Journeys

[Rían]

Mithlond, 1720 S.A.

Tyaron looked out over the sea. His long, dark hair lifted slightly away from his face in the breeze off the quay, the only thing moving around him besides the free-flying birds, the eternally moving water, and an occasional restless gesture of his hands. His deep gray eyes looked steadily across the water, glinting in the rising sun like so many bright memories.

He sighed and looked away, inland towards the settlement. Everything looked normal - yet normal for here, not normal for home.

"Home! Home!" he thought as he rose and started walking, unable to sit any longer. "Why am I still thinking of Gondolin as my home? Home is gone - I must find another home."

"Ata, ata, let us go! Let us go! Why do you tarry?" came the voice of a young child, carried to him on the morning breeze. The child's voice was urgent; obviously full of longing for their intended destination.

"Indeed, why do I tarry? Why should I not go?" came the thought suddenly. It had been stifled for a long time. First out of necessity; the survivors from Gondolin had needed the help of strong men in their first agonizing need, and although he hadn't escaped unscathed, yet he was less hurt than most, and for a long while, his life was one of constant helping of the sick and wounded. But slowly and steadily, the helpers became the helpless, and the wounded grew strong and became the healers in their turn, as the strong inevitably broke under their dual burden of their ceaseless activity and their denied grief.

But the bodies of the Firstborn were strong, and those who lived thought those dark days finally returned to health and vigor. Years passed; the cycles of Arda took their turn in the dance.

And Tyaron still wanted to go home.

He looked out over the water again. He knew his home eventually lay over the sea, and the sea-longing of the elves was in his heart, yet something still kept him on these shores. That something was the reason why he had fought, when it had come to fighting, against the forces that would mar and destroy. He had shed blood and not regretted it. Yet he had always had a feeling, when returning, that he had not yet returned home.

"Indeed, why do you tarry?" came a familiar voice - the voice of his closest friend, who had been watching him for some time.

Tyaron looked up in surprise. He had not heard Alagos' approach.

Alagos watched Tyaron's face with a smile. After all these years, he could read his friend's expressions well. First an impulse to deny his thoughts of leaving, then the realization that his friend would be able to see through this, then finally a resigned smile and his real thoughts.

"I don't know," he said simply.

There was quiet for a few minutes.

"Are you looking for something?" asked Alagos.

"I don't know that, either ... at least, I suppose I am, but I don't know what it is," answered Tyaron with a troubled expression. He glanced over at his friend, and an embarrassed smile spread across his face. Alagos laughed. Tyaron had always been the sure one; the one who saw what he wanted and went straight for it, while chiding Alagos for his uncertainty and his wandering ways, and now the shoe was on the other foot.

"Well!" said Alagos, crossing his arms across his chest and putting on a serious expression. "Perhaps I can help you this time! Let us look around. Are you looking for that?" inquired Alagos, pointing at a stone bench.

"No! I'm looking for a way to make you more serious!" returned Tyaron with a laugh.

"Well, that won't happen anytime soon - better give up on that! Now are you looking for, say ... " Alagos made a show of looking around critically. His gaze fell on a slender tree in the distance, with the sparkling sea in the background. He pointed it out. "How about that tree?"

Tyaron followed his friend's gaze, a witty response at the ready. But as he looked at the tree, the words died on his lips. The golden light of the sunrise on the tree had brought back a memory of golden leaves, and a fountain ...

Alagos looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, then looked back at the tree, and fell quiet himself.

"Not that tree ... but maybe ... one like it ..."

[Varnafindë]

«Do you remember the first time you took me to see Rivendell, Rameldir?» Elrond asked. They were sitting outside Elrond's house, looking at the river with its rapids and small waterfalls, and the trees growing along its banks. As always when there were just the two of them together, they didn't use titles.

Rameldir smiled.

«I do,» he said. «I had discovered it a few months earlier, and then one day we went there with Ainon, who knew the way better than I did, as he had travelled here many times. You were impressed with the small valley and how well hidden you found it to be. You said that if we ever needed a fortress in these parts of Middle-earth, this would be the perfect place to build one.»

«And you,» Elrond continued, «told me how the Lady Tindacallë, your friend, had said upon seeing it for the first time that it was not the place for a fortress. She said that it was the place for a friendly, homely house, where one could enjoy the beauty of the place, and relax and be safe, because it was so easy to defend. And I agreed.»

