Chapter Three

The Great South Road

Raumoquildeo had been resting, nestled between two surprisingly comfortable rocks a bit off the road, when he first became aware of the group of men. He could feel the thundering of their horse's hooves reverberating through the ground and channeling into his body. However, the magic he had used with the sparrows to escape Orthanc had drained him greatly, for all magic comes with a price. Because of this he was barely able to force his eyes open before he found himself staring at the point of a sword hovering mere inches from his face.

"What business do you have here?" An imperious voice demanded.

Raumoquildeo was too tired to play the word games he may have attempted on any other day. "The same as you I expect," he said cautiously. "I have business that requires that I travel north."

"For what purpose? What business takes you to the North?"

"I fail to see how that is any business of yours." Perhaps he was not as tired as he had originally thought. The constantly imperious tone was starting to grate on his nerves and he could feel his body coming more awake with each passing moment.

The owner of the sword, and the annoying tone of voice, actually chuckled after a moment. "Perhaps not, and yet I still wish to know tachran."

"I'm going to see Olorin, an old friend of my atar. He is presently waiting for me in Rivendell." The sword jerked for a moment, as if in surprise, and then it disappeared. A moment later a tanned, broad hand, nicked with many scars and appropriately calloused for a swordsman, was hauling Raumoquildeo to his feet. Piercing grey eyes stared at him from a handsome, noble face framed with wavy dark hair. The owner of the grey eyes was tall and obviously a warrior by the way he held himself. For an unaccountable reason Raumoquildeo found himself relaxing though he was still held in the strangers grip. Perhaps it was the aura of certainty that surrounded the man, the obviously capable warriorness that fairly radiated from him.

"I am Boromir, son of Denethor who is Steward of Gondor. I, myself, am a Captain of Gondor. Who are you?"

"Raumoquildeo, called Sirdaugion. What is your business on this road, Captain of Gondor?"

Boromir laughed at the question being turned on himself before answering, his eyes still sparking with merriment. "I too seek Rivendell and the counsel of the Lord Elrond." He put Raumoquildeo back onto his feet and looked him over. "You best travel with us lad, I'm not sure a scrawny thing like you can protect yourself out here." A flash of teeth in a broad grin told Raumoquildeo that this had been meant as a joke and so he kept quiet about his capabilities, especially his Istar powers. No need to borrow trouble after all, no need at all.

From there the journey went quite smoothly all things considered. Boromir had been travelling with only one other companion and a few packhorses, one of which was commandeered and given to Raumoquildeo to ride so that he would be able to keep up with the other two men. Unfortunately, in Tharbad there was a freak accident that lost them both the horses and Boromir's companion. The bridge across the Greyflood River in the abandoned city was rotting and collapsed as they crossed it.

Boromir had sulked for days after that, especially when it became apparent that his "scrawny" friend could, and did, walk him into the ground. Raumoquildeo simply laughed at him and continued on the way. He was used to walking as he and his papa and atar had walked everywhere back home, they did not own even one horse. Boromir, however, had grown up in a city that traded regularly with Rohan and in a family that prized itself on having some of the best horses outside of Rohan. He had walked only indoors up to this point and was finding traversing nature this way to be rather different than any other mode of travel.

Despite this the journey passed as swiftly as possible on foot. Both Boromir and Raumoquildeo were glad to finally reach Imladris, however. They had lost most of their provisions with the horses and while Raumoquildeo was a little more used to foraging they were both heartily sick of eating whatever they found as they walked along.

Raumoquildeo could not help but stare about himself in wonder as he and Boromir descended into the valley of Rivendell. It was like nothing he had ever seen before. Boromir was chuckling a bit at his young friends awestruck face, but only a bit for he could remember his own first visit to Rivendell and the wonder that it had inspired in a young boy who till then had had poetic words only for his sword.

Translations

Tachran: little one in Gaelic (according to a web translator, I speak no Gaelic)

Imladris: Sindarin for "deep dale of the cleft" referring to its position in the valley; Rivendell is the Common Speech translation