I know things are moving slowly... We'll get to the juicy stuff eventually...
I doubt that my account of our journey properly emphasizes the distance and duration of our travels. In all, it was approximately one hundred days from the time we left Minas Tirith to the point when we first met our hosts. We could, perhaps, have traveled more quickly, but considering Father's recent injury (and my horse's reluctance to cover any great distance at speed), we kept to a more leisurely pace. Admittedly, this increased the danger of our progress – a fact which tormented me constantly as we made our way westward and northward – but there was little I could do to ameliorate the situation. Sador's arm would not grow back, and Goldwine would not wake up one morning to find himself transformed into one of the Mearas. We would have to make do with the options we had.
We forded the Glanduin – or, rather, the Gwathló, as it became at that point – at the ruins of Tharbad. It is a wickedly cold river, as its tributaries spring from high in the Misty Mountains. Naturally, Goldwine decided it would be a lovely spot for a roll, and so I was dumped unceremoniously into the water along with my food and blankets. I ought to have drowned him right there, the stupid beast. At least Sador got a laugh out of it.
From there we followed the course of the River Loudwater, more or less, though on occasion it became more convenient to follow an old trail through the woods. Sador had no idea where we were going, really, and it was amusing to leave him in suspense. He continuously tried to trick me into telling him our destination, but subtlety had never been his strong point.
"This would be a nice area for elves," he would say – though of course he had no idea, never having seen an elf in his life.
"I suppose," I replied airily on such occasions.
"What, you don't think it's secretive enough?" he demanded. "Or perhaps not sufficiently wooded – these forests are not as old as others I've seen. Elves prefer ancient forests, don't they?"
"Some do," I said vaguely.
"And what's that forested area they have up north – is it Doriath?"
Here he was appealing to my pride, hoping I would correct him for "foolishly" naming a lost forest kingdom of the First Age, thinking that perhaps I'd reveal the name of a more modern forest kingdom in the process. Of course, he had no idea whether such a thing even existed, but the man was inclined to try anything. As well, he ought not to have counted on my pride – or lack thereof.
"Might be," I replied innocently, and he snorted in frustration. It was so satisfying to see him foiled, bless his heart.
I don't know whether Goldwine is an irrational creature, or simply one who does his best to get on my nerves. He has no fear of orcs – in fact he seems to relish the chance to strike them down – but at the first sniff of elves, he panics. Now, perhaps it isn't true panic; perhaps it's simply a scheming desire to make a fool of his mistress. Seeing as he's a simple horse of unknown lineage, one would be inclined to doubt whether he could come up with such a plan – I, on the other hand, suspect he's smarter than he wants me to believe.
Goldwine sensed the elves before I did, of course. All of a sudden, his ears stood straight, his muscles tensed, and his eyes rolled wildly. Father's mare began to look "spooky" as well – more as a reaction to Goldwine's behaviour than to any perception of danger on her part, I've no doubt.
"Easy... easy, there," I murmured, feeling the gelding prepare to bolt. I softened the pressure on his mouth, and patted his shoulder reassuringly.
"Is everything alright?" Sador whispererd. "Should we proceed?"
"Just a minute... just a minute..." I continued to use my slowest, gentlest voice, and sunk deep into my horse's saddle, hoping he'd sense my easy, secure weight over him and feel calm once more.
No such luck. Goldwine threw his head in the air and snorted, grabbing the bit between his old yellow teeth. He reared halfway up onto his back legs, then began to scuttle sideways toward Sador.
"Keep her out of the way!" I told my father, desperately hoping he wouldn't fall off his horse. I sat as heavily and steadily as I could on the beast's back, and repeatedly applied firm pressure against the bars of his mouth, but it was no good. Goldwine was determined to cause a scene. He suddenly decided to scurry backward without regard for where he was going, and so ended up running rump-first into a tree. This set him off entirely. He bucked and thrashed and reared and twisted, and I am rather pleased to say I stayed on him for the better part of twenty seconds. However, I soon found myself tumbling through the air to land gracelessly in the moss and leaves of the forest floor.
I was unhurt, of course – one has to know how to fall properly if she wants to ride a horse as obnoxious as Goldwine. I landed on my shoulder and rolled, and almost managed to come out of the roll on my feet – but, being somewhat overbalanced, I ended up falling on my own rump instead.
"Oh, curse the day you were born, you stupid animal..." I muttered, dusting myself off.
"Ahem..." Sador coughed, and I looked up at him. His gaze was directed further up the trail.
