Chapter 2 (for Orlis)
The next day rose fair and clear, the light of climbing sun springing brightly through the leafy foliage of Rivendell. Rays like beams of gold fell down upon the elvish craftsmanship and across the quiet paths. Few were up at this hour, for even though the times would soon be desperate, little could be done by those residing in Elrond's house: unless it was to wait for the return of the scouts from abroad. The dark trees stood like walls throughout the haven, and Rivendell gave the impression of having sprung up from the landscape, as had the forest around it. Sunrays poured into the valley and through open balconies, bathing the ancient stones and collecting like a pool of golden light on the forest floor.
Elrond, Lord of Rivendell, was awake and had been for several hours. Long before the sun had touched the tips of the trees he had arisen, and paced anxiously the length of his room and eventually –when the confines of his chamber would not suffice – the corridors outside. He was loath to admit, even to himself, the doubt that sat heavy on his heart. It was true that counsel was never wholly right one way or another, but never had he given his advice and felt so unsure. The path of the Fellowship would be perilous whatever – that much was true. But he had set the number at nine: one member of the Company to oppose each ringwraith. Yet at the last had come that strange and indecipherable lady – the lady Mariel, of a realm he knew nothing of; bringing ominous tidings and such a profound insight into the situation that it made Elrond – Elven wise and millennia old – dubious. And her desire to join the Company, it had been so demanding, so strong – and none of them had refused. Not one of them sitting at the council felt they could refuse: not even Elrond himself.
And yet she was just a woman. An Elven woman, clearly, and incomparable to any that he had ever seen – even his own fair daughter Arwen Undomiel. But still just a woman.
And so it was that the new morning saw Elrond passing fretfully through the many passages of his house, lost in though and unheeding of all around him. And though he saw it not, the day was nearing noon before another found him thus.
"Lord Elrond! You hide yourself well, for when we found you not in your chamber we searched elsewhere – but it was beyond the mind of any to look in the gardens!"
Elrond looked up, surprised. "Erestor!" he exclaimed, greeting the dark haired elf, "forgive me, for I did not realise my absence would cause such trouble."
The chief counsellor laughed. "No," he said, "nor that it would lead you outside."
Elrond glanced round, for the first time taking note of his surroundings. He was standing on the small slab path that led to the lower gardens, curtained all around with a steep climb of intertwining flowers.
"For shame!" he murmured, half to himself, "I have strayed without myself realising it; strayed both with my feet and mind, it would seem."
Concern now crossed Erestor's fair face. "Is all well with you, my lord?" he asked. Elrond sought to reassure him with a smile.
"Indeed."
The worry did not leave the perceptive elf. "Did my lord intend plans for today?" he said carefully " – I ask only while the sun still rides high in the sky."
For a second Elrond merely frowned. Then he glanced up at the sky and drew back in shock.
"Lo!" he exclaimed. "Is the day so far gone already?"
The troubled face of Erestor lightened as he laughed in spite of himself. "Indeed Lord Elrond! The day is pressing on for noon and all others in your house are risen and have been for several hours." He then added with a laugh: "except the hobbits of course. The four new arrivals are as fond of sleep and rest as their friend."
Elrond smiled fondly. "And of food," he said knowingly. "How is Bilbo? He is happier now, I think, that Frodo and his companions are among us."
"Yes he is happy –as are his fellows. You have no worry there." Erestor's face became grave now as the laughter faded, and it seemed he was reaching the pinnacle of what he intended to ask. "My lord," he began. "I see you are troubled. A problem disclosed among friends is one lessened by half. Will you not tell me your concern?"
Elrond sighed and turned away – though not out of unfriendliness. "Alas Erestor," he said wryly, "I see there is nothing I can keep from you."
"I seek only to aid you in your duties, lord."
"Of this I am aware, Erestor, and I thank you. Though it is against my better judgement – although why I know not –my heart yearns for a confidant in this matter, and so I will tell you. The chosen Fellowship is the root of my worry, and it is above all the Lady Mariel, upon which my doubt rests."
Erestor gave a grim laugh. Elrond asked:
"You are not surprised then?"
"No," said Erestor," I had an expectancy that this might be the base of your trouble."
"And the Lady?"
"I too am wary, lord."
"She hails from a land of which I have never heard, and yet she appears to have possession of clothes and crown which could only have been woven and wrought by an ancient skill –"
" – Yet we are surely the only race with such knowledge," finished Erestor. "Suspicion, my lord, is also present in my mind. Sueth is a name new to me also. Care is needed."
"Erestor, is it wise to allow this? Or is it mere folly to place so great a task upon one we know so little about?"
Erestor sighed. "I can only say lord, that it can be no more folly than entrusting the One Ring to a hobbit bearer. I have faith in your judgement there –no other way would carry any more hope. Perhaps our hope will be burden enough for Mariel."
