folk there were none too keen on. But now it is only unsavory figures that travel these parts. Pray we find no company on our road until we have left this land."
"Is it safer across the mountains?"
He glanced at her. "My lady, I would not now call any region safe. The evil from the land of shadow has reached even into the heart of the Shire. There may be no limit as to the length of our enemy's reach. We must always be wary."
Gimli sidled up next to them with a grunt. He had removed his helmet while they were walking, and it hung from his hip alongside his axe. "I would have to mark my own homeland as well beyond his reach, Aragorn. The dwarves of Erebor are a stout and hardy folk. We would not be so easily deceived, nor could any force hope to assail our stronghold through strength of arms. But let them try, if they will! We haven't had a good fight since the days of my father."
"And yet you would do well to heed the warning your father gave to us all." Aragorn responded. "I fear our enemy has already set his eye on the mountain. Let us hope it stands, as you say it will."
Gimli grunted again and turned away, clearly not pleased with Aragorn's answer. Arya watched his hunched shoulders. She found herself liking the dwarf, whatever the others seemed to think of him. He was blunt and honest, which she much preferred to the polite, smiling ways of the elves of Rivendell. It reminded her of the Northmen back in Westeros. He was also short like her, but despite his stature, she guessed he was probably one of the fiercest warriors of them all.
When they stopped next in a small clearing to eat, she went to sit by him, ignoring the anxious glances Laeric was shooting her way. His overprotectiveness was annoying, but it was nice to feel like somebody actually cared about her for a change. Gimli glanced up at her from under his bushy eyebrows, forehead wrinkling in suspicion.
Arya took a bite of the small chunk of bread she had been given, taking her time chewing. At length she swallowed and looked at the dwarf beside her.
"Tell me about your home, Gimli."
He let out a small, annoyed grunt. "And what do you want to know, my lady?"
"I don't know." She said, "What's it like? What do you do there?"
He sighed. "Well, I suppose there is a lot to tell. Erebor is truly an ancient city. We dwarves have lived there for a very long time. Well, not counting the incident with the dragon, that is…"
He went on to tell her all about the history of the Lonely Mountain and the dwarves of Erebor, starting with the fall of Moria and Thrain I leading his kin into the North. Arya listened intently. Gimli wasn't by any means a master storyteller; he wasn't even a very good one, stumbling and backtracking and going off on random tangents of thought. But he seemed to forget himself, not even pausing to eat as he talked to her. She made occasional comments to keep him going, but stayed silent for the most part. Colden and Laeri were clearly listening in from nearby, but Gimlie either didn't notice or didn't care.
Arya was especially interested in what he had to say about old Bilbo's journey to the mountain some years ago. The dragon that had taken the fortress over seemed to link this world to Westeros; it was one of the only things besides men that they had in common. She also found it intriguing that the Ring had been discovered on that same journey, which seemed to have sent a great many events into motion.
"So you're telling me," Arya said, suppressing a chuckle, "That Legolas's father imprisoned your father, who was then saved by Frodo's uncle?" She glanced over at the elf, who was sitting quietly beside Gandalf some distance away, out of hearing range.
"They're actually distant cousins, I believe." Gimli said. "But aye, that's what happened. You might see now why I have no love for elves. All I have ever seen of them is greed and scorn."
"Well," Arya said, "The families here seem to be almost as messed up as the ones back home. You do seem to get on rather well with Legolas after what happened, though."
Gimli shrugged, making the links of his chainmail clink together. "He's not as bad as his father, I'll give him that."
"And-" Arya was cut off by someone walking up to them, blocking out the sun as they stood looking down at the pair. A glance upward revealed that it was Aragorn, his hands hanging loosely at his side. He was wearing the same shabby brown cloak that he had worn when she had met him on Weathertop, having exchanged his fine leather clothes in Rivendell for a more practical outfit. Arya stood and picked up her bowl, expecting a reminder that they had to get back on the road.
Aragorn motioned for her to stop. "Time is not as short as you would believe, my lady. Gandalf and I have deemed it wise to stay a while longer. In this time I hope to have Boromir instruct the Hobbits in swordplay. That skill may prove more valuable to them now than any amount of dreary walking could. Sit now and rest. I have not come to rouse you."
Arya blinked. "Um, alright."
