The trip from Lasgalen to the mouth of the Forest River and Lake Town was over much sooner than either Legolas or Strider would have wished.  They had been leisurely riding through the quiet, murky woods, sharing stories with one another and laughing at tales much embellished or outrageously exaggerated and then suddenly the noise and bustle of the huge river town was upon them, assaulting their ears and noses with the din of humanity and the rank smells of decaying fish and driftwood wafting off the riverbanks.

          It had been many years since Strider had been to Lake Town and he was amazed at the growth the river community had experienced throughout the years of his absence.   Even the conflagration and massive destruction caused by the dragon’s rampage had been rebuilt and expanded.  The men and women of Lake Town had mourned their losses and moved on, and as is the way of humans, they grew stronger as a result of their travails.

          He could feel the tension coming off Legolas like a physical entity and knew from experience that the Elf was not comfortable in such predominantly human settlements.  Even though both the men of Lake Town and Elves of the Woodland Realm dwelled and traded here, and had done so peaceably and congenially for many centuries, Legolas had never been able to shake the initial stab of fear he always experienced each time he found himself within a large gathering of humans.  And although no stranger to the merchants of Lake Town, having served on many a patrol escorting goods to and from the palace, he nevertheless did not relish trips into the city proper.

          Strider leaned forward in his saddle and his gaze traveled along the piers and quays in the harbor to the many streets and alleys leading from the large river port to other districts within the busy township.

          “Do you know the harbor master?” he asked of Legolas.

          The Elf nodded.  “A man called Brago.  You will find him down near the riverfront at the Harbor Registry.  While you are securing passage downriver, I will check on the consignments for my father.  The shipments should be here by now and I can see to escorting them back to the palace.  I shall meet you at the docks before you depart.”

          Strider nodded, yet reluctant to actually take leave of his friend.  Legolas’ deep blue eyes bored into his face and a slight grin tweaked the edges of the Elf’s lips.  “Well, go on, then,” he urged Aragorn.

          Strider laughed softly and proffered his right arm.  Legolas clutched it tightly, his stare fixing upon the ranger for a moment longer than needed and then let loose his forearm.  “Very well, then,” Strider replied.  “I will meet you at the piers beside the Registry.”

          Legolas turned Astalder toward the vintner’s district and Strider followed his departure until he lost sight of the Elf among the heavy crowds entering the marketplace.  He then turned Hodoer toward the lake and rode down the main thoroughfare toward the docks in search of the harbor master.  

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          Securing a berth upon one of the large river barges going south was proving more difficult that Strider had imagined.  It seemed the river traffic leaving Lake Town was steady and profitable, yet limited.  He had spoken to the man, Brago, at length about his desire to travel to the Sea of Rhûn but the harbor master had told him that the barges and boats traveled no more than fifty miles south of Lake Town before turning back for the return trip.

          Strider’s frustration and anger at being thwarted in his desire to reach the eastern lands put a grating edge to his voice.  “You mean to tell me there is no one in this entire township willing to travel to Rhûn?  For any price?”

          The harbor master gave Strider a look of patience wearing thin.  “As I’ve told ye before,” he replied; his tone that of someone speaking to a bothersome child or addle-brained adult.  “The river traffic goes no more ‘an fifty miles south.  No reason t’ go further.”  He turned from his paperwork and leaned upon the large, expansive counter dividing his small work area from the common room.  “If ye don’t mind me saying’, ranger, ye’d do best t’ return t’ the Wilds.  You’ll not be travelin’ t’ Rhûn with any o’ my Rivermen.”

          Strider’s fists clinched, his anger at this pompous town official boiling just beneath the surface of his emotions, yet he held his tongue.  His silver eyes were flint sharp as he glared at Brago, but he merely nodded his head to the portly man.

          “Then I shall have to find my own way downriver,” he answered.

