The Lastborn: A Middle Earth Story(Book 1)(EDITING)

Chapter 13: Safe at Last

"It is my greatest pleasure to meet you," Eldahir flourished his mudstained cloak and bowed deeply. Gerithor rolled his eyes again and pulled his friend up playfully.

"Get up," he said, trying to maintain a serious face. Eldahir turned red and looked at Sarina sheepishly.

"The pleasure is all mine," she grinned and returned with a curtsy. Eldahir laughed and smiled at her.

"Well, now that introductions have been made I think we better be moving," Gerithor said, looking at his friends. "How far is Rivendell from here?"

"Not more than an hour on horseback," Eldahir said.

"Well that horse looks sturdy, but not big enough for three full grown adults and a baby," Gerithor said, smirking at his friend.

"That's why I've come," said Caledorn, emerging from the trees on a midnight black horse. Sarina stepped back in fear. Gerithor put a hand on her shoulder comfortingly, but realized that if he didn't know Caledorn he would have been frightened at his appearance as well.

"Don't worry, he's a friend of mine too." He had to admit, Caledorn didn't really look like he was on their side. His black armor made him look menacing, and the black cloth mask covering the lower part of his face didn't help. He wasn't surprised that the elf was able to remain undetected so long, he seemed to be good at that sort of thing.

"I am Caledorn, milady," he bowed slightly in his saddle. "We must make haste, evil creatures still roam the forests." He offered Sarina a hand up. She looked at Gerithor for a moment in apprehension, then hesitantly accepted and mounted up behind the dark clad elf. Gerithor handed her Alif, then jumped lightly up onto Eldahir's horse, and they set off eastward. They traveled for about an hour, and still there was no sign of the enemy. Gerithor hoped that they were safe, but he knew he would feel uneasy until they were behind friendly walls once more. Soon they reached a cliff, and Gerithor gasped when he saw what lie beyond it. Silver waterfalls rushed down to meet a river that wound lazily through an autumnal valley below. Tall ivory spires rose out from amongst the trees, sentinels watching over the land. A House sat in the middle of the valley, and even from this distance the ranger could sense that warmth and comfort awaited within. He knew immediately that it was Rivendell, the Last Homely House in the West, and his heart stirred with a longing to be there. He hoped they'd hurry.

It took them another hour to reach the bridge that led into Rivendell. A blond haired elf stood atop the gate, keeping watch. He saw the small group and quickly moved to open the gate. The two horses trotted into the courtyard, hooves clopping loudly on the white bricks. Two blond haired elves ran to take their horses, and the group dismounted.

Gerithor looked around with barely contained excitement. Rivendell. He remembered his cousin Aragorn telling him stories about the place, but the stories fell utterly short of reality. It was breathtakingly beautiful. He walked over to a tall statue of an Elven warrior, and looked at it for a moment. He had always wanted to visit the Elves, but he never thought he'd get to come here.

He was interrupted from his thoughts when a tall, dark-haired elf came into the courtyard, followed by two elves that looked like younger versions of him. He turned to Gerithor.
"Mae govannen, Gi nathlam hí." The elf said politely. Gerithor understood that this was a greeting, and responded in kind.

"Elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo," he said respectfully and bowed.

"Your elvish is excellent, Dunedan," he smiled slightly and returned the bow. "I am Lord Elrond, and these are my sons, Elladan and Elrohir." As he pointed to each they both bowed. "You must be Gerithor. Your friend has spoken highly of you, and indeed, even if he hadn't it would say much of your character that you brought your nephew all this way when in such danger."