Loena hacked her frustrations out on the straw target in front of her. Her sword – a blunt training blade from the elves armoury – thwacked against its sides with a satisfying whump. She drew back, breathing hard, and pushed her hair back from her face. The memory of Boromir's irreverence during the council resurfaced, and she let out a howl of frustration, hitting into the target again and again and again.
"I do no know what dishonour this thing showed you, but I'm sure it regrets it," A voice called behind her, and Loena turned to see the very face of her frustrations make himself known.
Boromir crossed the grasses in front of her, his own training sword in hand.
"I fear it is standing in place of the true source of my frustrations," Loena snarled back, staring Boromir down, eyes narrowed.
"And I fear that he might have as much reason to be frustrated with you," Boromir said coolly.
Both stood in a rigid, determined silence. Neither, it seemed, would be the first to apologise.
After the council had ended, and all the first arrangements had been made, Loena and Boromir had left the group without speaking to the other. It hadn't gone unnoticed by the others, who'd watched the spectacle with apprehension. Loena wanted to fill them with hope that they'd be a cohesive and well-worked whole of a Fellowship, but she needed time alone to forget what Boromir had said.
"I came to train alone," Loena said, words barbed.
"As did I," Boromir said, tight. "Though it seems that in this case, and in many cases, we do not receive what we would choose."
Loena bristled, and set to ignore him, turning to release more of her pent up frustrations on the target in front of her.
"You hold your sword well," Boromir said, and Loena wanted to turn to remind him that she had decided not to speak to him. "Where did you learn? And by whom?"
"Mostly Edoras, though I served under the tutelage of a great many masters," Loena replied, despite herself. She did not say that most of the skill she'd developed had been when she'd been ignored, time and time again, for service, training herself desperately in the dead of the night. "And I suppose my swordsmanship is good for a wild people."
Boromir said nothing. Loena turned to face him and saw that his face had turned grave. She tightened her jaw, said nothing more, and turned back to her target. She unleashed all her anger in the next strike, which sent the target wobbling.
"We leave for Mordor in a matter of weeks," Boromir said. "Not all our targets will be standing still."
"Do you not know when someone wishes to be left alone?" Loena yelled, turning on him, clutching her practice blade as if it were a real one. "If you have just come to insult me, come back when I am not so angry at you that I might strike."
"I worry for your safety on this quest," Boromir said, though she could see he was trying to rile her, trying to get her to do something.
"I have fought orcs, and defended my land from the forces of Saruman for a long time," Loena spat. "I have killed them as they've run, and as they've stood, and as they've charged. This," she wrenched her sleeve, and showed him a long scar running from her shoulder. "Is courtesy of an orc when I was 18 summers old. And this," she swung her sword at his middle impulsively, and was as shocked by her own action as she was at how deftly he caught her blade with his own.
She looked up at him, eyes hard, refusing to relent.
"You want to spar?" he guessed, pulling his sword back, but keeping it defensive.
Loena matched his stance. She smiled, a small, feral, dangerous smile. It would, at least, keep her from destroying Rivendell's equipment. "Do you?"
He lunged forward, and she deflected it, moving forward just as he moved back. They stood still again. She lunged this time, and their swords snapped against each other, scraping as attempts were parried and slices fell short.
This time, when Boromir lunged, Loena left no time for recover, and they stepped across the ground, striking and parrying at each other as they went. Loena was shorter than him, and slighter, and used her agility to her advantage, moving more than he, dictating the terms of the pace and movement of the battle. Boromir was bigger, and much stronger, and his thrusts were exhausting to stop.
They found themselves face to face, swords locked. Both struggled for dominance, Boromir's breath was hot on her face.
"I am sorry to hear about how your people fare," Boromir said, and the tension went slack. "I did not know."
Loena paused, a roll of guilt forming in her stomach. She loosened her hold, and the momentum now gone, both pulled back. "I apologise too, my Lord." She stiffened her jaw and looked down at the ground. She felt oddly like she did with É'''''omer, where she couldn't look into his eyes. Only now it was shame which brought her head down. "Long has been the suffering in this war, and great. Gondor knows that best of all."
He clasped her on the shoulder. "You fight well, maiden. I will be glad of your sword on this journey."
"You fight…adequately," Loena said sweetly, though she knew his swordsmanship out-rivalled her own. Orcs had no skill with the blades they were given, and made up for their incompetence with numbers and savagery. They were easy to kill after a bit of study. Boromir would look like a prince of old fighting in a battle. None would have been able to touch him.