He sighed.

«First of all we needed it for a fortress, though,» he said. «When Sauron drove us north from Eregion, I tried to withdraw in this direction – and we found it, and it saved us. We couldn't have survived a siege anywhere else but in a place like this. In most other places we could so easily have been surrounded – but not here. That's probably why the High King wanted us to stay on rather than to come back to Lindon when the war seemed to be over – he doesn't trust Sauron, and he wants a presence in this area. He still does.»

«He does?» Rameldir asked. «When I saw that you had a letter from him the other day, I was wondering whether he was asking us to come back. I've been wondering what he makes of our little hamlet here – whether he thinks it has served its purpose now, or whether he wants us to stay on for a bit longer. The houses that we built during and after the siege, have served us well these twenty years – but they aren't exactly the quality we would choose for an Elven city. If he wants us to stay for another ten years, they should still be adequate – but not much longer than that.»

Elrond turned around to look at the other houses behind them.

«You are right,» he said. «Adequate, yes – that's what we built. But nothing to last – not like the Elven cities of old – nothing like Tirion back in Valinor, or even like Gondolin or Menegroth or Nargothrond. Not even like Lindon, to compare with something I know about. Unlike you, I haven't seen any of those others.»

«And even I have only seen Gondolin,» Rameldir replied. «And I was ten when I saw it for the last time – I only remember parts of it. The square with the fountain, where your father and I used to play – the trees, which were supposed to remind those who had seen them, of the Trees of Valinor – the King's palace, where my mother would visit Idril, her cousin, and where my father would serve in the King's Guard, like many others of the House of the Golden Flower. I only remember those things that were closest to me, Elrond. People tell us of our great past – but I don't remember it. And most of it you and I have never seen.»

They were both silent for a while, thinking of all they had been told. Then Rameldir spoke again.

«So the High King wants us here for a bit longer? Does he say anything about how long? Or is that dependent on Sauron?»

«Perhaps he is thinking about Sauron,» Elrond answered. «He doesn't say. He doesn't give a reason. But he wants a permanent stronghold here. And Sauron would be as good a reason as any.»

«Permanent?» Rameldir asked, raising his voice. «He commands us to stay here? He doesn't want us to come back?»

«It's an offer and not a command,» Elrond answered. «He offers me the lordship of this area, under him as High King, if I want to settle down here. He'll reorganize his army, and offer everyone the choice to be part of it either here or in Lindon. He told me to tell you about it before telling anyone else. So that's what I'm doing.»

Rameldir stared at his kinsman.

«What are you going to do?» he asked. «Have you decided yet?»

«I've been thinking about it ever since the letter arrived,» Elrond admitted. «And my mind is finally made up. I'm going to accept the offer. Your friend is right, Rameldir! This could become a homely house. A mansion, almost a small city in itself, with extentions and flats and guestrooms for scores of people. In times of peace it could be a centre for lore and arts, we could compile a library – and there would be training grounds for the arts of war as well. It could be a place to be reknown for its beauty, for its parks and gardens and forests – it could be a home, Rameldir. I could finally have a home.»

Rameldir knew. They had talked about this before. Not very often, because it was a sore spot for both of them.

Rameldir had been orphaned at the fall of Gondolin, and Tuor and Idril had fostered the little boy who was Idril's kinsman.

Elrond – well, hadn't he been orphaned when Eärendil went on his first voyage? He had hardly seen his father since then. And his mother disappeared when the settlement at the mouths of Sirion fell. Elrond had told – not entirely without bitterness – how the people who later took him and his brother, almost young men then, away from Maglor's camp, were talking about 'rescuing' them. But he hadn't seen it primarily as a rescue – he had been taken away from the only father figure he had ever had. It had taken him very long to settle down in Lindon. And then there was the war in Eregion, and his existence was broken up again. Rameldir could see how this could be a chance for Elrond finally to settle down.

But what about himself?

«So I'm free to choose?» he asked, his voice a bit more chilly than he had meant it to be. «I can stay here as the Captain of your archers, or I can go back to Lindon to be the Captain of Gil-galad's archers?»

