The sun was high up in the sky, so it was probably about noon that Eníredir caught sight of a small settlement in the distance. As he got closer and closer, he started noticing beautiful shapes, arches of stones that rose above a path not made by human hands.
He knew, for the fairness of the hair, that he was getting close to the settlement of Meluinen, built by the folk of the Eldar in the north. As the shapes of the main village started to appear behind the trees, deep in his heart he felt a presence behind him. And his eyes widened as he turned around, seeing three elves, burdened with the safeguarding of the settlement as he came to know later, each holding a bow on their hands, with the arrows pointed at Eníredir's chest. As he was about to bow and open his mouth to speak, the elves ordered him not to do so and just keep walking. And so he did, and they led him to a tall elf, dressed in bright clothes. Tall and grim he stood, seeming wise as an old man, but yet still very young.
"What do you seek from these lands? Speak, and be hasteful, Man!" - The elf asked, using Westron.
Sindarin being his main language for many years, Eníredir replied fluently, but without revealing the purpose of his journey, as ordered. "I am naught but a simple traveler, seeking for a place to rest and heal my wounds. I am Eníredir of Dor-en-Ernil, the city of Prince Imrahil, under the Silver Swan banner." To the elf, Eníredir seemed to get taller and broader as he said these words, and he knew that this man was not lying in his origins. "Well, Eníredir, if you come from where you truly say, I shall speak with master Gildor. In the meantime, I bid you to wait outside while we decide your fate here."
And so he did.
