Snowbourne was a virile and strong horse. She had been the fastest of all the horses in Loena's eored, and had seemed the least exhausted by their long journeys across Rohan. But even she struggled against the speed and tirelessness of Shadowfax.
Whenever Gandalf and Loena slowed their pace, it was to address the ragged, desperate breathing of Loena's horse. By the third day, Snowbourne was ruined with exhaustion, sore to the touch and unresponsive to Loena's firmest directives, even after a break. Loena could not bear to push her any further, and when Gandalf suggested they set her loose to find her way back to Edoras, she agreed.
"She will know the way home," Gandalf had comforted her, as Loena stroked her mane, plaiting it with long grass so those who found her would know that her owner had not been killed. "She is a clever horse, but she is not a Mearas."
If Shadowfax struggled under the weight of an extra person, his speed did not show it. Loena clung desperately to Shadowfax's silken bareback, hands tangling themselves in his mane for balance. She had not known that Gandalf rode in the style of the elves, and she did not know how he could properly bear it. Despite how tenuous the entire exercise felt, it was plainly uncomfortable.
They rode through the day and under the watching moon. Whenever she slept, she slept upon the horse, with Gandalf supporting her from falling from its back. They stopped only to eat and to drink. At the breakneck speed they moved at, it took them only 8 days to arrive at Rivendell.
Her companion was unusually quiet as they rode, and Loena could tell that the issue of Saruman pressed on Gandalf's mind. When they did speak he was friendly and jovial, telling her tales of hobbits and birthday parties, and of how the parties in the Shire compared to the parties thrown by the elves.
"Each are fun, in their own way," Gandalf had said. "But the rigidity of the elves is something the hobbits do not have to overcome." He'd laughed. "And the food in the shire is far superior to anything the elves will cook for you."
Loena drunk in tales of Hobbiton and the little folk who lived there. She had been so certain that they hadn't existed, and had never been so pleased to have been proved wrong.
Mostly the trip had been silent, and she'd been left to her own thoughts. Those thoughts had, no matter their starting point, circled back to Éomer, the oath she'd sworn to him, and the grief on his face as she'd left.
Arriving at Rivendell was, in the end, a welcome respite from her inane inner monologue as well.
Rivendell was a beautiful city, filled with light and softness, rising above the forest like a mountain made by man. Everything was intricate and properly placed, and ever was there the sound of birds, the charming chatter of the small streams that ran throughout the grand estate, and the soft smell of flowers and fresh, crisp grass. On the outskirts of the city, Gandalf and Loena finally climbed from the broad back of Shadowfax.
"Farewell, my friend," Gandalf murmured to him, stroking his grand nose. "Blessed you are amongst your brethren. We shall see each other again, one day."
"Goodbye, Shadowfax," Loena said, stroking the horse's powerful neck.
With a low whinny, the horse turned and left.
"Does he return to Rohan?" Loena asked, watching his grey hide disappear into the murk of the trees.
"He does," Gandalf nodded. He seemed wistful as Shadowfax left. "He was never mine, not really. Not even a wizard could tame the lord of the horses." He looked to Loena and smiled. "But he will come, if I were to call."
"I wonder if Snowbourne knew who he was," Loena wondered aloud.
"I have no doubt she did," Gandalf chuckled merrily. "Now, this journey has, I'm afraid, left us both a little worse for wear. We shall greet our host, and then sleep away the miles."
Dusk had fallen by the time they reached the great gates marking entrance to Rivendell. The elves stationed there made no move to stop them as Gandalf walked through. Loena wondered if they'd have let her pass through if she'd been without him. Somehow she doubted it. She kept an eye on them as she and her companion passed through, half convinced they'd let Gandalf go and then pounce on her. But they made no move, and kept staring off through the archway.
Along the grand walkways of Rivendell, Loena felt out of place. The wonder of it made her feel as though she were walking through a dream. Even the growing darkness couldn't diminish its beauty. None questioned Loena as she walked in Gandalf's shadow, but the tall, grand strangers that passed looked at her with curiosity. They were breath-taking, tall and luminous, calm as they walked, and graceful, like a deer. These were the elves of Rivendell. Loena felt like a child beneath them, and averted her gaze whenever she met one of their eyes, terrified of the aged wisdom that grew there.
Soft yellows and blues and reds cast themselves into the buildings around her, tall trees with white leaves and cheek-soft flowers, a stirring breeze.
