Morning broke soft and silver across Rivendell, the waterfalls glowing like molten crystal as sunlight washed through the valley. Elves moved quietly through the courtyards, preparing supplies and travel-cloaks, while dwarves grumbled about waking "at a decent mining hour, not at elf-dawn."
Edwen tightened the harness of his travel saddle, though he wasn't riding a horse, but rather one of his modified wagon-engines, pulled by a pair of huge, strong Rohirrim war-horses specially bred for endurance. A line of sturdy supply carts followed, each built with reinforced wheels for rough terrain.
Bilbo adjusted his pack nervously, looking everywhere at once. "Do you suppose we'll… encounter anything dangerous on the way?"
Dwalin chuckled darkly. "Everything past these pretty gardens is dangerous, lad."
Edwen shot him a look. "Comforting as always."
Elrond approached with a calm expression, though his eyes held something deeper—concern, and maybe sadness.
"You depart sooner than even I expected."
"Trouble rarely waits," Edwen said.
"That much is certain," Elrond responded.
He handed Edwen a long-wrapped bundle, thin, elegant. Inside was a blade of Rivendell-forged steel, engraved with Sindarin runes.
"A gift," Elrond said softly. "From a father who hopes to see his daughter's chosen return to her side."
Edwen bowed in return, more deeply than most ever saw him. "I will."
Elrond's voice lowered. "Take care of them, Edwen, take care of the dwarves, the hobbit, and yourself."
"I intend to bring every single one home."
Elrond smiled, almost sadly. "The world does not always allow such things. But I pray your strength proves otherwise."
As soon as they crossed the last stone bridge, Thorin made a noise like he was finally able to breathe.
Kíli muttered, "Too much singing. I can still hear it ringing in my skull."
"And the stairs were ridiculous," Bofur added. "No handrails! Nearly fell three times."
"We were on them for all of ten seconds," Edwen deadpanned.
"A dangerous ten seconds," Bofur said gravely.
Bilbo tried very hard not to laugh.
Once the road dipped into a pine forest, Edwen rode near the front with Gandalf, while the others marched or rode behind. The Misty Mountains rose like jagged teeth far ahead, snow glimmering under the sun.
"We'll make camp before the foothills," Gandalf said quietly.
Edwen nodded. "I scouted the pass months ago. There are caves, but I don't trust anything inside them."
"Wise," Gandalf murmured. "Very wise."
Edwen's hand brushed the new sword at his belt, feeling the runes hum faintly. "There's something in those mountains."
"There always has been," Gandalf answered.
Near midday, Bilbo rode up beside Edwen, eyes enormous as he stared at the distant peaks.
"Those mountains look… tall."
"They are," Edwen said kindly.
"And we're going into them?"
"Through them, actually."
Bilbo squeaked but kept going. His bravery, Edwen thought, was quieter than dwarven courage—but no less real.
They camped beneath tall pines. A fire crackled, and dwarves roasted meat while Bilbo tried politely not to stare at the flames too long. Edwen sharpened his blade, eyes drifting toward the mountains silhouetted black against the sky.
Moonlight shimmered along the ridges like a warning.
Gandalf sat beside him, pipe glowing softly. "Thinking of home?"
"Always," Edwen answered.
"And Arwen?"
Edwen didn't speak for a moment because even thinking of her tightened something warm and painful in his chest.
"She waits for me," he finally said. "And that is all the strength I need."
Gandalf smiled faintly. "Then keep that close. The mountains will test far more than your sword."