Lapsus Memoriae [Rávamë's Bane: Book 1]

Part II : Chapter 9 ~ The Start of a Bad Joke

Part II : Chapter 9

- The Start Of A Bad Joke -

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Four hobbits, two men, two elves, a dwarf, and a wizard go on a long walk to a mountain of doom.

Now, if that didn’t sound like the start of a really bad joke, then I didn’t know what did — and yet here we all were.

The ten of us were already several days into the journey, walking east towards the Misty Mountains according to Gandalf. I’d spent most of that time sticking close to either Boromir or the hobbits, enjoying the truly incredible scenery we passed. And all the while, trying to take my mind off the lingering feeling of our departure from Rivendell. 

It had taken longer than I’d expected to leave. Supplies had to be acquired, travel plans made, and what little we were able to take with us had to be packed as light as possible. When we finally were ready to set off, I came down to the courtyard in my riding greens with my pack to find a farewell procession. Bilbo was there, along with almost every elf I recognised from the house. All of them there to see us off. The ageing hobbit had given me a fond smile after saying goodbye to his nephew, wishing me luck and leaving me with a light kiss on the knuckle for good measure.

Arwen had been present too, although she kept a solemn expression of propriety in place as she bade each of the Fellowship farewell and a safe journey. Her eyes had misted over slightly when they fell on Aragorn, and the two of them shared a long moment with more being said through their silence than they ever could have through words. Finally Aragorn dropped his gaze from hers and reluctantly turned away to see to the supplies. 

Then she had finally come to me. 

Instead of a morose farewell and a regal blessing like I’d been expecting, I’d found myself being wrapped in a warm hug that had smelled of lilacs.

“You never seem to find trouble in halves, do you?” I could hear her smile, though her tone was sad. It made my throat clench uncomfortably to hear it. 

“I guess I don’t.” I said, hugging her back.

Arwen and I hadn’t become the BFFs or anything, but she had been a constant positive presents in my time in Rivendell. She’d always been happy to sit with me while I studied, talk with me during the evening meals, sometimes even forewarn me if her father was in a particularly bad mood. She was kind and warm, and I already knew I going to miss her.

The goodbye from my mentor had been considerably less affectionate, but I’d been almost more pained to say goodbye to him than I had anyone else. He’d spoken in that serious but calm tone he’d always used during my practical training, but his eyes had softened behind the mask.

“I will not lecture you, Élanor. This choice was yours to make, not mine. All I ask is that you remember that you are in this company not because you are a warrior, nor because of your skill with a blade.” He’d rested his hand on my shoulder, giving it a gentle but firm squeeze with a tiny, almost sad smile, “Be safe, padawan.”

I’d felt my eyes mist over, just a bit. 

And that had been that. 

The farewell to the place I’d tentatively called a home for just over two years. It had stung more than I’d been expecting, seeing the ‘Last Homely House East of the Sea’ disappearing over the cliffs behind us. We’d been walking for just under a week when Gandalf decided that we should take some time to rest for a while, before finally turning south. He chose a rocky outcrop on the slopes of Misty Mountains to stop and make camp, and everyone was taking the time to rest their feet.