Status: complete
Thalion Faer, Doltha Hún
Safety Under The Stars
I inhaled the cool night air; a longing feeling taking over me as it chilled my lungs. The northern forests were far behind me; a dark abyss of trees harbouring memories of my years. Each branch like a day, emotion, thought; intertwined and connecting, but uniquely different all the same. They would remain there for years to come, much like the memories in my mind, in my heart.
Feredir was trotting at a slow, steady pace beneath me. The grains of dirt and twigs crunched beneath his feet as we went onward down the winding road. His hair rivaled the blackness of the night sky; except for a single patch of white behind his right ear, shaped relatively like a “V.” V for Vanya, I used to pretend. He was always my favourite; my oldest friend.
One of my oldest friends.
But I didn’t own him, I never would. Feredir, it was Elvish for “Wanderer.” We were one in the same, him and I. Both homesick as ever, and I knew now was the time to return home. To Gondor. It had been so long since I’d been home. It had been so many moons since anywhere felt like home. I would pass through the infamous Shire, and make sure to rest in Rivendell during my journey home.
I hadn’t seen Lord Elrond for many winters and I missed him dearly. One does not easily get by when living alone, fending for oneself. Elrond helped me beyond measure when I arrived in Rivendell. I was beaten, bruised, hungry and frozen. I had regretted leaving so terribly by then, I wanted to cry. He took me in as if I was his daughter, and for a number of years he raised me.
Since the day I left, the small city of Fornost had become my home. It was a nearly uninhabited town on the outskirts of the Lost Realm of Arnor. I existed, day to day, with only one purpose. To be strong. Not by physical strength, but with knowledge. There were things Lord Elrond taught me, shared with me, that were of more value than all the gold and jewels in all of Middle Earth.
All of the Nomads roaming through Arnor were wanderers, here by either chance or choice, but here nonetheless. Every now and again you came across important people. Like Gandalf the Grey, a wise and great Wizard designated as the bearer of the ring Nayna. My respect for him was infinite, and I treasured each moment I spent in his presence.
He had taught me many things in a short time, passing onto me knowledge that would no doubt help me in the future. The future I would hopefully be spending in Gondor. I wondered if it had changed, if the people were different. I hoped it was better than it was when I left; for the city of Minas Tirith was neither beautiful nor bold in heart. Osgiliath was claimed by Mordor, and hope was beginning to fade. We had no King, only a steward. Lord Denethor was by no means worthy to rule over Gondor, and he never would. I was confident a King would return. One day.
What I was, was unheard of. Nearly nowhere else in Middle Earth would you find a woman, travelling alone, and capable of wielding both a sword and bow. I took pride in my fighting abilities, for they had been refined time and again by different friends, companions. In fact, I could fight better than some men. I was sure both my mother and father would be proud.
I wondered if I could visit Thranduil as well. He was the king of wood elves that inhabited the northernmost corner of Mirkwood, and he was a most generous king and dear friend. So full of joy was his kingdom, so full of peace; it was hard to believe their spirits could remain so high when they sat on the doorstep of such a dark forest.
Yes, I would visit him; perhaps see his son Legolas again. We had become friends, in my short time there. Just like I had befriended Arwen Undomiel when living with Lord Elrond. The both of them accepted me instantly despite the fact that I was human and they were Elf-kind. I was so tired of being alone, now. I missed the people I’d met, the feeling of a city to depend on. The void that was created in me only grew with time.
The Old North Road would come upon the forests of Chetwood soon, just shy of the town of Bree. The road wound all the way down to Minas Tirith, and it would be the quicker route had I not wanted to make a few stops. The Old North Road became The Greenway after Bree, and after crossing the Old Bridge into Tharbad it became The Old South Road, which ran through the Gap of Rohan, past Helm’s Deep and Edoras, where it finally became The Great West Road and ended in Gondor.
I would not be coming this way again for many, many years though; I wanted to make the most of it while I could. I tried to map out my location in my head, imagining the Brandywine River that spouted from Lake Evendium in Annuminas, bent all the way through Buckland and beyond, ending and becoming one with Belegaer, the Great Sea to the west. The Old North Road ran parallel with the Brandywine River until the Sarn Ford, where they began to branch in opposite directions. But I wasn’t going that far down the road.
Bree was close, and we would rest for one day’s time there. The town was a haven for travelers, for many a people came in and out without dropping so much as a name. Folk in these parts of the world were never settlers, always travelers. Something that the race of Hobbits inhabiting the Shire had to deal with at times, for everyone like to take a shortcut.
I had met a hobbit once, not all that long ago. We stumbled into one another in the woods and he spoke of leaving the Shire. He said he was headed for Rivendell, where he wanted to stay with the Elves. I wondered how he could ever dream of leaving the Shire: its beauty was unparallel. But I grew to understand that we were the same; just searching for something more.
His name was Bilbo Baggins, and went with him to Bree that day. We sat down for a pint in the Prancing Pony and exchanged stories of far off adventures. He had lived a most interesting one hundred and eleven years. He talked of his journey all the way to the lonely mountain; the goblins, the forests of Mirkwood, eluding Thranduil’s guards by using a magical ring, even outsmarting the dragon Smaug. He was a most odd Hobbit, having friends among Men, Wizards, Elves, and Dwarves alike. He was a riot to have, his talking style animated and upbeat. When we parted, I wished him well but still wondered if one day I may stumble into him once more.