"Adequately," Boromir repeated, raising an eyebrow.
"You fight very well, as well," she allowed, and he smiled. She pulled her sword to her side. "I apologise if I have seemed strained, Lord. Things have been every present in my mind since we arrived here; terrible things, frightening things."
"I feel them too," Boromir consoled her. "It is a difficult thing, to be a man in the age of elves, orcs and deep magic. But come, let us be friends now, as Gondor and Rohan have been for many an age."
"Friends," Loena agreed.
"Friends do help others with their swordsmanship, if they like," Boromir offered. "There are some things I noticed—"
"Do not push your luck, Gondor," Loena warned him. Though she paused, "Perhaps we can revisit this conversation when my pride has healed itself a little."
Boromir laughed a great, booming laugh. "As you require, Lady of the Shield-Hand."
Time passed strangely in Rivendell, both an eternity and a day in every moment of blinking. The fellowship was stalled from leaving as the elves, Aragorn and Gandalf set off to discover what signs they could of the nine Nazgúl riders. Elrond had expressed a disappointment that the Fellowship had 10 walkers, rather than 9, to match the Nazgúl number with their own, but neither Pippin nor Merry could be compelled to journey home to the Shire. None approached Sam, for out of all of them, he seemed the most determined to go.
With Aragorn, Elrohir, Elladan and Gandalf gone, Loena had far fewer people to spend her time with. Arwen was a kind presence, but she too was often busy, picking up the running of Rivendell as her father became preoccupied with the passage of the ring and the current hunt for the Ringwraiths.
Merewen was also someone Loena could speak with, and she found that the elf was adept at improving Loena's (almost non-existent) elvish. She could now utter full phrases (though they were confined to "well met", "a thousand greetings", "thank you" and "farewell").
She spent most of her time with the hobbits, who were as transfixed by her tales of the éored, the halls of her forefathers and the horses she had ridden, as she was of their long journey to Rivendell, their complicated family trees, and the rolling hills and little meadows of the shire.
She had made it her mission to get them to consent to wearing leather boots for their journey, but none had budged.
"No hobbit needs shoes," Pippin told her firmly.
"From the way you describe it, hobbits don't need shoes because your home is built upon a never-ending bed of soft grass," Loena said emphatically.
"I won't!" Pippin declared. "Master Bilbo didn't on his journey to the Lonely Mountain, and if did not have to, then I don't either."
Loena eventually did give up, though, much to the amusement of Legolas, and the grumblings of Gimli, who'd had bet money on the outcome. She resolved to pack extra bandages to wrap their feet in for when they'd eventually get splinters.
But more and more, Loena worked alongside the Gondorian captain, finally biting her pride long enough to learn from him. He was a terrifying swordsman, and even the Elves who practiced alongside them would listen in as he instructed Loena.
Sometimes even the Hobbits would join. The one who was the most determined was Merry, who was the tallest and strongest, and Frodo, who'd come each time with a beautiful elven made blade. On those days, both she and Boromir would instruct. They worked well together as a team, even if they did get frustrated at each other too much to be properly companionable outside the sparring range.
Sometimes he'd remind Loena strongly of Éomer, in manner and attitude, that she'd get a deep pang of longing to be with him again. Those were the days she dreaded the most. Waiting gave her too much time to think, and miss things. Those were the days where she welcomed the journey ahead, and did not fear it.
Glorfindel and Gandalf were the first to return after their hunt for the Nazgúl. They each had worryingly little news, but their return was enough to lift Loena's spirits. It also gave her something new to distract herself with, for Gandalf was, for the first time since arriving, free to speak with Loena at length.
One day, not soon after he had arrived back, she walked with Gandalf through the pine woods on the outskirts of Rivendell. As they strolled they he spoke to her of a great many things.
"Now," he'd said, greeting her one morning at the Dining Hall. "Is the time for me to answer all your questions."
She asked a little about Aragorn, and Elvish and Dwarfish companions, of whom she had seen little of. Both spent most of their time with their own kin.
"Legolas is an elf of Mirkwood. He is the son of Thranduil, who is Elven Lord there," Gandalf said. "Legolas is strange like the way the Elves sometimes are, but he is brave, and true. Him and the Lord Aragorn have been friends for many a year. Gimli is the son of Glóin, and nephew to Balin, lord of Moria. He is, like all dwarves, a lover of fine stone and jewel, but more than that, he is loyal beyond measure."
