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The time of departure has come. Every member of the fellowship is gathered at the entrance of the peaceful realm of Imladris. Soon they will leave behind the comforts of the realm of Elves and step out into the wild to carry out their deadly mission.
Ithilae stands among them, though a bit off to the side, dressed in clothes fit for long travels. Her bow is on her shoulder and her quiver is full. There is one sword strapped to her hip.
Many have gathered to see them off and it is Lord Elrond who speaks the words of parting; "The Ringbearer is setting out on the quest of Mount Doom and you who travel with him, no oath nor bond is laid to go further than you will." he reminds them all.
"Farewell. Hold to your purpose and may the blessings of Elves, and Men, and all free folk go with you." he speaks as his eyes run over each member. He holds out his hand in farewell.
"The Fellowship awaits the Ringbearer." Gandalf says, motioning for Frodo to start leading the way when he is ready.
Frodo takes in the sights around him one last time before turning and setting off on the long journey to come. Those who have decided to join him, follow silently after him, both excited for the wait is over, and with a hint of sorrow, for they do not know when and if they will ever come to see their homes again.
Frodo looks a bit unsure as they pass the gate. The road splits and he does not quite know which path to take. "Mordor, Gandalf, is it left or right?" he asks quietly, afraid he will make a fool out of himself if he chooses the wrong one.
"Left." is his answer, as Gandalf puts a hand to his shoulder in a sign of comfort. Frodo turns left and the first steps are made on a long journey to come.
The first days pass rather quickly as they travel South alongside the Misty mountains. The energy in their minds and bodies is still high and they take the time to wonder at the their environment as they pass mountain, ruin and hill.
On a particular uneventful day, Gandalf allows them to rest. They settle down between a group of rocks and thorny brushes and Sam is quick to get a fire going, having appointed himself to the group's personal chef. He is quite versatile with the few things they carry and are able to hunt.
He smiles up at Ithilae in gratitude as she throws a pheasant at his feet. It's well fed. He quickly plucks the bird, happy with the prize.
Legolas glances at it, seemingly uninterested, but after seeing how far Ithilae could shoot and her observing his skill when it was his turn to hunt, they've started having a wordless contest. Ithilae shot the pheasant on purpose while there were several guinea fowls lingering closer by. It was the hardest target to shoot.
Meanwhile, the elleth settles on a rock, overlooking the encampment. Since the start of their journey she is often found excluding herself and taking up the rear. Though some find her gaze at their back unnerving, others are quite happy with the arrangement, trustful of her.
Everyone is settling down to do their own thing before having a meal. Quickly tiring of sitting still and being full of energy, Merry and Pippin bug their companions to show them the use of their tiny swords until eventually Boromir gives in, setting them up for a lesson.
Gandalf, Aragorn and Gimli as well settle down with their pipes, content for the moment as they watch. Legolas is leaning close by against one of the rocks that has warmed in the sunlight, gazing over the plains, ever vigil of his surroundings. Sam is busy cooking and Frodo has decided to sit quietly near Ithilae, just looking at his friends practice with amusement. The elleth is only quietly observing the bigger picture.
Sam passes along some sausages to Frodo, who takes them absentmindedly, making Sam glance at the sparring hobbits as well.
"Good, very good." Boromir compliments Pippin as he parries his sword.
Aragorn pulls his pipe from his mouth for a second, "Move your feet." he advises.
Merry stands aside for a moment, observing. "You look good Pippin." he nods, impressed by his friend, making him throw back a 'thank you'.
"If anyone was to ask for my opinion, which I note that they're not, I'd say that we were taking the long way round. Gandalf, we could pass through the Mines of Moria. My cousin Balin would give us a royal welcome." Gimli notes, turning to the wizard. Ithilae can't help but glance at Gandalf, gauging his reaction.
Gandalf keeps on puffing on his pipe, staring into the distance. "No Gimli, I would not take the road through Moria unless I had no other choice." he says, leaving no room for arguments.
