Ringspell

Chapter 11.


Run to the North...


The Fellowship rose the next morning, somewhat anxious about their new method of transport. While most of the group had ridden before, - even the hobbits rode on the backs of their cart-ponies quite often - none except Gandalf and Legolas seemed to have had any particular experience riding without saddles and bridles.


Everyone was mounted, more or less without incident, most requiring a boost from Legolas to climb aboard. Merry sat behind Gandalf, on one of the larger horses, while Boromir doubled with Gimli, and Aragorn took Frodo on his dark, calm steed. Sam claimed that he could ride perfectly well, and offered to take Pippin with him on the quiet, little chestnut.


The only one to ride alone was the Elf, who - perhaps deliberately - chose the fieriest, most difficult horse of the lot for himself and laughed at the looks on his companions faces, when he asked if anyone would like to ride with him.


With everyone aboard, they set off, walking at first, while Legolas gave them pointers about riding without reins. 'Use your legs' and 'Hang on' became the catch-phrases of the morning and by the time sun reached its zenith in the sky, everyone felt relatively confident in their new roles as riders.


They stopped for lunch, pulling back behind the curtain of trees for safety and having a cold meal of cheese and lembas. When finished, they did not linger, climbing back aboard their mounts and heading back out onto the plain.


"Right." Gandalf said. "I think we ought to pick up the pace a bit."


With that, he kicked his horse into a gallop and, helpless to stop even if they had wanted to, the Fellowship followed suit, their mounts eager to run and content to follow the horse in front. They made incredible time this way, the trees flying past in a blur on their left and, to the right, they passed the herd, joined on occasion, by free horses, who ran beside them, whinnying playfully as the company sped on.


Amazingly, there were only two falls on that first day of riding. One, when Gimli slipped awkwardly, right out from behind Boromir, and the other when Sam, who had made some noise about his riding ability, failed to stop his runaway chestnut, leaving behind Pippin who, remarkably, turned out the far better rider of the two. By the time the company stopped for rest that evening, they had covered more than half the length of the forest, the horses proving their worth, despite their small stature.


When the sun rose the next morning, the river Celduin, as the Elves called it, was clearly visible in the middle distance. They would follow the Celduin into the woods that day, Gandalf told them, explaining that it intersected the Forest River, by the shores of which, Thranduil's people would be found.


A sense of excitement rippled through the company, as they urged their horses into the shallow waters of the Celduin, the thick vegetation surrounding the river prohibiting travel along its shores. The Wood-Elves of Mirkwood were perhaps the most mysterious of all the peoples of Middle-Earth; their borders long closed and the aura of tainted magic that hung over the forest successfully deterring travellers, for as long as history could remember.


The journey down the river was quite pleasant, the woods on either side of them a far cry from the cold and dark of the South. Though there was little difference in the vegetation - the trees had thinned out a little, and there seemed to be less dampness in the air - the real changes were far more profound. Birds flew and called cheerfully overhead, and flashes of brown hide seen between the trees could have been fleeting deer. Occasionally, rabbits were spotted, startled by the Fellowship's presence and darting away from the river. Most evident, was the change in the air. The sun drew dappled patterns under the trees, and a fresh breeze blew through this part of the forest.


The fear of monsters and evil spirits was evaporated, beneath the warm sunshine, to the sound of water, swirling around their horses hooves.


The Fellowship left the Celduin at about midday, cutting North-West, to bypass the intersection of the two rivers, and promptly arrived at the southern bank of the Forest River, at about mid-afternoon.


They forded across the water, considerably deeper than that of the Celduin, and made it safely to the other side, where they were met by almost a dozen Elves, dressed in green tunics and brown cloaks, some pointing very nasty looking arrows in the Fellowship's direction.


"Ah, Suilaid." Gandalf said, smiling at the Elves , who looked unimpressed, to say the least.


One Elf, clad, unlike the others, in a robe of deep-red and presumably the leader of the group, stepped forward, and ignoring completely the presence of the others, stopped and bowed low, before Legolas, his hand over his heart.


"**My Prince,**" The Hunter said, in deep, reverent tones. "**The forest rejoices in your return.**"


Legolas smiled fondly at the gesture, inclining his head in a manner undoubtedly practiced daily, since he had become the Prince of these noble people.


"Hannon-le, Kehlios” He returned. "It is good to be home."


To be continued,,,