The Night's Wanderer

43. There and Back Again

A still air sat over the White City as the sun rose over the distant grass plains. Most were still in bed, only merchants and traders awake in the main plaza setting up their stalls and wagons for a day of trade. 

Another group –a group of ten– walked in silence down the stone paths of the city. Three horses and one pony were guided by their riders, their hooves echoing and drawing a few from their beds. 

Shadowfax guided the group, Arod being guided by Legolas, Dûro (as Morel had started referring to him) guided by the Wanderer who had returned to their ellon appearance, and a small chestnut pony trotting behind Merry. The group had discussed their journey at length the past night, most will be on foot, but some riding would occur to avoid the stormy weather drawing closer. 

The group stayed silent as they walked, the lack of noise was common for them now. A few were wrapped up in their heads, pondering what is to come and what to do next, while others were admiring the moment. Golden light shone through the streets, dew on the leaves of random plants, and a few birds chirping away as they passed overhead. 

Morrandir was the first to mount his horse, effortlessly pulling himself on the brown saddle where his pack sat behind him. Dûro shifted after a bit, restless and ready to leave the stone city. Just like his rider he was ready to travel and explore than land ahead of them. 

"Up you come Sam," Morrandir prompted, hand down for the fair haired hobbit. 

Legolas had already pulled Gimli behind him and Frodo the same with Gandalf. Shadowfax seemed as eager as Dûro to leave, Arod not seeming to really care. Merry and Pippin messed around with the chestnut pony, the smaller animal matching their energetic state. 

Sam gulped at the open hand, all had heard tales of the rather aggressive steed under Morrandir's care, hence the race of saddling up. Someone would ultimately draw the short straw, and that was Sam. 

Before Sam could draw close enough to take the outstretched hand Dûro turned, quick to inspect the short human with a sniff and snort. The scent of earth and plants was a welcoming one for the steed, normally people smelt like salt, copper, and something unpleasant he was yet to name. Giving a small huff, the warm air blowing over Sam's hair, Dûrochir turned back to his original position. 

Morrandir chuckled, taking Sam's hand and swinging the wary hobbit to sit before him. Don't want to lose their Gardener on the first day. 

"Our paths will cross again, do not fret so much Aragorn." Morrandir nodded as Sam made himself comfortable. 

Arwen rolling her eyes, Morrandir had never been one for simple departures. Well, in truth, the fair elf had never been one for known departures. There were many times the Night Wanderer left Rivendell in the middle of the night, telling no soul and slipping away unseen. It had been fifty years prior when Morel last vanished into thin air, along with a small band of dwarves. 

"Your Council has been sharing the future with you again?" Aragorn chuckled out, his solemn expression fading away. 

"Nay, I have a reason to come visit." Morrandir smiled. "It would be cruel to not visit friends."

A smile broke out across the whole group, each for different reasons. Gandalf and Arwen shared the same look, this was possibly the first time Morrandir had admitted to having friends outside those that raised them. Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli all shared the same expression, proud of the change Morrandir has had. They started the journey with a secretive lone elf –a figment of bedtime tales– but now they have a loyal friend. And then the hobbits, well, Merry and Pippin were quite excited to have more adventures and being friends with Morrandir basically promised those. While Sam and Frodo had been able to befriend a character from old Bilbo's stories, one of the favourites of all his tales.