12. A Wondrous Place

       We’ve got to be getting close to the end; we’ve been doing this for hours. Though I was okay and in no danger of passing out, my legs were at their wits end. They protested walking further, but I pushed them forward. Truthfully, every part of me felt exhausted. I felt drained.

            Just when I was about ready to consider collapsing on the floor, a new noise livened me up: roaring water. We had no such thing back in the Shire. We had tame rivers that looked beautiful but could be deadly if you weren’t careful. It wasn’t common for a Hobbit to know how to swim.

            I felt I could breathe more once I was away from the walls of the pathway. I stood up on a higher part of the path as the Dwarves made their way downwards. My eyes bugged in wonder. Next to the Shire, this was the most magnificent place I had ever looked upon in my life.

            The first thing my eyes looked at was the waterfall, how it gushed smoothly. The noise was much calmer compared to other noises I’d heard recently. I noticed a small, smooth stone bridge that closed the gap between where we were and what lay on the other side. A massive building, looking to house royalty of some sort, lay on the opposite side of us. The sun hit it in all the right places, giving it a mystical quality.

I wondered who dwelled here. Elves? More Dwarves? Man perhaps? Or was there some other species I had yet to know about in Middle-earth?

            “The Valley of Imladris,” Gandalf announced, snapping me out of my dazed state. “In the common tongue, it’s known by another name.”

            “Rivendell,” Bilbo murmured under his breath.

            “You know this place?” I asked him.

            “I’ve read about it loads of times.”

            “Here lies the Last Homely Home East of the Sea.” Gandalf said the name fondly, as though he had been here before. Knowing that he was a Wizard, he very well could have visited before now. It wouldn’t surprise me any.

            “Could you imagine living here?” I whispered.

            “It wouldn’t be like home, Lily,” Bilbo reminded me.

            “I know that. It has a more…regal feel to me. Gosh, what I wouldn’t give to have Jack see this!” Consciously, I fingered my wedding ring.

            Not long after Gandalf and Thorin had a heated discussion which I didn’t catch a word of, Gandalf led our party down the continued pathway, heading for the stone bridge that met us at the end of the way. I couldn’t help the smile that crossed my lips. I couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed by such a new, wondrous place. Curiosity ran through my veins, I wanted to know something about Rivendell.

            As we crossed the bridge, I looked down to see the water way down below running swiftly. For some reason, a knot formed in my stomach. Heights didn’t normally bother me; I climbed trees whenever I got the chance to. Maybe it’s because this is no tree, and if something should happen, there’s no way to stop myself from hitting the ground, or the water in this case.

            Until I stepped foot off the bridge, I kept my eyes up and forward.

            We all got together on a platform. I didn’t know what to expect now. Were we even welcome here? Well, if Gandalf led us here, we must be. He wouldn’t lead us into danger purposely, it’s what we’re trying to avoid after all.

            I could feel tension fly around us. It ebbed off the Dwarves like foul body odor. What had them on edge? I mean, I could understand their reason, being that we had just been chased by Warg scouts. Still, somehow, Rivendell made me feel safe, like I was protected here. No thought of touching my knife or bow went through my mind. I visibly relaxed, my body lost all stiffness the moment I exhaled softly.

            For a while, we all stood there, wondering what was going to happen next. Movement from a stairwell before us caught my attention. At the top of the stairs, descending lithely, looked to be a tall Man, with long, dark hair. Wait…no, he can’t be a Man. Men don’t have pointed ears. Was Rivendell home to Elves, then, if not Men?

            “Mithrandir,” the Elf greeted. Who was he addressing?

            “Ah,” Gandalf responded warmly. “Lindir.” That answers that question.

            “Stay sharp,” I heard Thorin mutter to his companions. My brows furrowed. Apparently Rivendell’s calming atmosphere didn’t work on Dwarves, as though they had immunity to it.

            We were temporarily left out of the conversation when Lindir spoke in a different language, most likely Elvish. Even though I didn’t understand a word, somehow, the words sounded beautiful. Rivendell had every aspect of beauty within it, from the very place to the language spoken in it.

            “I must speak with Lord Elrond,” Gandalf said, bringing me back to the present.

            “My Lord Elrond is not here,” Lindir said simply.

            “Not here? Where is he?”

            A vaguely familiar noise rang out in the air. Brief noises of battle echoed in my head, making it pound slightly. But we’re not in no man’s land; we’re in a place of Elves. Oh…I smacked my forehead. How come it didn’t occur to me that maybe the Elves that had met the scouts lived here?

            We all whirled around to hear hooves thundering and see a collection of grey horses, being led by a black, gallop their way across the bridge.

            “Close ranks!” Thorin ordered.

            Immediately, the Dwarves huddled together in a tight circle, forcing Bilbo and I in the middle. Irritated, I jumped to try and see what they were so defensive about. The riders circled our circle, the Dwarves snarled and crouched. The riders pacing around us made me almost dizzy.

            It wasn’t hard to figure out who the leader of this group was; he rode the only black horse. He gave off a regal air to me, so it was very possible that this was the Lord Elrond Gandalf was seeking. I’d never been in the presence of any royalty before, so I had no idea what to do.

 I felt stupid for staring, as I had never seen Elves before. True, I had heard of them, but I was never actually close to one. They contrasted Men differently; they looked leaner, had paler skin, and had an overall graceful appearance. Personally, I’d never seen many Men in my life, but it was obvious Men looked nothing like Elves, just like Dwarves looked nothing like Hobbits.

            “Gandalf,” greeted the Elf on the only black horse in the troop. He had a wise air about him; his dark hair fell down around him.

            “Lord Elrond,” Gandalf greeted in return.

