We made our way eastward. The weather remained dismal, but the further we rode, the lighter the mood of the Rangers became. The Men knew that we were going home to their families.

I often heard them talking among themselves in that beautiful but strange language, but when I heard the twin brothers, Elladan and Elrohir speaking it, I suddenly realised that the language must be Elvish. I listened intently though I couldn't understand it; it fascinated me. A few days after we set out, I rode beside Longshanks--or Arador, as I was trying now to think of him--and one of the brothers. I still could not yet tell the twins apart. Arador and the one who rode beside him were conversing in that lovely tongue, and they did not realise, I suppose, that I had come alongside them. That is, until the other brother came up, and said "For shame! Where are your manners? Trotter cannot understand a word you say!" And yet, in spite of his words, he sounded more amused than angry.

I was startled, but spoke up. "Truly, I do not mind, Master El--" I hesitated, and then made a wild guess--"ladan? It's very beautiful to listen to. I suppose it is Elvish?"

All three of them laughed. The one who had ridden up said, "A very good guess, Trotter! I am indeed Elladan, and I am glad you find the language beautiful. But it is not polite to speak so that others present cannot understand."

"I suppose not," I replied. "But I never really thought about the idea of any other languages before. I knew that they existed, but I've never heard one spoken before. I keep trying to find words I understand--some of them sound almost familiar, and yet not quite. And I am quite sure they do not mean the same."

Another laugh. Then Elrohir said, "To answer your question, it is one form of Elvish, called Sindarin. It is the one most frequently spoken."

"Do you mean to tell me Elves have more than one language?" I was astonished at this revelation. "Why do they need more than one? And what are the others? Do you speak them? And when did you learn Westron? Do you suppose I could learn this Sindarin? Would I need to learn the others too?"

Now they burst out into laughter once more. Arador said, "You see, my friends, I told you he was a very curious hobbit!"

"I do not doubt that you could learn Sindarin, Trotter," said Elladan.

I was delighted. "Do you really think so?"

"I am sure of it."

And so began my lessons in Sindarin. Elladan and Elrohir would point things out: "galadh", "tree"; "las", "leaf"; "gond", "stone"; "rád", "path"; "amon", "hill"; "fileg", "bird";"roch", "horse"; "pad", "walk". * We slowly added phrases as well, so that I could say "Hello" and "Farewell" and "Please" and "Thank you." I fear however that my own voice never sounded so sweet when I spoke as did those of the Elves.

I began to be able to find the differences in my teachers. Elladan's voice was a little deeper than his brother's, and he ever so slightly favoured his right hand, while Elrohir occasionally favoured his left--although most of the time they seemed to use both hands equally. There were also subtle differences in the way they wore their hair and in their clothing. But it was many years before I could easily tell them apart at a glance.

Elladan was an excellent teacher, and I progressed quickly in learning the language, but Elrohir was most patient with my countless questions. In the Shire, Elves were often thought of as "only stories". A good many people thought that Elves did not ever exist, while to others they were something from "long ago and far away". My father and Gandalf had told us many tales of Elves, and I am afraid I peppered my teachers with questions about what the wizard had told us. Elladan would laugh at my queries, and say, "Mithrandir (which I learned was the name Elves used for Gandalf) has much to answer for!" but Elrohir would carefully answer me, explaining anything I asked him without becoming annoyed.

The days passed, and we drew ever closer to the home of the Rangers. The closer we came, the more haste our leader urged. I noticed that Arador had become more and more distracted as we traveled, and I wondered at that. I had never before known him to be anything but alert and watchful.

The day we crossed an ancient stone bridge that ran across a rushing river that was called the River Hoarwell, or Mitheithel, in the Elven tongue, we turned away from the great road we had been following to head almost due south. It would take us only two more days to arrive at the village. The Poet, whose real name I had discovered was Dirhael, told me that the village's name was Two Rivers, and that it lay between the Hoarwell and another river, its tributary, called the Loudwater, Bruinen in Sindarin.

Dirhael grinned. "I shall be very glad to return, although I confess I am more than a little nervous."

I had learned, through the teasing of the other Rangers, that Dirhael was betrothed to a young woman by the name of Ivorwen, and they were to celebrate their wedding at Yuletide.

I sighed. "You're very lucky, Dirhael."

He studied my face intently. "What is wrong, Trotter? Your sigh is heartfelt."

I felt my face redden. "It is just that I envy you. I doubt me that I shall ever wed."

"Well, there is a shortage of hobbit lasses outside your Shire, but someday you will return home."

I shook my head. "It won't matter."

He put his hand on my shoulder. "Why do you say that, my friend?"

"Because I gave my heart to one who did not return my regard. She is to wed another." I looked at him, and then for the first time, admitted the whole sorry story of why I had left the Shire.

He listened quietly, and at the end said, "She is not worthy of you, Trotter."

I shrugged. "Perhaps. It matters not-- it's not the usual way of hobbits to love twice over."

He nodded. "It is the same among Elves, and among most of the Dúnedain. Among other races of Men, I have heard otherwise."

I was grateful that he did not try to persuade me, as my parents had, that my love for Gardenia had been only a tweenaged infatuation and that I would get over it and find another. My heart knew better.

I thought I would have trouble sleeping that night. Thoughts of why I had left the Shire often made it hard for me to fall asleep. Yet that night after I had unburdened myself to Dirhael, I slept very soundly, and woke refreshed.

It was nearly noon when we rode in sight of Two Rivers. The Hoarwell was running alongside the path we rode on our right, wide and silent. But to our left, out of sight, we could hear the roar of the Loudwater, as it rushed to join the larger river. In front of us, the path led to a causeway which went straight up a large dike. Ahead of us was a giant mound-- as large as a hill, with a wide ditch running in front of us. The causeway led over the ditch and up the mound, where a tall wall of upright timbers stood. Large gates stood open, and within I could see many thatched cottages, very similar to that of Mistress Polly's. Far behind them, I saw another taller, narrower mound, with a wooden tower at the top.** People were coming and going in and out of the gate, and as our party had ridden into sight, I saw many of them pouring out of the gate, waving, and as we drew nearer, I could hear the shouts of welcome over the sound of the water.

The Rangers urged their horses into a trot, Arador and the twins at the lead, and Porridge and I were hard pressed to keep up. The Men of the West were home.

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*Sindarin words found here: The English-Sindarin Dictionary

**The description of Two Rivers is partially based on this sketch of an English motte-and-bailey village of the eleventh century.