Inside the building Gandalf led her through were great pieces of artwork along the wall, depictions of battle scenes and moments of peace alike. Loena thought she saw one that could have been Rohan; the sterile rock and plain reminded her of her homeland, but Gandalf had whisked her on before she could study it properly.
They came to a rich wooden door. Gandalf knocked on it with the top of his staff.
"It's beautiful here," Loena said, slightly breathlessly, looking around. Even now the world seemed cast under some glorious, soft light. It was as though the sun were being shone through honey, or amber.
"The elves are clever in their architecture, and cleverer still with the trees and growing things around them," Gandalf said, frowning at the unanswered door. "I think we may have arrived—"
"Gandalf!" A voice called down the hall, and both Loena and Gandalf turned to see a tall, stately looking elf with brown hair, his face broken by a smile, come down the hall. He came to a stop in front of Gandalf, and nearly measured with the tall Wizard in stature. "I apologise for my absence. I sensed your arrival, but I have been occupied of late. I have been mending the mortal wound of the hobbit you sent to us. He, Aragorn and the others were rescued and brought here two days and three nights ago."
"Hobbit," Loena whispered, eyes wide.
"Hobbit indeed," Gandalf's face had thoroughly darkened. "I had sensed something ill on the air as I rode here. Now, standing in Imladris, I feel the truth of your words. Frodo was hurt, and hurts still."
Elrond nodded gravely. "Gandalf, it was a Nazgûl, with one of their cursed blades." He shook his head, disgusted.
Gandalf, despite his growing grimness, didn't seem surprised. "Yes, I had feared that they would find them. The Ringwraiths are not easily outrun."
"Had it been a moment later, or had the hobbit not shown the same hardiness and fought for as long as he did, the story would have been a different one. But hobbits are hardy folk." Elrond allowed himself a brief smile. "He will survive this darkness."
"I thank you for your healing skills, Elrond," Gandalf said, smiling.
"Who is Frodo?" Loena asked from behind Gandalf. "And what is a Nazgûl?"
"A Nazgûl is one of the nine wraiths corrupted by Sauron to be his most deadly servants," Gandalf turned to her, explaining with patience. "They were once men, but the power of Sauron's most deadly weapon was too strong, and they fell to the shadow."
"Ah," Loena nodded. She felt her heart beat pick up at the thought of them. "And we're safe from them here?"
"At the moment, at least," Gandalf assured her. "Frodo, now, is a young Hobbit from the shire, who has brought with him the reason for our meeting." He looked back to Elrond. "Lord Elrond, I bring with me Loena of Rohan, a hose-mistress and Maiden-of-the-Shield. She is the descendent of Baldor."
Elrond seemed to grasp the brevity of her forebear, and his mouth quirked with surprise. He surveyed her quickly, her dirty clothes, travel torn hair, wind-reddened face. Loena felt herself squirm under the scrutiny. "Well met, Lady Loena."
"Well met, Lord Elrond," she replied, bowing. She glanced around. "Rivendell is beautiful, my lord."
"Ah, yes, but it is but a shadow of the realm it once was," Elrond smiled fondly, looking around. "As more of us travel across the seas, the grace of the elves fades, and so too do the homes we once lived in."
Loena had no special love for the elves, really. But the idea of them leaving Middle Earth struck a deep, unrefined chord within her. It seemed so sad, and so lonely, that the elves had decided their time in Middle Earth ended. She had a sudden vision of her descendent stumbling across the crumbling ruins of Rivendell in many years, the once lively city as silent as a tomb.
"Pleasantries must wait, I fear," Gandalf said. He turned to Loena. "I am sorry to leave you here, now alone, my dear. I shall find you soon, and we shall discuss many grave and terrible things. Before then, however, I would have you walk amongst the trees and flowers, and read the great writings of the elves."
Loena nodded. "I will, Gandalf, but at this time the only thing I truly desire is a quiet moment to sleep."
"Of course," Elrond said. "We have plenty of room here, in Imladris. There will be a great host of people arriving soon, and you are in the unique position of having the first choice of the best chambers."
Elrond summoned an elf passing, a female elf with silvery hair and the elven slim, tall build, to take Loena to where she could sleep. The elf spoke politely with Loena, but by the time they arrived at the rooms, Loena felt that she could remember none of the conversation, not even her companion's name.