            They began an entirely different conversation in a language I didn’t recognize but assumed to be Elvish. I didn’t bother to attempt to guess what they were saying; I simply didn’t have the mental energy to try. I listened tiredly as the Wizard and Elf talked.

            Soon, Lord Elrond dismounted. He murmured something else before embracing Gandalf. I yawned.

            “Strange for Orcs to come so close to our borders,” Lord Elrond mused. “Something or someone has drawn them near.” I felt blush creep into my cheeks, not that anyone noticed.

            “That may have been us,” Gandalf confessed.

            In front, I saw Thorin edge closer to Lord Elrond and Gandalf. I would have gotten out of the circle if I could; only I would have to shove my way out. I stood on my tiptoes, trying to see.

            “Welcome, Thorin, son of Thrain,” Elrond said warmly.

            “I do not believe we have met,” Thorin said lowly, cautiously.

            “You have your grandfather’s bearing. I knew Thror when he ruled Under the Mountain.”

            “Indeed? He made no mention of you.”

            The air around us was thick with tension; I could probably swipe my knife through it. It was obvious that Dwarves and Elves didn’t see eye-to-eye. You didn’t need to hear about their histories to know it; you could see it with how they interacted.

            Elrond spoke in Elvish again. This time, I was slightly irritated. Was it too much to ask to stay in Westron, that way we could all understand what he was saying?

            I wasn’t the only one who was irritated by the foreign language.

            “What is he saying?” growled the one auburn-bearded Dwarf in our company. “Does he offer us insult?”

            “No, Master Gloin, he’s offering you food,” Gandalf said.

            This caught the Dwarves’ attention. I snickered, listening to them murmur to each other. Surely free food wouldn’t be passed up.

            “Well, in that case, lead on.”

            We were led into Rivendell. My eyes couldn’t help but take in what was around me. A few Elves roamed. In terms of beauty, the men and women were equal, though I was sure the women had a bit of an upper hand. It was things like this that made me glad I decided to make that pact with Bilbo all those years ago.

            If I hadn’t, I would have never seen Rivendell.

            We were led to an outdoor dining area near sunset. The Dwarves minus Thorin, Bilbo, and I all sat at one table while Elrond took Gandalf and Thorin somewhere to talk. The setup of the table, though it looked small, was very elegant. There were even a few Elves playing instruments, one a harp and another a big flute. The music was enchanting. Everything about this Elven place had me in a trance.

            I didn’t care what food the Elves had to offer us, food was food to me. I didn’t care that there was no ounce of meat in our meals, I scarfed down the greens like I had been starving for weeks. I sat on the other side of Bilbo, looking at Rivendell’s landscape.

            “Try it,” said one of the Dwarves to the youngest. The youngest held a huge thing of lettuce in his hand. “Just a mouthful.”

            “I don’t like green food,” the youngest complained.

            “Where’s the meat?” asked the burly Dwarf as he crushed his salad with his fingers, searching for the illusive meat.

            “Have they got any chips?”

            “Boys and their food,” I muttered, popping in another bite of greens.

            “Kind of you to invite us,” I heard Gandalf’s voice. “Not really dressed for dinner.”

            “Well, you never are,” Elrond countered lightly. I heard three pairs of feet walk behind my back, heading towards another table not far from ours.

            There wasn’t much talking amongst our table, so the Elves’ music flowed through my ears. It almost lulled me to sleep, reminding me how exhausted I was. I nearly conked out into my meal, but Lord Elrond’s voice kept me awake.

            “This is Orcrist, the Goblin-cleaver,” he said. I turned my head to see him observing a sword. “A famous blade forged by the High Elves of the West, my kin.” He handed the weapon back to Thorin. “May it serve you well.” Gandalf handed the Elf his weapon next. “And this is Glamdring, the Foehammer. Sword of the King of Gondolin. These were made for the Goblin Wars of the First Age.”

            My eyes slipped down to Bilbo’s lap, where he was examining his weapon Gandalf had given him. I wondered if my knife or arrows had any special names to them. Probably not.

            “I wouldn’t bother, laddie,” Balin told him. “Swords are named for the great deeds they do in war.”

            “What are you saying, my sword hasn’t seen battle?” my best friend retorted lightly.

            “I’m not actually sure it is a sword. More of a letter opener, really.”

            “Hey, don’t think about it too much,” I said, elbowing Bilbo playfully in the ribs. “My bow and knife don’t have names.”

            “Speaking of that,” Kili interrupted, “I need to train you up, Red.”

            “I was about to ask you about that. I would suggest around here, but I don’t think Lord Elrond or any of the Elves would approve.”

            “You could always ask, it couldn’t hurt,” Bilbo said thoughtfully. “Besides, if more danger comes, you need to be prepared.”

            I touched the knife hilt with the tips of my fingers. I wondered if Kili could also teach me how to properly throw a knife. Though, thinking about it, maybe that wasn’t a good idea. I would waste all of my arrows before my knife.

            “While we’re on the subject of names,” I said slowly, “we haven’t been settled down enough for me to get them all from you. I can only match a few names to a few faces.”

            Giving the Dwarves something to dwell on besides the fact that their food was only greens, I got the names of the Dwarves I didn’t really interact with. One name I could put to a Dwarf was Dwalin, who was the burliest out of the bunch. Then there was Ori, the youngest who complained about the food. I couldn’t forget Gloin either, who had a mass of auburn facial hair. I also couldn’t forget Bombur, the chunky cook out of the company.

            I got the rest of the names in addition to those I could put faces to: Dori, Nori, Oin, and Bifur. At least I could identify more than half of the Dwarves. Remembering every single one, now that would be a challenge.

            This seems like a dream, but it isn’t. I tried to tune out everything but couldn’t escape listening to the Elves’ haunting music fly in the air around me.