Movement from their left makes his and Ithilae's eyes turn to Legolas as he suddenly bounds up a rock, his eyes straining onto something in the distance. They follow his line of sight, not distracted when Boromir accidently cuts Pippins hands, making him and Merry pounce on him in retaliation. Aragorn soon gets thrown into the mess when he tries to come to Boromir's rescue.
Ithilae rises to her feet, making Frodo glance up as well, growing worried when her face portrays an onset of something dark.
"What is that?" Sam questions, also now noticing something approaching from the sky.
Gimli takes an uninterested glance towards it, "Nothing, its just a whisp of cloud." he waves off.
"It's moving fast... against the wind." Boromir states, having caught on.
Suddenly Legolas turns on his heels towards them, his eyes wide in alarm. "Crebain from Dunland!" he reveals once his eyes are able to distinct the birds from one another and recognizing them for what they are; spies.
The next few moment pass like a blur. They quickly erase all signs of their presence before hiding under rock and into the few bushes available. The birds circle over their camping ground for a moment before passing, their figures growing more distant which each passing second.
Gandalf frowns heavily as they emerge from their hiding places. "Spies of Saruman. The passage south is being watched." he concludes, making Frodo look up at him in worry. "We must take the Pass of Caradhras." Gandalf tells the company reluctantly.
Ithilae glances up at the white-coated mountains. The weather up there is treacherous. Even she has reservations on going up there. How will the others even cope?
Luck seems to be on their side though. Over the next days they have already traveled quite a bit up the trail and the sun is still shining. The snow is packed thick and quite easy to set foot on for now. Nobody dares to comment though in fear of jinxing it.
Merry and Pippin flank the elleth, spouting out all sorts of things that come to their minds. They seem to want to share every story they can think of with her, even though she doesn't ask for it. But the hesitant look of interest in her eyes keeps them going.
"And that is how my second cousin from my mother's side got himself a Dwarven friend." Merry concludes another one of his stories. He sighs after a moment after gathering his breath, "All this talking of Hobbits reminds me of home." He looks down, caught in a short moment of homesickness.
He suddenly looks back up again, tossing the feeling aside. "Where did you grow up if I may ask m'lady?" he wonders.
Ithilae glances down to see two pairs of curiosity-filled eyed looking up at her expectantly. She cannot refuse to answer for some reason.
"I spend my early years in Lórien." she reveals, making them quirk their brows at the unfamiliar name and silently urging them to tell them more about it. She decides to indulge them.
"It is also referred to as the 'Golden Woods'. The name derives from the golden leaves of the Mallorn trees, the tallest of trees. The river Celebrant flows through it, glittering like starlight. In its center lies Caras Caldhon. It is where the most of the Elves reside. They live in the trees, among their silver branches." she explains.
"It sounds wonderful." Pippin pipes up, making Ithilae's lips quirk up, but only slightly.
"It is." she states, almost dreamily as she can clearly remember how the bark of the trees themselves appear to glow in the night, ever lighting the way of those still wandering outside. She doesn't notice Legolas' curious glance.
She is pulled away from her thoughts when a thump sounds behind them. Looking over her shoulder, she sees that Frodo has slipped on the snow, Aragorn already by his side to help him back on his feet.
It is then that Frodo pats his chest frantically, seemingly to have lost something. What it is becomes clear when Boromir bends down, picking up the silver chain that is run through the One Ring.
Boromir dangles the wretched thing in front of his face, his eyes focused on it intently.
"Boromir!" Aragorn calls.
"It is a strange fate that we should suffer so much fear and doubt over so small a thing, such a little thing." Boromir muses as he raises his other hand to touch it.
"Boromir!" Aragorn calls again, more urgently. It seems to do the trick and snaps Boromir out of his reverie. "Give the Ring to Frodo." Aragorn urges, his hand resting inconspicuously on his sword.
Gathering himself, Boromir steps up to Frodo, returning the Ring to him. "As you wish! I care not." he says casually before ruffling Frodo's hair and turning on his heels. Aragorn eyes him thoughtfully, but releases the grip on his sword.