"Perhaps."
"Shall I call a council Lord Elrond?"
"No, no. To make formalities of this will only awaken fear and doubt in others. There will be war, ere the end, Erestor. Let it not have its seed in my house, in friendship."
"And the Lady Mariel?"
Elrond paused awhile before replying.
"Let her do as she will," he replied eventually. "I have a feeling she will make her own path, no matter. If she desires to join the Company then let it be so. I think she will go where she decides, whether I say or no."
Erestor nodded, and together they left the sunlit place and passes out of the clear air and into the peaceful house. Yet they had not entered the second room when Glorfindel approached them, his face serious.
"My lord," he said greeting Elrond before bowing his head to Erestor also, "these are suspicious times."
"Tell us not what we know already, Glorfindel. What news has come to darken the day?"
It looked beyond Glorfindel's wish to disclose his news.
"It is the Lady Mariel," he said at length. "She is no longer here. The chambers have been searched and the whole of Rivendell scoured. She is no longer here."
"She cannot merely have vanished," stammered Erestor.
"Ill tidings, I fear," muttered Elrond, "and no better to us than those that hail from the South. When did she leave? We know that at least?"
"Not quite so" replied Glorfindel, "although this remained on the pillow of her bed."
He handed Elrond a fine slip of parchment and bade him read it. Upon it was a delicate hand, neat and straight as though written the Elven smiths themselves. It read:
To the Lord Elrond, founder of Imladris. I am gone at present, though I shall return. Do not send for me, for I shall return ere the scouts do. Do not seek to send out the Fellowship in my absence, for I will find my own way to them, even if you do so. I beg your leave and thank your kindness. I pray that one day I might return it. I say once more, I shall return.
Below this was a small mark – a tiny crown of three prongs, sliced across with a thin horizontal line. Above it were placed three small stars, parallel to the line. It took up less than a thumbnail. Erestor and Glorfindel watched Elrond, ready with advice.
"My lord?"
Elrond stared at the note for a long time. Eventually he spoke.
"Let her do what she will," he said.
* * *
Many miles away, far across the northern terrain, someone was riding. The sun was close to setting here, holding out for as long as possible – seeming loath to sink beneath the skyline and fighting with the inevitable night. The land was pleasant and farmed in most places, tamed by the folk that lived there. This green land was the Shire, the very outskirts of the quiet land: the tilled fields and ploughed meadows fringed its borders. Most fields sat close to wild hills that rose out of the land with foreboding, stretching out and into the distance. This was where the neat life of the Shire folk ran onto to the dense wilderness of Arnor.
A figure, clad in dark colours, sat atop a horse worthy of the Rohirrim. It was chestnut, if it could be called that, for the word seemed too common for such a noble beast. Its flanks shone with a film of perspiration as it raced on, pounding the earth underneath it as it had done for many leagues, untiring in the fading day. It bore its rider as though they were no more burden than the air around it and its dark eyes flamed with purpose.
The figure in the saddle sat proud and upright, the gallop of the horse beneath them barely upsetting their posture. As they charged across the gentle slope of the land, weaving between trees and fields, the figure was leant forwards as though spurring their steed onwards. But as rider and horse left the outskirts and approached the road, open land became scarce and they were forced to a slower pace. The rider now drew back in the saddle, surveying the land whilst beneath them the horse walked on with restless impatience.
Suddenly the rider's gaze moved to a point some hundred yards away. A small band of hobbits were coming along the road, singing merrily. They had not seen the tall horse and dark rider. Silently the rider gave a sharp tap to the beast's flanks and they moved soundlessly forward. The hobbits remained oblivious – it was now clear to the rider that there were five of them, all stocky and middle-aged. Their singing was loud, but it faltered into silence as a shadow fell over them. Stopping, they looked up and shrank back in fear. The rider was not surprised; a deep hood was cast over their face and next to the proportions of hobbits they were a sinister sight.
"Good day," they said as they drew level with the small party. Their tone was pleasant enough, but there was something of an edge to it, threatening anger. "I seek the quickest route out to the Barrow Downs."
The hobbits looked terrified and shook at the mention of the Downs. Wordlessly, the bravest of them pointed behind him.
"Follow the road down to Michel Delving," he quavered. "Pass on through the woods and keep to the road that runs through it."
The rider smiled beneath their cloak. "Thankyou," they said courteously. "Then I say good day again."
And with that the rider struck the horse, which – bristling with impatience – leapt into a gallop almost in the blink of an eye and bore them both into the distance. The rider leaned into the saddle once more, intoxicated with the thrill of flight and grim with intent. Behind them, the hobbits hurried home, their singing muted and their voices hushed. The rider risked a smile, imagining the fear they had left in their wake, and thundered on down the road. Dusk deepened, and rider and horse sped on under cover of dark.
