CHAPTER FOUR: REUNION
As the milky sun rose above the Misty Mountains, a lone figure crept to the stables, cautiously opening the door. The horses raised their heads in alarm at this new visitor, but returned their attention to their meal upon seeing Arwen slip into the wooden enclosure.
Her nose wrinkled at the ubiquitous smell that floated in the air, instantly jealous of Humans and their inferior senses. There were times, she admitted grudgingly, when that could actually be an advantage.
"Hello, Asfaloth," she whispered to her beautiful white stallion, a black gloved hand reaching to tenderly stroke his nose. He neighed softly, nuzzling her face. The horse had originally belonged to Glorfindel, but Asfaloth's wild temperament had driven the blond elf to distraction, and he had given the horse to Arwen. Amazingly, the elf princess had managed to tame the stallion, much to Glorfindel's ire.
Through a window in the stables, Arwen watched the sunrise for a moment, estimating that she had less than an hour before her father awoke.
"Hiril-nin?" [My Lady?] A voice called in surprise.
Arwen pivoted round, feigning a smile. "'Quel amrun, Glorfindel," [Good morning] she greeted, adjusting Asfaloth's saddle. "How are you this morning?"
The blond elf narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "May I ask what an elf princess is doing in the stables at dawn?" He folded his arms across his chest. "And why are you wearing your riding coat?"
Arwen inhaled a deep breath, thinking quickly. "I felt like going for a ride before breakfast," she said calmly, smoothing a crease from her dress.
"With your sword?" Arwen could find no response. Glorfindel's expression softened. "Arwen, child, please do not do anything foolish. Now, tell me the truth: what are doing? Where are you going?"
She could have coped with Glorfindel's wrath; but against his soft, paternal tone, she had no defense. "Estel needs my help. I have to find him."
Her companion strode across the straw-covered floor, eliminating the distance between them. He grasped her chin gently, forcing him to meet his green eyes that flickered with worry. "Arwen, you cannot seriously be considering… It is folly!"
"Please, Glorfindel," she pleaded, pushing him away. "You must let me go." The elf fell silent, eyeing his friend's daughter, the young girl he had helped raise and watched blossom into the Evenstar, concern etched on his face. "Please, Glorfindel. I love him!"
"Arwen, please," He begged, an expression of pleading more powerful than anything she had seen in her three thousand year existence crossing his face. The elf struggled for breath, blinking.
"That is why I have to go," she said, feeling that she might as well take advantage of his silence to put her point across. "My heart will not a moment's rest until I see him safe with my own two eyes. Surely you understand that?"
"But…" Glorfindel finally found his voice, "It is too dangerous, Undomiel. Far too dangerous. Your father would never allow it!"
"That is why he must not know, at least not yet! You must let me go to him, Glorfindel!" She beseeched.
"Let me go in your place, Undomiel!"
She shook her head. "I alone shall go. Please Glorfindel. I am old enough to make my own decisions in life. I am going, with or without your approval."
The blond elf sighed. "You are as stubborn as your Father." Then, he added, "Elrond will kill me if I allow you to go on this foolish quest!"
The last thing Glorfindel saw was Arwen's sorrowful expression, but an iron horseshoe struck him across the back of the head, and he slipped into blackness.
"I think that takes care of one little problem," Bilbo said cheerily, leaping down from his perch and landing squarely on his back. Taking his tiny hand in her own, Arwen pulled the hobbit to his feet. "Who knew that if you panicked an elf enough, it would distort his senses?"
"Thank you, Bilbo!" Arwen declared, enfolding the hobbit in her arms and pressing a kiss to his cheek before mounting Asfaloth.
"May the protection of Elbereth Starkindler shine upon you, Evenstar," he whispered as she rode off into the dawn.
* * * * * *
"Noro lim, Asfaloth!" [Ride fast, Asfaloth!] The command echoed across the fields as Arwen dug her heels into the stallion's sides. Aragorn was at most ten days away by foot. If she rode hard enough, she could cover that distance in two or three days. All she had to do was focus…
* * * * * *
Day melted into night, fields into forest, but horse and rider continued their relentless journey, taking sporadic rests to allow Asfaloth time to recover. Her poor stallion was being pushed to the edge of his endurance, but that thought barely entered Arwen's mind.
Her every thought was of her love, Estel, and the dangers he might be in. What if he had to face the Nazgul? Arwen knew her love well enough to understand that he would give his very life if he knew that his sacrifice was not in vain. Estel cared not for his own safety, but the safety of others. It was a quality Arwen admired in him, one of the things that made her willing to forsake everything was for him, but she feared in would be his undoing. 'Please, be careful, meleth-nin,' she prayed. 'Be careful.'
* * * * * *
Another day of arduous riding followed. Before Arwen realised it, Laurelin's fruit had began to sink beneath the horizon. Soon, darkness had descended over the world.
But tonight was different. Arwen could feel tendrils of ice reverberate down her spine, the sting of a thousand needles prickling her skin. That meant one thing, and one thing alone. The Nazgul were close; and were the Nazgul were, the Ringbearer was near. And with the Ringbearer, was Aragorn.
