Thalion Faer, Doltha Hún

“Keep up, little hobbits!” I called backwards as I marched alongside Feredir.

“Where are you taking us?” Frodo asked wearily. The four of them huddled together, leading the ranger’s horse behind me while staring at the man wearily.

“Into the wild.” He replied. I sighed, knowing that if I were in the hobbit’s position, that would in no way reassure me.

“How do we know this Strider is a friend of Gandalf?” Meriadoc asked. So that’s what the ranger’s name was, Strider.

“I think a servant of the enemy would look fairer and feel fouler.” Frodo said to his friends.

“He’s foul enough…” Meriadoc grumbled.

“Well we have no choice but to trust him.” Frodo replied quickly.

“But where is he leading us?” Samwise whispered.

“To Rivendell, Master Gamgee.” Strider replied. Samwise Gamgee. I smiled at the name. It sounded…strong, loyal, courageous. I wondered if the hobbit matched these qualities.

“Did you hear that? Rivendell! We’re going to see the Elves!” Samwise exclaimed happily.

“How far is Rivendell?” Peregrin whined, causing me to laugh. “All we’ve done for days is walk…” I stopped where I was, beckoning the little hobbit forward.

“Come, Peregrin.” I said, and he wearily approached me. I tucked my hands under his arms and lifted him onto Feredir’s back. “Meriadoc, would you like to join your friend?” I asked. He nodded politely and I placed him behind his friend.

“You know, you don’t have to say my full name.” He said. “The only person who ever calls me Meriadoc is my mother, and that’s only when I’ve gotten into trouble.”

“Or Gandalf.” Peregrin added.

“So what shall I call you then?” I asked while walking to Frodo and Samwise. One by one, I lifted them onto Strider’s horse. I didn’t think he would object.

“My friends call me Merry.”

“And you can call me Pippin.”

“Merry and Pippin. I suppose you should like to be called Sam, then?”

“If you’d like.” The hobbit replied.

“And Frodo—well, there isn’t much Frodo can be shortened to, now is there?” I asked.

“I suppose not.” He replied quietly.

“Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin: brave hobbits of the Shire.” I mused, evoking smiles from all the hobbits. It was at least a six day trek to Rivendell, and I wanted to keep their hopes up. It was not easy, living in the wild. The weather was ever-changing and unpredictable, food was sometimes scarce, and when you let your fears get the best of you hope faded faster than the sun. “What were you hobbits doing so close to the Old Forest? It’s quite the dangerous place to be roaming alone. There are many stories of the trees within those boarders.”

“The path seemed to disappear with each step we took, it was frightful.” Frodo remarked.

“But along the way we ran into a man who was aright lot of help.” Sam said in wonder.

“And who might that have been?” I asked, standing between the two horses bearing the hobbits.

“He called himself Tom Bombadil.” Merry announced, and my eyes grew wide.

“It cannot be.” I breathed. “You met him? The great master of the forest? What was he like?” I asked, excited. I had heard many legends of the Old Forest and it’s keeper. Of his magic, his ageless body and his infinite knowledge. He was like a ghost, they say. Tending to the trees and moving swift like the wind, quiet like the wind.

“He seemed off his rocker, that one.” Pippin remarked, evoking laughter out of me.

“He spoke as if he were as old as Middle Earth.” Frodo said, his eyes again distant as he recollected the memory. “We had gotten off track and he took us to his home, where he and his lady tended to us.”

“You are quite the fortunate hobbits, meeting both Tom Bombadil and Goldberry. Are they as magical as it is said?” I wondered.

“In every way.” Sam mused. We reached the top of a snowy hill, and the hobbits suddenly hopped off the horses. I paused, watching them. They began to unload a variety of cookware and other things from their packs, and Strider looked at them, confused.

“Gentlemen,” He called. “We do not stop until nightfall.”

“What about breakfast?” Pippin whined.

“You’ve already had it.” Strider said.

“We’ve had one, yes.” Pippin replied. “But what about second breakfast?” He asked, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Strider began to walk away, shaking his head.

“Don’t think he knows about second breakfast, Pip.” Merry said, following me as I went after Strider.

“What about elevenses?” Pippin said in shock, chasing after his friend. “Luncheon? Afternoon tea? Dinner? Supper? He knows about them doesn’t he?”

