Part Two. Reality Commences

Mirwen's head lolled wearily as her mare trotted over the open land. She had ridden for almost three days without stopping to meet up with any other living person along the way. Though her arm was not broken from her fall, it still caused her much pain, delaying her ride even more so, considering her lack of skill with horses. She had little skill with anything, for that matter. The sun began to crest over the horizon and Mirwen's eyes focused on something far off. It looked like a large town, it didn't seem big enough to qualify as a city, not compared to Minas Tirith.

The sun had cast its rays full upon the land that surrounded her. She was vaguely aware as her horse led her into the town, which, even in the early hours of the day, had already seemed to have come alive. Mirwen rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Her hands were sore from holding the reins, and the sword felt incredibly heavy to her.

"Searching for shelter, are you, my lady?"

Mirwen glanced down from her mount at a young man, slightly younger than herself, walking beside the horse. Grateful as she was, she could only simply nod through her weariness.

"You'll want The Blue Mountain Inn, I suppose," he offered. "And your horse, well, as a traveler you already know the substantial stables we have here in Rohan."

Mirwen's eyes seemed to fall into confusion, being unworldly as she was. Ah, yes. Rohan's renowned for their skill with horses. "Thank you," She managed forcefully.

"One more thing, whether you mind it or not, I must ask. On what business do you travel within the borders of Rohan?" he asked cautiously.

"Oh, well, I am traveling north… Visiting some family I haven't seen in a while…" This wasn't all entirely a lie, she felt, it was like she was visiting family she hadn't seen in a long time. A part of her family she dearly wished to become more accustomed to.

"I can clearly see, you are not of Rohan descent," he replied warily. "You travel from the south, and judging by your clothing and scabbard, you must be from Gondor. The White Tree tells, all, my lady," he added at her surprise. "What family does one of Gondor have in the north?"

"Well, that's what I intend to find out." Again, not entirely speaking in lies.

"I wish you luck then," the young man said softly. He raised his hand to point up the scarcely paved streets. "The Inn is just up ahead. Impossible for you to miss."

"Thank you," she said at length, her stubborn nature unaccustomed to giving thanks to those of a lower rank. However, if it would do to rid herself of him. He was just slightly too observant for comfort. After trying various different commands, she was able to get her horse moving at a trot in the way she had been directed. Soon enough, the Inn came into view. It wasn't too different from the Inns she had seen while walking the streets of Minas Tirith, however rare the occasion might have been. It was respectable enough, though it could use a decent coat of paint.

Mirwen dismounted her horse, using a rather embarrassing method. With one foot on the ground and one foot still in the stirrup she tried to balance herself and remove her foot at the same time. It didn't work as she had planned. Mirwen's face colored with her frustration as she pulled her foot freely from the boot that had been wedged in the stirrup. The color in her face deepened as passerby's chuckled under their breath. She pulled the boot from the stirrup and replaced it on her foot. Trying to maintain her pride, she held her chin high and brushed off the front of her dress.

A nearby stable hand who had seen the whole ordeal watched her with arched eyebrows. He ran his hand through his graying hair and shook his head, smirking. "I'd say you could do with a few riding lessons, miss."

"I've never ridden before," Mirwen explained, with all the dignity she could muster.

"You didn't have to tell me that. I can tell a rider from an imposter."

Mirwen continued to hold her head high, in an almost arrogant manner. "If you are done pointing out my imperfections, I'd like to leave my horse here for the night. How much will that cost me?"

The stable hand took Mirwen's horse by the reins, leading it under the shelter. "You're staying at the Inn, correct?"

"That is correct…"

"It'll go on your bill then," he replied.

Mirwen nodded, turning to the front door of the Inn. Even before she turned the knob of the door and allowed herself entry to the common room, she knew that she would not find the setting suitable as she was accustomed to. Stepping inside it seemed as if her lungs were being sufficed by just the smell of the room. The air seemed stagnant, like it hadn't been moved or circulated at all in years. Mirwen's nose scrunched disapprovingly.

