Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Once upon a time, there lived a hobbit. But not an ordinary hobbit. Sure, he did many ordinary hobbit things, such as gardening, cooking and the like, but he was very different in one very important way. You see, Ogo loved the sea.

It had started when he was young, only a teen. He had gone with his parents to the seashore, as his mother had wanted some kind of seaweed that they could find there. At first, he had found the beach rather boring. There was sand, sand, and more sand, with some water that made it all unpleasantly sticky. He just didn’t see why anyone would come here!

Then, he had discovered the hidden cove. It was a little rocky cove far down the beach from where his parents were collecting the seaweed. The rocks were fun for a young hobbit to climb amongst, and the shells that had washed up here were very interesting. But what caught his eye was the flash of light reflecting off a glass bottle. He scrambled over the sharp rocks, careful not to scrape himself (He’d have a time explaining that to his parents!), and retrieved it from where it had clearly been washed up by the tide, given the slight coating of salt.

For some reason, Ogo felt oddly protective of the bottle. He took it further into the cove, and slowly unstoppered it. He had some difficulty getting out the cork, but he managed eventually. The script inside was not a lettering he’d ever seen, nor a language, but Ogo felt it spoke to great sadness. Perhaps this person was stranded and needed help! He vowed to figure out what it said.

Ever since that fateful day, Ogo had loved the sea, although it was not truly the sea he loved. It was the letter-writer. Ogo had begged his parents to go back, and eventually they had conceded. When they went back a month later, Ogo found another bottle, this one roughly carved wood.

Ever after, he had continued to go to that beach. Even as he grew older, he continued to return often, and every time there would be a bottle waiting for him. Usually they were clear glass or carved wood, but once he found a lovely stained glass one, and another time there was one made of metal. Ogo grew older, and found himself a hobbit hole. He married a lovely hobbit lass and started an inn, which ended up very successful, but he still couldn’t read the letters he collected.

One night, an unusual customer came through his inn. A travelling book-seller, he had no money but agreed to give Ogo a book for a nights rest. Ogo spotted a book which was seemingly in the same language as the letters, and he choose that one. “Ah, an excellent choice.” The bookseller said. “The works of Rumil, transcribed from a first age original. You speak Quenya?” Ogo did not, in fact, speak Quenya, nor did he know what that was, but at least he had a name for the mysterious language now. So he nodded and took the book, and the next day the bookseller was on his way.

Ogo still was unable to read the letters, but he continued to collect them. His wife, the beautiful Lila Proudfoot, thought he was very odd, but she supported him.

In time, Lila gave birth to a handsome baby boy, who they named Hugo. Hugo grew to be more like his mother by far, much less curious than Ogo, but he loved looking at the letters. It didn’t seem to matter that he couldn’t read what they said, he simply loved the old paper and ink.

Around the time that Hugo was turning thirty-three and coming of age, Ogo discovered an old book that read ‘Elvish’ on the front. He hoped it might help him, as the notes were clearly elvish. (It did not help, as it was a Sindarin dictionary, not a Quenya one.) By this time, Hugo was no longer a child and no longer interested in his father’s flights of fancy, but soon enough, he had a child of his own.

Philipa Proudfoot was as curious a hobbit lass as they come, even at a young age. She constantly wanted to know ‘why?’ and ‘how?’, and she was a startlingly intelligent child who loved to spend time with her grandfather Ogo.

It came as a surprise to no one that as she grew older, she sought to unravel the mystery of the letters.

Chapter Text

Philipa Proudfoot ran into her grandfather’s peaceful study at a pace that was most inappropriate for a gentle-hobbit, skirts swishing around her slender ankles. “Grandfather!”

Ogo looked up from his book. “Yes, my dear granddaughter?” No matter how old Philipa grew, Ogo always called her ‘my dear granddaughter’. It was rather endearing really. ”I hear,” Philipa started breathlessly, “that the elves are passing through.”

Ogo instantly put down his book. “Indeed, they are?” Philipa nodded, smiling, and Ogo couldn’t help but smile at his granddaughter’s enthusiasm.

“Well, I suppose if you’ve done all your schoolwork, I might be persuaded to go hassle the elves with you.”

Philipa grinned widely. “Thank you, grandfather! I promise I’ve finished my schoolwork!” Ogo offered his own indulgent smile as he took up his coat and hat. “Well, my dear girl, shall we go hassle some elves?”

The elves Philipa had seen passing through the Shire turned out to be the wandering company of Gildor Inglorion, passing through on their way to the Grey Havens. “So, you wished to ask us something, Mistress…?”

“Philipa. Philipa Proudfoot.”

“Mistress Philipa then.” The elf said with an easy smile. Philipa held out one of the mysterious letters. ”Please, Mr. Gildor, you don’t suppose you could read this?” Gildor took the letter and scanned the parchment. His face was unreadable as he traced a hand over it, paling as he reached the bottom. “Where did you find this?”

“It was in a bottle, by the seashore. My grandfather was the first to find one, but they’ve been washing up for years!” Philipa responded.

Gildor handed it back to her, still with a strange look on his face. “This, my hobbit friends, is a letter from an elf long thought to be dead, written in an ancient variant of Feanorian Quenya.”

“Well, what does it say?” Philipa asked, ever curious and occasionally insensitive.

Gildor frowned. “I am not certain.” He admitted. “It has been many years since I’ve seen any document written in Quenya, much less this particular dialect. I would advise you to seek a loremaster.” Ogo frowned himself and spoke for the first time. “Who would we seek who could read this letter?”

“Lord Elrond would most likely be able to read it, and Lady Galadriel most certainly will.” Gildor advised. “I...am not certain you wish to know what it says, but you may certainly attempt to find someone who can read it. I…would advise you seek Lord Elrond first. It may be best, given the identity of the letter-writer.”

With that cryptic advice, Gildor and his company headed onwards on the road, and Philipa and Ogo returned to the little hobbit hole.

“Grandfather, do you think we should go to Rivendell?” Philipa asked as they returned to the peaceful study. “Gildor seemed to think the letter was important.”

Ogo frowned in his most respectable way. “Now you know, haring off to the elves is terribly un-hobbity. No respectable gentle-hobbit would ever do that, and I’m too old for this sort of thing.” Philipa sighed and slumped, breaking her respectable upright posture.

“But,” Ogo added with a twinkle in his eye, “if, hypothetically, one was to go find the elves, if say, one was a hobbit lass nearly grown, one would need to bring plenty of supplies, and one would likely want to bring at least a few of the letters. One also might want a dependable companion, such as a nice dog.” He smiled at Philipa before growing serious again. “Of course, this is all purely hypothetical. But if I were to go find the elves, I would certainly do all that.”