«It's meant to be an offer either way,» Elrond said. «An offer of a new home for you here, if you want it. And even if you should choose that this is also your chance to go somewhere else and create a home of your own, without either of us, you will always be welcome as a guest in my home or in that of the High King. And if there is another war, we will call you back into our service.»

«I need time to think about it,» Rameldir murmured. «I was expecting us to be called back – not this. A new home – I hope you won't need my answer very soon, Elrond. I may need a lot of time to think.»

[Earniel]

Hallindel woke slowly. She knew it was later than her usual hour of rising, but the bed was comfortable and she had no pressing matters to attend to before noon. Outside her window the morning birds were busily twittering and chattering, generally making too much noise for her to go back to sleep.

“I’m up! I’m up!” Hallindel cried as she wildly pulled open the curtains, noticing with a little satisfaction that the movement startled the noisy birds. “But why should I wake up already when a few moments ago you all were still singing lullabies?” she added, laughing.

The birds, still twittering with mock-indignation, settled on branches a little further from her window. Hallindel whistled a few teasing notes at them and then let them be. She dressed and went downstairs, deciding on a short beach-walk before breakfast. Her dreams had been somewhat troubled that night, and she wanted to walk away the restless feeling.

The weather was fine, somewhat windy, but the sun shone warmly. There were gulls in the air and Hallindel tried to mimic their sorrowful cries on her flute. But she quickly grew tired of it when she couldn’t find the right pitch. And she was still too restless to engage in the experiment fully and so she turned back on the path to the settlement.

On her way back to her house, she passed the harbour. The harbour always contained at least a handful of boats, patiently bobbing on the tides, ever ready to depart in an instant to carry those who wished across. But sadly, Hallindel thought, neither the boats or the people ever came back. She spotted several of her brother’s friends, trying to mend a mast that had gotten damaged in the last storm.

“Where is Halweg?” she inquired after a wave and a greeting. “The forge, as usual,” the others replied. “As usual, indeed,” she repeated quietly. All too usual.

Forgoing breakfast once again, she walked briskly towards the forge where she found her brother working on an ornate belt-buckle, alternatively heating and hammering on the metal.

“Still hiding in your forge, Halweg?” she said as way of greeting. “Withdrawing once again in your comfort-zone?”
“Don’t you, Hallindel? You wear your comfort right there,” he said, indicating the reed flute that still hung around her neck. Mindful of the heat of the forge she took the flute off and put in a padded leather pouch on her belt. Her brother watched her do so with a smile.

“Unfortunately, one cannot take a forge along in a pouch,” he added.
“I’m sure you would have tried, if it were possible,” Hallindel quipped back.
“What else would you have me do, sister? Abandon all this and go West instead, as did Losseloth?”
Hallindel clacked her tongue in disappointment. “You know better than anyone that some wounds cannot be healed here,” she said softly. “You didn’t use to begrudge her her choice.”
Halweg’s shoulders tightened. “No," he said equally softly, “I did not.”

She suddenly grabbed his arm, pulled herself closer and lay her head on his shoulder, like she had done so many times before. “You’re still hiding, whether it’s behind words or in your forge. You hide away here, because you do not want to see the sea or hear the gulls,” she said quietly. “You do not want to remember that most Elves who come here, have already left in their minds and are here only to make matters official and leave physically as well. You do not want to go yet, so you hide away. So tell me, Halweg, is it truly only me who wants to go elsewhere that is not the West just yet?”

For a moment he stood speechless, but just when he breathed in to reply, her cry of warning cut him short.

With an annoyed growl, he pulled the buckle back out of the fire, where he had held it too long and now it was bending in the great heat.

“Hallindel! This is exactly why I asked you not to distract me when I’m working.”

“And when am I supposed to distract you otherwise?” she asked pointedly, but without anger, She put her hands on her hips and gave her brother a stern look. “I did not see you go home yesterday evening and I did not see you come here in the morning.”

She decided not to mention her rising late in relation to the latter. “You are nearly always in your forge, brother. I’m surprised those pinchers haven’t grown into your skin yet.”

He sighed, and as soon as he had put the buckle down, he threw up his hands in frustration. “Then what would you have me do, Hallindel? I can see you are trying to state a point but you tarry in the making.”