“I wouldn’t count on it.” Merry replied. I laughed, catching up with Strider just in time to see him throw an apple back towards the hobbits.

“If I know anything about hobbits, particularly this one, a single apple won’t be enough to keep him quiet.” I teased, reaching into one of the many packs tied to Feredir and throwing another apple. Feredir grumbled slightly and I patted his side. “It was just one, my friend. You’ll do fine without.”

“How long have you had him?” Strider asked, referring to Feredir. I smiled, stroking his mane while replying.

“For as long as I can remember. He’s been with me for many adventures, and never once left my side. We’ve traveled the world together.”

“Did you find him in Arnor?” He asked.

“No, I cared for him when I was younger. Out of all the horses in all of Minas Tirith, he was always my favourite.“ I said quietly.

“You come from the White City.” He said, and I nodded.

“My father used to tell me of the time when it was a glorious city. Of its early days, when the people of the Dúnedain first built it.” I said quietly, reminiscing. Coldness overtook my mind, coldness wind and water. Looking up towards the sky, I sighed. “There is going to be a storm.”



Darkness covered the plains, finally bringing an end to the rain. Moonlight was shedding on us all, adding to the frigid temperature we were feeling. The hobbits were curled up close to the fire, drifting off to sleep. Frodo looked troubled, even as he slept. I thought of the state he must be in, the confusion and fear that must eat away at his heart.

I knew of the One Ring, forged by the Dark Lord Sauron in the fires of Mordor. I knew what it was capable of, and how dangerous it truly was. I wondered what plans Gandalf had for this little hobbit, for none could eternally resist it’s evil whispers, it’s temptations.

I took off my coat, draping it across the four little hobbits in an attempt to keep them warm during the night. It was frightfully cold, and their small bodies could not possibly muster enough heat. When I was content that they were as warm as possible, I removed the packs and reigns off of Feredir, allowing him to roam free. I knew he would come back by morning. Sighing with the final task of the night completed, I took a seat on the ground beside Strider. He was surveying the landscape, as if searching for something.

I felt oddly exposed in this campsite; and he seemed to feel similar. I took out my swords, and finally let my hair down while removing a stone from my pocket. Carefully, I began to run the rock against the sharp edge of each sword, making sure it remained sharp in order to work properly. This calmed me, almost as much as actual fighting did.

“You are spoken of highly in Arnor, and in other parts of the world.” He remarked, watching the forest surrounding us. My eyebrows furrowed and I looked up at him.

“Me?” I asked.

“They call you Brennil ned Bellas.” He said. Lady of Strength. I laughed, shaking my head.

“I would be nameless to them if I were a man.” I remarked, putting away my swords. “It is only because I am a woman that can fight better than most of them. Which took quite a bit of hard work to accomplish.”

“Where did you learn?” He asked. My smile slowly faded as the answer to his question presented itself in my mind. A solemn sadness grew within my mind, my heart and soul.

“An old friend of mine.” I replied quietly. If he had any more questions, they did not come that night. He had not offended me, and had not intended to bring about these emotions. But they came regardless, and I could not do a thing to stop them. Memories covered me like clouds blanketed the sky; choking out all moonlight and starlight until there was only an abyss of darkness.



My dream from that night had troubled me. The images seemed all too impossible, even for a dream. Saruman the White, conversing with Orcs; tearing down trees for firewood. Those trees were special, and he knew that. Orthanc surrounded by smoke and flames. It’s beauty dissipated.

“This was once the great watchtower of Amon Sûl. We shall rest here tonight." Strider said as we came upon the infamous Weathertop. The hobbits sighed in relief, we were finally resting. They climbed up the spiraling rock path, settling on a spot near the top. They all collapsed, dropping their packs and sitting down.

“You would think you’d never walked a day in your life.” I teased.

“Easy for you to make fun, you never stop walking!” Pippin remarked, reaching into his pack for some food. I laughed, setting down my things and watching as Strider stooped before the hobbits. He unwrapped four small daggers, which were as good as swords for the hobbits.

“Take these and keep them close.” He instructed as the hobbits admired the blades. “I’m going to have a look around.”

“Stay here, and stay safe.” I added, following after Strider down to the rocky plains surrounding us. The clouds were quickly taking over the sky, aiding in the diminishing of sunlight. Soon we would be plunged into darkness again, when all things were more deadly and terrible.