"This room has the nicest view over the garden," her companion said, hovering outside the door. "And it has a fresco painted by Elrond's daughter on the ceiling."
"Elrond has a daughter?" Loena asked, caught off guard.
"Arwen Undomiel," the elf informed her, smiling with a great fondness as she spoke the name. "I am sure you will meet her, should you stay here for long. A great beauty is she, both body and soul. It was she, as well, who rescued the Hobbit from the clutches of Mordor's servants, and she who enchanted his wound to slow."
Loena was intrigued by the existence of a fellow shield-maiden, and an elf as well, but knew her exhaustion would only be worsened by further conversation. She, too, was bewildered by the idea of Mordor's agents working so closely to Rivendell, and so freely. She wondered what the hobbits had done, or had done to them, to make them such a target for Sauron. "Thank you, for your help."
The elf nodded, and then, "if you require anything else, do not hesitate to ask."
"Bathing?" Loena requested weakly.
The elf's smile was broad, then, and she nearly laughed. "At the great bathing houses near the river. I shall send someone to show you in the morning."
Loena nodded her thanks and pushed the door to her room open. She was too tired to do much other than strip off her travelling gear and tumble into bed, burying her face in the soft fabrics adorned there, and drift off into sleep.
Loena dreamt that she was a woman standing in a field. She could feel that she was young, she could feel that the sky above her threatened to break. The clouds had rolled in.
The wind blew across the plain.
The sky was a strong blue again, but still she stood.
Her father was dead. Her mother was dead. The mountains were coming.
A voice called from behind her, as though begging her to turn; "Beornia!"
She turned. And the wind blew her golden tresses across her face.
Loena spent the first 30 minutes of her waking the next morning studying the fresco above her. It was a woman, hair covered by cloth, with her eyes closed, holding a small boy. The boy, too, was sleeping, but he clutched a sword and a standard in his small hands. Behind them was a lovely scene of nature, white flowers bloomed from a pearl-white tree. Green was the grass underfoot, and the sky above was a summer blue.
As promised, an Elf, tall, darkhaired, named Tinnriel, came to lead Loena to the bathing rooms early that next morning. She was taken through Rivendell which, even at the early hour Loena arose, was full and bustling. Elves walked and talked with each other in their low, melodic voices. There were other beings as well, though. Loena had to stop and double check her sight when she saw a Dwarf, short and bearded, speaking with an elf across a field. She'd never seen a dwarf before. She wondered if they spoke the Common Tongue, and if there was anything to the tales that they ate only stone and drank an ale brewed from gemstones.
It felt good to bathe, and let the days of travel soak off her skin into the perfumed, warmed waters prepared by the elves.
She had her breakfast in the dining halls quickly, and alone. Around her elves ate and drank and spoke to one another. She spied one host of elves with strikingly blonde hair, fairer than the golden locks of the Rohirrim. The way they gathered had Loena suppose that they were merely the kin of Rivendell Elves, and had come from one of their other Elven realms.
She wondered if it were Lothlórien that they harked from. Some of them would be quite old, she knew the Elves to be long-lived. Some would have been around at the time of her ancestor, Baldor. Some may have even met Beornia, his daughter, first Woman-To-Ride-Her-Horse-Like-A-Man.
She dared not ask them.
She spent the rest of the morning perusing the books the elves kept in their library. An Elf, Helion, had helped her locate the few books written in the Common Tongue. She had parsed through them with a keen interest, pouring over the maps and reading through the pages carefully. The first tome had been an account of a strange Race of men in the East.
The next was an encyclopedia on the different herbs found near Fangorn Forest, and their medicinal properties. Besides each a gifted hand had drawn an example. Loena recognised some, though she had always thought them weeds, and committed them to memory.
Soon her eyes tired, and she stood and stretched, glancing out the window to see the sun far higher in the sky.
Once finished, she emerged and spied Gandalf walking with haste across the courtyard. It was still misty that morning, and to her he seemed murky, dreamlike. She hurried to meet him, calling out to him.
"Loena!" Gandalf beamed, and stopped to turn to her. "It is good to see you looking so well. I would speak with you now, but there is somewhere I must be." He paused, considering her again. He slowly smiled. "How would you like to meet a Hobbit?"
"Very well," Loena said, eyes wide with excitement. She followed after Gandalf's cloak with excitement. He was a tall man, and his strides were long. Loena had to hurry to keep up with him.
