Chapter One: Never Trust a She-Elf

            I walked along the narrow path without paying much attention to my surroundings. I was fuming . . . and with good reason, too! Here I was out in the middle of nowhere, when I should have been at home having some choice bits of bread. Mmm, I love bread. Especially with a little honey spread on it. But no, no, no, I have to run off and carry this hoity-toity princess through goodness-knows-what peril and . . . but I am getting ahead of myself. Let me explain. My name is Asfaloth and I am an elvish horse. For you ignoramuses out there, I will tell you exactly what that means.

            In the first place, I am fast. Not just ordinarily fast, like some nag from Esgaroth or Bree, but really fast. Of course, that is to be assumed, for Esgaroth and Bree are ruled by the humans. Men are stupid, and they do not know how to treat horses. Fortunately for my psychological well-being, I have never been forced to suffer the indignity of prolonged association with humans or humans’ horses.

            Being an elvish horse also means I am smart. All my stablemates and I understand elvish and some of the Common Speech that all races speak (despite what the Rohirrim claim about such an ability being unique to Felarof, Horse of Eorl. In truth, Felarof was the only horse dumb enough to reveal it.) Elves can speak with all animals, however. Now I am rather smart even for an elvish horse.

            A usual (though not inevitable) benefit of being an elvish horse is, in addition to being clever, I am rather handsome though I never flaunt that fact. I am a tall, white horse with a long, silky mane and tail. Since I am an elvish horse, I obviously belong to elves and therefore my rider is an elf. Now, this is where it gets confusing. My master is Glorfindel and he is the one who should have been riding me. But my rider is a “she,” not a “he.” Her name is Arwen Undomiel. She is a princess and the daughter of the Lord of Imladris - that is where I come from.

            It all started two days ago. I was in the stable speaking to my stablemates about the quality of the hay we have been receiving lately, (which, I may say, has left something to be desired even though they did not seem to agree) when several elf lords entered. I spotted my master among them. In my humble estimation, Glorfindel seems to stand out in a crowd. He walked over to me and produced some bread that I lost no time in demolishing. He smiled slightly and rubbed my jaw which he knows I like, but I could tell that something was wrong. I saw that the other elf lords were going to their mounts as well. All were armed and clad as if for a ride of at least several days. There was tension in the air. I was not worried though. I knew Glorfindel was equal to any task. He was a warrior and an elf lord, and I would stand with him against an entire legion of orcs if he bid me do so. He entered my stall and saddled and bridled me, but did not tell me what was happening—a sure sign that he was preoccupied. The other elf lords, so self-centered they rarely bring an adequate amount of treats for their horses, were already riding out. This was when things started to go sour. My master was just about to mount and ride out with the others when I heard a voice call, “Hail, Lord Glorfindel!”

            Glorfindel left my stall and bowed to a female elf who had entered silently (as all elves do. It is sometimes very disconcerting). “Hail, Lady Arwen,” he replied.

            As soon as I saw the one called Arwen, I knew there was going to be trouble. Females are always trouble, but my concerns were verified when I noticed she, too, was carrying a sword and was clad for travel, not wearing some long, gossamer dress (the kind that always seemed to be mysteriously drawn in the direction of my mouth for a good gnawing).

            “Is Asfaloth prepared to depart, Glorfindel?” Glorfindel nodded but did not speak. He seemed to be worried now.

            I had seen Arwen (who is called Undomiel) before. Few of those who dwelt in Imladris had not. She was said to be the most beautiful elf since her ancestor Luthien, daughter of Thingol. Like her ancestor, she was also said to be betrothed to a human. I had no little respect for her father and was surprised that he had allowed such a thing. Glorfindel had known her since she was a little child and cared for her greatly. I eyed the elf with some trepidation as she started to move towards me. I had a bad feeling about this.

            “What are you doing, Arwen?” called Glorfindel. Arwen Undomiel did not respond but walked over to me.

            “Shall we go hunting, Asfaloth?” she murmured quietly. Yes, I had a very, very bad feeling about this.

            “Arwen!”

            “Peace, Glorfindel,” she replied.

            “What are you doing? You are up to something,” Glorfindel said. His voice had taken on a perceptive tone that he only used with me when I had stolen part of his breakfast or done something similarly naughty that he had discovered.

            A half smile fleetingly crossed her face; thenArwen sighed. She seemed very sad. “I am worried,” she answered.

            My master’s expression softened. “Aragorn?” he asked.

            She nodded. “I must find him.”

            He motioned to her. She walked over to his side and they spoke in low tones. I knew the name Aragorn. I had heard the sons of Elrond and Glorfindel speak of him often, though who he was I had no idea. I had a feeling that Arwen wanted to go looking for him. Worse still, I was getting the feeling that she wanted me to carry her. Her grey palfrey was not suited to any kind of war-like situation, and I must admit thatI had a reputation for being fast, strong and brave. But no way was I getting anywhere near a human! Their conversation was getting a little bit louder, but still not loud enough for me to make enough out to understand it. I heard my master saying something about “nazgul” and “battle”. He was gesturing wildly (for an elf), but Arwen was just standing there with a stubborn expression on her face. Glorfindel looked more upset than I had ever seen him.

