"It's a lovely morning to start a journey," Anson announced as the company assembled outside the Prancing Pony. Marsilion glanced at the sky, still pink in the east, and hefted his pack up onto his shoulders. The air was crisp, and only a lingering smell of the disease tainted its freshness. The ranger was eager to go.
He glanced around at the rest of the company. The two hobbits Anson and Ferri stood together. Capable and level-headed- Marsilion thought. The girl, Peony, was close by. He suppressed a smile remembering her reaction to his suggestion that she remain behind. Perhaps she'd do well after all.
Gondolin stood beside him, and Elen, not too far off. The company mounted their horses (and the hobbits their ponies) and set off over the hills of the Bree lands. The feel of Firien underneath him was freeing after nearly a month in Bree. Marsilion was ready to ride again.
Gondolin rode near him on a white horse, and they talked of the days of valor of the kings of men-- the stories Marsilion knew best-- and tales from when thier peoples had been closer. Elenlith rode nearby listening, but she didn't speak.
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The seasons fall like silver swords, the years rush ever onward; and soon I sail, to leave this world, these lands where I have wander'd. O Elbereth! O Queen who dwells beyond the Western Seas, spare me yet a little time 'ere white ships come for me!
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