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A piercing melancholy fell over the elven warriors as the contingent left the trees of Lindórinan behind. Gilduin found himself wondering if he would ever return to the Golden Wood, or if he would be buried in the land across the mountains. As they left the golden shadow of the trees, though, he felt his sadness dissolve in the bright sun. The contingent had kept only a loose formation as they moved among the trees; now at last the ranks could draw together. As they halted to reform, a basket of lembas was passed up and down the ranks. The waybread would sustain them for a full day of marching.
After a moment’s rest the company was moving again. As he slipped back into the familiar rhythm, Gilduin decided that he was glad to have left the woods behind. While he was not inept at marching with the standard, it had been many years since he had kept formation while bearing a polearm of any sort. He had found it difficult to maneuver among the trees with the banner catching on branches above his head, and more than once he had tripped up himself and those marching beside him.
Vaele had thus far proven himself to be an irrepressibly good-natured companion, despite the fact that Gilduin cold-shouldered him at every opportunity. Gilduin was gaining a reluctant respect for the scout, who seemed both imperturbable and indefatigable. On Celeborn’s orders, Vaele had been scouting some distance ahead of the contingent since they crossed the Celebrant at midmorning. It had taken over an hour to move the full company and the carts across the river, and though Gilduin was sure they had calculated for this delay, the commanders seemed to be in a hurry, pressing the contingent for speed. Gilduin suddenly realized that he did not know what they would be facing when they reached Eregion. He was not sure what he had expected: a band of yrch, maybe, from the mountains farther north. Now he realized that it had to be something more: the mírdain were not defenseless, and lord Celeborn would not lead the Galadrim to battle unless the need was great.
I wandered overlong in Greenwood the Great, Gilduin thought, and overlong avoided the affairs of my people. Now I do not recognize the foes of the Galadrim.
Catching a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye, Gilduin turned his head and saw Vaele a short distance ahead of the contingent, likely returning to report to the commanders.
“Daro, Galadrim!” Celeborn’s strong voice rang out, and the contingent halted obediently. Gilduin decided to speak to Vaele if the scout returned to the marching order. If I am going to battle, I should know whom I will be fighting, and why.
As in the previous rest, the contingent halted only briefly as the commanders consulted. Gilduin glanced at the waning sun and wondered if they would press on until nightfall. When the command to march came again, he was glad to see Vaele fall into step beside him. Gilduin noted with admiration that the scout seemed still unwearied. He recalled that Vaele had been far ahead of the contingent when they received the day’s rations, and wondered if the archer had taken any sustenance that day at all. Gilduin decided abruptly to withhold his questions about their march until the contingent stopped to rest. He tried instead to remember how one framed a polite query, thinking ruefully that it had been to long since he had had a real conversation with a sentient being…Which is entirely my fault, He realized. I avoid people like a sickness, and when they do speak to me, I ignore them. So often I am lost in my own thoughts… He gave a silent, bitter laugh. …as I am now. After moment he shook off his dark musings and turned to Vaele.
“How do you fare, my friend?” Gilduin asked at last.
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