          Brago stiffened at the ranger’s tone, but he said no more and Strider turned abruptly, leaving the harbor office to stand outside upon the wooden steps.   If he could not travel by way of the river, he would simply have to ride Hodoer south to the sea.  The journey would take him twice as long, yet it was not any more difficult than some of his wanderings had been.  Although he had not planned on having to take several months just getting to the Land of Rhûn, he supposed it was going to be the only solution.  He could easily follow the river and camp and gather provisions as he went, but if the settlements thinned out then getting supplies would be more difficult.

          As he pondered these options, a movement to his left caught his eye and he turned to see a well-muscled man leaning against one of the columns supporting the overhanging entry roof.  The stranger was well tanned and his faced was cracked and lined, evidence of a life spent under the beating rays of the sun.  Strider could not accurately judge his age, but his eyes were old and told of hardship.  When the man saw that Strider had noticed him, he nodded and extended his hand to the ranger.

          “Name’s Lund,” he provided.  “Couldn’t help but hear ye talkin’ to Brago about passage south.”

          Strider’s eyes lit with hope and excitement.  “Can you take me to Rhûn?”

          The man shook his head negatively.  “Nobody goes t’ Rhûn and lives t’ tell about it,” he stated, but seeing the look of disappointment upon the ranger’s face, he continued.  “But I been t’ the Land of Dorwinion a time er two.  Men there are civil enough.  I could take ye there.”

          “How far is the Sea of Rhûn from this place?” asked Strider.

          The man scratched at the stubble along his tanned neck.  “Maybe fifty, sixty, miles south.”

          “When can we leave?”

          “My barge is being loaded now.  Should take ‘em another hour or so.”  The Riverman looked Strider up and down.  “Just you?”

          “And my horse,” Strider nodded.  “I will pay you a fare price.”

          “Indeed ye will, lad,” the man answered.  “Be down at quay seven by mid-afternoon.  Name of me boat’s River Rat.”  He stepped off the small porch and walked a few paces down the walk and then glanced back over his shoulder at Strider.  “I won’t wait on ye.”

          “I shall be there,” Strider assured him.

          The Riverman nodded and turned down toward the riverfront.  

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          Legolas found the ranger down at the docks, unsuccessfully trying to persuade Hodoer to step across the swaying gangway to the barge.  The horse’s eyes were wild and he danced in front of Strider, ready to bolt.  It was all the ranger could do to hold him in place and only because he had wound the reins about his fist several times.

          “You will never get him to board that way,” Legolas noted.

          Strider turned at the Elf’s voice and gave him a sarcastic smirk.  “And how would you do it then?”

          Legolas slid from Astalder’s back and walked up to the panicked horse, whispering soft Elvish words of comfort as he approached.  Hodoer eyed the Elf with skittish tosses of his head, but allowed Legolas to stroke his neck and then eventually his head.  Once the animal had calmed down sufficiently, the prince glanced at Strider.

            “He does not like the idea of this trip any more than I do,” said Legolas.  “Perhaps you should listen to him.”

          Strider’s eyes flashed with an angry retort, yet he bit down the words and glared back at his friend.  “Do not push me, Legolas.  It has not been a good day.”

          Instead of being threatened or hurt, the Elf laughed with amusement.  “Is that so unusual?”

          In spite of his frustration, weariness and irritation to be off, Strider could not help but laugh as well.  “No, I don’t suppose it is.”  He moved to take Hodoer’s reins from Legolas and together they managed to cajole the horse into moving up the gangplank and onto the barge’s gently swaying deck.  Once Strider had him secured in one of the stalls, he and Legolas returned to the boat dock.  The Elf lightly jumped to the pier and turned about to face his friend.

          As he watched Strider waving to him from the barge railing, Legolas could not shake the fear of impending danger that settled about his shoulders like a mantle.  He could not determine what kind of danger it was that he feared so, yet his mind was screaming at him to stop the ranger at all costs.  He wanted to shout out to Aragorn to forego this madness and return to Lasgalen with him, but he forced a smile to his lips instead and waved as well.

          “Band lend, mellon nin,”* he called up to Aragorn.