Loena had been gratified by this, but had also wondered how Gandalf had described her to those curious of her. The more she remained in Rivendell, the more she realised the smallness of a nation like Rohan to the creatures who had walked the earth an age before it had even been founded. She wondered if, to them, like her country, she was young and inexperienced.
More and more, she watched the Elves and their impossible magic, saw the virility and experience of the Dwarves, and admired the exceptionality Boromir for the lineage he bore. And more and more she came to believe it herself.
She did not like that thought, and banished it quickly.
They talked some about the Ring, about how it had been recovered by the older Hobbit, Bilbo, Loena had seen at the council. They talked about the fall of Isildur.
They talked much about the history of the Riddermark, and the kings that dwelt there.
"Do you know much of those final battles with the Dunlendings before the first Rohirric Golden Age?" Gandalf asked.
"Well, a little," Loena said. "I know Baldor had just perished. And I know that the Dunlendings swore an oath of revenge."
"Nothing, then, on the Marshalls of the Mark? Or any of the heroes?"
Loena tilted her head. "I know they sing a song for Beornia for her feats during one of the final battles, and she was my ancestor." She sighed. "And I know Baldor would have been a great hero, had he been given the chance." She looked up. "Perhaps he would have ended the war much faster."
"Perhaps," Gandalf allowed.
Loena adored discussing her nation's history, and pushed the conversation for as long as she could. Her family had always been pedantic about memorising the historical peculiarities of their country. It was their way to ensure they were more knowledgeable than any other who might discredit their claim to Baldor's lineage.
"And thus concludes your nation's history," Gandalf said, as they came to the top of the hill. The had come to stand atop a great stone, a look-out over the valley. From their vantage point, they could see Rivendell sparkling like a jewel under the sunlight, the streams and rivers that poured in to feed it, and the ever-green hills around them. It smelt fresh, like the morning after a night of rain. It was near winter, but Loena had found Rivendell strangely warm. Even now, walking through the woods, she'd only needed her cloak to keep her warm.
"An abridged version, perhaps," Loena said, turning away from the view to grin ruefully in Gandalf's direction. "We have only been talking for an hour or so, after all."
Gandalf chuckled. "True enough." He paused. "I am quite glad to see you here, so well, and so willing, Loena. You have changed little since you were small. I remember how eager you were, and how committed to justice."
Deeply touched, Loena bowed her head. "Thank you, Mithrandir."
"Ah! There's the Elven influence on you I was so concerned about!" He looked at her, and she smiled, abashed, and looked back to the view before them. "We must get you back to Rohan, and soon. I've heard nothing about horses from you since I got back."
Loena wrinkled her nose. "We speak of matters other than just horses."
"Oh?" Gandalf asked, eyes twinkling.
"Ale," Loena supplied bluntly. "And…well, the breeding of horses, which is quite separate from horses in general. And…" She scrunched her nose. "Well, I'm sure we speak of other things, but I can't quite think of any right now."
"You are quite easy to tease, Loena," Gandalf told her.
That prickled Loena's pride, but she knew better than to counter it, so she just sighed, and smirked, and watched Rivendell for a moment. From their distance, the Elves seemed like tiny ants, scurrying about their business. The thought of the Elves doing anything akin to "scurrying" made Loena smile.
"Tell me, Gandalf," Loena said, turning to him. "You have told me that the lady Galadriel foresaw my line redeemed, but I fear I've been caught up in late of wondering what that redemption would look like. For Baldor to be redeemed, I feel as though I'd have to march to the very hallow in the mountain where he disappeared, and…" she trailed off.
"That frightens you?" Gandalf guessed.
Loena nodded, jaw tight, refusing to meet his eyes.
"Good," Gandalf said. "It should. The Paths of the Dead, and the doorway beneath the mountain, should not be trekked lightly. All living should fear it. But I would not fear too readily, for I am not sure if it is your fate to go to the place of this ancestors' doom."
Loena frowned, unsure. "But if not for Dwimorberg—"
"Do not utter that mountain's name here!" Gandalf interrupted her, and around them a great breeze picked up, pushing at Loena's hair, picking at the bottom of her cloak. She looked around in fear, and wonder. "The rocks, the trees; near Rivendell they are awake, remembering and listening. That is not a name for good, growing things to know."
"Forgive me, Gandalf," Loena said. "I did not know."