“Tarry is all you and I do! Yet I grow tired of waiting for something I know will not come soon. The vast expanse of Arda isn’t standing still while we dream here in Mithlond. Life out there isn’t standing still like it does in here. What will you say, when you do depart these shores and see Losseloth again, when she asks you what you have done with your years here? Will you say: I have made a thousand belt-buckles, seven hundred ornate spear-tips, six hundred and seventy rings and pendants but I never saw a single sunrise over Eriador or a heard the Elves sing in Lothlórien?”

“It would have been nine hundred ornate spear-tips, though...” Halweg began. He held up his hands in a sign of peace and smiled when he saw her eyes flash with indignation. “But is that what you want to see, Hallindel? A sunrise over Eriador and the songs of Lóthlorien?”

“Maybe, Halweg,” his sister replied. “Or rather, it is not only what I want to see, but what, perhaps, we need to. Both of us have seen the dark sides of war and destruction, even moreso than we liked. But there is calm and quiet now. Should we not bear witness to that as well, before it is gone again? Do you not want to see that as well?”

“I…do.” Halweg said hesitantly, as if the thought never had occurred to him before now.

Hallindel smiled. “Excellent!” She said. “I knew you would.”

“Where are you going?” he yelled after her, as she skipped up the stairs and left the forge.
“To find others whose song has not been sung in full yet!” she replied enthusiastically. She poked her head back through the doorway. “Why?” she asked with a mischievous smile. “Are you really sure you want to travel with me alone for many months to come?”

Her brother managed only a crooked, unsure smile as reply. Hallindel ran away, laughing gaily, leaving her brother wondering whether this was really what he wanted after all.

[Varnafindë]

He used to go for long walks along the shores of Lindon. Here he had taken to go for walks along the river instead. There was something soothing about the sound of water - although the sound of the river was very different from the sound of the sea.

Rameldir had expected to be called back to Lindon - back home - for a long time now. He had never thought that it would be a matter of choice. He was a soldier, although a captain - he was used to obedience, to show it to the few above him in rank, to expect it from all those under him. Now he was allowed to make his own decision for such a far-reaching choice as this. It was something of a novelty.

What did he want?

He didn't know. Going back to Lindon would be simple. He would fall back into the routines there. Some things would have to be new, of course - new lodgings and new staff, as those who were not going with him into battle had been released before he went. A captain going to battle needs to prepare for the possibility that he may never come back.

Who would miss him if he never came back?

Gil-galad hadn't seemed to miss him too much these years. They had been seeing each other, though, which might make a difference. Gil-galad surely would have mourned him if he had fallen in battle. But his cousin seemed to be satisfied with seeing him only occasionally. Although even he would know what it was like to be bereft of family at an early age ...

And it would be the same with the friends he had had. If he could visit them occasionally, that would be enough. His closest friend, Calimon, had moved away himself, actually. He lived on the other side of the Misty Mountains now.

What would it be like to accept Elrond's offer of a home here?

Rameldir stopped for a while, looking back along the river to the little hamlet where they had been living for all these years. They got on well enough together - and he was sure that Elrond would let him have a comfortable flat in the new mansion he was planning to build. Elrond had mentioned his plans to him only briefly after the evening when he had broken the news to him. He had accepted his need to think, and hadn't tried to get an answer from him. And Rameldir knew that his offer was genuinely meant.

Would he be feeling that he was living on Elrond's charity? No, he corrected himself. It wouldn't be charity - he would be in Elrond's service, just as he had been for these twenty years - he would be earning his keep. And if they could maintain the peace, as they had done for so long now - perhaps there would be the chance of peaceful pursuits again. He remembered with fondness the library of the High King's palace at Lindon. He wouldn't mind helping to recreate something resembling that. But would there be the feeling of dependence?

Rameldir sat down on a rock by the river. The sound of running water - water running off to somewhere else, somewhere he hadn't seen - enticed him in a way the sound of the sea didn't.

Would it be better to start from scratch somewhere new?

He realized that he didn't really know enough to be able to decide. He had travelled, yes, but only on errands for the High King, not to get to know the area anywhere. Not to try to find out whether this was a place where he would have liked to stay for longer - where he might like to stay permanently. That had not been an issue, and thus he hadn't even thought about it. Perhaps he ought to investigate, before making his final decision? He couldn't really see himself roaming about all over the place all by himself, though. Not for anything as vague as that.