The next few days, Philipa was anxious. She couldn’t seem to find rest, and was inattentive at lessons and restless most other times. The question of the letter still bothered her. What if the letter-writer needed help? What if he or she was relying on someone to find the letters and come help him or her? Although Philipa supposed if that were true, he or she probably would have written in a language that wasn’t quite so ancient and obscure! But maybe they didn’t speak Westron, but still needed to write for help!

By the fourth day, Philipa had resolved to go find Lord Elrond and ask him to translate the letters. So that night, as per Ogo’s advice, she packed a pack full of supplies, took a couple of the letters, the ones in sturdy wood bottles and not fragile glass, and prepared to set off. Knowing her parents would never approve, Philipa left early in the morning, taking the family dog, Oliver, with her.

Oliver was a dependable and loyal Border Collie, and Philipa knew he’d be a faithful companion on her journey through the unknown. Besides, Ogo had practically said that she should take him. Philipa knew her grandfather, and purely hypothetically was his way of giving advice for things he was not supposed to approve of.

Philipa crept through the dark and silent kitchen, leaving a short note explaining her intent on the table. Oliver, ever intelligent, did not bark. It almost seemed as if he knew she was sneaking out. But Philipa knew that was just wishful thinking, as she had fed Oliver a treat to keep him quiet.

When Philipa was nearly to the door, she tripped over a drawer that someone had left sticking out, and a pot fell out with a loud ‘Ka-chunk’. Philipa froze for several heart-stopping moments and listened for noise from the rest of the hole. There was none, and after a few minutes, she continued on her way, more cautious of drawers left open now.

Eventually, she made it outside into the idyllic peace of a Shire morning before dawn. Everything seemed soft and grey in the pre-dawn light, and hardly a sound could be heard from the sleeping town. Most hobbits, even farmers, would still be asleep at this time of morning, so Philipa saw no one on her way through town. The sun was just rising over the hills as she reached the borders of the Shire proper, and she smiled to herself.

Philipa Proudfoot was going on an adventure.

Chapter Text

By midafternoon, Philipa had decided that adventures were not all they were made out to be. She was hot, tired, and swarms of bugs were constantly surrounding her, biting at any snatch of exposed skin. To top it all off, her bare feet hurt from stepping on twigs, which were surprisingly prevalent on the road through the Shire.

As she walked on, the sun blazed brighter and then slowly (far too slowly) sank towards the horizon.

Eventually, Philipa took up talking to Oliver to fill the silence. “Well Oliver, I suppose we ought to find a place to camp, now shouldn’t we?” Oliver barked once, and Philipa took that as agreement. She marched purposefully through the woods, looking around for somewhere to make camp.

Oliver darted happily around her ankles as she set up her bedroll on the ground near a majestic oak tree. Philipa settled down to rest and soon discovered that while the oak might be wonderful and majestic, it was not so wonderful to sleep on tree roots all night. There were somehow still bugs, as Philipa had unwisely chosen to set out during the spring when the insects were at their peak, and although the tree was wonderful, the occasional twig fell on her. much to Philipa's displeasure. 

By the end of the night, Philipa had gotten rather less sleep than she had hoped, and by dawn, she decided she might as well get up. “Well, Oliver, I suppose we should get going. No point in trying for more sleep tonight.”

The dog ran joyfully ahead of her as she found a convenient stream to refill her canteen, and took a long drink. “We’ve got a long day ahead of us, Oliver. Better not tire yourself out.” Philipa advised. Oliver, of course, did not listen.

Philipa set off on the road again, happy to get going. The morning was peaceful and soft, the gentle light of dawn filtering through the trees. Somehow, the quiet peace of the morning made all the discomfort of yesterday and last night worth it.

Philipa walked for several more hours, occasionally chattering to Oliver. “You know, I’m really terribly excited about this whole adventure thing, Oliver. I do think it might be the first time a Proudfoot has gone on one.” Philipa knew adventuring was certainly not a respectable thing to do, although she couldn’t bring herself to care. Perhaps it was a little of her grandfather’s restless spirit, but she was glad to be on the road. “Oliver, do you like adventuring?” Philipa enquired, smiling down at her faithful companion.

Oliver stiffened, and at first, Philipa thought he had merely seen a squirrel or some such. Soon enough, however, the dog’s ears perked up and he started growling softly. “Oliver, what has gotten into you?” Philipa demanded. Oliver growled louder.

And that was when the strange men appeared from the trees. “My dear hobbit lass, I am deeply worried for you.” One of them said, voice oily and slick. Philipa thought they could likely sense her fear as the men surrounded her.

“All alone in a little forest with naught but a dog to protect you!” The seeming leader went on. “Why, I’d guess there’s no one who knows where you’re going or even that you’ve gone!” Had they heard her talking to Oliver about adventures? Oh dear.

“I have a very large family, and they all live just down the road.” Philipa lied through her teeth. “I’m expected for dinner in just a bit.”

The leader grinned like a snake. “Is that so?” His voice made it clear that he had not believed her. “In that case, we should really be gentlemen and escort you to your family’s house.” Philipa had no choice but to agree, and so the band of outlaws (for outlaws they clearly were) set off down the road with her.

Perhaps an hour passed in terrified silence. Philipa was frantically plotting ways to get out of her current predicament as they walked. She didn’t have much money, and she would need all of it for her journey, so bribing them was out. She could try to go along with what they wanted, but if they found out her family name, they might kidnap her and hold her ransom. Philipa shuddered to think what else they might do to a pretty hobbit lass, all alone in the woods. Philipa certainly couldn’t fight all of them, even with Oliver, and so she could see no way to get out of this. Please, if anyone is listening, please, save me. Philipa pleaded mentally. I’m only a tween. Please, help me.

Whatever higher power was listening at that time must have decided that the young hobbit was worth saving, as just as Philipa thought she was lost, the mysterious stranger in the patchwork cloak appeared from nearby. He or she drew a sword and held it to the leader’s neck, clearly quite at ease with the weapon.

“Leave the lass alone.” He, for the voice was clearly a man’s voice, had a deep and melodic voice with a strong accent, although his Westron was quite good. Thanks to the hood, Philipa could not see his face, but the killing aura he emanated was more than a little terrifying, and she imagined the rest of him would be the same.

“Why should we be afraid of you, ya coward?” Demanded a bandit. “There’s only one of you, and ten of us.” The cloaked stranger removed the sword from the bandit leader’s neck without letting him go, and, with hardly any effort, disarmed the men who surrounded him with swords.

“I said, let. The. Hobbit. Go.” The stranger repeated. Now that Philipa listened more closely, his voice was slightly raspy, almost guttural. The bandits scrambled back, and the stranger turned to face them, the leader still held to him with that razor-sharp sword held to his throat.

