After two days in the company of Ingarthael, Mírien, and Istwë, I knew the way to their workshop, so when dawn roused me, I started to make my way on the paths to that tree, only to find Trevadiel awaiting me just outside the pavilion. "Leoffrith, son of Leoffler," she said -- she'd only used my proper name, never calling me Peace-Lover -- "I have received word that you have been most helpful to Ingarthael, and she has bade us to offer you thanks. She writes that, should her research discover anything of interest to you, a letter will be sent to you."
"Oh," I said, a bit surprised, as I'd expected another day at least of questions. "Well, thankee, then."
"We have prepared a gift of thanks for you and your companion," Trevadiel continued. She stepped into the pavilion past me, and not knowing what else to do, I followed. There was a bundle waiting there I hadn't noticed in my bleary-eyed, purposeful stride to begin another day. "We call this lembas," she said. "It is a waybread that will serve you and your friend well on your journeys."
"Like cram?" I asked.
She smiled, and there was something warm in her smile, unlike that of most of the other Elves, that made me feel not the slightest hint of condescension. "Similar, yes. Eat little at a time, and only at need. For these things are given to serve you when all else fails. The cakes will keep sweet for many days, if they are unbroken and left in their leaf-wrappings, as we have brought them. One will keep a traveler on his feet for a day of long labor."
I thought about telling her about Bottle Cakes, but decided against it, and instead nodded and said, "Thank you." And I meant it; we had many leagues still before us, then the same to return, and our Bottle Cakes would be strained to last the entire journey. It would turn out that lembas was even lighter than Bottle Cakes, and made a very nice contrast to them. Where the soup of Bottle Cakes was rich and hearty, the Elven waybread was light and sweet. Both filling, but differently so; it were nice to have a choice depending on what sort of taste you had that day.
"Follow me," she said, "as there is one more token of thanks to be given." I shrugged and followed, and soon recognized the path, as it led to the stables. I'd been kept so busy I hadn't even had a moment to visit the horses, which made me feel guilty all at once; wherever we stayed, I always wished to make sure they were being given as good care as possible, and perhaps to learn a thing or two from the stable-keepers, and even more so when Rascal was with us, since many did not know how a riding goat should be tended. I found our horses amiably standing with several others, and Rascal nearby, on his own but still looking well-tended and well-fed. "This is Santhiriel," Trevadiel said, and the stable-keeper I'd met a few days earlier nodded to me.
"Pleasure to meet you," I said, expecting her to be brusque as she had been when I had tried to explain how Rascal was cared for. "I am Leoffrith, son of Leoffler, apprentice of Brynleigh," I began.
"My people live long years," she began, leaving me puzzled and unsure how to respond. After a moment, I only nodded, and she continued. "I have spent more than a thousand years learning the ways of tending horses. Most of what I know would take longer to teach you than your life has years in it to spend learning." I wondered if she had thought I was asking to be her apprentice, but while I tried to think of what to say, she continued again. "Ingarthael asked me if there was something I could teach you, in but a day, as she feels the best gift to give is a gift of knowledge, knowledge that would be of value to you, since that was the gift that you gave her. I have thought long on this, and I have found something I can teach you today, which will be of use in your trade."
"Oh?" I said, still off balance.
"Close your eyes," she said, "and picture this horse that stands before you. There is a spirit there, which you cannot see, but which you can imagine, as if you were about to paint a portrait of the horse, and within the portrait, you see another vision, as how the light of summer mornings streaming in your window is not the room but is seen in the room, behind it, beneath the things in it, giving shape to the shapes in the portrait." I was baffled all the more, and she continued to talk this way, hour after patient hour, guiding me to imagine it first one way, then another, all with my eyes closed. I don't know if I ever did it properly, but I certainly came to be able to imagine something vague, nebulous, like a cloud made up of something other than cloud, within and around where the horse was. Santhiriel called it a fëa, and once she was satisfied I was imagining it -- "not truly," she clarified, for it would take many years to truly sense it, if it were even possible for a Man, "but enough for our purposes" -- we repeated the same exercises, only now with me sensing what she said was my own fëa, again, not properly, but near enough.
Then, over more hours of her guiding my imagining, she taught me something that I cannot properly describe, but the nearest I can find to how to say it in words is to say that I could use my own fëa to touch the fëa of a horse, with a touch like that of a gentle, reassuring embrace, or the fëa equivalent. That is, of course, not what it is at all, but it is like it, the way a song is like the thing the song is about. She also taught me some words in the Elf-tongue, though not what they meant, which I could speak to the horse, quietly, in a whisper, at the same time as I did this unreal embrace.
When she was satisfied, she finally explained the purpose. "A horse is a timid creature by nature," she said. "Even a noble and strong horse, trained to the ways of war, has within her the spirit of a creature whose first instinct is always to run, for horses are creatures of flight. Flight rooted to the soil, drawing swiftness from the deep roots of grass and flower and mountain, quite unlike the creatures who dwell in Manwë's firmament, but no less a creature of flight for that. Should you have reason to wish a horse to be calm when it wishes to flee, to heed your will even when it goes against the instincts given to their kind, this embrace, and these words, will draw its fear, its flight, from it to you, and leave behind calm."
"So it'd make me want to flee instead?" I asked, wondering what value that could have.
"It can, but you have more mastery of that instinct than does a horse, as it is not native to you," she explained. "When the skies thunder, a horse might wish to run," she said, causing me to glance at Muffin, remembering a storm last winter where she injured herself doing that very thing, and I saved her life. "If you draw off her terror, she will be calm, and then you can find your own calm in knowing that thunder cannot hurt you, in a way no ordinary horse can truly know. But your concern is wise; should you be yourself full of fear, this method will avail you little, and might make your situation worse. You must find calm in yourself first. You might also use this method if you wish to convince a horse to do something that goes against its instincts, like enter a dark, frightening place, or climb a perilous slope. The responsibility lies on you to be sure the horse is not then harmed as a result of your efforts," she said, and for a moment I felt affronted that this even needed to be said, but I bit back that feeling. She knew I were an Eorling, but she might not know how much that meant.
"You should also know that this horse," she gestured to Kestrel, "will not answer this call, and does not likely need it."
"What?" I said. "Why not?"
"The blood of Felaróf flows in him, in small measure, but enough," she said. "His fëa is much stronger than that of a frightened mare. It would take you lifetimes of learning to forge your fëa to a strength that could sway his. If you attempted it, I cannot guess what might happen, but it would likely be dangerous to both of you. But he has his own calm, and does not need yours."
I nodded. "Well, I'm like to be with him for only a little while longer, anyhow," I said, no doubt a bit sadly.
She seemed unconvinced. "That choice is not solely yours," she said.
"Not at all mine," I answered. "But he were only lent to the same task was set afore me, and that task comes to an end. It's no worry, though, I got Muffin for the ride back." I gestured to the mare who was placidly munching oats.
Santhiriel waved a hand as if to dismiss the entire subject. "I will have the horses, and your friend's goat, ready to leave with the morning sun. Go find your rest and ready yourself to depart. The sun draws low." Indeed, nearly the whole day had slipped away. I bowed to her and murmured heartfelt, though also confused and exhausted, thanks, and found my way back to the pavilion, where several days of fatigue caught up with me, and I barely touched the dinner that was brought to me before drifting into a deep sleep.