"All is forgiven, Loena, daughter of Leofwine," Gandalf assured her. "Now, to contend with your question, I must tell you that what you ask of me is something, at its heart, that many have tried to answer since the dawn of man. You see, my dear, the nature of prophecy is that, more often than not, the truth shall only be revealed once the prophecy has been proven true."
Loena sighed heavily, nearly regretting agreeing to accompany Gandalf. She had not counted on feeling more hopeless than before. She felt frustration well up in her. "How am I, then, to know the next step to take?"
"I feel that that step has already been decided," Gandalf told her, calmly. "Once you swore your allegiance to the Fellowship, with the Fellowship you must go. Of course, no one will bind you to go further than you will, but for the beginning, at least, you shall travel with us. Your next step may make itself obvious to you as the journey progresses."
"I hope it does," Loena said, pulling her cloak around her as a chill breeze tumbled over the rock. She kicked at a rock, and watched as it bounced down through the trees. "I cannot see myself deserting the Ring, and Frodo also, without good reason."
"Noble you are, then, Loena, for many could see a plenty of reasons to turn around," Gandalf said, only gently chiding. "Perhaps that is where redemption lies, in the fiery heart of Sauron's lair."
"It does not seem like such a glorious thing," Loena admitted. "Assisting a Hobbit to unmake something in a volcano. Frodo would deserve the credit, not I. And all around us, wars would be fought and glory would be earnt by the sword, atop horses, pressing back against the endless hordes of evil. What would I be doing? Making the food of the Ringbearer! Hiding with him against the Great Eye."
"Though there will be plenty of opportunity for war along this mission, I beg you not to wish for it, Loena," Gandalf said, and Loena looked at him, surprised at how earnest he sounded, and how plaintive. "So many like your and your kin wish for war to recover honour once lost, and then find themselves killed before they have a chance to truly live their own lives. There are many heroes that dwell outside the domain of war."
"Perhaps," Loena said, unconvinced. "But is not of they that we sing songs."
Gandalf fell silent, not in defeat, Loena saw, but in a quiet meditation.
When he spoke again, it was with a strange sorrow. "Ah! But you are right. If only we celebrated those kings whom overlooked an eon of peace, than those who were triumphant in battle. I wonder if we would live in a more peaceful world," Gandalf shook his head. "Now, come. The walk back is a shorter one downhill, but it is still a ways. We shall be terribly hungry when we return if we are to delay any longer."
Both turned from the view and began the trek back down to Rivendell, each occupied by their own thoughts.
"I thought I might find you here," a melodic voice announced itself behind Loena, and the latter turned, shocked, and nearly fell out of her window again.
There at the doorway to her room stood Arwen, her skin luminous in the late afternoon light filtering through Loena's window.
Loena righted herself and swung her legs around quickly. "Hello, Lady Arwen."
"I had not seen you at a meal in all day," Arwen said softly, she entered the room and sat on Loena's bed. Loena drew up to her slowly. "I was worried."
Loena raised her eyebrows. "Worried? For me?"
"Yes," Arwen answered. "Do I worry needlessly?"
Loena nearly dismissed her with the affirmative, but something stopped her. She swallowed her retort, and came to sit by Arwen's side. She'd tied her long hair back in the style of the elves, with braids running down her back to keep the hair from her face. She had felt it useful, but now wished she had one of the tresses to distract herself with, twirling the soft curls around her fingers like a child.
"I do not worry needlessly," Arwen surmised from Loena's silence.
"I…" Loena started, but frowned, and set her mouth. "I am quite well, physically. And I do not fear what awaits me once I leave Rivendell—"
"Of course," Arwen soothed her. "None here doubt your valour."
"I do…" Loena frowned. "I have been hearing things, from the Elves, and from the Hobbits and the Dwarves. They speak of dangers upon our path, and the dangers awaiting us in Mordor. I…" she drew in a rough breath, massaging the back of her neck with a thumb. "I have this terrible habit of…well, I suppose what I'm trying to say, is that I worry that I will not return to my homeland."
"I have seen you fight," Arwen said soothingly. "You underestimate yourself. So long as your sword is sharp, you will see your lands again."
"Perhaps," Loena said, uncertain. "But against all the masses of Mordor, even the strongest swordsman can fall. And…" She struggled for the words. "Death, is not, precisely, what I fear."
"You fear being unable to return," Arwen supposed. "You fear being kept from that which you love."
"Yes," Loena said, curious at the emotion behind Arwen's words. "And those whom I love, as well."
