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profit monetarily from its use.
Middle-Earth The Third Age
Lady Arwen Undomiel sat upon her horse and watched the scene below from a high hill near Rivendell, Imladris, her home. The Fellowship was moving north. Arwen willingly let them go, and yet, her heart was troubled, for one among the Fellowship, Aragorn, called Estel, was her heart's true love. She feared that she would never see him again, that this quest would take his life. Aragorn had traveled the trails and paths for nearly sixty years, a long time for a Human but only an instant in the eyes of an immortal Elf such as Arwen, the daughter of Elrond. In all of Aragorn's travels he had always returned at least in few enough pieces that he could be patched up again, but Arwen knew that this journey held the future of all of Middle-earth in the balance and that in such journeys the fate of an individual was seldom certain. Arwen turned her horse away with a single tear coursing down her fair cheek.
***
Aragorn glanced back once more toward Rivendell before resuming his course. He held the rear position in the Fellowship as they traveled in single or double file, alert for danger. For the moment, they were silent, each lost in their own thoughts as they walked far along the rolling countryside. The sun rose in the sky, diminishing their shadows and then lengthening them again. The noon meal came and went in relative silence. Finally the sun tinged the western sky a vibrant pink and a halt was called, for supper and a night's rest. A small fire was kindled and they cooked as hearty a meal as can come to travelers on the road upon it. The Wizard, theHobbits, Aragorn the Ranger, and the Dwarf lit their pipes and settled back contentedly.
"We are running out of pipe-weed," called Pippin, who had stood to rummage through the discarded packs. "That is one thing I will sorely miss on this journey." The others who smoked rumbled in agreement.
"I, for one, will not," muttered the Legolas, the Elf of the party. Aragorn, the only one who heard him, chuckled softly.
"I would say 'get used to it,' but, alas, I fear you will not have the chance, Greenleaf" he replied softly back using the Westron translation of the Elf's name. The Ranger had known the Prince of Mirkwood for many years and through many adventures. Legolas gave him a look of distain belied by the humor in his eyes.
"I will take the first watch," he announced to the Fellowship as a whole. "That way I shall escape your foul smelling smoke," the Prince added aside to Aragorn. He then moved off to a position from which he could see much of the countryside and yet still easily hear the conversation around the fire with his keen Elven ears.
"Gandalf, will the Ringwraiths come after us even with their mounts destroyed?" queried Frodo, bringing a somber mood back to the Fellowship. "Strider, Aragorn that is, told me back in Bree that they would ever hunt for the Ring." His hand unconsciously reached up towards his chest where the Ring was hidden on a chain worn under his Hobbit's shirt.
"That may be," Gandalf replied. "But they must return to their master to gain new mounts, a difficult task for ones with such poor vision as those. At the moment I am more concerned about other servants of the enemy: Orcs, Goblins and such. There have been rumors upon the wind saying that the Enemy seeks to regain what land in the north was once his, Angmar, a land I fear we may find ourselves passing through later. Not to worry just yet, young Hobbits," he added with a smile when he noted the unease of the four Hobbits that had forgotten even their pipes, so much of their attention did his words catch. "Angmar is more than one hundred leagues from here." His expression turned serious once more. "And we have many dangers to surmount before then."
"Like what?" asked Pippin.
"The Ettenmoors," replied Aragorn, taking his pipe from between his teeth. "We may meet some Trolls like those your Uncle Bilbo encountered in the Trollshaws, Frodo, though you might find them fiercer and less communicative." The Hobbits shuddered slightly, remembering the stone statues they had seen on their long trip to Rivendell, statues that were all that remained of Bilbo's Trolls once they had been caught in the rays of the morning sun, for sunlight reverted such creatures to the stone from which they were reportably made.
"Let us see if these Trolls can stand up to the ax of a Dwarf," Gimli grunted, patting the afore mentioned weapon.
"Do not be so sure that they will not, Master Dwarf," cried Legolas from his place of vigilance. "Trolls have tough hides of overlapping scales; it is a well-made weapon indeed that can pierce the hide of a Troll." Gimli scowled in the general direction of the Elf.
"And what makes you call a Dwarf's ax not 'well-made,' master Elf?" he queried in a dangerous tone.
"You are mistaken, Master Dwarf," replied the Elf. "I said no such thing, I merely said you should not be so sure. I have met many Olog-hai in the forests of my home, and such Trolls are far stronger and craftier than any we shall encounter in the Ettenmoors." The Dwarf grunted in reply, muttering something that could only be uncomplimentary under his breath in the secret tongue of his folk.
After a while the company settled down for the night relatively certain of their safety with a Wood-land Elf watching over them. So did the first day of the Fellowship's journey end, with few miles behind and many more before them.