He should try to talk to people who knew more about other places than he did himself. He could talk to Ainon, who had travelled a lot. He was sure that Ainon would prefer to stay at Rivendell, though. He had really taken to the place, and was already half settled here. He would probably advise Rameldir to stay as well - but he would give his opinion of other places, if Rameldir asked. Some investigation would be in order.

Rameldir rose and headed back for the hamlet. He would talk to Ainon after supper. No reason to delay it any further.

[Willow Oran]

He could see the whole of the valley from this eastern perch beside the highest of the waterfalls. The hamlet squatted far below and when he leaned back he could not see the huts at all, only the jewel toned meadows laced with veins of glittering foam, flanked by towering cliffs of banded stone, climbing, clinging evergreens giving the impression of a hanging garden, planted and forgotten. Hidden.

The trouble with hiding, the elf thought to himself, was that once you were in the habit, it was very difficult to stop. But stop you must, eventually. He could attest to that. Not that it had stopped him from hiding now, from what, even he was uncertain. Nothing, he decided, he had only wanted to think for a bit and there was precious little privacy below. No, the buildings they had managed were of little use for ought but surviving. He suspected even the nomadic Green-Elves of Ossiriand would have managed something of more sophistication, and then realized the comparison was useless. Neither the people nor the place still existed in recognizable form and he had never seen them when they had. He’d been hiding. So had they. It’d been hiding all around in those days. Useless in the long term, but now, again. How long had they been in this valley? Twenty years? Not so long yet; but how quickly twenty would become a century, a yen, three yen and all the while everyone insisting that they weren’t hiding, it was good here, beautiful, and look at all they had built, and then just as they’d get restless there would be another siege, then fear, then stay or go you’ll die either way. Depressing.

The elf inhaled sharply as a strong gust lifted spray from the falls to spatter over him. The cold water brought him back from lonely thoughts and he shook it from his eyes, scooting across the ledge to a dryer spot. Smiling ruefully he unfolded the now slightly damp letter which had prompted this bout of over-thinking. The ink had begun to blur but that hardly mattered, he had read it over enough already.

Too many curious relations, that was the problem. Gil-Galad was merely one more, even if he was currently the king. They were all quite bad at hiding their thoughts, each of them were wondering what he would do now he had returned, why he had returned in the first place. They could keep wondering, the elf thought stubbornly, it was no one’s business, well, Elrond’s perhaps, but no one else’s what he did, was doing here. There had been an opportunity, and desire, and then promises made to other cousins, well beloved. He had not thought to be once again hidden. Hm.

The elf realized that his fingers were tapping the stone restlessly and stopped. Hiding up here and thinking in circles would not help anything. He needed to move. Glorfindel stood, stretched and prepared to climb back down the precarious trail he had found leading up the eastern wall of the valley. He would talk to Elrond. Surely the Peredhel wouldn’t begrudge him time to see this new land before settling to keep his promises.

[Rían]

Alariel, from her vantage point in the branches of a tree by the quay, turned away from watching her brother and his friend to once more look at the interesting proceedings of the woman passing by.

She was a woman on a mission: that much was clear. She had first caught Alariel's eye an hour or so ago by the determined set of her head and the purposefulness of her stride - both unusual in this strange, dreamlike, halfway sort of place that she currently called home, for lack of a better word. The eyes of so many of the people here seemed to never quite be looking at things in the present; instead, they seemed to be looking either ahead or behind. The eyes of those looking ahead weren't so bad - they were just hopeful, or filled with longing and even excitement for the journey over the sea and the loved ones with whom they would be reunited. But the eyes of those looking back were what sometimes haunted her in the middle of the night, when her own eyes had that same distant look and she herself could not find rest.

Alariel shook her head, and a rueful smile crossed her face. When she had shared these thoughts with Alagos, her brother, he had laughed at her and called these thoughts just a silly fancy. He was one of the clear-eyed ones. But lately, his eyes had also changed. However, he wasn't looking ahead or behind - he was watching his brother-friend Tyaron. And watching him closely - as if he were waiting for something, and did not want to miss it.