“Listen. You will not plague these roads again, do I make myself clear?” The outlaws nodded in terror. “You may leave unharmed this time.” The cloaked figure said. “Go, before I change my mind.” All ten bandits turned tail and ran, and the stranger turned to Philipa.

“Are you alright?” His voice was genuinely concerned, and Philipa decided he seemed trustworthy enough. Besides, her legs were threatening to give out. “I-I think so? They didn’t hurt me, just-just scared me a little.” Her legs did give out and she landed in the dirt with a thump. The kind stranger knelt next to her.

“That must have been a shock. I am deeply sorry for not intervening earlier.” His voice was troubled, and he seemed shaky. Philipa decided that she was having none of it.

“Now don’t you go thinking that, mister!” Philipa said, imitating her mother’s strictest voice. “You did all you could, and you saved me regardless. Now if you really want to be kind, you could be polite and tell me your name.” The stranger seemed to struggle with himself a little.

“Aiano. My name is Aiano.” He said finally. “Philipa Proudfoot.” Philipa responded proudly. She didn’t think for a moment that perhaps telling a stranger her real name was not such a good idea. But Philipa can be forgiven, for she was young, and Aiano was kind and had just saved her from bandits.

“Philipa. That’s a lovely name.” Aiano said. Philipa smiled proudly and took a good look at Aiano for the first time.

He was thin, almost painfully so, and scarred. His cloak- all his clothes, really-were more patches than original cloth, and very dirty and ripped. He was the sort of person Philipa would have expected to beg for coin, and the kind her mother would turn away at the door if he came to their house. He seemed very sorrowful, with his sad eyes and downcast gaze.

Philipa instantly decided that here was a person who needed her help. “Well, Mr. Aiano, if you don’t mind, I’d rather not be journeying alone anymore after those robbers. If you don’t have a specific place you’re going, perhaps you could come along?” He startled, as if he hadn’t expected an offer like that. “Where are you headed for, Ms. Philipa?”

“Rivendell. I’d suppose you’ve heard of it, it’s where Lord Elrond resides. I’m told he can read these letters I’ve found.”

Aiano looked pained. “Indeed, who has not heard of Imladris? I suppose I could accompany you to the borders of Rivendell, but I’m afraid I will not enter the valley.”

Philipa considered for a moment before deciding she would have to settle for that. “Well, Mr. Aiano, I suppose we’re traveling companions now. Oughtn’t we get going?”

And on they went.

Chapter Text

Philipa and Aiano traveled throughout that day and camped that night amongst the trees.

Aiano was quite skilled at finding a flat place to camp, Philipa found, and her night was much more restful than the last one.

“You really are good at finding good camping spots, Mister Aiano. Have you been traveling a long time?” As he often did when asked a direct question, Aiano stopped to think a moment, looking pained.

“Yes. I have traveled many years indeed, Miss Philipa.” From his face, Philipa guessed that most of those years were not happy, so she did not inquire further.

“Well, Mister Aiano, we should probably be getting on the road. Should I call you Mister Aiano?”

“Just Aiano is fine.” He assured her. Philipa offered her best encouraging smile, since Aiano had a perpetually lost and sad look. “Aiano it is!”

He followed her onto the road, still resembling a rather confused puppy. Philipa thought he was rather sweet, but lacking in a good deal of common sense. She supposed he was an elf and thus could not be expected to have common sense on par with a hobbit’s, but still.

He seemed rather mysterious, and she was determined to find out more. “Do you travel a lot, Aiano?”

“I-I have for many years, but I did not used to.” He seemed melancholy. “I once had a home and family, but both are long gone.”

They were still walking along the road, the trees offering gentle shade. Philipa placed a hand on his elbow, which was the highest spot she could reach. “I’m sorry, Aiano. Do you not want to talk about it?”

Philipa may have been young, but she could still be tactful if she wanted.

“It is alright. It…would be good to have their memory known by someone other than me.” Aiano responded. They still walked on, but he veered off the road and sat on a soft tuft of grass, black hair blowing in the wind. “We can stop for a break.”

Philipa, whose legs were perhaps half the length of Aiano’s at most, was extremely grateful. She flopped into the grass. “So, your family?”

Aiano blinked at her in that confused way. “What about it?” Philipa waved her hand impatiently. “Tell me about it! Was it large or small? What were they like? Did you have lots of siblings and cousins? I’m an only child, but I have many cousins.”

His face instantly cleared of confusion. “Large. Very large. I am one of seven children, and my father was one of five, although father did not get along with his siblings the way I did. To tell you what they were like would take a very long time, but suffice to say I love them all very much. I had lots and lots of cousins. One of my uncles had four children and the other five, only one of whom is still alive.”

That seemed very somber for a bright spring day like this, but Philipa pressed on. “Where are you in the sibling order? Oldest, youngest, middle? What was that like?”

Aiano removed some bread from his battered pack and offered it to Philipa, who took it gratefully. “I am the second oldest. It was very tricky, as all my younger brothers were very troublesome, but most responsibilities were left to my oldest brother and I was left to gallivant around and sing.”

They ate their bread in silence for a while, each occupied in their thoughts. Philipa was wondering what Aiano was thinking about. He seemed sad often, but right now, his face was faintly wistful and happy as he stared into the distance as if he was remembering better times. Philipa hoped they had been very happy.

“What is your family like?” The voice startled her from her thoughts.

“Pardon?”

“What is your family like?” Aiano repeated. “Do you have a large family like me or a small one?” Philipa took a moment to answer.

“I have a fairly large family. My mother has five siblings, all of whom have fauntlings of their own, so I have lots of cousins. My father only has the one sister, and she lives quite a ways away. We don't visit often. I haven’t any siblings, although I would like some. My grandfather on my father’s side is my favorite family member, ‘cause he likes learning elvish and all that. Very un-hobbity, but he’s a very fun old hobbit.

My mother's much more of a proper hobbit and so is my dad, but they support me spending time with Grandfather. He's considered a very learned hobbit, although I suppose he wouldn't seem so worldly to an elf like you who's seen so many things.”

As she spoke, Philipa found herself missing those she talked of. Her family might not quite understand her, but they cared. “And, well, that’s my family.” She finished slightly less brightly.

At some point, they had started along the dusty road once more, Philipa’s shorter legs trying hard to keep up with Aiano’s longer strides.

“You miss them,” Aiano noted. Philipa nodded. “I wasn’t expecting adventuring to be quite this tricky or for me to miss home so much.”

Aiano winced. “You never do.”

And that was when they came to Bree.

Chapter Text

Bree, as it turned out, was a very strange and large place, at least to Philipa. There were Big Folk everywhere, and all the streets seemed crowded.