The next day rose fair and clear, the light of climbing sun springing brightly through the leafy foliage of Rivendell. Rays like beams of gold fell down upon the elvish craftsmanship and across the quiet paths. Few were up at this hour, for even though the times would soon be desperate, little could be done by those residing in Elrond's house: unless it was to wait for the return of the scouts from abroad. The dark trees stood like walls throughout the haven, and Rivendell gave the impression of having sprung up from the landscape, as had the forest around it. Sunrays poured into the valley and through open balconies, bathing the ancient stones and collecting like a pool of golden light on the forest floor.
Elrond, Lord of Rivendell, was awake and had been for several hours. Long before the sun had touched the tips of the trees he had arisen, and paced anxiously the length of his room and eventually –when the confines of his chamber would not suffice – the corridors outside. He was loath to admit, even to himself, the doubt that sat heavy on his heart. It was true that counsel was never wholly right one way or another, but never had he given his advice and felt so unsure. The path of the Fellowship would be perilous whatever – that much was true. But he had set the number at nine: one member of the Company to oppose each ringwraith. Yet at the last had come that strange and indecipherable lady – the lady Mariel, of a realm he knew nothing of; bringing ominous tidings and such a profound insight into the situation that it made Elrond – Elven wise and millennia old – dubious. And her desire to join the Company, it had been so demanding, so strong – and none of them had refused. Not one of them sitting at the council felt they could refuse: not even Elrond himself.
And yet she was just a woman. An Elven woman, clearly, and incomparable to any that he had ever seen – even his own fair daughter Arwen Undomiel. But still just a woman.
And so it was that the new morning saw Elrond passing fretfully through the many passages of his house, lost in though and unheeding of all around him. And though he saw it not, the day was nearing noon before another found him thus.
"Lord Elrond! You hide yourself well, for when we found you not in your chamber we searched elsewhere – but it was beyond the mind of any to look in the gardens!"
Elrond looked up, surprised. "Erestor!" he exclaimed, greeting the dark haired elf, "forgive me, for I did not realise my absence would cause such trouble."
The chief counsellor laughed. "No," he said, "nor that it would lead you outside."
Elrond glanced round, for the first time taking note of his surroundings. He was standing on the small slab path that led to the lower gardens, curtained all around with a steep climb of intertwining flowers.
"For shame!" he murmured, half to himself, "I have strayed without myself realising it; strayed both with my feet and mind, it would seem."
Concern now crossed Erestor's fair face. "Is all well with you, my lord?" he asked. Elrond sought to reassure him with a smile.
"Indeed."
The worry did not leave the perceptive elf. "Did my lord intend plans for today?" he said carefully " – I ask only while the sun still rides high in the sky."
For a second Elrond merely frowned. Then he glanced up at the sky and drew back in shock.
"Lo!" he exclaimed. "Is the day so far gone already?"
The troubled face of Erestor lightened as he laughed in spite of himself. "Indeed Lord Elrond! The day is pressing on for noon and all others in your house are risen and have been for several hours." He then added with a laugh: "except the hobbits of course. The four new arrivals are as fond of sleep and rest as their friend."
Elrond smiled fondly. "And of food," he said knowingly. "How is Bilbo? He is happier now, I think, that Frodo and his companions are among us."
"Yes he is happy –as are his fellows. You have no worry there." Erestor's face became grave now as the laughter faded, and it seemed he was reaching the pinnacle of what he intended to ask. "My lord," he began. "I see you are troubled. A problem disclosed among friends is one lessened by half. Will you not tell me your concern?"
Elrond sighed and turned away – though not out of unfriendliness. "Alas Erestor," he said wryly, "I see there is nothing I can keep from you."
"I seek only to aid you in your duties, lord."
"Of this I am aware, Erestor, and I thank you. Though it is against my better judgement – although why I know not –my heart yearns for a confidant in this matter, and so I will tell you. The chosen Fellowship is the root of my worry, and it is above all the Lady Mariel, upon which my doubt rests."
Erestor gave a grim laugh. Elrond asked:
"You are not surprised then?"
"No," said Erestor," I had an expectancy that this might be the base of your trouble."
"And the Lady?"
"I too am wary, lord."
"She hails from a land of which I have never heard, and yet she appears to have possession of clothes and crown which could only have been woven and wrought by an ancient skill –"
" – Yet we are surely the only race with such knowledge," finished Erestor. "Suspicion, my lord, is also present in my mind. Sueth is a name new to me also. Care is needed."
"Erestor, is it wise to allow this? Or is it mere folly to place so great a task upon one we know so little about?"
Erestor sighed. "I can only say lord, that it can be no more folly than entrusting the One Ring to a hobbit bearer. I have faith in your judgement there –no other way would carry any more hope. Perhaps our hope will be burden enough for Mariel."
