That night, I pored over my map by candlelight. I began my plotting on how to follow without being caught. After all, I did stand out. Not for the first time, I begrudgingly thanked my Elven heritage for sleep being unnecessary to some extent. It was a few hours yet before dawn when I heard the unholy screech of the Nazgûl. I hissed in agitation at the abuse of my sensitive ears. I cursed my Elven heritage right then and there.

Quickly slipping into my tunic, corset, and pants, I stuffed everything else into my pack. I had already decided to head out within a few hours of the Hobbits and Striders departure, and travel on to Rivendell. I truly hoped that I could make it there in time. With at least one millennium under my belt, I hoped I had gained enough speed for this journey. I watched out of my window, thankful that it afforded me the view of the route they were likely to take. As the sun came up, I made sure to have everything ready. My dagger, bow and quiver were strapped to my leather belt at my left hip, and my new messenger bag was secured at my left shoulder, and rested on my right hip. I quickly added my cloak over everything, hoping I did not look suspicious. I pulled the hood of my cloak up, though not to cover my face. It was my ears, I wished to hide.

I chanced another glance to see a crowd following Striders little posse. Once they were out of sight, I made my way out of the inn, and onto the streets. I kept a friendly smile at hand as I passed the locals, making a beeline for the gate. Before leaving the inn, I had inquired at the date, and received a funny look as I was told that it was September 30th. I repressed a groan. I had little more than two weeks to make the trek. Especially seeing as I meant to get there before the Hobbits and their guide. But then again, I can run there, while Hobbits, with their short legs, move rather slowly. I should manage this within a week and a half. I quickly thanked Butterbur and hurried on my way.


I ran, hoping my feet carried me quickly enough. I briefly lamented my lack of foresight on getting new boots while I could, but there could be no help for such things. I was only four days into my journey, when I noted that I was passing Weathertop Hill. I was already ahead of the Hobbits by a few days. That was when I noted a grey cloaked person on top of the hill, that my pace slowed. I stopped in my tracks as I noticed the person was looking down at me. I could feel anxiety as we looked at one another, though my eyes were far better than his, and eventually, he smiled. I hesitated, shifting my weight from foot to foot and glancing in the direction of my destination, before I raised my hand in greeting. He nodded my way, and began to hobble down the hill in my direction. It was when he had made it to me, that I ceased my fidgeting.

"Well met, young lady. Please do not presume me rude, but where are you off to in such a hurry?" The kindly old man who I suspected was Gandalf greeted.

"I am making my way to Rivendell. I wish to inquire about a few matters." I said guardedly. I began to shift my weight again, causing a chuckle to bubble up in his throat.

"Then we are headed in the same direction. Perhaps I can offer a ride on my steed?" He offered. I looked around for the steed he supposedly had.

"I do believe you have to have one handy, when offering a ride." I murmured in an almost joking manner.

At this, the old man gave a shrill whistle. I winced. Before I could question what that did, I heard the clopping of hooves moving far quicker than a normal horse could run. When the beautiful white horse cantered up to the old man, he was quick to hop on, and offer a hand to me.

"I do not even know your name, and yet, you offer me a ride to my destination." I murmured, hesitant to take his hand, only for the sake of appearances. What naive young woman just hops on a horse with a stranger?

"Ah. Please forgive me, my dear. I am Gandalf the grey." He looked at me expectantly.

"Fagre, at your service." I bowed, in typical Dwarf fashion.

Gandalfs eyebrows raised, but he offered his hand again, and I quickly accepted. "You were raised by Dwarves perhaps?" He inquired once I was seated behind him.

"I am half Dwarf, but I was hardly raised by them. I only stayed among them for a century and a half." I answered.

"A century and a half is still long enough to grow to full maturity." He replied.

"I was barely a child then. I have been away from the Blue Mountans for hundreds of years now, and have just now reached full physical maturity."

"Hundreds? On the chance of being rude, how old are you, my dear?" Surprise was laced in his voice, too obvious to miss.

"I forget exactly. But roughly a millennium has passed since I was born." I murmured. "Maybe more. I was born in the year, 1994 of the third age."

"My, you certainly do not show your age." He chortled.

"I suppose that is the price of being half Elf." I kept my voice as nonchalant as possible. There was silence for a time, marred only by the sound of rushing wind and beating hooves.

"Do you know who the Elf is that sired you?" He asked, weakly.

"No. Though I am told he was nobody of consequence." I could feel tension leave the wizard.

It was quiet after that, with little conversation. A few times, he asked if I needed a rest, and I declined, stating that if he or the horse needed rest, I had no qualms with waiting. We stopped for the night, Just at the edge of the Trollshaws. Leaping into a nearby tree, I settled for the night, as the grey wizard set up camp for himself below my tree. He offered me dried meat, which I accepted, before falling asleep.


"What do you mean, she's dying? She was perfectly healthy this morning!"

"...Stage four... nothing we can do but hope for the best."

"Please, help her..."

"I'll be okay. I'll fight for as long as I can."


Morning came, and as I opened my eyes, I realized I was crying silently. It had been a long time since I dreamed of my past life. I quickly wiped my eyes, and jumped down to see if the wizard needed any help. He waved me off, tossing another piece of dried meat my way for breakfast, and set to preparing Shadowfax for the half days journey.

We rode in companionable silence, until we came to the entrance of Rivendell. Dismounting from the horse, I tried to keep my ears hidden beneath my cloak, hoping to pass as a human. My attempts were in vain, as I noticed the Elves give me strange looks. I imagined that they could see my fëa. Or at least feel it. Just as I could feel theirs. I stubbornly kept my hood up, and began looking about in fascination.

"Fagre, come, come. I wish to introduce you to someone." Gandalf called.

I turned to see Gandalf standing with a male Elf. I bowed low. "Fagre, at your service." I murmured. Despite my trepidation of being near Elves, I did not want to be rude.

"Elrond, at yours and your family's." He smiled at me. I couldn't help but smile in return, even if only a little.

I was uncomfortable around so many people at once with my usual solitary lifestyle, but I couldn't deny that I also enjoyed conversation. Lord Elrond invited me to dine as I spoke of the growing unrest around Bree and other villages in the westernmost parts of Arda. Though they were far from whatever trouble that was coming, they were not far nough to not be effected by it. Not to mention, black riders running all over the place. Lord Elrond bid me to stay as long as I liked, and even informed me of a meeting that was to be held very soon, and welcomed me to be there. I agreed gladly, with a nod.

And so it came to pass that I watched a pale Hobbit be carried to Lord Elrond, and the both of them disappeared for some time a little over two weeks after my arrival.

I knew soon, more people of many races would be arriving, so I quickly removed myself to my room, preparing for confrontation.