She watched as Aragorn walked off to talk to Boromir, his long strides crunching over the leaf-strewn ground. For some reason, she had not even thought about the Hobbits needing to learn how to defend themselves. It made sense, though. They were small and had no training with weapons, as far as she could tell. It made her wonder why they were even brought along in the first place. Frodo was the Ringbearer, of course, and Sam was sort of his personal assistant, along with being the best cook by far. But what about Merry and Pippin? So far they hadn't done anything other than lighten the mood with their sense of humour.
As she was thinking about their helplessness, Arya realized that Teidrin was nearly as bad as they were, if not worse. And yet she had brought him along. Why? She wasn't really sure. It had just seemed wrong not to let him go. She supposed Elrond had felt the same way about the Hobbits. Thinking about Teldrin, Arya had a thought.
"Colden." She said, just loud enough for him to hear. "Why don't you and Teidrin… Practice a bit?"
Colden nodded, picking up his spear. "Excellent idea. C'mon, Teidrin. Today might be the day that you actually hold onto your sword."
The pair headed off to the side of the clearing, stopping in a flat area under a large spruce, the overhanging tree branches providing shade from the sun. Boromir had led Merry and Pippin off to the other side, and was already showing them how to hold their little swords properly. The tiny blades made Arya smile. They were short and broad, not much different in size from her Valyrian steel dagger. Somehow, they seemed like the perfect weapon for a Hobbit.
Arya sat back down next to Gimli. If they had more time to spare, she decided it wouldn't hurt to talk with him a while longer. It was hard to tell if he shared the sentiment; he kept his eyes averted, and his expression was hidden under his bushy beard. To her surprise, he initiated the conversation.
"I've told you about my home, lady Arya. Now I would ask about yours. Is it a land only of men? For you know little of Elves and Dwarves."
"Yes." She said, "We have different races of men, but no Elves or Dwarves to speak of. I never even knew you existed until I arrived here. This land is rather complicated."
"I wouldn't say so." Gimli said. "There isn't much to understand about Dwarves, at least. We love the Earth and all things within its depths. Loyalty comes easily to us, though I am told we can be a bit stubborn at times. We respect anyone who can swing an axe and hold their ale. Of course, not all of us are alike. But I have found that we are more similar than we would like to admit."
Arya smiled. "Well, I can't swing an axe like you, but I know I can hold my ale."
For the first time, Arya heard Gimli laugh. "I don't doubt that, lady Arya. Nor would I wish to make an enemy of you. You may not be able to handle an axe, but I'm sure that sword of yours could do as much damage in a hand like yours."
Just then, a yell of pain echoed across the clearing. Arya and Gimli both whirled toward the source of the noise. It had come from Colden and Teidrin's direction. At first, Arya was afraid that Teidrin had been injured. A single glance, however, told her that was not what had happened. Colden was clutching his hand, which had a long cut running across the palm. He had dropped his spear, which lay in the grass by his feet. Teidrin was standing across from him, his eyes wide, a look of pure terror taking hold of his features.
"I-I… I'm sorry!" He blurted, dropping his sword like it was white hot. "I didn't mean to…"
Colden looked up from his hand, which was starting to drip blood onto the ground. His expression was blank for a tense moment, and Arya held her breath. Then his face broke into a wide grin, and he went to Teidrin and clapped him on the back with his uninjured hand.
"Shit!" He said, still grinning. "That was bloody good! Where'd you learn to counter like that?"
"Uh," Teidrin said, still looking nervous, "You taught me. A couple of days ago, remember?"
Colden chuckled. "That's right. I did. Well, now we know you remember what I teach you. Not many people have been able to land a hit on me like that. Damn, it stings! Well done!"
He ripped off a piece of his shirt and used it to bind his hand, wrapping the fabric tight around the wound. When he was finished, he noticed everyone else watching him with concern from around the clearing. Even Boromir and the Hobbits had stopped practicing. He gave a small smile.
"Hey. Sorry about that. I'm fine, don't mind me. Carry on."
Aragorn glanced over at Arya, who shrugged, a smile playing at her lips as well. After a minute, everyone had gone back to what they were doing, and Colden was still laughing and congratulating Teidrin, who still looked like he was on the verge of a breakdown from the trauma. Gimlie grunted out a chuckle from beside Arya, his eyes glinting with humour.
"You keep good company, lady Arya."
Arya leaned back, smirking. "Well, that is one way to put it."