Yeah! It's chapter five! I'm having so much fun with this story...
Might as well do this now: I don't own anything. Not one thing. Okay, maybe Tanneth, but that's it. Don't sue me, I beg of you!
BTW, I did the "Mary Sue Litmus Test" for Tanneth, and she got a score of about thirty (depending on whether you consider Goldwine a "special pet" or not, based on their description). I can't believe it! I've created a borderline "Sue"! This is so out of character for me... [evil cackle]
Of course, there are very few people to whom I have tried to describe my first glimpse of Rivendell – in truth, I ought not to have told anyone at all. Though I have very rarely tried to express the image in words, it is one that has remained with me for all these years; a sort of soft, happy memory, almost like a childhood dream. I don't believe I marveled in any sort of affected way at the architectural wonder that is the House of Elrond – I'm really not sufficiently educated to appreciate such things – nor did I feel the reverent wonder that comes from realizing one has come upon a place renowned in legend. I simply breathed, and felt rested; for there is peace there, a sort of floating softness distilled into the air and the trees. A wise hobbit would one day tell me that his cousin had said of the place: "Time doesn't seem to pass here: it just is." I could not describe it better myself, and so my depiction of the elven refuge will end here.
I held Goldwine's reins tight, close to his chin, for fear that he would try to nibble at the leaves and grass – an action that would have struck me as entirely irreverent in such a place. However, it seemed he only wanted to look about him, nicker softly, and sniff. Perhaps he, too, felt the sweet calm, and the stillness; I doubt this, though – it would have been a sentiment entirely out of character for the old brute, bless his heart.
Presently I perceived another elf approaching our group at a rather hurried pace. I didn't see him until he was quite near; the elves move so softly, so gracefully, that one can hardly distinguish their movement from the swaying of the trees all around them. He came up to our guides, who obviously recognized him, and immediately began to speak in a hushed, anxious tone.
"What are they saying?" Sador whispered, from behind me.
"I don't know," I said, though I strained to catch the elf's words. Alas, he was speaking in his own tongue, and I found myself quite incapable of following his speech. I could read elvish languages well enough, but when it came to the spoken words, the best I could do was distinguish Quenya from Sindarin. (In this case, the three elves were speaking Quenya.) Their conversation ended quickly, and the newcomer seemed to excuse himself with a sort of half-bow; then he was off into the dappled shadows once more.
"Is there trouble?" I asked our guides.
"There is news," one told me. "It is not altogether clear, yet, whether this news is good or bad. Certainly it is disturbing, but nothing tragic has occurred."
"No one's been hurt?" I confirmed.
"No," said the other elf. "No – in fact, several may have been saved. An elf of Imladris – Glorfindel is his name – has driven three of the Nine from the Bridge of Mitheithel."
"Mitheithel... You mean, the River Hoarwell?"
"So it is called among the men of the North," the elf said grimly. "You appreciate, then, that this is no great distance from Rivendell."
"Indeed; in fact I would have said it was no more than a day or two's ride from here. But when did this happen?" I wondered.
"Earlier today," the elf said, and upon seeing the surprise so evident in my countenance, added: "The Lord Elrond tells us so, and his gaze is long and keen. Little takes place in these parts without his observation."
"Are we in danger?" Sador whispered to me.
"No, Father – I doubt there is any safer place to be," I reassured him, though in fact I was rather shaken by the news, despite being somewhat ignorant of the nature of these infamous "Nine". I then asked the two elves: "Will you be leaving to pursue them, as well?"
"No," one said, shaking his head. "We have business in the North, with the Dúnedain. Indeed, we hoped to leave yesterday, but our father sent us to ensure your safe arrival upon learning that the Nazgûl were abroad."
"Your father? You mean – Lord Elrond?" I asked, and they both nodded. I admit I was somewhat embarrassed – our escorts had been the sons of the Elf- lord all along! It seemed too great an honour to be bestowed upon a person of my humble origins.
"Well... Thank you very much, my lords," I said, and bowed to them. "You've honoured us with your grace and guidance, and we'll not soon forget it."
"And we're sorry to have delayed your departure," Sador added. His voice came rather shyly; he was somewhat out of his element among such high and lovely creatures.
"It shall do us no harm," said one. "We can ride swiftly and secretly, and we shall soon make up for lost time. As for you two, you may follow my brother to the stables, where you might rest your horses."
We thanked him again, and then followed his brother, who had already set off down the winding, grassy path. Upon reaching the stables, I felt that our steeds ought to have been humbled by their new stable-mates: these glossy creatures that called the elves masters were so light, so lanky, so very noble in their carriage. Their faces were dished, their eyes bright and deep, and their nostrils flared and lined with delicate pink skin. Their canons, in my opinion, seemed undesirably long, but no doubt there is some elvish magic in the creatures that keeps their legs from snapping. As it was, Goldwine took no notice of the beasts, but almost escaped my grasp in his hurry to reach the manger in his new stall.