Middle-Earth The Third Age
Lady Arwen Undomiel sat upon her horse and watched the scene below from a high hill near Rivendell, Imladris, her home. The Fellowship was moving north. Arwen willingly let them go, and yet, her heart was troubled, for one among the Fellowship, Aragorn, called Estel, was her heart's true love. She feared that she would never see him again, that this quest would take his life. Aragorn had traveled the trails and paths for nearly sixty years, a long time for a Human but only an instant in the eyes of an immortal Elf such as Arwen, the daughter of Elrond. In all of Aragorn's travels he had always returned at least in few enough pieces that he could be patched up again, but Arwen knew that this journey held the future of all of Middle-earth in the balance and that in such journeys the fate of an individual was seldom certain. Arwen turned her horse away with a single tear coursing down her fair cheek.
***
Aragorn glanced back once more toward Rivendell before resuming his course. He held the rear position in the Fellowship as they traveled in single or double file, alert for danger. For the moment, they were silent, each lost in their own thoughts as they walked far along the rolling countryside. The sun rose in the sky, diminishing their shadows and then lengthening them again. The noon meal came and went in relative silence. Finally the sun tinged the western sky a vibrant pink and a halt was called, for supper and a night's rest. A small fire was kindled and they cooked as hearty a meal as can come to travelers on the road upon it. The Wizard, theHobbits, Aragorn the Ranger, and the Dwarf lit their pipes and settled back contentedly.
"We are running out of pipe-weed," called Pippin, who had stood to rummage through the discarded packs. "That is one thing I will sorely miss on this journey." The others who smoked rumbled in agreement.
"I, for one, will not," muttered the Legolas, the Elf of the party. Aragorn, the only one who heard him, chuckled softly.
"I would say 'get used to it,' but, alas, I fear you will not have the chance, Greenleaf" he replied softly back using the Westron translation of the Elf's name. The Ranger had known the Prince of Mirkwood for many years and through many adventures. Legolas gave him a look of distain belied by the humor in his eyes.
"I will take the first watch," he announced to the Fellowship as a whole. "That way I shall escape your foul smelling smoke," the Prince added aside to Aragorn. He then moved off to a position from which he could see much of the countryside and yet still easily hear the conversation around the fire with his keen Elven ears.
"Gandalf, will the Ringwraiths come after us even with their mounts destroyed?" queried Frodo, bringing a somber mood back to the Fellowship. "Strider, Aragorn that is, told me back in Bree that they would ever hunt for the Ring." His hand unconsciously reached up towards his chest where the Ring was hidden on a chain worn under his Hobbit's shirt.
"That may be," Gandalf replied. "But they must return to their master to gain new mounts, a difficult task for ones with such poor vision as those. At the moment I am more concerned about other servants of the enemy: Orcs, Goblins and such. There have been rumors upon the wind saying that the Enemy seeks to regain what land in the north was once his, Angmar, a land I fear we may find ourselves passing through later. Not to worry just yet, young Hobbits," he added with a smile when he noted the unease of the four Hobbits that had forgotten even their pipes, so much of their attention did his words catch. "Angmar is more than one hundred leagues from here." His expression turned serious once more. "And we have many dangers to surmount before then."
"Like what?" asked Pippin.
"The Ettenmoors," replied Aragorn, taking his pipe from between his teeth. "We may meet some Trolls like those your Uncle Bilbo encountered in the Trollshaws, Frodo, though you might find them fiercer and less communicative." The Hobbits shuddered slightly, remembering the stone statues they had seen on their long trip to Rivendell, statues that were all that remained of Bilbo's Trolls once they had been caught in the rays of the morning sun, for sunlight reverted such creatures to the stone from which they were reportably made.
"Let us see if these Trolls can stand up to the ax of a Dwarf," Gimli grunted, patting the afore mentioned weapon.
"Do not be so sure that they will not, Master Dwarf," cried Legolas from his place of vigilance. "Trolls have tough hides of overlapping scales; it is a well-made weapon indeed that can pierce the hide of a Troll." Gimli scowled in the general direction of the Elf.
"And what makes you call a Dwarf's ax not 'well-made,' master Elf?" he queried in a dangerous tone.
"You are mistaken, Master Dwarf," replied the Elf. "I said no such thing, I merely said you should not be so sure. I have met many Olog-hai in the forests of my home, and such Trolls are far stronger and craftier than any we shall encounter in the Ettenmoors." The Dwarf grunted in reply, muttering something that could only be uncomplimentary under his breath in the secret tongue of his folk.
After a while the company settled down for the night relatively certain of their safety with a Wood-land Elf watching over them. So did the first day of the Fellowship's journey end, with few miles behind and many more before them.