A small sea of gawking faces turned toward Rhavanielle as she strode proudly from the confines of the smithy flanked by the dwarves. The elf buckled her sword belt on her hips, incongruous over her blue homespun Rohirric dress. Sfeithi helped her on with her rucksack and handed her her gnarled staff. He and Gorm helped one another on with their now repaired mail coats over which they drew on fur trimmed leather coats. Ceawlin helped the dwarves on with their own baggage. Rhavanielle's pose as pack mule was at an end.
As the elf walked onto the dirt track, the throng of curious parted. No one wanted to miss a chance to look on the woman. Was she really an elf? Yes. There were the ears! Those who had made merry as she sang in the mead hall shook their heads and wondered if the fantasies they had entertained in their heads would somehow damn them or bring bad luck. Not that it would stop them from similar musings in the future.
At the back of the crowd appeared three mounted men. None were armored but they bore spears, the butts of which they prodded folk out of the way of their mounts. “What is the meaning of this? What's got into you all? The whole village is fey!” The Thegn and his two hero retainers who had just returned from Edoras.
Aethelwald's mount picked carefully through the reluctant gawpers until the old ruler looked down at last on the singer of bawdy songs. A moment of silence passed between the two. The Thegn's countenance betrayed confusion. “I reckon this means you will not sing at my table tonight,” he at last ventured.
Rhavanielle looked up at him, radiantly smiling. “If it pleases thee, I shall sing a song of parting. But I cannot linger here. I have a long journey ahead of me, Thegn.”
Ceawlin approached and gestured to the dwarves. “They have repaired all the harness and weapons of your household and forged rings for five coats of good mail, Thegn. They have more than repaid our hospitality.”
The Thegn growled at the smith. But the truth of it was plain enough. “They have done us a great boon, by my troth.” He looked again at Rhavanielle. “I have in all my years but once seen elves. Twas on the Wold, long ago. We beheld on the far side of the Undeep a troop of horsemen in glittering mail, with tall helms on their heads. It was as though they cast the light of the very sun into our eyes. We and they regarded each other across the shallows there for a while before making signs of friendship back and forth. Then they turned and rode north once more. And we went our own way. In Edoras they say the elves are dangerous and wild, but I learned then that they only keep their own borders. Like we keep ours. So tell me, elf maid. Why have you come to Rohan, so far from the dark forests?”
Rhavanielle spoke clearly and the music of her voice was unhid and all those near hearkened. “We three have come through the perils of Dwarrowdelf and down through Fangorn and took the counsels of the White Wizard of Orthanc. He it was who told us to travel through Rohan on our path to Minas Tirith. But it is known that elves are feared where once they brought hope, so I made myself into the servant of my friends. It was only by chance that I was found out. Tell me, Thegn. Since you do not fear the malice of the gentle race, will you then let us go on our way?”
Aethelwald bowed in the saddle. With as much grace and good manners as his age would allow. “Verily, I will not hinder you, Rhavanielle, friend of the White Wizard. Indeed we can provide the three of you with ponies to speed your journey, such wondrous work have you done on our behalf. No. The eorlingas shall not hinder you. But a warning I will give! The old road eastward to Gondor is a good road. Ancient. Well made and well kept. But the way is beset with peril these days and few are the merchants who travel upon it. Once you pass far east of Edoras, you will find much trouble. For wargs and orcs now raid from the East Wall. From faroff Mordor it is said. They steal horses when they may and put them to cruel purpose I am sure. We slay many, but it seems Mordor has no end of them.”
Rhavanielle nodded. “If it bring you cheer, I can tell you truly that there is a limit to the power of Mordor. Though it is great already and will likely grow much greater.”
“Béma guide your feet,” said the Thegn. He gently urged his great horse aside. The road was clear. The gate was open. Rhavanielle and her two companions walked out and set on the path that would take them back to the ancient road.
