The Arrival of Mithrandread

The night was cold, and the wind was howling. The rain beat down fiercely in a steady tattoo, its drops falling like pebbles off the grey hooded cloak of She who was traveling the road.

She made her way slowly along the road, for it was muddy, and she was quite weary from long travels. At times, she would stop and rest, taking deep gulps of the sweet air, shivering in her dripping cloak. Then, she would continue, her mind set firmly on the road ahead, and her destination, though she knew not where it lay.

"I must reach shelter soon, or I shall drown in this," she said aloud. "Oh, but the night, be it fierce, is so beautiful!" For she was one who found beauty in all things, even in a storm. "Oh, the music of the storm! I must stop and listen, for it gives me strength and courage!" For indeed, to her, the sound of the wind was as that of the voice of a choir singing a song of deep yearning for past joys. The wind would sing a chorus, then, the thunder would respond, while in the background, the rain was like a group of drummers making their drums speak loudly of things and times past. Even the lightning enjoyed the song, dancing upon the sky to its rhythm.

"Well, I must be on," she said to the storm. "But, I thank you for giving me such sweet music for my journey." With that, she again set out upon the road, this time, not stopping for some time.

She then came before the doors of a great Hall with ornate oaken doors upon which runes and images had been carved. It seemed that a warm and friendly air emanated from the place, so, without fear, she entered.

"Welcome!" said a voice. She looked up, but could not see, as her wet hair was in her eyes. "Yes, welcome indeed, good sir," said another. "Welcome to the Hall!" said a third. "Come, take off your wet cloak, and sit and warm yourself by the fireplace, for you must be cold!"

She removed her hood, and beheld a great room with several huge, engraved pillars and high, ornate windows. There were shelves staked neatly with books of all description, some of them quite old. Set about the room were several old comfortable chairs, and there was a fireplace whose flames crackled and danced invitingly. In the center of the room was a large, polished oaken table, and before it sat three maidens, fair of face, and they were looking at her and smiling.

"I-I thank you, good Ladies," she stammered, as she got to her feet, shrugged off her cloak, and leaned on her staff. "I thank you most humbly for your warm welcome and hospitality." "But, you are mistaken. I, too, am a maiden. It is my plight that I have the voice, heart, spirit, and courage of a man, clad in the body of a maiden. Yet, I deem this no burden, but a jest, for I can do as a man, yet, still remain a maiden, and all are amazed by my deeds."

They stared at her with wonder, for she was small, almost as small as a Dwarf. She was clothed like a man, wearing trousers and a worn green shirt. On her hands were thick leather gloves, wet, muddy, and worn. Her honey brown face was young, and smooth but her sparkling eyes held many, many years. Her hair was a wonder, for it hung in neat ropes and knots almost to her knees. She carried a notched staff of dark wood, into which Elvish script and Dwarvish runes were engraved. Beside her was a wheeled device that defied description. A large burlap sack hung from the back of it.

"I am Finduilas," said one of the maidens. "You have come to the Hall of Creative Endeavors." "And I am Nenya," said another. "Please pardon us our error, for you appeared to us as a man." "I am Lhun," smiled the third. "Come sit with us. Tell us your name, and what brought you here, and of the wheeled device that bears you, for I sense you have come from afar, and that there are many stories and adventures that you could tell."

"I am Mithrandread," she replied. "Though you may call me Dread, if you wish, for I have many names in many places. I am a wanderer from a far, far, land, and have been so from my youth. My staff bears the tale of my travels. It was made for me many, many years ago. Then, I traveled with a large Company that included Men, Dwarves, and Elves. This was most unusual, but my Company were friends, and all were valiant, and stout of heart. One night, our Company was attacked by orcs, and in the battle, I was wounded with one of their poisoned arrows. Though I recovered, I found it very difficult to walk, and those of my Company crafted this staff, and gave it to me as a gift. Over the years, it became even more difficult, even exhausting to walk, and the Dwarves among my friends crafted this device for me. Over the years, I have learned to travel quite fast in it; sometimes faster than one on foot, though not as fast as someone on a horse, I daresay."

The maidens laughed good-naturedly. "But Dread," asked Finduilas. "What became of your Company? How did you come to be alone?" "That is a long story," Mithrandread sighed. "Would you like to hear it?" "Yes, please tell us," begged Nenya. "It would be a most interesting tale!"

So Dread began her story, which lasted far into the night. She told of long roads, orcs, trolls, dark forests, and the Sea, while the maidens listened attentively, and the flames crackled softly in the fireplace...