Safe Passage

Rúmil sped north through the Golden Wood to Lothlorien’s borders as the blackness of midnight surrounded him and his swift horse. It closed in upon them like a dark curtain dropped down between the still trees on the windless night. While the horse had no night vision, Rúmil guided it by way of his own vision and the pressing of his heels and toes to its warm flesh, indicating to the stallion which route it should follow. Each of them in this way comforted the other as they rode swiftly through the night.

Nothing pursued them nor did they come across any living creature and they finally reached the edge of the Wood and continued north, traveling along the eastern borders of the Misty Mountains. They then galloped alongside and skirting the foothills of the mountains for many days until they reached the Gladden River and crossed it at the fords. There, they spent several days finding their way as swiftly as possible through to the western side of the mountains, after which Rúmil planned to ride north again straight to Rivendell. The journey should take at least ten days by Rúmil’s estimation if they could keep pushing on and were not pursued or waylaid by any enemies. When he needed to stop to let the horse rest, Rúmil would sit and rest himself. The weather was variable in this region, and he had experienced a few days of rain mixed with some of sunshine and warm breezes. On one rainy day, he sat under the canopy of a tree to wait for the showers to stop and thought of Elrond.

“I hope I have not been too impetuous and silly”, he thought. “I did not take the time to even look at the message that Lord Elrond sent to me. What if Haldir was teasing me about his invitation? I shall be mortified if that is the case”. He ruminated on these worried thoughts for a while, but when the cloud cover dissipated, the sun came out and the surrounding fields began to dry in a warm breeze, Rúmil’s spirits brightened and he became optimistic again. He remembered that he had seen a piece of parchment in Haldir’s hand that was evidence to him that his brother had been telling the truth.

Rúmil rode on through the countryside and stopped once or twice to pick wild strawberries growing in the meadows and to drink at fresh, flowing streams full of sparkling water. Traveling practically non-stop this way was a feat that should not be a problem for them. Rúmil did not need nor want to eat, and he would stop only to let his horse rest, drink and have something to eat itself.

They had stopped in a narrow mountain pass for a little while and Rúmil let the horse graze in the sparse grass that grew there as he looked up along the walls of the mountain for any sign of enemy. All was quiet and he readied his mount again for riding through the pass. They traveled for a while through hilly, rocky country before reaching more open ground. He sensed more than heard that someone or something was following them and as they were crossing a flat, open area, they were set upon, as he had feared they would be, by Orcs riding Wargs.

Alarmed, Rúmil considered quickly what would be the best thing that he could do. There were three Warg riders – not a great many, but they came toward horse and rider in a chevron formation, two of them spread out widely and one staying directly behind them - while the other two galloped faster on either side of Rúmil and appeared to be gaining ground on him. He was sure that they meant to pull up parallel to him and then move in closer and try to pin him between them and the third Warg that would then close in on him from the rear. He decided that he had two options only, and they were either to try to outrun the beasts or to stand and fight.

He chose the latter, as he felt that these three Warg riders were too few to be a company, and were probably scouts. Normally Orcs traveled in much larger groups. He was convinced that they were likely riding to join a larger company in the area somewhere ahead of him and he realized that he had to kill them. “Ai! Elbereth!” he thought. “I should be able to both outrun the foul creatures and shoot them down at the same time!”

Quickly, he formulated a plan. He looked back at them to gauge their distance from him and then he turned around until he was sitting facing backwards on top of the horse. He reached back for an arrow and aimed with his bow at the Warg on his left. He estimated that it was slightly out of range, so he waited a moment and then to get a better aim, he put his feet up onto the horse’s back and raised himself into a standing position, with his bare toes digging into the stallion’s rump. He turned and let the arrow fly. It hit the Warg directly in the left eye, piercing it and it shrieked, stumbled and fell, throwing its rider. Rúmil then aimed and shot dead the Orc that had fallen. Next, he turned his attention to the Warg rider pursuing him from behind. He noticed peripherally that the Warg on his right was moving farther away from him. He lowered himself to sit again on the horse’s rump and waited for another moment.

When he thought he had assessed the distance correctly, he slid suddenly beneath the horse, holding onto its flanks with his legs wrapped around its body and his bare feet dug into its flesh, and he reached down underneath its belly to loosen the saddle strap. He pulled the loose saddle, which had slid down one side of the horse, up into his arms and then righted himself, sitting bareback astride the stallion, facing backwards once more. He used the saddle as a shield against the black arrows that the Orc was shooting at him and when the Warg was only about twenty feet away, he threw the saddle at it with all of his strength. The beast took the blow in the chest, which winded the animal. Rúmil then rose again to stand atop the horse, strung his bow and shot both Warg and rider dead.

Now in vehement pursuit of the third and lone Warg and rider, Rúmil urged his stallion on after them, still standing upon its back with bow and arrow at the ready, his knees bending to aid his balance and his long braid streaming out behind him. The Warg was running away from him at full speed, but his horse gained on them and finally came close enough for him to shoot and kill them both. Elated, Rúmil threw himself down upon the horse’s neck and laughed delightedly as he patted its glossy coat and tugged appreciatively on its mane. “Good boy!” he cried. “We make an imposing team to be sure! That last Warg was running frightened of us.”

When they had traveled north for another 100 miles from where the Warg attack had taken place and had entered a pretty woodland area, Rúmil stopped and leapt down from the horse’s back. He let the thirsty stallion drink from a small stream and knelt down himself on its banks in order to splash some of the cool water onto his face and drink his fill. He turned to look at the horse with firm resolve in his expression and spoke to it earnestly.

“We are now but half a day from Rivendell in my estimation. It is my feeling that we must push on until we get there. I still feel that there are Orcs ahead of us and there could be many – too many for us to dispense with by ourselves. I want to push directly on to our destination. Can you do it, my worthy friend?”

