For a while, it seemed as if time moved very fast. The captain proved more amenable to Maltariel's request to leave than either of them had expected, even to the extent of dismissing her from her duties immediately. The following days rushed past in a flurry of packing, of hasty goodbyes and hurried preparations. Maltariel emptied out her house entirely, passing those possessions she couldn't pack among her friends. There was less than she had expected – somehow, what with all the years patrolling the borders and living in outposts, she had avoided really gathering much. It was almost as though she'd known that she would not be staying forever – when it came to it, everything she really wanted to take could be carried with her. There were gifts, of course – her closest friend, the scout who'd been with her when she received her fateful letter, sent her off with a beautiful carving of a mallorn and a long letter for Rainith, and many others pressed small keepsakes and tokens on her. Most touching was the beautiful garland of niphredil her company had woven for her as a token of their honour and affection – Maltariel had worn it until the flowers dried, then carefully packed it in the top of her bags, sure that the journey would destroy it, but nonetheless unwilling to leave it behind.
Eventually, everything was done. Maltariel was left alone with her horse, riding swiftly by day and camping off the road by night. The roads were almost entirely free of travellers – both a blessing and a curse. She had never particularly enjoyed travelling alone, but the blessing of travelling unmolested or interrupted was increasingly rare. Travelling in the late summer, even the pass over the mountains was untroubled, and Maltariel was glad that Rainith’s letter had arrived before the snows had come – Autumn storms would have made her route almost impossible. As it was, she crossed the wide lands of Eregion swiftly, only pausing to note the changes since she had last been there, so long ago. Though the outposts stood only as ruins, and the land was forbidding and mournful, there were still signs of some care. The roads seemed clearer than Maltariel would have expected, and on spending a night at the ruins of Gwingris, the scouts there mentioned the irregular patrols of the Order of the Hammer, which did a great deal to preserve the ancient routes.
Maltariel’s luck held up to the entrance to the hidden valley, which she almost missed entirely. The sentries at the path directed her on, and she rode down into Imladris for the first time, heart feeling as though it had leapt up into her throat. The Haven was beautiful. The river wound its way through the valley, running through trenches and roaring over waterfalls, until it spilled out into gleaming lakes. As the sun set, the waters reflected back the crimson light across the valley, staining the delicate white-bridges a fiery orange. Trees shadowed gentle slopes of grass, and at the other end of the valley a winding path led to through a gate and up onto the mountain slopes, already touched with snow. Maltariel sat on her horse for a long time, watching the sunlight fade and the great House at the other end of the valley slowly begin to glow with its own lights. Eventually her mare gave a snort of irritation and began to pull at the reins, and Maltariel followed her lead, riding slowly down to the stables, where she was warmly welcomed, and directed to the house to find food and wine after her journey.
The main hall itself was another revelation. Under a high, arching ceiling, great windows broke the dying light of the sunset into multi-coloured rainbows. The room was warm and inviting, opening on to long tables and a series of roaring fires at one end, from which, her guide informed her, the hall took its name. Maltariel was left to wander at will, encountering small groups of friends talking quietly, and one or two elves reading silently on the upper floor. Eventually she was drawn to the gathering by the fires, where she heard with delight music which rivalled the festival musicians of Lorien. A group of musicians, dressed all in white, played in the corner by the fire, and a good-humoured elf standing listening to them informed her that this was a regular practice, as the musicians themselves made clear a little later on. The atmosphere was full of joy, as her new acquaintance, Hingalas, tried out a few peculiar dance steps. Maltariel imitated him as best she could, delighting both of them in the process, and it was not long before one of the musicians was joining in, showing them a strange shuffling dance which Maltariel had never seen before.
After the length of her solitary journey, the cheerful company and enjoyment which she found in the hall was strangely encouraging, and although she did not stay long, Maltariel found herself reflecting on her choice with renewed hope and pleasure. The long goodbyes and the hasty packing had almost made her wonder about the rightness of her choice – home or not, she had lived in Lorien a long time, and it had not been easy to leave the friends who’d been dear to her for many generations, nor abandon the fight for a cause she had passionately devoted her energy too. Nevertheless, the warmth she found in the House of Lord Elrond told Maltariel that if nothing else, she would find good company and hospitality there, and that went some way to helping suppress her doubts.