Everywhere vendors cried out, advertising their wares, and shoppers moved amongst them, searching for the best bargain. They seemed to have arrived during market day, and Bree was rather bustling. Twice, Philipa was nearly knocked over by people scurrying to and fro, and it was only Aiano’s quick reflexes that kept her from falling.

Even here, he stuck out like a sore thumb. There was not another elf in sight, and while his battered and patched traveling clothes were not unusual, he was very tall even for one of the Big Folk.

It was growing near nightfall, so Aiano and Philipa sought out an inn. They ended up in the Prancing Pony, where the innkeeper regarded them (well, mainly Aiano) with suspicion, but allowed them inside when Philipa flashed some of the money she had brought with her. It was unwise to spend too much this early in the trip, but Philipa would do what needed to be done for a soft bed and warm room at this point.

Since they had paid well and were polite, the innkeeper seemed to warm up to them. “Welcome to my inn! We welcome travelers, although it’s rare to see an elf in these parts. Nonetheless, if you pay, you can stay, Mistress Hobbit!”

“Thank you, good sir,” Philipa told him. “We would much enjoy a warm and safe place to stay tonight and your inn is quite nice.”

The unusual duo navigated their way through the main room of the inn, where the patrons paid them little mind. Aiano always seemed to draw at least a little attention, being an elf, but these folk simply glanced over and then returned to their drinks.

The whole inn had a warm and cozy feel, and Philipa was glad they were staying here tonight, although she winced at the new lightness of her coin purse.

Philipa and Aiano navigated up the stairs to the small room. It was seemed nice enough, although there was only a single bed. “I will sleep on the floor.” Aiano instantly volunteered.

“Are you sure?” Philipa asked. Aiano surveyed the floor. “I have slept many worse places than this floor.” He assured her. “One night here will not hurt.”

Taking in the rather hard and likely cold floor, Philipa wondered just how harsh of a life Aiano had lived. He seemed worn and smoothed, like sea glass. All of his sharp edges had been sanded off, leaving only rounded corners and resignation.

“Well, I’ll get us some food.” She decided. Aiano just nodded and settled onto the floor, setting his pack aside. Philipa made it downstairs without incident, where she received a generous spread of food from the barkeep. There was bread, cheese, jams and jellies, even some chicken. With a little effort, Philipa was able to balance the tray and begin making her way back to their room.

She did not make it all the way there, as in the stairwell, a few fellow patrons of the inn accosted her. “Oi, little lass. Traveling with the elf, are we?” One said, leaning in close.

Philipa shrank back from his terrible breath. All three were clearly drunk, but that did not make it less terrifying. Why oh why did she have such bad luck with ruffians? “Yes, my traveling companion is Aiano.” She held the tray between them, hoping to hold off the ruffians.

This did not deter them, as one plucked some bread right off the tray and ate it! “Elves ‘ave always got gold. Did ‘e give you any, little lassie? Maybe as a bribe for such a pretty lass?”

Philipa snapped. No one would imply that Aiano was anything but a perfect gentleman, at least not with Philipa around! “Now you listen here!” She said fiercely. “Aiano is a perfectly respectable traveler and very nice! He and I have traveled together for a long while.” Philipa lied.

The ruffians leaned in closer. “He’s very sweet, not very sensible, but very nice.” She babbled, trying frantically to think of a plan.

As if she had summoned him by saying his name, Aiano appeared from the shadows behind the unsavory men. “I suggest that you do not accost my friend, or you will not like the consequences.” He hissed.

The men whirled to face Aiano, as would anyone when hearing a strange voice behind them. The smartest of the three began creeping around the side, drawing a knife, and Philipa acted fast. She threw the heavy tray at the man, knocking him away from Aiano.

He hit the ground with a thump, and Philipa sprinted down the stairs for help while Aiano dueled the other two. “Help, ruffians in the stairway!” Philipa shouted.

The whole inn fell silent and the innkeeper quickly hustled after her, to where Aiano had defeated both others and was holding them firmly so they had no chance of escaping. Philipa explained what had happened, and the innkeeper wiped his brow. “Whew! Good thing you raised the alarm, Miss, I had no idea. If I knew they were such scum of the earth, I never would have let them stay here, mark my words!”

The villains were soon thrown out of the inn, and Philipa impulsively threw her arms around Aiano. “Thank you for saving me from those ruffians. Terrible manners, those men!”

The elf seemed extremely startled but soon melted into her hug, tentative and slow as if he was worried she would pull away. “I…would hate to see anyone accosted in such a way, especially my traveling companion.” He said.

They retreated to their room once again, Aiano taking his spot on the floor, and Philipa vowed to never walk dark stairways, paths, or halls alone again.

Chapter Text

The next morning, the duo rose early. Already, bright sunlight filtered in through the window, but still few were awake at this hour. Oliver yapped happily around their ankles as they prepared for another long day of travel. They had many yet ahead of them, and Philipa mentally sighed at the thought of more walking.

Her feet hurt, her legs hurt, everything hurt. No one had mentioned this as part of adventuring. Everything was sore, and she was rather put out about it. She was after all a hobbit, and hobbits do not have long legs.

Aiano seemed to sense her discomfort. “Are you alright, Mistress Philipa?”

“Just sore,” Philipa answered truthfully.

They slipped out of the inn without waking anyone, having already paid the night before. The sun was rising higher in the sky, and Philipa could tell it would be a warm day today. Thankfully the road was not too dusty yet, as they were still in that period in between spring and summer, where the ground was still damp from spring rains but the sun shone bright and strong every day.

Aiano fiddled with the hem of his tunic. “I do not know if you would mind this…but I could carry you some of the way. Your legs are shorter than mine, so we might make better time.” At first, Philipa was taken aback, but Aiano had already saved her twice, what harm could it do? And that was how she ended up riding on the back of an elf while her faithful dog Oliver yipped cheerfully beside his ankles.

Aiano walked much faster than they had been traveling, and Philipa had the distinct feeling he had been slowing his pace for her. His legs were near twice the length of hers, after all. It was hardly a fair comparison.

“I forget, sometimes, that wandering can hurt,” Aiano said when they were a good ways along the road. “I have wandered for so many years, many of its pains have faded to the background. There are many other hurts to concentrate on, many things worse than what harm I do myself wandering along my lonely roads.”

Philipa had long ago decided that Aiano must have had a terribly hard life, but this cemented it for once and for all. “You poor thing! Honestly, Aiano, what harm could it do to take care of yourself a little better?”

Aiano did not respond, but she swore he lowered his head a little in shame. He really ought to be ashamed of how poorly he took care of himself!

Around midday, Oliver started to tire and Philipa slid off Aiano’s back so she might pick him up. He panted happily and licked her face, faithful as always. Oliver had always been her loyal companion, and she was glad to have him on this adventure where so little was familiar. 