The woman passed close by Alariel again, but this time she stopped, crossed her hands over her chest and heaved a frustrated sigh. Alariel recognized her as the sister of the jewel-smith Halweg, one whose eyes looked back far too often. As fellow survivors of Gondolin, Alariel and her brother knew Hallindel and Halweg, but only slightly, as they were in different houses and professions. Alariel's brother had been a famous archer in Gondolin, and he usually ran in the military circles, while Halweg was a swordsman but mostly, and foremost, a craftsman. And when Halweg came out of his forge, which wasn't often, he usually stayed with his friends who shared his trade.

Alariel and Hallindel knew each other better than their brothers knew each other, through their mutual love of music. But Alariel mostly played the harp, while Hallindel preferred flutes, and their paths had just not crossed very often.

Suddenly curious, Alariel purposefully shifted her position, causing Hallindel to look up at the slight noise.

"You in the tree and my brother in the forge - all is well!" she said with a wry grin on her face.

"At least I don't usually sleep in the trees!" answered Alariel with a laugh, which she immediately regretted upon seeing Hallindel's expression. "I'm sorry, that was ..."

"No, no, don't worry," said Hallindel. "So he did it again, didn’t he? I see I was right to chide him about it just earlier."

Both women were silent for a moment, looking out at the sea.

"Do you ... have you ever thought of leaving here?" asked Hallindel, suddenly curious to see if Alariel shared the feeling that had come upon her so strongly this morning.

Alariel climbed down the tree, dropped lightly to her feet next to Hallindel and shook her head. "I don't know why, but I'm just not ready to sail west yet," she answered slowly.

"No - I'm sorry, I meant leave here, but stay here - not sail. Just explore! Just see ..." she shook her head, grasping for words -or even notes- that would capture her sudden desire for travel better. Scolding Halweg out of his forge was somehow easier than explaining what exactly she wished to do.

Alariel turned away from the sea and looked thoughtfully into Hallindel's face.

"I have thought of leaving here - and I think my brother and his friend are thinking the same thing, although they haven't said so yet."

Hallindel tilted her head to one side and looked thoughtful as she considered this. Although she did not know them well, both were highly regarded in Mithlond. And while Halweg was an able warrior, it always was a wiser course on a long road to travel with a larger, abler company. Yes, those two would be good travelling companions.

Or rather, all three. For Alariel was a musician too, Hallindel recalled with some satisfaction. Her fingers drew music from the harp-strings that tugged the heart-strings at the same time. Suddenly, there was a promise of music unheard to this journey… Hallindel could almost hear it, and her heart beat faster.

"So," she said out loud, "if you think you can handle a somewhat single-minded jewel-smith and an overly cheerful flutist…”

She turned to face Alariel head-on, with an enthusiastic twinkle in her eye.

”How fast can you three pack?"

[Rían]

(placeholder for dream post if I come up with one ...)

[Earniel]

The morning came, all grey and wet. But the weather, it seems, could never dim the comfortable and pleasant atmosphere in the cottage of Tom Bombadil. The Elves woke from their deep slumber almost at the same moment. They felt refreshed in ways they could not describe. From the main room of the cottage, the delightful smell of freshly baked toast and breakfast wafted into the guest room.

Apart from the lavishly set breakfast table, the Elves found the main room empty: neither host could be found and the front door stood open. Outside, the murmuring rain poured down steadily, obscuring the world five feet from the cottage in a uniform grey curtain. The rain water coloured white as it ran down the chalky path. But as the Elves looked out into the rainy world, Hallindel imagined she could hear Goldberry’s merry laughter coming from out of the rain, further down the hill. Alagos and Tyaron briefly braved the endless rain to quickly check up on the pack-horse, which they found in a small stable behind the cottage. The pack-horse was happily munching away on greens in the company of a second horse, a sturdy, well-mannered horse that sedately chewed his own share of food.

Assuming their hosts hadn’t meant for them to wait, the five took place around the table and made good work of the breakfast. New dry logs had been placed near the fire place and soon an inviting fire was burning in the hearth.

Tom appeared a little later, appearing seemingly out of nowhere. His clothes were dry, but there was moisture glistening in his beard and his eyes shone brightly. He hung his hat with a large peacock feather on a peg and joined them at the fire. He asked his guests to excuse Goldberry for the day, the river-daughter had gone to visit her mother.

