Edge of Night

1.3 Bridge to Quest Time

Days turned into weeks, turned into months. It was slow to start in Rivendell. I felt incredibly lonely as I struggled to learn their languages, both the elvish Sindarin and the common human language Westron. Arwen was a great friend to me with endless patience for my limited understanding of their ways. I rose with the sun in my modest room and spent my mornings running and training with Arwen, who was incredibly fast and strong. My afternoons were filled with language study, either from Arwen, Elrond, or their attendant Lindir. The evenings often held fine dining, accompanied by music, dancing, or sometimes poetry. My hosts gifted me with fine clothes fit for their halls and I did my meager best to assist them and not be a burden. The elven diet was incredibly clean and as time wore on, I found myself becoming stronger and leaner. 

As I became stronger, Arwen would take me out on rides through the Rhudaur, which she was obligated to do as the protector of that land. I was taught how to ride a horse, though it was never as fun as running. I took long runs through the country side, sometimes alone when Arwen was called away. I often found myself wondering about The Lord of The Rings. How could I have wandered my way into their world? My best guess was through dreams, since I had been having such vivid dreams of Middle Earth. Every night I was regaled with images of dwarves and elves, dragons and monsters, and most of all, the one ring. Through my conversations with the elves, I had managed to glean that I had arrived sometime between The Hobbit and The Fellowship of the Ring. I feared to make my questions too specific and alert the elves to my unknowable knowledge of their world. I missed my family from Earth fiercely, especially in the early days when I could not converse with my companions. 

As time wore on, I became closer with my elven brethren. I hung around Arwen and the soldiers, who were quick to teach me how to fight once I showed interest. I felt lost and out of place in Rivendell, and it was the training that gave me a purpose. They taught me swords, daggers, hand to hand, and the art of the elvish bow. My hands became worn and my arms became hard as I spent my days training beside them. I found myself fancying many of the elves- who wouldn't when they're so beautiful? None of them ever returned my sentiments, which didn't help my feelings of alienation. Not only was I a stranger in a foreign land, but I was living with an entirely different species.

That is, until one night when I dreamt of Gandalf's voice. I'll be waiting for you, at the Inn of the Prancing Pony. My dreams had always been chaotic and futile, but that night I could feel him speak to me just as he was speaking to Frodo. Whatever magic that held the fate of that world was warning me of what was to come.