Bell leaves Minas Tirith. She travels with some of the same Rangers she came with, but also some elves from Rivendell; both groups having left companions behind who are staying longer in the White City. This gives her opportunities: to spend more time closely with elvenfolk than she has before, and to visit Rivendell.
Imladris! Long has she dreamt of that place: heart of scholarship in Middle Earth. Containing not only Elrond's library, but elves who can speak firsthand in recollection of the eldermost days. Her own heart swells with anticipation.
The journey passes seeming swift. Summer faring in good company is always a joy if the weather holds well. And the food is actually adequate: Lembas supplemented by skillful foraging (at which all the company are adept). Not enough meat, but what food there is is worth eating. Nor is Bell averse to seeing her paunch slender down to a more girlsome waist. And the fellowship keeps its courtesy: never complaining about her endless questions, at least no complaint other than bright laughter.
They come to the moors east of Loudwater, and the more familiar vegetation of Eriador; although still different here than the woods of the Shire. Bell finds herself giving thought to the botany: are these similarities she sees the same species growing in another ecology? or a different variety thereof? or a separate species altogether? She takes samples and sketches preparatory to a more in depth study.
Rapt in this, it surprises her when the expected valley opens suddenly before; with its waterfalls, and its white bridges, and their delicate curlicues; and the homely houses tucked among the trees. In first look it is the most Shire-like settlement she has seen beyond the borders of that land; but within all is grander than the grandest smial. Vast pillared halls filled with silence, or soft voices, or sweet music; but even in the emptiest chamber a feeling of warmth and welcome.
Nor does the library disappoint. On two levels it is smaller than the Houses of Lore, but more relevant. The Men of Gondor keep many miscellaneous texts and chronicles of little interest, wishing to hoard each word written as a weapon against mortality; the elves write words only when they feel need, and set their ephemera to the flames, happy to let their memories be a chronicle.
But there is a problem with the books, or at least in getting copies of them. The elves assume that if you want a copy of a book you can make it yourself; and after all, writing out a text in full is a great way of a studying it. This doesn't work so well for hobbits, who have less time. If she wishes to study the library properly Bell must spend a lot of time in Rivendell, much more than she can now.
And what to say of Elves? There is a deepness to them. Superficially grave and gracious, there is beneath that a childlike joy; delighting in games and jokes and clever contrivances; and deeper still are endless subtleties. So that no two are alike, and even elves can spend a lifetime getting to know one another.
Elven food is magnificent, but limited. Everything the elves prepare is near to perfect, but there are many dishes they will not make. Portion sizes are always small, and meat is considered a feast food or a garnish; and mushrooms and starchy vegetables are treated likewise. Elves eat a lot of fruit, nuts, and salads, especially salads; more than a hobbit can be expected to endure. Their breads and cakes are legendary, but always light and airy; they never bake a heavy loaf. Their wines are excellent and they do not care for ale. Elves do, however, make a thoroughly splendid cup of tea; if you can manage a choice between the three hundred varieties available. The good folk of Rivendell treat tea with admirable seriousness.
Regarding dairy produce: the Wood Elves care little for it, as keeping cattle does not suit the woodland lifestyle, but the High Elves are broader of mind on this matter. This means that you can have milk in your tea at Rivendell (an important consideration), and also brings us to our final point. The Elves of Rivendell are the finest cheesemakers in all of Middle Earth: whether you like a delicate white, a robust blue, a complex green, or a plain and simple cheddar, or a pleasant mixture of them all. You will not be disappointed. And they also bake light and crisp crackers as the perfect accompaniment.
When Bell needs to clear her head while studying, she finds a quiet walk in the Hall of Fire very beneficial. And it is there she meets Cesistya, a wandering scholar. She had seen her before, at Bree, in the Prancing Pony, but they had never spoken. During her time with Ynna in Minas Tirith the Rohiril had suggested Cesistya as a teacher for Bell, Ynna having known the elf during her time at Bree, years earlier. Bell was looking forward to meeting Cesistya on her return to Bree, and is pleasantly surprised to find her in Rivendell.
Cesistya refuses all talk of being a teacher, but is happy to offer advice. (As a teacher, one might be expected to answer a question with either 'no' or 'yes', and not both). Cesistya is young, for an elf, and has travelled widely among the varied peoples of Middle Earth; she is easy for Bell to talk to, and has no patronising smile to hide when Bell speaks of her own scholarship. Bell likes her, and finds her advice useful.
They devise a study plan for Bell, of visiting the various peoples of Eriador in turn and staying with them; so that she might thoroughly immerse herself in their culture and learn of them properly. Starting with the Rangers, of which she already has some knowledge, and who can teach her better travelling skills so that she might reach the others.
And as many Rangers visit Rivendell, she can start her study there; which she needs to do anyway to read at the library. The East Road has its dangers, but it is much safer than a wilderness path; and Bell is confident she can travel it safely. And then there are all those mazy ruins and fascinating forests, just off the road and waiting to be explored.
She can do this. She's looking forward to it.
But for now, it's time to go home. The Shire is waiting.