The forest around her was growing thicker as she neared Amon Sûl. Trees loomed all around like sinister watchtowers. She could almost feel a thousand eyes on her, but more terrifying than that, she could sense the Eye of Sauron staring at her.
This was not a new discontent; ever since news had come of the One Ring's finding, all the elves of Imladris had felt this new sensation, Elrond in particular. Sauron was watching his enemies, and right now, all his focus was on the lone elf princess who rode out to aid not only the Ringbearer, but her mortal love, the last Heir of Isildur - the Dark Lord's two greatest adversaries.
Then, she it heard: the sweetest sound that would ever fall upon her ears. "Hurry!"
Aragorn was close!
Dismounting her horse, she bade him to be quiet, patting his head gently to soothe his fears. Even animals could sense the Dark Lord's malice. With Elven speed, grace and stealth, she followed the song of his spirit: a haggard melody that was rapidly growing to a frantic crescendo.
Then, through a gap in the trees, she saw a familiar figure bend down before a bed of herbs.
It took all her dignity, grace and restraint to stop Arwen from darting to his side and throwing her arms around him. Inhaling a deep, calming breath, she crept silently towards them, carefully unsheathing her curved blade. A mischievous grin played on her lips as she thrust the blade under his chin, using the dull edge to ensure he was not injured in this little game.
Aragorn stiffened, his pulse rapid. A trembling hand reached for the dagger hidden inside his leather surcoat. If he was fast enough, perhaps he could knock the sword out of his opponent's grasp?
"What's this?" Arwen teased. "A Ranger caught off his guard?"
He turned to face her, looking momentarily stricken at having been tricked; but his expression melted to smile. "Thank the Valar, Arwen!"
In one fluid movement, she had re-sheathed her weapon and dropped to the ground beside him. Before Aragorn could speak, Arwen had pressed her lips to his in a desperate, comforting kiss, her tears marring a visible path down his grimy skin.
Reluctantly, she pulled away, noticing for the first time what herb he had been cutting: athelas. Flames of fear flickered in her eyes. "Morgul wound?" she choked her throat suddenly dry. His eyes never leaving her face, Aragorn nodded. "Oh, sweet Eru!"
Aragorn helped his love to her feet, a pleading look in his eyes. "The Ringbearer is passing into the shadow world. Can you help him?"
Arwen trembled. She knew the technique for healing a Morgul wound, but did she have the skill to perform it?
"Take me to the Halfling."
As the milky sun rose above the Misty Mountains, a lone figure crept to the stables, cautiously opening the door. The horses raised their heads in alarm at this new visitor, but returned their attention to their meal upon seeing Arwen slip into the wooden enclosure.
Her nose wrinkled at the ubiquitous smell that floated in the air, instantly jealous of Humans and their inferior senses. There were times, she admitted grudgingly, when that could actually be an advantage.
"Hello, Asfaloth," she whispered to her beautiful white stallion, a black gloved hand reaching to tenderly stroke his nose. He neighed softly, nuzzling her face. The horse had originally belonged to Glorfindel, but Asfaloth's wild temperament had driven the blond elf to distraction, and he had given the horse to Arwen. Amazingly, the elf princess had managed to tame the stallion, much to Glorfindel's ire.
Through a window in the stables, Arwen watched the sunrise for a moment, estimating that she had less than an hour before her father awoke.
"Hiril-nin?" [My Lady?] A voice called in surprise.
Arwen pivoted round, feigning a smile. "'Quel amrun, Glorfindel," [Good morning] she greeted, adjusting Asfaloth's saddle. "How are you this morning?"
The blond elf narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "May I ask what an elf princess is doing in the stables at dawn?" He folded his arms across his chest. "And why are you wearing your riding coat?"
Arwen inhaled a deep breath, thinking quickly. "I felt like going for a ride before breakfast," she said calmly, smoothing a crease from her dress.
"With your sword?" Arwen could find no response. Glorfindel's expression softened. "Arwen, child, please do not do anything foolish. Now, tell me the truth: what are doing? Where are you going?"
She could have coped with Glorfindel's wrath; but against his soft, paternal tone, she had no defense. "Estel needs my help. I have to find him."
Her companion strode across the straw-covered floor, eliminating the distance between them. He grasped her chin gently, forcing him to meet his green eyes that flickered with worry. "Arwen, you cannot seriously be considering… It is folly!"
"Please, Glorfindel," she pleaded, pushing him away. "You must let me go." The elf fell silent, eyeing his friend's daughter, the young girl he had helped raise and watched blossom into the Evenstar, concern etched on his face. "Please, Glorfindel. I love him!"
"Arwen, please," He begged, an expression of pleading more powerful than anything she had seen in her three thousand year existence crossing his face. The elf struggled for breath, blinking.
"That is why I have to go," she said, feeling that she might as well take advantage of his silence to put her point across. "My heart will not a moment's rest until I see him safe with my own two eyes. Surely you understand that?"