Perhaps he was going home too.
Feredir was trotting at a slow, steady pace beneath me. The grains of dirt and twigs crunched beneath his feet as we went onward down the winding road. His hair rivaled the blackness of the night sky; except for a single patch of white behind his right ear, shaped relatively like a “V.” V for Vanya, I used to pretend. He was always my favourite; my oldest friend.
One of my oldest friends.
But I didn’t own him, I never would. Feredir, it was Elvish for “Wanderer.” We were one in the same, him and I. Both homesick as ever, and I knew now was the time to return home. To Gondor. It had been so long since I’d been home. It had been so many moons since anywhere felt like home. I would pass through the infamous Shire, and make sure to rest in Rivendell during my journey home.
I hadn’t seen Lord Elrond for many winters and I missed him dearly. One does not easily get by when living alone, fending for oneself. Elrond helped me beyond measure when I arrived in Rivendell. I was beaten, bruised, hungry and frozen. I had regretted leaving so terribly by then, I wanted to cry. He took me in as if I was his daughter, and for a number of years he raised me.
Since the day I left, the small city of Fornost had become my home. It was a nearly uninhabited town on the outskirts of the Lost Realm of Arnor. I existed, day to day, with only one purpose. To be strong. Not by physical strength, but with knowledge. There were things Lord Elrond taught me, shared with me, that were of more value than all the gold and jewels in all of Middle Earth.
All of the Nomads roaming through Arnor were wanderers, here by either chance or choice, but here nonetheless. Every now and again you came across important people. Like Gandalf the Grey, a wise and great Wizard designated as the bearer of the ring Nayna. My respect for him was infinite, and I treasured each moment I spent in his presence.
He had taught me many things in a short time, passing onto me knowledge that would no doubt help me in the future. The future I would hopefully be spending in Gondor. I wondered if it had changed, if the people were different. I hoped it was better than it was when I left; for the city of Minas Tirith was neither beautiful nor bold in heart. Osgiliath was claimed by Mordor, and hope was beginning to fade. We had no King, only a steward. Lord Denethor was by no means worthy to rule over Gondor, and he never would. I was confident a King would return. One day.
What I was, was unheard of. Nearly nowhere else in Middle Earth would you find a woman, travelling alone, and capable of wielding both a sword and bow. I took pride in my fighting abilities, for they had been refined time and again by different friends, companions. In fact, I could fight better than some men. I was sure both my mother and father would be proud.
I wondered if I could visit Thranduil as well. He was the king of wood elves that inhabited the northernmost corner of Mirkwood, and he was a most generous king and dear friend. So full of joy was his kingdom, so full of peace; it was hard to believe their spirits could remain so high when they sat on the doorstep of such a dark forest.
Yes, I would visit him; perhaps see his son Legolas again. We had become friends, in my short time there. Just like I had befriended Arwen Undomiel when living with Lord Elrond. The both of them accepted me instantly despite the fact that I was human and they were Elf-kind. I was so tired of being alone, now. I missed the people I’d met, the feeling of a city to depend on. The void that was created in me only grew with time.
The Old North Road would come upon the forests of Chetwood soon, just shy of the town of Bree. The road wound all the way down to Minas Tirith, and it would be the quicker route had I not wanted to make a few stops. The Old North Road became The Greenway after Bree, and after crossing the Old Bridge into Tharbad it became The Old South Road, which ran through the Gap of Rohan, past Helm’s Deep and Edoras, where it finally became The Great West Road and ended in Gondor.
I would not be coming this way again for many, many years though; I wanted to make the most of it while I could. I tried to map out my location in my head, imagining the Brandywine River that spouted from Lake Evendium in Annuminas, bent all the way through Buckland and beyond, ending and becoming one with Belegaer, the Great Sea to the west. The Old North Road ran parallel with the Brandywine River until the Sarn Ford, where they began to branch in opposite directions. But I wasn’t going that far down the road.
Bree was close, and we would rest for one day’s time there. The town was a haven for travelers, for many a people came in and out without dropping so much as a name. Folk in these parts of the world were never settlers, always travelers. Something that the race of Hobbits inhabiting the Shire had to deal with at times, for everyone like to take a shortcut.
I had met a hobbit once, not all that long ago. We stumbled into one another in the woods and he spoke of leaving the Shire. He said he was headed for Rivendell, where he wanted to stay with the Elves. I wondered how he could ever dream of leaving the Shire: its beauty was unparallel. But I grew to understand that we were the same; just searching for something more.
His name was Bilbo Baggins, and went with him to Bree that day. We sat down for a pint in the Prancing Pony and exchanged stories of far off adventures. He had lived a most interesting one hundred and eleven years. He talked of his journey all the way to the lonely mountain; the goblins, the forests of Mirkwood, eluding Thranduil’s guards by using a magical ring, even outsmarting the dragon Smaug. He was a most odd Hobbit, having friends among Men, Wizards, Elves, and Dwarves alike. He was a riot to have, his talking style animated and upbeat. When we parted, I wished him well but still wondered if one day I may stumble into him once more.
Perhaps he was going home too.