Today was no day for music. Instead, they just talked and found their talk strayed to many places and many aera’s long past and they found that Tom’s knowledge of them all wasn’t lacking. Tom talked of many things, just as he had promised, and took his audience further and further back in time. He talked of the mighty Sirion glistening in the sunlight, the pleasant grooves of Tasarinand, of fragrant fields in the seabreeze in Nevrast. He slowly moved beyond even his five guests’ long memories, taking them into endless forests dreaming under eternal starlight, a world that was not bound and only just filled with waking song. The first rain drop whispering, the first acorn falling, a sea that rolled steamingly onto new shores, a land that still singed with creative energies.

The Elves sat listening, mesmerised.

Hallindel stirred, as if waking from a deep dream. All was silent, even the rain had stopped, she noticed, but she hadn’t noticed just when. Today or yesterday? Had they only arrived at Tom’s cottage yesterday? It seemed like much longer.

She noticed Bombadil was looking at her, his eyes practically twinkled in the fire-light. “Have I answered your question?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, her voice sounding faint in her ears, “fuller than I imagined possible.”

[Earniel]

Soon after, the Elves were treated to a nourishing meal, the last they were to have in Tom Bombadil’s cottage. For the rain had stopped, and Tom predicted the night would be cool but pleasant and excellent for travel.

An hour before nightfall, the Elves had changed back into their travel gear while Tom saw to it that their packhorse was ready and loaded. The horse was as reluctant to leave the cosy stables as the Elves were to depart. But they had already stayed longer than they had intended, and they did not wish to impose any longer on Tom and Goldberry. And Rivendell was waiting.

Goldberry returned just in time to bid her guests farewell. She gave them a pack of food for on the road, three freshly baked bread-loaves, a pound of cheese, a pack of fragrant butter and a sealed bottle of mead.

In return Alariel gifted Goldberry with her new blue cloak, woven expertly by the weavers of Mithlond. Hallindel gave the reed flute she had made earlier while Halweg offered Bombadil an ornate dagger he had crafted himself. He doubted his host would ever have need of it, but his Elven forsight told him that Tom Bombadil was a host to many in need, and perhaps a future guest of the cottage would find use of it. The exchange of gifts was accompanied by many a fair word.

The world was still when the Elves stepped out of the cottage. The sun was edging towards the horizon. The rainclouds had disappeared, leaving a fresh, somewhat fragrant wet smell. Raindrops glistened like diamonds in the grass. The sky was clear, promising a magnificent starry night.

Tom told the Elves of the path ahead to Rivendell, showing he had great knowledge of that too. The Downs beyond Tom Bombadil’s house were easy enough to cross, but they had to avoid being caught in the Midgewater March, which was an unpleasant place for any warm-blooded creature. If they managed to keep it to their left, they’d only have to travel east to reach the Mitheithel river which was one of the last hurdles they would have to take.

“But take care!” Tom Bombadil warned their guests. “For the area beyond the Mitheithel is wooded, and Rivendell is a hidden place, even to keen Elven eyes! You would do well to seek out Elves in that area to guide you the last few miles.”

The Elves thanked the pair for their hospitality and advise and set off east. Towards Rivendell.

[Earniel]

With renewed courage, the five Elves made good progress. Tom Bombadil’s cottage lay already several weeks behind them and true to Tom’s instructions they had safely crossed the hills and successfully avoided Midgewater and its unpleasant inhabitants.

The road ahead still wound on.

When they reached the Weather Hills, they tarried for a while to climb the tallest mountain to get a good view of their surroundings. The lands around them lay silent and slumbering. Neither Man or Elf, building or smoke plume could be seen for many miles around. They compared the view with the map Cirdan had provided. But even with the magnificent sight before them, they had failed to get a clearer bearing on their destination.

Rivendell remained hidden from view.

Crossing the Mitheithel proved far easier than their crossing of the Branduin. But in contrast the road became less certain after that. They had reached the forrested feet of the Hithaeglir, the Misty Mountains. Paths were few, and most of them winding game paths and dried mountain streams. Uphill, they encountered deep-cut gullies and high-walled valleys. Often they had to detour to circumvent an impassable ravine.