          “Namaarie,” Strider replied.  And seeing the apprehension behind the Elf’s quiet smile and sad eyes, he added.   “Do not worry so, Legolas.  I will see you before the leaves turn from green to gold.”

          Legolas did not trust his voice to speak.  He knew if he did he would hopelessly plead for Aragorn to remain and he knew that the ranger would stubbornly refuse.  He had no wish to add his irrational fears to Aragorn’s already burdened mind.  He would just have to content himself with being patient and allow the months to pass by as he knew they would.  If Strider did not return, then there would be time enough to worry.

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          The miles sped by as swiftly as the current upon the river and Strider was greatly relieved that he was not making this journey on horseback.  The lands to either side of the river had been starkly barren almost as soon as they had left the outskirts of Lake Town.  He had seen precious few human settlements along the river as they sailed down the watercourse, and once the trees of Mirkwood vanished from sight as they moved farther and farther southeast, there was nothing to be seen along the banks for miles except burnt scrub and dried sere plains.  It was a desolate, barren land; inhospitable and alien.

          They had traveled more than twenty days when Lund finally poled the barge to the shore and docked the River Rat at a sturdy pier on the eastern side of the river.  This tiny snippet of land was an oasis amid the bleakness of the landscape; a fertile valley of rich soil and lush greenery.  A smattering of buildings could be seen at the end of the lane leading from the pier and moving through the tiny village; and luscious vineyards lined the low hills and dales, row upon row, covering every inch of this small strip of fruitful land.

          Lund came over to the railing where Strider was standing, and watching as his barge settled into land, he leaned his sturdy forearms across the wooden poles, glancing at the ranger from beneath his tattered hat.  Strider, too, leaned his arms upon the rail, staring out at the valley in amazement at this unexpected glimpse of natural beauty.

          “The Vales of the River Running,” said Lund.  “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

          Strider nodded his agreement.  “Yes.  What is this place?”

          “Dorwinion,” answered the Riverman.  “Some of the finest wines ye’ll every taste come from this tiny valley.”

          The two men gazed at the breathtaking scenery before them; neither speaking, and then Lund rose up from the railing and looked to Strider.  “This is as far as I go.”

          Strider pulled back from the rail as well and nodded.  “My thanks for allowing me to journey with you.”

          Lund made a humpfing snort and stared at Strider as if he would never see him again.  “The pleasure was mine, ranger.  I wish ye luck.”  He paused, head shaking.  “Yer goin’ t’ need it.”

          Strider made no reply, just bowed slightly and then went to see about getting Hodoer out of his confinement.  Even though he had walked the horse about the barge daily, he knew the animal wanted to run free and work the kinks and knots out of his stiff legs and he, too, had a great desire to stand upon land once more.  He led Hodoer toward the opening in the rail and together they waited until Lund and his crew had secured the barge and lowered the planks.  Hodoer had no difficulty exiting the barge and clomped down the wooden planking with eager anticipation.

          As Strider mounted his horse, Lund came up to his side and looked up at him with concern.   “If ye should change yer mind about goin’ farther south, I’ll be here a day or so until they load the Rat full up with wine barrels.  Yer welcome to return with me t’ Lake Town.”

          Strider smiled grimly.  “My thanks, but I shall go on.”  He looked down at the small village.  “Is there an inn or hostelry in the town?”

          Lund nodded.  “Aye.  Only one.  Called Land’s End.”

          Strider touched two fingers to his forehead in a brief salute to the Riverman and eased Hodoer down the small lane to the village.  The second leg of his journey had come to an end and he was eagerly awaiting the final few miles until he reached his destination.  He would get a good night’s rest at the inn and a hearty meal and be ready to leave at first light.  He also wanted to subtly ask some questions of the inn’s patrons regarding this region and try to glean any information that could be found about Alatar and Pallando and the Land of Rhûn.  He gently nudged Hodoer into a trot and headed toward the center of the town.

*Safe journey, my friend.