A/N: Okay, I'm here, and so are you, so I guess we can get started.  I'm writing this so that I can have an excuse to not update my Unicorns of Balinor fic.  I have such a humongous writer's block with it, it's not even funny.  Grr...  Oh well, that won't affect the progress of this story.  Thanks to Kat Heiman, Alynna Lis Eachann, Rivendellgurl15, and Huntress of the Night for reviewing.  You guys are very consistent reviewers, and I hope you all like this one!

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Disclaimer: I don't think that I own anything new in this chapter.  I might add some other Fellowship horses, but I'm not sure yet.  Just read and find out; you guys know what I own.  Oh wait!  Rivendellgurl15 owns Me'adal and Sulfeä. 

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As always, this is for Kristy.

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            The days that followed seemed like weeks to the five travelers as they made their way hurriedly to Rivendell.  Each worried about the safety of Frodo and Glorfindel, as well as that of himself.  The Ring was a dangerous burden, whether the carrier was able to use it or not, and the travelers often found themselves fearing what was around the bend or in the shadows, knowing that the Wraiths may very well have realized the deception and come to claim what was their Master's.

             Even so, rest was necessary, and the travel-weary group found refuge for the night in a small thicket, away from the Road and out of view.  After tying the ponies to five nearby trees, the Hobbits unrolled their packs and turned in, all three snoring within a matter of minutes.  Smiling at the sight, Strider turned Imiriepio and set out to leave and scout the area.

            "Amin ilumaya tanya," Arwen's soft voice came from the other end of the camp, where she was carefully untacking her horse.  "Lle rina mani marte i'tella coiasira lle lembe i'periannath.  Uma naa amada ar'tatya quentalelle sine dome." *I would not do that.  You remember what happened the last time you left the Hobbits behind.  Do not be a fool and repeat your account this night.*

            Arwen's comment stung the Man and his pride.  Sighing, he turned to face the Elf.  "Amin nowe tanya lle feithaya yassen sem.  Ri'uma lle caela n'at menae triall, Sha'Quessir?" *I thought that you would wait with them.  Or do you have other paths to walk, friend Elf?*

            The She-Elf smiled at the title.  Though technically correct, it was not the address that she would have chosen, given their relationship.  "Come," she said, switching to the Common Speech and looking Strider in the eye.  "There are matters of which we must speak immediately.  Bring your horse here; he could do with some grooming and rest."

            Unwilling to argue and secretly glad to be relieved of scouting duty, the Man dismounted and brought Imiriepio to the tree next to the one to which Maltalkar was tied.  The crimson horse secured, Strider undid the many buckles and straps that held the saddle and packs in place.  After setting the heavy tack down, he grabbed a stiff-bristled brush and began working on his stallion's dirty, sweaty coat.

            A long silence lingered between the two, each traveler grooming in slience, mulling over his or her own thoughts.  Finally, Arwen looked up from her golden mare and studied Strider as he worked meticulously on a spot of dried mud under Imiriepio's stomach.  She smiled and said softly, "You care for him well."

            "Hmm?" The Man, jerked out of his thoughts, stopped and turned to the Elf, brush in hand.

            "Lle malia ten'Imiriepio eithel," Arwen repeated, going back to brushing her mare's already-spotless coat.  "Lle saisinta en'rokko." *You care for Imiriepio well.  You know much of horses.*

            "Diola lle," Strider responded, pleased with the compliment. *Thank you.*

            "But what do you know about the the Hobbits' horses?" Arwen asked suddenly, quite loudly, and in the Common Tongue.  Realizing this too late, the Elf stopped and prayed that she hadn't been heard.  But other than a Hobbit turning over in his sleep, the thicket was silent.

            Relieved, the Man answered in hushed Elvish.  "Amin saiuumsinta.  Periannath pande ai en'quenta en rokko e'narnsen." *I do not know much.  The Hobbits included little of the horses' history in their tales.*

            "San'ta naa vee'amin gorge," the female Elf said with a sigh.  She then turned her attention to Maltalkar once more. *Then it is as I feared.* 

After a few moments of silence, Strider turned to his horse as well.  Knowing that Arwen would say what was on her mind in good time, the Ranger wasn't worried.  If anything, pressing the Elf for information would only make her hold it in more.