After another hour of walking, Philipa tired of holding the dog and Aiano took him. And so they made the rest of their way to Imladris, trading off Aiano carrying Philipa, Aiano carrying Oliver, and Philipa carrying Oliver.

Oliver, being a little small for carrying anyone, did not carry either of them, and Philipa was most likely incapable of picking up Aiano, so he walked the entire way. He did not seem to mind, possessing very long legs and a large reserve of wandering energy, as Philipa had taken to calling it. 

It was another fifteen days before they reached Imladris, steadily depleting the supplies in Philipa’s pack. She sincerely doubted she would have enough to make it home, but hopefully, the elves would be kind and give her some for the return journey. Elves were generous, right? It was often said that they were. 

Eventually, they were outside of the river valley, looking over the stunning vista. Imladris seemed to practically glow in the sunlight, and they could hear faint whispers of songs from the elves within. The Brandywine river glinted like diamonds, and it all seemed quite magical, especially to Philipa. She was frozen in place for several long moments, looking over the glory of the elven land. It was simply stunning.

The spell was broken when Aiano turned to Philipa, a faint glimmer of sadness flitting across his face as he said, “This is where I say goodbye.”

“Oh dear, can’t you just come and at least stay the night here?” Philipa asked. “I’m sure the other elves would be thrilled to see you!”

Aiano’s face went through a whole series of pained expressions. “I am afraid that it is questionable if anyone in this valley would be pleased to see my face, Mistress Philipa.” He turned back towards the valley. “If you go down that path and across the bridge, you will find yourself in Imladris proper. The elven lord ruling there is Lord Elrond of Imladris, a very kind and wise elf. He will surely aid you with whatever you might need, and I am sure he will also assist you in getting home should the need arise.”

Philipa’s joy at finally seeing their destination fell. “Are you sure you can’t be convinced to come? It’s an awfully big place for such a small hobbit.”

"I am certain.” He nodded to the path once more. “I will stay until I see that you’ve entered the valley safely, but I can linger no longer.”

It seemed as if he wished to apologize, but he did not utter another word until Philipa enveloped him in a hug. “Goodbye, Mr. Aiano. Thank you for saving me all those times and thank you for traveling with me.”

His voice sounded choked as he replied. “Goodbye, Philipa. You have the heart and soul of an adventure, should you so desire to be one, but whatever you choose to do, you will go far.”

He gently stepped back from their hug, breaking contact with Philipa. “May all the stars of Varda shine upon you and you always be blessed by their light.” Philipa nodded in return, and ever so slowly began on her way down the path into the valley. True to his word, she could see Aiano watching to ensure she entered safely into Rivendell.

In this fashion, Philipa Proudfoot, daughter of Hugo Proudfoot, made her way into the elven land of Imladris.

Chapter Text

Philipa finally ended up coming fully into Imladris as the sun was setting, casting beams of reddish-golden light down upon the hidden vale. She crossed the bridge under the glow of one particular beam, feeling very small compared to the huge valley. The mountains, towering high above, were excellent for making a hobbit who had lived all her life amongst gentle hills feel small. Heights and towering things were not something she was generally accustomed to. 

After walking purposefully up to the steps, Philipa finally saw the first sign of life from the valley, a chestnut-haired elf who descended slowly to meet her, gracefully placing his foot on each step. “Greetings, traveler!” He (Philipa found it awfully hard to tell with most elves, but she was fairly sure he was male), called. “Er, greetings!” She returned awkwardly.

The elf looked like he was trying not to fidget, shifting from foot to foot, perhaps subtly, but it was still noticeable if one was, say, a very observant young hobbit.

“I am Lindir of Imladris. Welcome to the valley.”

Philipa offered her best polite smile. “I’m Philipa Proudfoot, a hobbit of the Shire. I’m very glad to have finally made it here, it’s been a long journey.”

"Welcome, Philipa Proudfoot! We are glad you have travelled here," Lindir said.

Philipa was both physically tired from her days of journeying and emotionally wrung out from her parting with Aiano, so she decided not to respond to that or speak further. Lindir could try and keep up the conversation if he wanted, she was tired, hungry, and emotionally exhausted.

The elf proceeded to attempt to talk to her, but Philipa didn’t respond beyond short answers. “Where have you journeyed from, mistress Philipa?” Lindir asked, offering a kindly and interested look.

“The Shire,” Philipa replied, without much specification. All of her answers to all Lindir's questions were similarly brief and mildly crisp. It was rather rude of her, but at some point, Philipa had decided that she was justified in being somewhat curt. It had been a long, long day, and even Philipa's joy at finally arriving was tempered quite excellently by her exhaustion.

As thus, her conversation with Lindir was somewhat one-sided, since he sincerely tried to make conversation and Philipa attempted to end it. Thankfully for both of them, it was not a long walk to the residential area of Imladris, where Lindir was able to find her a nice room to stay for the night.

“You can come down for dinner if you want. I can also have dinner sent up…” His voice trailed off in a questioning way.

“Could you-could you send some up?” Philipa asked. Lindir nodded, smiling politely. “Of course, Mistress Philipa. Have you come to Imladris for any specific reason?”

Philipa slowly nodded as she took in the room she had been given, noting the style of the elves. “I heard that Lord Elrond would be able to translate some letters that I’ve found. They’re in a very old language, and an elf I talked to said that very few knew it, except maybe Lord Elrond.”

This elicited another slight smile from the elf. “My lord does know many ancient languages. He is a fabled loremaster of Middle Earth, after all. I am certain he will be able to help you.” He nodded his head to Philipa. She offered the most polite head nod she could in response and slipped into her room. Immediately after, she heard the near-silent footsteps of the elf as he left to wherever his duties would take him next. Hopefully, soon to dinner and a nice bed.

Meanwhile, Philipa began to examine her room. It was furnished in a very different style than most hobbit holes, far more elegant and dainty, but all the furniture seemed serviceable enough, she supposed. It was wood, mainly, and carved in a way that seemed entirely impractical to Philipa's hobbit sensibilities. These elves really did have very little common sense. Still, the bed was soft when she sat down on it, exhausted, and the food that an elf she didn’t know brought up was delicious.

Elves might have been a fair bit odd and certainly nowhere near as sensible as hobbits, but they could cook, there was no doubt about that. They seemed to be decent at building as well, give how magnificent the architecture was, and their furniture was steady even as it appeared delicate.