Arwen nodded slowly. "I understand your dilemma, Loena. I truly do. There is love, real love, in this world that is worth losing much for."
Loena nodded, thinking of her farewell to her mother. How she'd briefly she'd held her face before departing, how determined and excited she'd been to leave. "I…" She stopped and started again. "There is another, as well, to whom my heart sings."
"Oh?" Arwen asked, leaning forward.
"He does not view me that way," Loena said dully, thinking of the distance Éomer seemed intent to place between them. So tall, so proud, so noble and good. She'd found herself thinking of him more and more after her walk with Gandalf. She wished to speak with him, to hear his view. "But I would regret it if I were to die, and did not tell him." She swallows down a wave of emotion rising from her belly. "I would regret it very much."
Arwen touched Loena's hand, and Loena lets her, feeling suddenly lighter. She had not cried, and she would not cry, but she felt, then suddenly, as if she had. As if all the weariness had been expunged, as if she had been scrubbed clean with a soft brush, and left out to dry in the sun.
"I will miss the friends I have made here, also," Loena said, before she could stop herself.
Arwen laughed, the same tinkling bell laugh Loena had heard before. "And they will miss you, Horse-Mistress.
They sat like that for a time, and their talk turned to things less important. Arwen told her of the day she first met Aragorn, upon her return to Imladris after living in Lothlórien. And she told her of the first time she had seen him and returned his affections. Arwen told her of their romantic escapades at the beginning of their union, when they'd hide from her father, or steal moments in the forest. She told her how Elrond had forbidden any union between them until Aragorn had become king and fulfilled his destiny.
"I thought it was the bride who supplied the dowry," Loena said, and Arwen laughed.
Loena did her best to conversate in kind, but between her and Éomer, there was little to tell. Arwen was attentive though, and by the end, the day had nearly ended, and the bell for dinner had begun to ring.
"Will you accompany me?" Arwen asked, standing.
Loena looked about her room. She'd studied everything in it for days on end. She knew it quite well now. The only thing that continued to entertain her, was the fresco above her head. It suddenly dawned on Loena that the very artist of the painting, as described to her on her first night, was standing in the room beside her.
"I will come," Loena said. "On one condition." Arwen perked an eyebrow in curiosity. "This fresco," Loena gestured upwards, and both gazed to the roof. "What does it depict?"
Arwen smiled, a sort of sad smile, and met Loena's eyes. "Ah! Yes, I painted this many years ago. Soon after I returned from Lothlórien."
"I could not uncover its meaning from any of the texts in the library," Loena continued, gesturing to the mother. "Of course there are many mothers, and many children, in a history as long as Middle Earth's—"
"It is the Lord Aragorn, with his Lady mother," Arwen interrupted her spiel. She kept her gaze up, watching the painting as though seeing it anew. "I remember well when I had painted this. The story of Estel had not yet been told in many corners of the land. I wanted to remember this part of his tale, when his mother fled to Rivendell for his safety, and died for the sake of her son."
"Died?" Loena choked.
"Gilraen," Arwen said. "That was the name of his Lady Mother. She had lost her husband, but she found the will to continue on. I was inspired by her strength, and was endlessly thankful for her devotion to the one I love. If it had not been for her, we would have never met."
It was a strange thought, Loena mused, but a nice one.
"Well!" She said, her brightness starkly different to the rest of the tone of the room. "Your part of the deal has been delivered. I shall come with you, Lady Arwen, and make merry with the others I am to be travelling with."
Aragorn, Elladan and Elrohir arrived back from their scouting missions only a week after Gandalf and Glorfindel. Gandalf expressed to Loena, with far higher spirits than she had seen him in a while, that from their information, they could be sure that the Nazgúl had fled back to their master without form and without horses. With them disappeared, it was time finally for the Fellowship to set out.
They were each given a week to prepare.
Loena used hers as well as she could. Despite her begging, Elrond and Gandalf had refused them all horses.
"In a mission of secrecy and stealth, horses would hinder us, however fast they would carry us," Gandalf had said, and ended the conversation there.
Without a horse to ride, she'd been spending her time preparing her weapons. Giéd, her faithful sword, had been polished to finery by the Elves. The Elves, also, had given her leave to take arrows from their stores, and they had given her oil for her bow, and a new, Elvish string that would never break. Not from years, nor overuse.