His patience paid off.  "Estel," Arwen began.  "Amin dela tanya rokkoelle uum tuula numen." *Estel, I worry that the ponies do not come from the West.*

"What?" Strider exclaimed, forgetting to use the cover of Elvish.  "Not from the West?  But Arwen, where else would they come from?  Surely you're not saying..."

"That is just what I'm saying," the Elf said forcefully.  "Aragorn, what do you know about these ponies?  Or more importantly, what do the Hobbits know about them?  We Elves know enough about the history of Middle Earth to know that horses are bred by only three races: Elves, Men, and those races of the East.  Look at them." Arwen motioned toward the trees where the Tibboh Seinop and Bill were tied.  "Do they look like the mounts that are bred by your people?  Most of the horses of Men are tall and powerful chargers; small ponies are bred only for pack purposes and children's mounts.  Even so, the Hobbits' ponies do not resemble your pony in any way.  And they are certainly not bred by the Elves.  I do not feel the need to justify that point further."

Aragorn sighed.  "If only Frodo was here.  He did most of the talking about the ponies, and I am sure that he knows more about them than he shared."

"Then we must wait until we reach Rivendell before our questions will be answered,"  Arwen said.  "But do not let your guard down around the ponies, Aragorn.  They have been loyal thus far, but the ways of the Dark Lord are strange.  We do not know what their true agenda is."

With those words, the Elf deposited her brushes in her pack and prepared to stand the first watch.  Aragorn knew that he should get some rest, but Arwen's words rang in his ears and inhibited him from taking any action then.  All he could do was stare at Escandil.

The Man left Imiriepio's side and walked the short distance to where the five ponies were tied.  When he reached them, he went to the end of the line and stood next to Frodo's pony.  Remembering what Arwen had said, he dug his fingers into the pony's thick mane until he felt the cold metal of the Ring.

Pulling it up and out of the coarse black hairs, Aragorn was about to take the golden band off of Escandil's neck when he heard a stirring behind him.  "Strider?"

Turning quickly, the Man saw Sam standing beside his sleeping companions, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a confused look on his face.

"Strider?" the Hobbit asked again.  "Is everything alright?  I heard you and the Elf arguing, somethin' about the East and..."  His voice trailed off as he noticed that the Man was holding the Ring. 

"Is that Mr. Frodo's Ring?" Sam's voice was quieter now, filled in disbelief. 

"Yes," Aragorn responded, slowly replacing the band in the pony's mane.  "I was simply making sure that it was safe before I turned in.  Do not worry, Master Hobbit, the Ring is in good hands and will be in better hands once we reach Rivendell.  Now get your rest; we hope to reach Rivendell by dusk tomorrow."

After giving Escandil a good-natured pat, the Man crossed the campsite and lay down on an unrolled blanket by the fire.  Once he saw that the Man was asleep, Sam too lay down and went to sleep.

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            Aragorn lived up to his word, and by midafternoon of the next day, the travel-weary group turned the corner and set eyes on Rivendell.  The Hobbits grew excited, for none of them had been this far east before, and they were all eager to see Frodo once more. 

            The party filed into the valley that held the Elven city, Arwen in the lead, followed by Sam and Escandil, Merry, and Pippin, with Aragorn bringing up the rear.  "We will go to the stables first and make sure our horses are settled in," the Elf had explained prior to entering.  "We will then go to the Hall of Elrond to speak with my father.  He will give us instruction on what to do with the Ring."

            Arwen led them through the wide fields that covered the valley floor, the group frequently having to use intricately-carved bridges to cross a stream produced by one of the many waterfalls that flowed within the city.  The buildings of the city could be seen jutting out of the steep walls of the valley, including the House of Elrond.  At the far side of the fields, a great stable could be seen.