Later that night, Philipa was still lying awake in that soft bed, staring at the gleaming stars outside her window. She was exhausted and the bed was comfortable, but she still had trouble falling asleep, for seemingly no reason apart from her own jumbled thoughts. She wondered it Aiano was alright. He seemed confident in his skills navigating the Shire and surrounding area, but he was awfully bad at truly taking care of himself. He seemed to think dreadfully of himself, something Philipa could hardly grasp. Of course, she had her own doubts about her own abilities, but she tried very hard not to put herself down over them. Everyone had their flaws, and while she worked to improve herself, to make herself a better person, she was getting fairly decent at accepting even her bad parts. Meanwhile, Aiano was wise and kind and brave, yet thought he was worth next-to-nothing. It was so truly puzzling.

The other puzzle at hand, of course, was the letters from the bottles that her family had found. Where in the world did these letters come from, who wrote them, what language were they in, and what did they even say? Philipa certainly hoped Lord Elrond would be able to shed some light on the mystery.

Lindir, the elf from earlier, had seemed confident that he would, but Philipa always had this slight edge of doubt. After all, what would happen if Elrond was not able to read the letters? She would have to journey much further, or give up, two options that appealed to her not at all.

With all these thoughts tossing and turning in her head, Philipa took a long while to drift off into the peaceful calm of sleep.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Philipa awoke in the bright, clean dawn of Imladris. It took her a minute to remember where she was, but soon enough the events of yesterday came back to her, and she remembered her arrival at the river valley. Philipa took her time getting out of bed (after all, the beds were very soft and warm here), but once she remembered what she was here to do, she sped up a good deal.

Philipa decided that she really ought to go down to breakfast now, as it was already far too late in the morning! She had things to do, for goodness sake. Philipa scolded herself for waking up so late as she made her way through the halls of Imladris, Oliver barking beside her.

Thankfully, there was still food left on the table, and several elves still sitting there, so Philipa felt more comfortable being a little late. She settled down into an empty seat, which happened to be next to a tall elf with hair as golden as, well, gold. Not that Philipa had seen a great deal of it, but she imagined that this elf’s hair was nearly the same shade as the purest of gold.

“Good morning,” Philipa greeted, figuring it was best to be polite.

“Ah, good morning, Mistress Hobbit,” The elf said. “Have you recently arrived in Imladris? I don’t believe I’ve seen you here before.”

Philipa nodded shyly. “I just arrived last night.”

The elf offered her a warm smile. “Well then welcome to Imladris! I’m Glorfindel.”

“I’m Philipa,” Philipa said. “And this is my dog Oliver,” She added.

He grinned again, a bright, charming smile. “What brings you to Imladris, Mistress Philipa?”

Philipa took a bite of her porridge and recited the same explanation she had been giving everyone who asked. “My family has been finding letters in an ancient language for decades. I was hoping Lord Elrond could translate them since he’s said to be a loremaster.”

“Makes sense!” Glorfindel said cheerfully. “My lord is very wise, and he does speak a lot of languages. So many languages. I don’t know how he does it, to be honest.”

Philipa smiled slightly, Glorfindel’s happy-go-lucky manner putting her more at ease.

“Oh, talk of Morgoth, here he is!” Glorfindel said with a laugh.

The dark-haired elf who has just approached gave Glorfindel a look. “Really, Glorfindel? Do you have to use that crude expression?”

“Yes, it’s an absolute necessity, my lord,” Glorfindel said with a straight face.

The elf, who Philipa presumed to be Lord Elrond, sighed. “I’ve told you-“

“You don’t have to use my title, Glorfindel,” Glorfindel mimicked.

Philipa glanced between the ancient elf-lords, both of whom were smiling now. “Er…”

Elrond laughed. “My apologies. I’ve neglected to greet you properly, Mistress...?”

“Philipa. My name is Philipa,” Philipa said for what felt like the tenth time since she had left the Shire.

“A lovely name,” Elrond complimented. “I’m Elrond.” He sighed. “Technically, Lord Elrond, but I dislike titles.”

Philipa nodded. “I have some letters to show you. They’re in a very old language, nothing I’ve ever seen anywhere else.”

“Alright then. I believe I don’t have anything this morning, so you can show them to me now if you want,” Elrond told her. “I’m intrigued.”

Glorfindel clambered to his feet. “I’ve got a patrol this morning, I must be going.”

Elrond and Philipa both nodded their goodbyes to him, and then Elrond led Philipa to his study. It was a peaceful room, with at least three bookshelves and a large desk absolutely covered in papers of varying sorts.

“I’m afraid I haven’t been too organized recently,” Elrond told her, clearing off a space on his desk, “but you can put the letters here.” Philipa retrieved them from the smaller bag she carried around and set the three scraps of parchment on the desk. For some reason, the letters were never on whole pieces of paper, only ever scraps.

“Gildor Inglorion said that I should seek you to translate these,” She said.

Elrond took one look at the letter before him, and his face went very, very pale, just like Gildor’s had when Philipa had shown the letters to him.

“Where-where did you find these?” Elrond asked. The elf-lord sounded shakier than Philipa would really prefer, and frankly, she was quite done with the mystery of all this.

“First you tell me what it says and why it’s such a big deal, and then I’ll tell you about them! Honestly, I’ve been looking for answers for weeks!” She snapped.

Elrond slowly settled into his chair. “Very well. The reason these letters are such as big deal is that they are from an elf named Kanafinwe Macalaure, also known as Maglor Feanorion. He was a prince and warrior in the First Age and took many elven lives. After he and his brother stole the Silmarils (legendary gems) and his brother committed suicide, he wandered the world in exile, never to be seen again. He was an infamous son of Feanor, a kinslayer, and a bard.”

Elrond paused to take a deep breath. “He was also my foster-father.”

Philipa sat silently for a moment, digesting this information. “So what does it say?” She asked, regaining her practicality.

Elrond sighed. “This particular one is a letter to his mother Nerdanel, telling her how he misses her and lamenting that he will never see her again.”

He gestured to another letter. “This one is to his brother Curufin, who is long dead, talking about Curufin’s wife and how he met her.”

Elrond paused for a moment, pain written across his face. “And this one is to me.”

Philipa looked up at him. “Oh.” She did not ask what it said. Some things were private, and judging by the look on Elrond’s face, it would not go over well if she was to pry.

“What language is this?” She asked instead.

“This is an ancient dialect of Feanorian Quenya, the ancestorial language of the high-elves,” He responded.

“Quenya,” Philipa repeated, rolling the word around in her mouth. She offered Elrond her best thankful smile. “Thank you for translating these for me, I’m very glad to know what they say.”

Elrond nodded slightly, still seeming somewhat in shock. “You are very welcome. If you want to stay in Imladris a while longer, you are certainly welcome to, but if you would rather get on the road, we can find you some supplies for wherever your journey will take you next."

“I think I’ll stay one more night. If that’s alright?”

“Of course,” The elf-lord said. “If I may ask…may I keep this letter, at least for a little while?” He indicated the one addressed to him.