"You don't deserve such luxury, you great brute," I muttered to him, yanking the bit from his mouth before he could choke himself on sweet oats. I helped Sador untack his own mare, as well, and then picked the hooves of both our mounts while my father gave them a quick brush-down. The locks on the stalls seemed new and unused, and I realized that none of the other horses' stalls were bolted – it seemed the elves' animals were free to wander, or perhaps they were too obedient to attempt an escape.
I shan't tell you much about the rest of that day – October the eleventh, it was – as not much else happened. Sador was far more tired from the journey than he'd let on, and wanted nothing better than to sit among the trees and nap. I sat beside him, grateful to have arrived safely at such a lovely place, and not yet eager to start any adventures.
We did not meet Lord Elrond until the fifteenth of October. It was then that he requested a brief audience with Sador and me, and we were led to his private chambers by a soft-spoken elf, apparently younger than any of the others we'd met (although he was no doubt ten times older than me or my father).
Elrond was a commanding creature indeed; not frightening, really, but one who inspired reverence and awe. He was taller than a man, but slender; his face was ageless, neither old nor young, but there was such depth and wisdom in his bright grey eyes that I felt I might drown in them if I looked on for too long.
"Tanneth," he said, and I bowed to him, as did Sador. "I have called you into my presence for two reasons. First, I would like to inquire as to why you have not made the journey to Imladris alone."
"Oh... I'm sorry for that, my lord," I said, averting my gaze. "Sador's my father, you see, and he was concerned for my safety..."
"I was under the impression that the Elignias did not need the protection of invalids – begging your pardon, of course," he added, to Sador.
"I'll answer for that," Sador said, putting his hand on my shoulder. "Of course she didn't need protection. She had to watch out for me, every step of the way, and I'm sure I became more of a hindrance than a help. It was just a father's selfish worry, that's all. I couldn't stand to let her go so far, all alone – not when the world's so dangerous, as it is these days."
Elrond seemed to consider this, though I couldn't bring myself to watch his face.
"Understandable," he said at last. "I, too, have a daughter, and I would have to be very desperate indeed to allow her to travel any great distance without an escort. The difference is, of course, that your daughter has been well trained to look after herself in the wild, while mine – though by no means lacking in courage – has generally devoted herself to the study of less brutish skills. However," he continued; and now he spoke to me rather than Sador, "there is another thing I should like to ask you, and for this question I must insist that your father leave us alone."
Sador didn't argue, and excused himself quickly from our company. Once the Elf-lord considered the man sufficiently far away (or so I assume), he spoke again.
"I should like you to tell me," he began, "what you know about the Elignias- Mîr's methods of discovering my desire to be granted the company of one of the sisters."
I was surprised that he knew the official title of the matron; the language of our people is not, after all, elvish in origin. I quickly regained my composure.
"Well... not much at all, really," I admitted. "I suppose I always thought you'd sent a messenger to request it, or something. That's the normal procedure, in my experience."
"I sent no messenger," Elrond told me. "I would have, if things had come together more slowly. As it was, your matron sent you based on some sort of premonition."
"Oh!" I didn't quite know how to respond to this. "Philindraphar is very wise, of course – but she's of the race of Men, just like me. I don't see how she could have known..."
"No," Elrond said reflectively, and turned away from me for a moment. "I have my theories, of course. I have been observing the sisterhood for quite a while now. Yes –" Here he stopped me from protesting. (You aren't supposed to concern yourself with us!) "I know it is not among the intentions of the Elignias to be an object of study, and you can rest assured that I have never recorded my observations."
I relaxed a little.
"You are an anomaly, you creatures," he said, more to himself than to me. "Your role in history has gone altogether unnoticed, but who knows how many lives you have saved? Who can say how many wars you people have fought in – and how many outcomes you have determined? What companies, what travelers might have failed without the help of some soft, grey woman with a lie for a past?"
"Oh, we really haven't had that much influence..."
"Perhaps not," Elrond sighed. "But how shall I ever know the extent of your influence?"
"Maybe... maybe it's not for you to know," I said, as humbly as I could.
Elrond regarded me for a moment, and then said: "You are probably right – though the idea of any realm of study being forbidden to me is an alien one." He smiled reflectively. "I shall ask no more of you for the moment. Be aware, however, that – Valar willing – you may soon find yourself called to answer for your people once more. You and I, as well as many others, will be presented with some questions far more pressing than the ones I have just asked you."
"My lord," I said, and bowed. He excused me, and I didn't speak to him again until about ten days later.
It's strange for me to think that this story I'm telling – this experience that became the greatest, most cherished, and also the saddest of all my adventures – was so very insignificant in terms of what was happening in the world at that time. The fate of Middle-earth did not rest in my hands, and it would have been arrogant of me to suggest it. We were all humbled in those years, every one of us; for the Doom of the Free Peoples was not born by an Elf-lord, or a wizard, or a great king or leader of Men. No, our Doom was born by the smallest, the humblest of creatures; one who was carried, unconscious, into Rivendell, some three days after my meeting with Lord Elrond.
How could I have known, upon first seeing the hobbit, that he was the greatest hero of our Age? How could I have guessed that Frodo Baggins brought with him the force that would both bind me to my beloved, and then steal him from me, at last?