            As the group neared the stable, the horses began to grow anxious, especially Maltalkar and Imiriepio.  Elven horses by blood, neither felt truly at home anywhere else but with their own kind.  Aragorn's horse, who hadn't been to Rivendell in years, pricked his ears forward and began to prance and pull at the bit, straining to reach the stables quicker.

            In front of the stable and on the side of the path was a large ring in which a figure could be seen riding.  When the group reached the side of the ring, Arwen drew Maltalkar to a halt.  The Hobbits exchanged confused looks, and Aragorn sighed in frustration at the inevitable conflict that was about to unfold. 

            Arwen turned her mare to face the ring and called out, "Me'adal!"

            The figure in the ring heard this call, turned her horse, and cantered across to Arwen.  The horse was a pure, stunning white with dark, liquid eyes.  He moved with the perfect grace possessed only by an Elven horse, and his rider handled him well and moved with him in perfect unison.  At first the Hobbits thought that the rider was a male, but as the horse neared, it became obvious that he was being ridden by a female.

            "Arwen's sister," Aragorn whispered to the halflings.

            When her sister reached the fence, Arwen began talking in loud, rapid Elvish.  "Me'adal!  Mani uma lle?  Arvandorie, manka ere'atar eleaya lle!  Hama ve'adanedhel, mani ume lle nowad?  Atar naaya ruthae." *Me'adal!  What are you doing?  Heavens, if only father could see you!  Sitting like a male, what were you thinking?  Father would be angry.*

            The Elf called Me'adal crossed her arms and gave her sister a smug look.  "Atar ilnaaya ruthae.  Ro valinuva iire amin nyara ho mankoi amin hamad sina men." *Father would not be angry.  He will be happy when I tell him why I am sitting this way.*

            Arwen was unimpressed.  "Ar'mankoi naa lle?" *And why are you?*

            The younger Elf reached down to pat her snowy mount.  "Amin istimied miul pilinio ar'tury megil.  Sulfeä ar'amin nauva vee'quel vee'ai'adanedhel ri'ohtar e'dagora." *I am learning to shoot arrows and wield a sword.  Sulfeä and I will be as good as any male or warrior in battle.*

            Arwen let out a small chortle, obviously trying to suppress a stronger fit of laughter.  She finally composed herself and spoke.  "Amin ruwa i'seasa tanya tanya onuva a'atar.  Nyara ho rato, ten'ro ilnauva e'quelindo ale'ro tena mani lye caela nyar ho." *I doubt the pleasure that that will give to father.  Tell him soon, for he will not be in a good mood after he hears what we have to tell him.*

            Me'adal turned toward the rest of the group for the first time.  Studying them closely, especially the Hobbits and their ponies, she was quiet for a long while.  The halflings began to grow uncomfortable, not because her gaze was harsh or critical, but because the she-Elf seemed to be looking through their flesh and into their souls.

            Finally, Arwen grew impatient and turned to Aragorn.  "Come," she said quietly.  "We lose valuable time by lingering here.  We must secure our horses in the barn and appear before my father quickly."

            Listening to what her sister was saying and deciding that the party's task seemed more interesting than riding in circles for hours, Me'adal turned Sulfeä toward the center of the ring.  Once in the middle, she turned back toward the fence and urged her mount forward.  After soaring over the high white fence, the Elf caught up with the travelers and followed them down the path to the barn.

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Okay, I know it's a crappy place to stop, and I wasn't planning on stopping there.  But I kinda promised someone that I would post tonight, and I really wanted to update sooner rather than later.  So you can hear more about Me'adal and the other member's horses in the next chapter.  Oh, and Me'adal and Sulfeä have adventures of their own.  You can read all about them in Rivendellgurl15's story The Value of Friendship.  The young Elf and her horse will appear in the next chapter and possibly the next, but definitely read the original fic to get the true sense of what they're like.  Thank you Anduril for helping me with the thicket thing (lol) and with that one sentence.  You're a great help!  Oh, and the Elvish is from the Grey Company's Elvish Dictionary.  Sorry if it's not all completely correct.  One more thing: REVIEW!!