(Originally posted 6/30/17)
No one at home would ever believe that I slept in a tree last night! Flets, they call them. Wide-open platforms high up in the boughs of the great, silver-and-gold trees. I am not a fan of heights, but even I was able to find rest once my wonder and awe had subsided a little.
This wood is unlike anything I ever could have dreamed or imagined. Of course, the people of the Riddermark have heard tales of the Golden Wood to the north, and of its hidden sentinels with their deadly arrows, ruled over by a mythical Elf-Queen, though some would call her a witch. I can firmly say now that such atrocious rumors are just that; rumors. For, while the elves here are wary, fierce, and proud, they are not evil by any measure, but are, in fact, brave, skillful, and hospitable to wanderers who show them due respect.
While Baldmar led us south from the valley beside the Great River, the further we trode, the more I noticed Cesistya’s pace quickening, until she was nearly in the front of our group. Conrob and I exchanged glances and smiles, our hearts gladdened to see our beloved elleth friend approaching her homeland, knowing how eager she must have felt.
We paused for a while in a beautiful glade, surrounded by towering, yellow-leafed trees. The air began to take on a mellow, sweet scent that I cannot accurately describe. Ces spoke of the path we were treading, and that which lay ahead of us, and warned us to keep to one side of the river, for orcs were sometimes seen on the far bank.
As we rested there and talked, a sound of hooves slowly clopping along met our ears. We all turned and peered into the late-afternoon sunlight, and to my surprise, the traveler was a dwarf. Upon a goat! He greeted us in the open, friendly manner of his kind, and introduced himself as Lifolf of the Iron Garrison, though I had never heard of this name. In a strange twist of fate, he recognized my name, and Conrob’s name, for he had once met Dufr in Bree-town! We bid him to travel into the Wood with us, and he seemed happy to come along.
As we delved further into the forest, a curious sort of quiet fell. I don’t know if I had expected Lothlorien to be like Rivendell, but it definitely is not. One moment, we were walking freely, and the next, without so much as a whisper of sound, several grey-cloaked figures appeared behind us, bows aimed at each of our hearts! An elf stepped forward and fixed his attention on Cesistya, pulling her aside and demanding an explanation for our presence, as well as hers. I feared for her briefly, and we all offered our reasons for being there, and how we knew our elf-friend. I began to suspect, by the protective nature of this particular elf towards Cesistya, that he might be her brother, whom she’s spoken of before, and I was proven right. His name was Léramartho, and he remained grim and suspicious, and spoke of blind-folding us all before allowing us to take another step. Thankfully this was halted by the arrival of a tall elf-man on horseback, with an elf-woman striding alongside on the ground. Ces cried out at the sight of them, ran to them, and embraced them. Such spontaneous affection could only have been offered to someone intimately close to my shy friend, and again, my thoughts were proven aright, as they were introduced as Rautano and Lassiel; her parents.
Her father offered a gracious apology for the suspicions of the elf-archers, and then bid us to follow into the city of Caras Galadhon. Yes, indeed, there is a city within this forest! I don’t know what I expected it to be like, but it was still a stunning and otherworldly place in every way imaginable. We crossed a bridge in the fading twilight, with a glittering river flowing beneath, whose ripples sounded oddly like some sort of music. Then through a tall, ornately carved gate in a lofty hedge-wall, and suddenly, everywhere you looked, the massive mallorn trees were built with steps, ladders, and flets of every size you could fathom.
We were welcomed, fed, and offered much-needed rest by our gracious and enigmatic hosts. The atmosphere here is one of peace and rest, yet there is a queer solemnity in the beautiful faces of the elves. Ces is utterly at home, moreso than I’ve ever seen her, and no wonder. While folk like myself and Conrob, and even our new friend Lifolf, seem so utterly out of place.
Looking back over the past several weeks, my mind is overrun with images, sensations, and impressions. I have seen more of the world now than I ever thought I would, being nothing but a humble horsewoman of Rohan. I feel a deep longing for the simple, green fields of Bree-land again. I miss our friends. I miss the simple familiarity of Hookworth. I miss Jack! While my body is well-rested, my mind and soul have grown weary of so much traveling. I will savor this last day of our wandering journey, and then I will gladly turn my feet homeward.