"But…" Glorfindel finally found his voice, "It is too dangerous, Undomiel. Far too dangerous. Your father would never allow it!"
"That is why he must not know, at least not yet! You must let me go to him, Glorfindel!" She beseeched.
"Let me go in your place, Undomiel!"
She shook her head. "I alone shall go. Please Glorfindel. I am old enough to make my own decisions in life. I am going, with or without your approval."
The blond elf sighed. "You are as stubborn as your Father." Then, he added, "Elrond will kill me if I allow you to go on this foolish quest!"
The last thing Glorfindel saw was Arwen's sorrowful expression, but an iron horseshoe struck him across the back of the head, and he slipped into blackness.
"I think that takes care of one little problem," Bilbo said cheerily, leaping down from his perch and landing squarely on his back. Taking his tiny hand in her own, Arwen pulled the hobbit to his feet. "Who knew that if you panicked an elf enough, it would distort his senses?"
"Thank you, Bilbo!" Arwen declared, enfolding the hobbit in her arms and pressing a kiss to his cheek before mounting Asfaloth.
"May the protection of Elbereth Starkindler shine upon you, Evenstar," he whispered as she rode off into the dawn.
* * * * * *
"Noro lim, Asfaloth!" [Ride fast, Asfaloth!] The command echoed across the fields as Arwen dug her heels into the stallion's sides. Aragorn was at most ten days away by foot. If she rode hard enough, she could cover that distance in two or three days. All she had to do was focus…
* * * * * *
Day melted into night, fields into forest, but horse and rider continued their relentless journey, taking sporadic rests to allow Asfaloth time to recover. Her poor stallion was being pushed to the edge of his endurance, but that thought barely entered Arwen's mind.
Her every thought was of her love, Estel, and the dangers he might be in. What if he had to face the Nazgul? Arwen knew her love well enough to understand that he would give his very life if he knew that his sacrifice was not in vain. Estel cared not for his own safety, but the safety of others. It was a quality Arwen admired in him, one of the things that made her willing to forsake everything was for him, but she feared in would be his undoing. 'Please, be careful, meleth-nin,' she prayed. 'Be careful.'
* * * * * *
Another day of arduous riding followed. Before Arwen realised it, Laurelin's fruit had began to sink beneath the horizon. Soon, darkness had descended over the world.
But tonight was different. Arwen could feel tendrils of ice reverberate down her spine, the sting of a thousand needles prickling her skin. That meant one thing, and one thing alone. The Nazgul were close; and were the Nazgul were, the Ringbearer was near. And with the Ringbearer, was Aragorn.
The forest around her was growing thicker as she neared Amon Sûl. Trees loomed all around like sinister watchtowers. She could almost feel a thousand eyes on her, but more terrifying than that, she could sense the Eye of Sauron staring at her.
This was not a new discontent; ever since news had come of the One Ring's finding, all the elves of Imladris had felt this new sensation, Elrond in particular. Sauron was watching his enemies, and right now, all his focus was on the lone elf princess who rode out to aid not only the Ringbearer, but her mortal love, the last Heir of Isildur - the Dark Lord's two greatest adversaries.
Then, she it heard: the sweetest sound that would ever fall upon her ears. "Hurry!"
Aragorn was close!
Dismounting her horse, she bade him to be quiet, patting his head gently to soothe his fears. Even animals could sense the Dark Lord's malice. With Elven speed, grace and stealth, she followed the song of his spirit: a haggard melody that was rapidly growing to a frantic crescendo.
Then, through a gap in the trees, she saw a familiar figure bend down before a bed of herbs.
It took all her dignity, grace and restraint to stop Arwen from darting to his side and throwing her arms around him. Inhaling a deep, calming breath, she crept silently towards them, carefully unsheathing her curved blade. A mischievous grin played on her lips as she thrust the blade under his chin, using the dull edge to ensure he was not injured in this little game.
Aragorn stiffened, his pulse rapid. A trembling hand reached for the dagger hidden inside his leather surcoat. If he was fast enough, perhaps he could knock the sword out of his opponent's grasp?
"What's this?" Arwen teased. "A Ranger caught off his guard?"
He turned to face her, looking momentarily stricken at having been tricked; but his expression melted to smile. "Thank the Valar, Arwen!"
In one fluid movement, she had re-sheathed her weapon and dropped to the ground beside him. Before Aragorn could speak, Arwen had pressed her lips to his in a desperate, comforting kiss, her tears marring a visible path down his grimy skin.
Reluctantly, she pulled away, noticing for the first time what herb he had been cutting: athelas. Flames of fear flickered in her eyes. "Morgul wound?" she choked her throat suddenly dry. His eyes never leaving her face, Aragorn nodded. "Oh, sweet Eru!"
Aragorn helped his love to her feet, a pleading look in his eyes. "The Ringbearer is passing into the shadow world. Can you help him?"
Arwen trembled. She knew the technique for healing a Morgul wound, but did she have the skill to perform it?
"Take me to the Halfling."