The horse stopped drinking and stared back at Rúmil. It shook its fine head and whinnied at him agreeably. He noticed its fur was wet with perspiration and he looked about for something he could brush it with to try to cool it down. Near the stream were copses of trees with plenty of underbrush. He noticed a young birch sapling with small tender branches and small, soft leaves. He strode over to it and broke off a branch. Then he led the horse into the water and splashed some over its back, sides, neck and flanks. He used the birch branch to brush its hide carefully and spoke soothing words to it as he refreshed it as well as he could. He noticed wild carrot plants growing in a sandy place by the bank, and pulled out the small, tender young roots, which he then gave to the horse to eat. After a few minutes he felt that they should continue. He leapt onto the stallion’s back and once again they galloped off towards Rivendell.

Only a few hours away from their destination they came across the company of Orcs that Rúmil had feared would be ahead of them. The countryside about them had become more wooded as it led towards the valley in which lay Rivendell. Coming out from behind a stand of evergreens, Rúmil surprised the Orcs as they were making camp. Too late to retreat because some of the Orcs on the outskirts of their camp had seen him, Rúmil quickly decided to flee and surprise the enemy by setting his horse to run directly toward them and through their midst. He quickly assessed that there must have been at least thirty of the creatures and he drew his sword as quietly as possible. Quickly, he urged the horse into a full gallop and as it ran through the encampment, he slashed and cut down as many of the vile beings as he could. Heads came free from necks beneath his blade, sliced from hideous deformed bodies, the black blood oozing and spurting over his legs and the horse’s flanks, the stench of it noxious, as he cut his way through their midst.

Once they were past the Orc camp, Rúmil knew that it would be a race against the Orcs to the valley. None of these foul creatures had Wargs with them, a lucky happenstance, but already some of the archers were stringing their arrows. A few whizzed past Rúmil as he sped his way forward, one of them grazing the horse’s flank and then the back of his calf.

When Rúmil and his stallion reached the edge of the steep valley with the Orcs still in pursuit but far behind, the sky was becoming increasingly dark as dusk was beginning to settle. Rúmil felt that they should not slow down but continue to speed ahead until they reached the Homely House and safety. The edge of the slope fell away steeply into a deep ravine and when Rúmil’s horse came to this edge at a full gallop, it plunged suddenly downward, lost its footing and fell, rolling several times and landing on top of Rúmil, whose foot had become entwined in its loose reins.

The horse gallantly tried to stand up, knowing that its bulk was upon its master’s slight body and probably crushing it. It struggled for many minutes, trying to right itself. It began to panic as it could feel no movement beneath it from Rúmil, who was unconscious. With great difficulty the horse finally righted itself, but its left foreleg was broken and useless. Willing itself to move upon three legs, the valiant animal pressed on, dragging the unconscious Rúmil behind it.

Fortunately the wardens on the watch in that particular area on the outskirts of Rivendell in the fair valley saw the struggling horse and recognized its quality to be that of a fine thoroughbred stallion, but they could see that it hobbled on a broken leg and they wept tears for this unlucky animal. When they drew closer they were shocked to find Rúmil, hanging by one bare foot from he dangling reins, his shirt ripped and half torn off, and still unconscious and unresponsive.

“Quickly!” cried one. “We must get this Elf to Lord Elrond as quickly as possible. He is badly hurt. We will send someone back for his heroic horse”. They spoke soothing words to the stallion, bidding it to stay where it was, and telling it that they would send some trainers back to help it. Then they carried Rúmil between them into the Homely House and summoned Lord Elrond to come hence.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~


A few moments later, Elrond looked down upon his invited guest as he lay upon a sofa in the Hall of Fire and the two wardens explained to him how they had found the strange Elf in the valley. Elrond gazed with great concern upon the lax form, the tangled flaxen hair and the beautiful pale face. Rúmil’s back had sustained a wide superficial burn from having been dragged along the valley floor after his shirt had been torn off of his back. Elrond did not think that he had any broken bones, although his left hand lay limply across his lean bare chest.

“He has come through a battle”, Elrond remarked. “There are Orc bloodstains on his leggings. Would you please see that he is bathed, dressed in a clean nightshirt and taken to one of the guest rooms? Please take him to the one closest to my own chambers”.

“Do you know this Elf, My Lord?” asked the servant.

“Yes”, replied Elrond. “This is young Rúmil, a marchwarden of Lothlorien. He was to be my guest here, but the fool has come alone and by the look of the extent of his preparation, he most likely left as soon as he received my message”. Elrond shook his head. “How is his horse?”

“I know not, My Lord”, replied the warden, “but I will find out. I understand the animal has broken a foreleg and may need to be put down”.

“Best not to do that until young Rúmil has awakened”, said Elrond, “and can be told. He should be given the chance to agree to any such decision. Please make sure that the horse is kept as comfortable as possible until its master can see it”. He placed a warm hand upon the young Elf’s cool brow. “He is not badly injured, I think, but I will examine him more fully once he is clean and in bed”.

“Yes, My Lord”, said the warden and left to go and find some handmaidens to bathe Rúmil and put him to bed as Elrond had ordered.

When the warden had hurried out, Elrond sat down beside Rúmil and took the Elf’s hand in his. “Foolish boy”, he whispered and stroked Rúmil’s fair cheek. “Why were you in such a hurry to come so far without escort, you mad young creature? Never mind, I will nurse you back to health, and it will be my pleasure to do so”. He raised the slender hand to his lips and kissed it as he had done at their first meeting. Then he looked at Rúmil’s face curiously as he thought he saw the faint trace of a smile appear on the fair Elf’s pale lips.