Philipa nodded firmly. “Of course! It is to you, after all. It’s common decency to let you have it.”

As she left, she thought she caught a glimpse of Elrond picking up the letter and reading through it again, smiling sadly at the paper.

“Ai Atto…what have you done now?”

Chapter Text

After her conversation with Lord Elrond, Philipa found her way to one of the many gardens of Imladris, Oliver cheerfully following her, where she settled on a bench and watched a butterfly land on a flower nearby. A brisk gust of wind blew across the garden, and the butterfly flapped to and fro in the sudden breeze just like Philipa’s thoughts jumped from topic to topic. She was still processing the revelation of whom the letters were from and what they said.

It was suddenly much cooler, and Philipa put her hands in her pockets. Startlingly, she felt a crumpled piece of paper and dug around further until she could retrieve it.

It appeared to be a note, and the writing on it said:

Dear Philipa,

I am sorry that I cannot travel with you into Imladris, or rather, am too much of a coward to. There are pieces of my past that I do not want to face in Imladris, and thus I have run. Likely you have found this after arriving, and I will already be far away. You were a wonderful traveling companion, and I wish you luck in anywhere you might go.

Aiano

Thoughts drifted through her head.

Letters and letters, the road to Imladris…Aiano leaving her at the entrance…his face as he turned away…Elrond holding the letter this morning…Aiano’s handwriting on the little note…Aiano’s sons and brothers…the language of the letters…the songs Aiano had been singing…

Philipa quickly retrieved one of the letters she hadn’t given to Lord Elrond and held it side by side with the note from Aiano. The handwriting was a near-perfect match, and Philipa’s thoughts spiraled out of control.

Aiano’s kindness in saving her…the melancholy in his face as he spoke of his children…the darkness in Elrond’s eyes as he told her of the letters…Aiano refusing to enter Imladris…

Philipa bolted upright from where she had been slumping on the bench. Aiano’s handwriting was the same as the letters. His songs were the same language. He spoke of a son and Elrond spoke of a father.

Aiano was no mere wandering elf, but Maglor Feanorian. And Lord Elrond’s father.

Philipa slowly sat back down onto the bench, Oliver curling up on her feet.

Aiano was Maglor Feanorion. Aiano was Lord Elrond’s father. Elrond was waiting for him…and Philipa had let him go.

“Oh no. Oh rosemary and thyme,” Philipa said. “Aiano-I let him go! How could I have?”

She was so intent on berating herself that she didn’t notice the elf that had just entered the garden.

“Mistress Philipa?” A voice asked. Philipa leaped into the air, startled, and turned to see Glorfindel, the elf she had met at breakfast.

“Oh! I didn’t hear you coming,” She said, smoothing her clothes a little as she settled back down.

Glorfindel smiled lightly. “It is alright, Mistress hobbit, but I am curious to know what is causing you distress.”

“Oh!” Philipa said again, feeling less than eloquent. “Well, I just came to a bit of a startling realization.”

“Hmm,” Glorfindel said noncommittally and sat down on the bench.

Philipa felt a bit obligated to fill the silence. “Well, you see, I was traveling with a friend, well, a new friend, his name’s Aiano, and well, I figured out that he wrote the letters. You see, his handwriting is the same, and he sings in the same language that they’re in, I think. His story also matches up, Lord Elrond told me about…Maglor Feanorion? And he had six brothers and so did Maglor, and he talked about a son and Lord Elrond talked about him, well, like a father!” Philipa exclaimed.

Glorfindel glanced at her. “I see,” was all he said.

“Is that bad?” Philipa asked nervously.

Glorfindel looked away. “Maglor Feanorion was one of the infamous elves who slew their own kin. He killed fellow elves thrice, once at Alqualonde, once at Menegroth, and a final time at the Havens at Sirion. I was dead by then, but my lord’s family lived there. He was taken by the Feanorionnath, and although he considers them his parents, it is hard to forget all the evil that they have done, the parts I witnessed and the parts I didn’t.”

“Oh,” Philipa said quietly.

“Yes,” Glorfindel agreed, “but I do not believe the sons of Feanor are entirely evil. My Lord loves them as his parents, and I have watched him search for Maglor, year after year, yeni after yeni. I watched him in anguish over the thought that Maglor could be dead. Elrond is far too forgiving, and he loves people that he maybe shouldn’t, but for him to love Maglor that deeply, the kinslayer cannot be all that bad. I still believe they are…yet-”

He paused. “Yet all of that matters not, for if it would erase the sadness from my lord’s face, I would gladly take in all seven sons of Feanor and their infamous father too.”

Philipa nodded, feeling very small in the beautiful garden in the grand city, speaking with an elven lord of old.

“You say that he is alive and that you met him?” Glorfindel asked.

Philipa nodded. “My friend Aiano. He didn’t want to enter Imladris, and I suppose I know why now.”

Glorfindel nodded in agreement. “Well. If it is truly Maglor Feanorion that you met, I believe that makes it my job to drag him back here, tied up in a sack if I have to.”

He stood, and Philipa stood with him. “No. It’s my job,” She said determinedly. “I lost him. I have to get him back.”

Oliver barked in agreement.

“Very well,” Glorfindel said. “I cannot in good conscious let you go after a murderer alone, but I suppose I will have to.”

“Aiano is my friend,” Philipa said. “He won’t hurt me.”

“If you say so, my lady.”

And it was thus that Philipa found herself preparing to leave in the early hours of the morning for the second time in less than a month. She had her bag packed, all dressed and ready to go with Oliver by her side.

“Good boy, who’s a good boy?” Philipa asked, rubbing his head.

Oliver barked.

“Yes, you, you’re a good boy,” Philipa told him. He happily trotted after her as she made her careful way out of Imladris. Knowing elves, some were already awake, but at this unholy hour of the morning, there were likely still elflings asleep, so she was sure to be quiet.

Philipa slowly wandered down the path and out of the city, heading on another adventure, this one to remedy any harm she might have done by the first.

Chapter Text

Philipa walked for a good long while that day, Oliver leading her on. Although he wasn’t necessarily a tracking dog, he seemed to have picked up Aiano’s scent well enough, and Philipa was fairly sure they were going the right way. There was the slight dilemma that Aiano had much longer legs and would thus be much faster, but Philipa was certain she could catch up.

It was a beautiful day, the sun shining bright, and Philipa was nothing if not determined. She would find him, although hopefully not die in the attempt. Hobbits generally would have the sense to give up and find a different way before it came to that, although to be truthful, Philipa was more stubborn than most. In this case, this was perhaps an advantage, as she was unwilling to give up her search. She would find Aiano and she would amend her mistake in letting him go.