And so, several days after the river-crossing, they found themselves utterly and utterly lost in the hills. They were stranded in sight of the harbour, or rather in proximity of the harbour for Rivendell had to be close but remained undiscovered.

“How about that path, then?” Hallindel said, indicating a faint path at a crossroad.
“No, it’s no good,” Halweg said. “That won’t get us anywhere.”
“How do you know?” Hallindel asked with a frown. “You haven’t even looked.”
“I know it’s no good, since it’s leading away from the Mountains, and if you forgot, sister, Rivendell is that way.” Halweg pointed towards the mountains behind him that by now obscured a good part of the Eastern sky.
“As if these paths go in one direction only! We’ve travelled dozens of paths already going in every way imaginable! Up! Down ! Left! Back! Right! Sideways! Or did you fail to notice that?” Hallindel said, angrily throwing her hands up.
“And clearly that hasn’t helped us any further, did it?” Halweg reminded her curtly.
Hallindel’s cheeks flushed. “Hah, looks who’s talking, did that path you were so sure of yesterday help us any further?”

Tyaron was about to intervene to soothe flaring tempers, but Alagos stopped him with a barely perceivable head-shake. Everybody was irritable by their failure to find Rivendell, but Halweg and Hallindel, being the youngest of the group, needed to vent their frustrations first before they went any further. Only siblings could rant at one another without meaning injury.

“If you have any worthwhile ideas, Hallindel, I’m all ears.”
“Why? So you can dismiss them out of hand again, like you did just now?”
“Oh, spare me the righteous indignation, you don’t know any better where to go next then I do.”
“At least I’m trying! And not giving up in advance like you.”

For a moment, brother and sister regarded each other, fuming silently. Halweg turned away first.

“Fine.” He said. “You four make camp here. I’ll be back.” Putting down his pack he started to walk away.
“Where are you going?!” Hallindel demanded, as if she did not want to be bereft of bickering that easily.
“I’m going to check out this bloody path of yours so I can prove it wasn’t good to begin with and say ‘I told you so’ without you getting on my case for once that I hadn’t looked.”

For a moment, Hallindel was speechless, she wanted to have the final word, but a good quip wasn’t immediately forthcoming.
“Fine.” She finally said to her brother’s back. She turned to look at her three remaining companions, silently daring them to make a comment and sat down in a huff.

“Make camp, it is,” Alagos said with a sigh.

Tyaron readied a fire, to be lit when night started to fall while Alariel and Alagos gathered firewood. Hallindel remained seated, still brooding and doing a passable attempt at moping.

With the camp ready, they waited for Halweg to return. None of them had anything to say. But tired of the oppressive silence, Alariel unpacked her harp and started tuning it, seemingly out of habit. If no one had any interest in talking, they might as well be silent and listen. And if she knew Hallindel well enough by now, the young Elf wouldn’t be able to resist a cheerful tune for long…

[Willow Oran]

A fortnight into working with Rameldir to remedy his visions Glorfindel had to once again stop to remind himself that he had never expected this to be a short process. Healing wasn’t. He knew that. Still, the visions remained constant in their appearance, and the lack of change was frustrating. After this morning’s session, Rameldir had excused himself to find Ainon and see if his friend would join him for some hunting outside the interior of the valley. Not a bad idea. Let his ease with the bow sooth Rameldir’s upset.

Glorfindel was calmer now, after an hour of solitude swimming in a quiet pool near the head of the valley. But getting out of the valley altogether didn’t sound so bad either. The late spring mists from the river that had been so pleasant this morning lingered humid and stifling in the warming air, and his still sweaty shirt felt clammy against his skin. On a different day it might have filled him with lethargy, and he might have spent the afternoon on his back in the meadow, watching the birds through eyes half-closed against the sun. But not today.

Today he was going to be restless if he didn’t find something to do. He could feel the impatience prickling beneath his skin and knew that no amount of running within the confines of the valley would satisfy. Well that was all right. The guards at the entry points above needed checking on, and if Glorfindel happened to join one of the patrols for a short sweep of the borders… that was all right too. Elrond might not approve of the spontaneity, but during a peaceful lull there would be no harm done.

Impatience channeled into a plan, Glorfindel arrived at his quarters, and left them again as quickly, having changed into clean(er) clothing and his leather armor – unlikely to need mail today, and with the heat why be weighed down?