"I'm sorry to say that my reason for this introduction is not completely altruistic," Gandalf said. "This particular hobbit has been by his friend's sickbed for nearly 4 days straight. For 4 days he has not slept nor eaten, and I'm afraid I'm relying on you to shock him into taking care of himself."
"I'll not let you down," Loena promised.
"Samwise Gamgee is his name, and he has a rather large soft-spot for, his sick friend, the Hobbit we were discussing yesterday evening with Elrond. Frodo," Gandalf told her. They took a corner, and walked along a corridor open to the elements. Up ahead was an ornate door inlaid with murky glass. If she narrowed her eyes, Loena could make out shapes moving behind it.
The two of them paused before Gandalf opened it. "Be kind to Sam, Loena," Gandalf said. "He has had a rough month of travel."
Loena nodded, and resisted the urge to scold Gandalf for thinking she'd be anything less than pleasant. She did realise, however, before she did, that it would seem a rather unpleasant thing to do. "Of course."
"Wait here," Gandalf said, and he winked, and then disappeared into the sick-room.
A moment later, the door was opened again, and a small, child-sized man was being pushed from the room. "No—" It was yelling.
"Samwise Gamgee, if you do not leave the room this instant, I will be forced to turn you into a toad," Gandalf bellowed over his opposition.
"I'd listen to him," Loena advised. Sam started when he saw her.
"You're no elf," Sam said, blinking up at her.
"No," Loena said, privately thinking that it would have been something of a comfort to these dwarf-hobbit things. He seemed no less apprehensive, however, and Loena had to figure that hobbits had as little contact with humans as they did elves. "I am Loena, of Rohan."
"Rohan?" Sam asked, blinking.
"Yes…it's—" Loena started, puzzled at his response. Surely hobbits were not so separate from the world of men that they had no knowledge of her homeland.
In their defence, she supposed, she had thought them a myth barely a week ago.
"Loena will be taking you to get some food from the dining hall," Gandalf told Sam. "You are to go with her, and if you try to run, she is as proficient with long range weapons as one could hope to be."
Sam gulped, looking up at her with a new fear. "Fair enough then, Mr. Gandalf." He looked back at the room he'd exited mournfully. "If he wakes, you will get me, won't you? I wouldn't have him wake without me near."
Loena felt her heart swell unexpectedly. Their fellowship struck her, as genuine as anything she'd seen amongst the men of Rohan. She didn't know why she had expected anything less.
"Come, master Hobbit," Loena said, resisting the urge to take his hand as if he were a small child. "You might have to follow along behind me. I have the strongest feeling that you may not know the way."
Sam walked beside her dutifully. He was very polite, asking her about her journey from Rohan, where she'd met Gandalf, what she thought of Rivendell. Under the light of the sun, the exhaustion on his face was obvious. Black bruises stood stark under his eyes, and his face and neck were drawn, like he'd gone a long while without eating.
"Tell me about your home," Loena said, as the passed through a courtyard of sand coloured stone, littered with golden leaves. She forced herself not to pry him with the particulars of their arrival in Rivendell. She still wondered, desperately, at how they'd come to find themselves hunted by Sauron's dark agents. Sam's stillness stopped her, though, and she kept her curiosity in check. "The Shry?"
"Begging your pardon, the Shire," Sam corrected her. "What would you like to know?"
"Anything," Loena shrugged. "We hear very little about the rest of the world in Rohan, and when we do, it usually concerns the other domains of men."
"Well," Sam said thoughtfully. "The shire is small, but it's warm. The earth is fruitful, and fruit and other things love growing there. It's peaceful, for the most part, except when old mr. Bilbo would host his grand birthday parties."
"It sounds idyllic," Loena said. She thought of Rohan's eternal plains, of the crags and clear air. A hard land for hard people. "What else?"
"Well," Sam said, becoming more enthusiastic. "Hobbits themselves, you know, are rather slow-moving people. I don't mean that physically, of course, although we wouldn't beat a big Person in a race."
Loena burst out laughing. "No?"
Sam smiled at her laughter. "No, surely not. Our legs don't reach your knees."
"They'd certainly reach my knees," Loena said, still smiling. "But I apologise for jesting, Samwise. Slow in what way?"
"Slow moving in the way that, they don't like change at all, really," Sam described. "In the Shire we like things kept the way they are."
