Lady of Rivendell || Book 2 ||

Ch 4 ~ On the Road

The morning air is crisp, a bright summer morning on the cusp of autumn, when the company of Thorin Oakenshield sets out from Bag End. A quick stop to purchase mounts for each member of the group, and then we are on the road heading out of the Shire. Gandalf and Thorin take the lead, the rest of the company following in groups of two or three and softly chattering among themselves. I bring up the rear, solitary and silent, the rest of the company paying me little heed.

An hour on the road slips away in relative silence, only broken by the wind whispering through the trees and the light treading of ground underfoot of the horses, and the occasional jovial shout of laughter from one of the dwarves riding up ahead.

It is largely due to the fact that I ride at the rear, in silence, that I am the first to hear the echo of a shout from the forest behind.

"Wait! Wait!"

I slow my mount, one of two mares purchased at the outskirts of the Shire for Gandalf and myself, and at a hefty price, considering the rarity of such full-sized beasts amongst the Shirefolk.

Murmurs of surprise wash over the dwarves as Bilbo stumbles up to the party, out of breath, a long sheaf of parchment flapping in his hand. His eyes scan the party, and I give him a smile in greeting when they find mine.

"I signed it," he pants, handing the contract to Balin, who inspects it carefully.

"Everything seems to be in order," the aged dwarf proclaims, passing the contract to Thorin to inspect.

Gandalf leads his mount beside mine, a knowing smile on his face.

"It appears," he murmurs, eyes on the halfling, "we now have our burglar."

He seems incredibly pleased with himself.

I can't help the grin that rises to my face, a reflection of his own. Like him, I too had suspected Bilbo would come around. Though I hadn't been certain that he would make his mind up fast enough to catch up with us.

The halfling is promptly hoisted up onto a pony, and then we are on or way once more. The party settles into its previous sway, and Bilbo finds himself riding alongside me.

After a beat of silence, I give him a knowing look. "What changed your mind?"

He appears startled by my question, his brows drawing together.

"I'm not entirely sure," he confesses quietly. "I went to bed quite decided. But when morning came, and my home was quiet again..." He trails off, and his expression softens. I catch a glint of that wild gleam in his eyes. "I knew I had to follow."

Something tightens in my chest. How well I know that feeling. The longing for places you've never seen, and people you've never met.

We continue on in silence, quite comfortable with each other's presence, and content to watch the scenery passing by.

Hours pass before the line halts once again, Gandalf circling around at the lead.

"There is a sheltered clearing up ahead," he says to Thorin, surveying the rapidly darkening skies. "It will be a good camp spot for the night."

Thorin turns his eyes to the sky, frowning at the storm that seems to be blowing in.

"Very well." He whistles behind him. "We'll be stopping here for the night. Óin! Glóin! Go on ahead and collect firewood. Nori, get dinner started."

He goes on giving directions as I dismount and lead my mare to a shaded area for the night, unsaddling her and brushing her down. Bilbo trails me uncertainly, but eventually settles by the fire, casting furtive glances at the dinner Nori prepares, disapproval clear in his eyes.

Satisfied that Bilbo seems relatively comfortable in silently critiquing the dwarf's choice of seasonings, I find a quiet spot just beyond the ring of light emanating from the now-blazing fire and set about sharpening my sword.

The rhythmic hiss of stone against steel echoes softly into the night, mingling with the sounds of gentle chatter and the clinking of iron cooking tools.

"I've heard of you."

The words are hushed, but I cacth them all the same. Glancing up from my blade, my gaze lands on Kíli, standing just outside of the ring of dwarves now devouring their dinner. His dark eyes are wary, but a childish kind of awe flickers underneath.

I pause my work, settling the length of the sword across my legs. Kíli takes a tentative step closer, but does not sit. Silently, I survey the inquisitive face of Dís' younger son, before raising my brows in invitation to continue. I'm dimly aware of Bilbo taking a timid seat at my side, two servings of dinner steaming fragrantly in his hands.

"You're the silver lady," Kíli continues quietly. "The merchants travelling the road between the Blue Mountains and the Iron Hills would always bring tales of their travels back to us younger dwarves at home. The lands east of the mountains whisper stories about you. Wanderer, they call you. An elven shadow."

Silence settles over the campsite as the humming conversations around the fire trail off, the dwarves intrigued by Kíli's question.

He pauses, scrunching his brows as his scrutinizing gaze sweeps over me. "And swordswoman. The best of the age."

I quirk an eyebrow as his wandering gaze snags on the wicked blade laid across my lap.

"They do so with good reason," I acknowledge quietly.

I rest a hand on the silver pommel, fingers tracing the intricate and familiar patterns etched there. His eyes snap to mine at the movement. A smirk tugs at my lips.

"I wouldn't want to be on the other side of this blade."

The hobbit raises his brows and discreetly takes a step back.

I chuckle inwardly, and go back to my polishing. Silence now greets the hiss of stone against steel, and I can feel the weight of thirteen pairs of eyes, silently following the rhythmic motions.

"Enough stories," Gandalf interrupts the chilled silence, his gruff voice crackling like the fire and bringing warmth back into the air. Chatter gradually resumes as the wizard approaches me, though more subdued than before.

I meet his eyes, surprised to find anger and worry reflected there.

"Come, Celebríel. We will continue onward before night falls."

I motion to my unsaddled mount, but he is already walking away.

"On foot," he calls back.

With no other reasonable objection, I sheathe my sword and giving a confused-looking Bilbo a pat on the shoulder, follow the grey wizard into the approaching night.