She'd practiced her archery, but she'd eased off on swordplay, not wanting to overtire herself before she set out. She spoke often with the hobbits, and had gotten to know Gimli rather well. They'd both bonded over mistrusting the structural integrity of Elvish weapons.
"Nothing this light could cut through an orc," Loena had snorted, picking up one of the featherweight, elvish blades in the armoury. She swung it in her hand, and gripped it tightly. "If you haven't the strength for a sword, then do not wield one!"
"Well said, lassie," Gimli had agreed, nodding. "If we are to go through a realm of my kin, I'd show what a truly fearsome weapon looks like."
Legolas, on the other hand, had been too strange for her to have long conversations with. Like the rest of his kin, he had a certain air of eternity about him. To Loena, he had also a strange manner that made her instantly distrustful. Gimli had told her it was because he was from Mirkwood, which was an evil place, and that all the elves there were eerie and strange.
Loena had met other Mirkwood elves, though, over her time in Rivendell. They were as strange as Arwen and her kin, but no stranger. She thought perhaps the young, Elven princeling was simply a bit of a strange Elf by himself.
It was an unignorable truth, however that Legolas laughed easily, and Aragorn smiled oft whenever they were in conversation, so she was content that, eventually, they might become acquaintances.
All too soon, the final day drew near. Loena had woken early, and watched as the sun had risen, like so many mornings before, over the courtyard below her room. It was a good day, crisp on the air, with only a hint of breeze. It would have been a perfect day for riding.
She dressed slowly. She'd spent much of her time in Rivendell in the garb she'd brought from Rohan, but now she traded it for the sturdier cloth of the elves. Woollen stockings, looser leggings, brown boots. A soft button down white shirt. A thicker over-shirt of blue, with an image of a stallion embroidered in the middle. Against her shoulder she wore a cloak of deep grey, which clasped together under her chin with a silver broach. She saw herself in the mirror of her room.
Determinedly, she undid the braids that had held her hair back. Her curls unfurled around her head like a fan, dusting over the top of her shoulders, spilling out down her back like a waterfall. She had come to Rivendell as a lady of the Riddermark, proud and tall and free, and that would be how she'd leave.
She fastened Gíed to her side, and her quiver to her back. She loosened the string of her bow, and tied it around the shaft, and pushed it down inside the quiver with her arrows.
Her pack had been left in her room the night before. In it she found a bedroll (which depressed her, only reminding her that she'd be trading in soft silks for the hard floor of the hard ground of the wilds), a water sac (which she appreciated, though she worried at its small size), a flint, another button up shirt like the one she wore, another pair of stockings, another leggings, and a whetstone for her sword.
She made her way down to the gate from Rivendell slowly, and found that all looked at her, and nodded, as she went. Some of the party had already arrived when she got there, and it was not long after that Elrond requested they all line up, side by side, for Rivendell to properly farewell them. Loena stood aside Sam and Legolas, Boromir and Aragorn stood side-by-side, as similar as brothers. Gandalf stood by Frodo, and Merry and Pippin stood next to Gimli, who was resting as he stood on his battle axe. Elrond, and a grand party, stood to bid them farewell.
Elrond stood in front of the grouped host, with his kin, the old hobbit Bilbo, and the dwarves who'd come with Gimli, behind him. They watched them all with eyes of sorrow, and Loena felt uncomfortable at the intensity of their looks.
"This is my last word.
The Ring-bearer is setting out on a quest for Mount Doom. On him is any charge laid; neither to cast away the Ring, nor deliver it to any servant of the enemy nor indeed to let any handle it. The others that go with him as free companions, to help him on his way. You may tarry, or come back—"
Loena swallowed at that, thinking how dearly she'd miss her comfortable old room, with the soft sheets and comfortable mattress, after a few days of rough living. Minor discomfort was not what Elrond intended, of course.
"The further you go, the less easy will it be to withdraw; yet no oath is laid on you to go further than you will. For you do not yet know the strength of your hearts, and you cannot foresee what each may meet upon the road."
"Faithless is he who says farewell when the road darkens," Gimli muttered darkly, and Loena felt a small shiver run down her spine at his words.
"Do not judge too harshly those who do not know what walks in the night," Elrond said, with a hint of warning. He turned now to the full Fellowship, his smile wide. "Go now with good hearts! May the blessing of Elves and Men and all Free Folk go with you. May the stars shine on your faces!"
A chorus called out for good luck as each of them turned, following Frodo from Rivendell, and towards the fires of Mordor.