Oh, hell, I thought, and turned my own gaze to follow his. Indeed, half- invisible amongst the green shadows, stood two tall, ebony-haired creatures, seemingly identical, radiating ethereal beauty and grace. They regarded me with detached interest.
"Um... my horse, you see... Sorry..." I muttered. Naturally, Goldwine was by this point as quiet as a lamb, and looked about ready to go up and greet our visitors himself. The two of them continued to stare at me, less with disdain than with an apparent lack of surprise – it was as though they simply expected no better of me. Elves!
"You are Tanneth of the Elignias." It was more of a statement than a question, though the voice that spoke was floating and soft.
"Yes, yes – I apologize for the undignified entrance," I said, standing up, then added, "as well as for any damage to branches or underbrush caused by my horse."
Of course this was intended as a joke, but the Eldar have a different sense of humour than the Edain.
"I do not see what you mean," the elf said, looking about for broken branches, and Sador held back a laugh. "Nonetheless, I welcome you. I am obliged to escort you to your destination."
"Which is...?" Sador asked.
The elf regarded him curiously. "Imladris, of course," he said.
"Ha!" Sador exclaimed, triumphant.
"Oh, shut up, you've never heard of it," I muttered, and went to collect Goldwine's reins.
"Who is your companion?" the other elf asked. "You must identify him – we cannot lead strangers to the house of Elrond."
"Him? He's Sador, son of Algund – a man of Gondor, but of no noble lineage," I said, feeling rather spiteful.
"Your guide?" the elf asked.
"No indeed!" I snorted, and Sador rolled his eyes. "He's my father. He felt obliged to escort me to Rivendell."
The two elves glanced back and forth between us, no doubt looking for a family resemblance between the tall, dark-haired man and the short, scrawny yellow-haired woman.
"I'm adopted," I whispered, to avoid them having to make any awkward suggestions.
"Ah," they murmured, and nodded.
"You will follow us on foot," one of the elves told us.
"What – and leave the horses behind?"
"No," he said patiently, as though talking to a child. "You may lead the horses. But we will proceed, as I have said, on foot."
"Right," I muttered, and drew Goldwine's reins over his head. Sador dismounted and took his mare's reins in his one hand, and together we followed our hosts into the woods.
"How far is it to Rivendell?" I asked. "I must admit I've never been there myself, though I've got a general idea of how to get there."
"What? You mean you didn't know where we were going?" Sador demanded, incensed.
"It will take us no more than three hours to reach the valley," one elf told me, ignoring my father, "assuming we encounter no... obstacles."
"Oh? And what obstacles might those be?" I wondered, making my way carefully amongst the roots and fallen branches.
"There have been sightings of some rather... distasteful characters about," he replied.
"Namely...?"
"The Nazgûl of Minas Morgul," he replied, then looked rather smug upon seeing that this name meant nothing to me.
"Care to elaborate?" I sighed.
"They have disguised themselves as nine riders in black," he said. "Surely you've heard of them – Ringwraiths, perhaps?"
The name did sound familiar. "Nine..."
"'Nine rings for the mortal men, doomed to die'," the elf quoted, and I suddenly remembered the somewhat obscure poem... I must have read it as a child, I decided.
"Indeed," the other elf said. "But you shall find these nine very reluctant to die – they are bent on killing, and I doubt very much that you have the skills to defend yourself against them."
"You're probably right," I conceded. "But this is all very disturbing. Servants of Sauron? In Eriador?"
"It is not a random invasion," the elf told me. "They have a mission. They are seeking –"
But his companion cut him off with a warning glance.
"Excuse me. I am not presently at liberty to divulge such information," the elf apologized, averting his gaze respectfully.
This marked the end of our conversation with our hosts, though I didn't shrink from talking with Goldwine.
"What do you think they were seeking? Hmm?" I asked. He shook his head and snorted – then suddenly turned and tried to bite my shoulder, his ears pinned back flat. I slapped his muzzle in irritation.
"Ungrateful mongrel!" I muttered... though, in a moment, my hand had migrated to his shoulder and was patting him absently.
I wish I could say that I sensed, instinctively, that my arrival at Rivendell would signal a great change in my life. That would be romantic, and mysterious, and entertaining for you – as well as somewhat satisfying for me. I have to be honest, though – the item at the forefront of my mind at that moment was the idea of sleeping in a real bed for the first time in months. On the other hand, considering what I would be experiencing over the next several months, I suppose it was wise of me to value such a luxury.