"Perhaps."
"Shall I call a council Lord Elrond?"
"No, no. To make formalities of this will only awaken fear and doubt in others. There will be war, ere the end, Erestor. Let it not have its seed in my house, in friendship."
"And the Lady Mariel?"
Elrond paused awhile before replying.
"Let her do as she will," he replied eventually. "I have a feeling she will make her own path, no matter. If she desires to join the Company then let it be so. I think she will go where she decides, whether I say or no."
Erestor nodded, and together they left the sunlit place and passes out of the clear air and into the peaceful house. Yet they had not entered the second room when Glorfindel approached them, his face serious.
"My lord," he said greeting Elrond before bowing his head to Erestor also, "these are suspicious times."
"Tell us not what we know already, Glorfindel. What news has come to darken the day?"
It looked beyond Glorfindel's wish to disclose his news.
"It is the Lady Mariel," he said at length. "She is no longer here. The chambers have been searched and the whole of Rivendell scoured. She is no longer here."
"She cannot merely have vanished," stammered Erestor.
"Ill tidings, I fear," muttered Elrond, "and no better to us than those that hail from the South. When did she leave? We know that at least?"
"Not quite so" replied Glorfindel, "although this remained on the pillow of her bed."
He handed Elrond a fine slip of parchment and bade him read it. Upon it was a delicate hand, neat and straight as though written the Elven smiths themselves. It read:
To the Lord Elrond, founder of Imladris. I am gone at present, though I shall return. Do not send for me, for I shall return ere the scouts do. Do not seek to send out the Fellowship in my absence, for I will find my own way to them, even if you do so. I beg your leave and thank your kindness. I pray that one day I might return it. I say once more, I shall return.
Below this was a small mark – a tiny crown of three prongs, sliced across with a thin horizontal line. Above it were placed three small stars, parallel to the line. It took up less than a thumbnail. Erestor and Glorfindel watched Elrond, ready with advice.
"My lord?"
Elrond stared at the note for a long time. Eventually he spoke.
"Let her do what she will," he said.
* * *
Many miles away, far across the northern terrain, someone was riding. The sun was close to setting here, holding out for as long as possible – seeming loath to sink beneath the skyline and fighting with the inevitable night. The land was pleasant and farmed in most places, tamed by the folk that lived there. This green land was the Shire, the very outskirts of the quiet land: the tilled fields and ploughed meadows fringed its borders. Most fields sat close to wild hills that rose out of the land with foreboding, stretching out and into the distance. This was where the neat life of the Shire folk ran onto to the dense wilderness of Arnor.
A figure, clad in dark colours, sat atop a horse worthy of the Rohirrim. It was chestnut, if it could be called that, for the word seemed too common for such a noble beast. Its flanks shone with a film of perspiration as it raced on, pounding the earth underneath it as it had done for many leagues, untiring in the fading day. It bore its rider as though they were no more burden than the air around it and its dark eyes flamed with purpose.
The figure in the saddle sat proud and upright, the gallop of the horse beneath them barely upsetting their posture. As they charged across the gentle slope of the land, weaving between trees and fields, the figure was leant forwards as though spurring their steed onwards. But as rider and horse left the outskirts and approached the road, open land became scarce and they were forced to a slower pace. The rider now drew back in the saddle, surveying the land whilst beneath them the horse walked on with restless impatience.
Suddenly the rider's gaze moved to a point some hundred yards away. A small band of hobbits were coming along the road, singing merrily. They had not seen the tall horse and dark rider. Silently the rider gave a sharp tap to the beast's flanks and they moved soundlessly forward. The hobbits remained oblivious – it was now clear to the rider that there were five of them, all stocky and middle-aged. Their singing was loud, but it faltered into silence as a shadow fell over them. Stopping, they looked up and shrank back in fear. The rider was not surprised; a deep hood was cast over their face and next to the proportions of hobbits they were a sinister sight.
"Good day," they said as they drew level with the small party. Their tone was pleasant enough, but there was something of an edge to it, threatening anger. "I seek the quickest route out to the Barrow Downs."
The hobbits looked terrified and shook at the mention of the Downs. Wordlessly, the bravest of them pointed behind him.
"Follow the road down to Michel Delving," he quavered. "Pass on through the woods and keep to the road that runs through it."
The rider smiled beneath their cloak. "Thankyou," they said courteously. "Then I say good day again."
And with that the rider struck the horse, which – bristling with impatience – leapt into a gallop almost in the blink of an eye and bore them both into the distance. The rider leaned into the saddle once more, intoxicated with the thrill of flight and grim with intent. Behind them, the hobbits hurried home, their singing muted and their voices hushed. The rider risked a smile, imagining the fear they had left in their wake, and thundered on down the road. Dusk deepened, and rider and horse sped on under cover of dark.