"Admirable," Loena said, inclining her head.
"Maybe sometimes," Sam said, a worried look on his face. They fell silent, and Loena figured he'd fallen back into remembering Frodo.
"Here," she said softly. "It looks as though we've arrived."
"Sam!"
Across the hall, two other hobbits were waving for their attention. Both were the same height as Sam, though one seemed much younger, and the other seemed a little older.
"Over here!"
"Friends of yours?" Loena supposed.
"Oh, well, yes," Sam said, and seemed a little embarrassed.
The two Hobbits rushed to Sam and embraced him. Loena took a step back, fearing getting in their path.
"Who's your friend?" The younger looking one asked.
"The Lady Loena of Rohan," Sam said, rather hotly, like he was defending her. "And I'd have you speak with slightly more decorum around her, if you don't mind."
The younger one looked a little stricken at Sam's words, but retained enough composure to introduce himself. "Peregrin Took," the hobbit shook her hand, and she bent over to reach his hand. "Though, you can call me Pippin." He smiled at her. "I only get called Peregrin when I'm being scolded."
"So, pretty often, then, Pip," the second one said, smirking at his friend. He turned to Loena. "Meriadoc Brandybuck, but I only ever get called Merry."
Loena laughed again. "Well met, Hobbits. I've been getting stories of your homeland from Sam, here. It seems like a rather wonderful place."
"Yes, it is," Pippin said. "I suppose we'll be returning to it rather soon."
They walked into the hall together, and sat at the end of one of the long tables. Loena joined the three of them as they ate, and marvelled at the amount their tiny bodies were able to consume.
"Say, isn't that Frodo's healer?" Sam said, his voice a half whisper, looking to the top of the hall. "That strange fellow sitting on that big ol' grand seat over there?"
Loena looked and saw Elrond smiling down at the gathered congregation. Next to him was a snow-pale elf maiden, serene and of an other-worldly beautiful. "Lord Elrond," Leona told him, keeping her voice low. "He's master of Imladris, which is what the elves call this place, I've come to notice."
Sam reddened slightly. "An Elven Lord! Tendin' to Mr. Frodo! Well, my old gaffer would never believe this."
"I think the woman aside him is his daughter," Loena said, nodding forward. Sam's eyes widened as he noticed her, and he drank from his goblet to hide his ruddy cheeks. "Lady Arwen."
"Well, that over there is Strider," Pippin said, nodding to where a tall, stern man, with dark hair and grey eyes sat. He was beside one of the blond elves Loena had seen at breakfast. They were smiling together, and she watched as "Strider" grasped the forearm of the elf. "He escorted us here from Bree. He's not bad, old Strider. Strange as a folktale, though."
Loena frowned at the sight of him. There was something proud about him, and strong, but he didn't have the same strange grace of the elves. "He seems a strange elf."
Sam blinked at her. "Begging your pardon, miss," he said. "But he's not an Elf at all. He's a man."
"Truly?" Loena watched him with surprise. "Where does he hark from? Not from Rohan, surely."
"No, somewhere in the North," Merry said. "A Ranger, he told us."
Loena narrowed her eyes at him. Something tickled at the back of her mind, something she'd read in Gondor, during her education perhaps. Or maybe it was one of the tales Gandalf had told her in her youth, or perhaps something Éomer had told her once. A race of Rangers…the phrase felt familiar. Strider would be someone to talk to, it seemed, before she was returned to Rohan.
An Elf came over to the small gathered party, and announced quickly that the Hobbit Frodo of the Shire had awoken, and was accepting guests.
The news spurred near instant movement from Sam, who started up and, apologising profusely to Loena and letting her know how it had been "just lovely to meet you". He ran out of the hall quickly.
Pippin heaved a sigh. "We'd better go after him, though I suspect Frodo would rather like a few moments of peace before we all go barging on in."
He and Merry climbed down from their seats.
"That's just about the most tactful you've ever been, Pip," Merry mentioned, and Pippin snorted. They said goodbye to Loena far more slowly, and walked after Sam, following his path out the doors.
She watched them go sullenly, feeling suddenly and obviously alone again. She looked around, and saw that none looked at her, and that she recognised none that she would be comfortable talking to. Her lunch was mostly finished, and she no longer desired to sit in the great hall. She stood and walked swiftly out the doors.