            Then Arwen said, “I do not care. I must go.” Typical female. I shook my head and grabbed a mouthful of hay. Glorfindel then said something I could not hear and they turned and walked over to me. She climbed onto my back, and if an elvish horse did not always have to maintain his composure, I would have turned my head and bitten her for her impudence.

            “I will tell Lord Elrond of your search,” my master told her.

            “My thanks, Glorfindel,” Arwen said. “I am sorry to cause you anxiety, but I fear for his safety and for those he guards.” She hesitated. “You may want to tell my father that Hadhafang is not lost if he notices its absence.”

            “Your pardon, Arwen?” Glorfindel asked, sounding slightly bewildered.

            “I lost my sword in the river yesterday and have not been able to locate it and retrieve it yet. I. . . . borrowed his. A sword from the armory would be missed, but my father has hardly used his sword since the Last Alliance.”

            Glorfindel sounded weary as he replied, “My horse, your father’s sword, and an elf warrior’s mission. Be cautious with Hadhafang. As you know, it is a valuable heirloom. Your father would be quite distressed were you to lose it, and I would not see you visit Mandos’ Halls before your time.”

            “Do not fear. I will be careful, Glorfindel,” she replied amusedly. “Though if it were not for Meglin, I would not have lost my sword at all. My sneaky brothers taught him that trick he used. It is not often that my sword is wrested away during sparring.”

            ‘No,’ I thought, ‘I wait until you have set it down to, uh, borrow it.’

            “Particularly on the bridge over The Stream,” Glorfindel finished with a smile. He appreciates irony, as any elf-lord should. “Your father will not be pleased, but I will tell him for your sake.”

            “Again, Glorfindel, I thank you,” replied Arwen. “You are a steadfast friend.”

            “You and your brothers always seem to need one,” he replied dryly. Arwen laughed merrily.

            Glorfindel smiled at her, then stroked my nose and whispered, “Good hunting, Loyal One.” He raised his head again and looked affectionately at the princess. “Farewell, Arwen. Be careful. May your journey be swift and your return safe.”

            I heard her reply, “Farewell, Glorfindel. Do not fear. I can defeat them should battle be unavoidable.”

            He grimaced faintly at the last part, nodded and stepped aside, motioning for me to leave which I foolishly did before I had a chance to express my opinion. I had said I would stand with Glorfindel against an army of orcs if he bid me do so. It was proven true by my carrying the princess, which in my opinion is a good deal harder. At least my master never rode another horse (I would not allow him to), so he would be staying out of danger. On the other hand, he had to explain Arwen’s absence to her father, Elrond. I was not sure which was worse since I did not think she was supposed to have anything to do with battles.

            We traveled the rest of that morning at a swift but steady pace, reaching the boundary of Imladris before Anar came fully overhead. It was not far from Imladris, but the terrain was mountainous. Arwen may have been in a hurry, but she should have known that horses should not be pushed for greater speed when they do not have the faintest idea why they are hurrying, and that they certainly need many more treats than I received from her.

            Still, I am very strong and rarely complain, so I generously refrained from throwing her in the Bruinen River when we arrived at its edge. Carrying her was better than carrying a human, after all. The Bruinen flowed at the outer boundaries of Imladris. It was the elves’ safeguard against invasion which, under Elrond’s authority, extended even to the waters that sprang down from the Hithaeglir. When Imladris was threatened, at his command they would rise and sweep away the enemy. He had never had to do it in my lifetime, but it was common knowledge that he could and the power he commanded was a subject for much speculation. Particularly when I was irritated with some exceedingly arrogant or insensitive elf, I would dream of what I would do if I could command water. The water was not terribly deep at the Ford, yet I eyed its ripples nervously. Arwen sensed my uneasiness and allowed me to pause, pawing at the water slightly with my right forehoof. Since it did not leap out of the river bed and swallow me, I started to walk across. I love to splash in puddles and made sure that the drops thrown up by my hooves went high into the air. I heard Arwen spluttering and decided it would be safer not to prance so much. The streambed and shores were lined with small, sharp stones compelling me to place my hooves cautiously. The water flowed around a bend between sheer rock faces that were a small extension of the Hithaeglir.

            When we reached the other side, she asked me to gallop, which I did not truly mind because I like to run. However, I could sense that she was growing impatient. She should take lessons from Glorfindel. Once I stole a valuable dagger that his father had given him and stuffed it down a rabbit hole, and he was completely unperturbed by it. Well, at least until I returned it and he saw I had slobbered on the handle just a little bit. Umm . . . there might have been a few teeth marks too. His reaction was undeniably very . . . interesting.