"Hello, and welcome to the Blue Mountain Inn," said a round-faced innkeeper with stringy blonde hair pulled away from her face. "Were you looking for a room, a drink, perhaps just somewhere to rest your feet?"

"A room for the night," Mirwen replied, her face still showing displeasure for the state of the inn.

"Of course, of course," the innkeeper said, wearing a smile. "Follow me, miss, follow me. The inn isn't very full. I have the perfect room for someone like yourself, the perfect room!"

Mirwen clenched her jaw, already in a foul mood, as her temper was something that easily rose. "Forgive me," she said in a voice that did not sound like it was asking for forgiveness in the slightest. "But you don't need to repeat everything you say. I don't have a hearing problem. I can actually hear quite nicely."

A veil of humiliation falling over the woman's previously cheery face. "No… no, of course not, I was just trying to be friendly… I was only trying to be friendly."

"Again with the repeating," Mirwen said irritably. "What do you take me for anyway?"

The innkeeper stopped in front of one of the rooms, fumbling with some skeleton keys on a ring. She kept her eyes firmly fixed on the keys as she could feel her anger rising. "I certainly don't take you for anyone I wish to be further acquainted with."

Mirwen kept her chin level with her unyielding pride, feeling as though she should not be required to make a reply.

"Enjoy your stay," the woman muttered, unenthusiastically. Her eye beginning to twitch at Mirwen's rude nature.

"Hmph," Mirwen sighed, stepping into the room, not dwelling a moment longer on the event that had just occurred. As she gazed about the room Mirwen felt her mood turn even worse. The room was in worse shape then the common room of the inn. The mattress of the bed was hard and lumpy from age and use. The walls and floor were covered in a thin layer of dust, making it clear that no one had bothered to clean it for what could have been years.

Mirwen crossed the room to where a bureau stood with a basin that was cracked along the lip and a pitcher of water with a dusty and streaked mirror staring back at her. Mirwen looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was unkempt, and she was beginning to wish she had brought a comb with her. But she hadn't she was alone in the world.

Subconsciously, Mirwen took up the pitcher of water and poured it in the basin, which was about as clean as the rest of the room. The princess felt her heart grow heavier and heavier as she watched the grime swirl in the water. She cupped her hands and cleared the dirt that had been on her face. Mirwen raised her eyes to look back in the mirror, her face was still wet from the water, which was fortunate. It was difficult to discern the water from her tears.

"Why did I leave Gondor? Oh, I shouldn't have left!" Mirwen sobbed, burying her face into the palms of her hands. Her shoulders shook as the grim reality of what she had decided to do set in on her. "Why did I leave?" she repeated quietly to herself.

Because you were insufferable. You don't want to go on being that miserable person do you? Oh great, her conscious was coming out. She hadn't heard from that part of her psyche in a long time. Her plan of traveling to Rivendell already seemed to be as proving itself as paper thin to her.

"What good will Rivendell do?" she muttered, feeling herself calm down slightly.

Rivendell has the tendency to bring out the best in people, or, at least that's how the stories go.

Mirwen fell face down onto the lumpy bed, her breathing still a little shaky. There was a change coming over, slowly but surely, she was changing. What Rivendell had in store for her, it was impossible to tell. Her bones ached from traveling. In all her pampered life, need had never caused her to leave the Tower. And now that it had, she was more frightened then she had ever been. But it was worth it. She was striving for something now. Mirwen couldn't exactly place her finger on what it was she wanted so badly, but all she knew was she didn't just want this. She needed it.

It was important to her to find out about her past that she knew so little about. No one in the White Tower seemed to be able to tell her much of her Elven heritage. That may be because it flowed so weakly through her. There were some who could remember their parents telling them stories about Queen Arwen, but that was it. The documentations gave her no satisfaction. She needed something more. It was a part of her that she knew nothing about. And she wanted to change that. She needed to change that.