Philipa’s certainty began to wane as the sun set and there was still no sign of Aiano. She eventually found a good place to make camp, with soft grass and a place to build a fire. Philipa was able to sleep well that night, which raised her spirits, but it was discouraging that she hadn’t found so much as a bent blade of grass to indicate that Aiano had truly come this way.

Nonetheless, she was resolved, and so she woke up early the next morning to a gray and drizzly day, and walked onward. The sun wasn’t nearly so hot today, being hidden behind clouds, but it was rather unpleasant to be rained on constantly, and there was the worry of the rain washing away any trail that Aiano might have left. This whole adventuring thing was terribly complicated, she had found.

Once again, Philipa was doubting in herself, as it was getting increasingly difficult to even see, what with the clouds, misty, drizzling rain, and lack of sunlight. She refused to stop though, and pressed on.

Just as she thought the rain was lightening up, yet another disaster happened. Oliver had begun padding around confusedly, and Philipa was now certain that they had lost the trail, as certain as she had been at the start that they would find Aiano-well, Maglor Feanorion, she supposed. This really had been a terrible idea.

Perhaps she should have let Glorfindel come with her, as he was likely more well-versed in tracking, being an elven warrior.

An elven warrior certainly would have been helpful, as Philipa was soon beset by a group of menacing looking strangers. They came just as she was attempting to get Oliver to move again from where he had sat down, wet and thoroughly done with those two-legs and their antics. Philipa supposed she seemed awfully silly to her faithful hound.

“Hello, lass,” One of the outlaws started, and Philipa starting mentally praying to anyone around to come save her. It seemed that both good and bad things did come in threes, as this was the third outlaw attack in this whole adventure.

Or maybe outlaws and other unsavory types just always attacked people this often. Philipa really wouldn't know, having never truly left the Shire before.

“Hello,” Philipa said, running through all she had learned about self-defense.

Aiano had given her a few pointers (aim for the shins and groin, never punch with your thumb on the inside of your fist, always keep your stance wide when fighting with a blade), but she was still rather helpless against such a large group. To make matters worse, Oliver was sitting on her feet and making it difficult to move.

This was just as bad as the first two times, except this time there wasn’t even a kind stranger or friend to come save her. Aiano was gone, and he wouldn’t be coming to help her, Philipa reminded herself.

“Now where would you be off too?” The outlaw asked.

“Oh, me?” Philipa said as innocently as she could manage. “I’m just looking for a friend, he’s in the area I believe, but we didn’t have a specified meeting place. Still, he should be around here somewhere,” Philipa stalled.

The leader of the brigands nodded mockingly, and abruptly stopped as a sword touched his throat.

“Greetings, scum of the earth,” A familiar voice said, and Philipa stared in awe as Aiano appeared from the mist as if she had summoned him by her prayers and lies about a friend nearby.

“I suggest you step away from my friend,” Aiano said to the outlaws who were standing too close to Philipa, “Or you will find yourself missing a few essential limbs.”

The sudden appearance of a cloaked and undeniably deadly seeming figure from the mist seemed to have startled them badly enough that the ruffians next to Philipa jumped away.

“Good,” Aiano said. “Now leave, and don’t come back or attack others if you know what’s good for you.”

The band of outlaws turned and fled, and Aiano knelt in front of Philipa. “What are you doing here, my friend? Are you alright?”

“I’m quite fine, thank you,” Philipa said. She was rather getting used to this kind of thing by now. “What are you doing here?”

Aiano looked guilty, or as guilty as an ancient and venerable elf could. “I was going to head on my way, back to my lonesome wandering, but I saw that group of outlaws heading for my son’s-Imladris, and I decided to follow them in case they made trouble.”

“Well it’s a good thing you did!” Philipa exclaimed. They stood silently facing each other in the rain and cold for a moment.

“Well, we really need to get back to Imladris now,” Philipa said. “Lord Elrond misses you.” She took Aiano’s hand and dragged him along, Oliver barking more cheerfully now.

“I…should not go there,” Maglor told her.

“Oh pish-posh!” Philipa said. “Your son is there! Don’t think I didn’t catch that slip, mister. You have some serious apologizing to do, and I’m sure Lord Elrond will be happy to see you.”

“He should not be,” Maglor said, but he conceded and allowed Philipa to lead him back through the storm.

Chapter Text

It was a short trip back to Imladris, as Maglor had not gotten very far in the few days since he’d left. It did rain most of the way, which was rather unpleasant, but they pressed on regardless.

Maglor seemed both extremely eager for and absolutely terrified of their arrival. He had not said much to that effect, but Philipa could tell from his body language that he was afraid.

What, exactly, he was afraid of was more uncertain, but she guessed it had something to do with Elrond’s reaction to their arrival. There seemed to be many complicated feelings and a long history between the two of them, but Philipa had confidence that it would all work out okay. Things had a way of doing that.

Soon enough, they were looking out over the valley.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Philipa asked, staring over the valley.

“Indeed it is,” Maglor said. He sounded emotional. “It reminds me of what they say Gondolin looked like, the beautiful valley in the mountains. And perhaps, in it, I can see some of the same designs and fortifications that my brother used in Himring.”

“What was Himring? And Gondolin?” Philipa asked, stumbling slightly over the elven names.

“Himring was my brother’s fortress in the north, which he held against Sauron. Gondolin was a city built by our cousin Turgon, a proud Noldo at heart, and which fell to Morgoth in the first age. Both did, in fact,” Maglor said.

Philipa nodded. “Tell me about your brother and his fortress?” She questioned.

They spent the whole trip into the valley conversing about the many cities of the First Age. Maglor told her about Maedhros and his fortress as well as the Gap he himself had defended. He spoke of the wonders of Gondolin and Doriath, and their contrast to the poor, hastily built cities of the later days.

Philipa listened in fascination, and thus the walk down into Imladris proper passed quickly.

It was soon enough, perhaps too soon for Maglor, that Glorfindel stood before them.

“Greetings, Mistress Philipa. And greetings, distant cousin of mine.”

Maglor bowed. “Greetings, Lord Laurefindil.”

Glorfindel raised his eyebrows. “It has been a very long time since anyone called me that.”

To Philipa he said, “I’m glad to see you’ve managed to bring this idiot here safely. My lord will be very glad.”

They followed him further into the valley, where horses were being stabled and elves were milling about.

“My lord!” Glorfindel called.

“Yes, Glorfin-“ Lord Elrond turned from what he was doing, and went very quiet and very, very still as he saw Maglor standing with them. Although his face and body were still, Philipa could see a whole spectrum of emotions play out in his grey eyes, ranging from rage to sorrow to joy.

“Atto,” he said eventually.

“Elrond,” Maglor returned.

Philipa and Glorfindel had to quickly jump to the side as Elrond went flying into Maglor’s arms, nearly knocking the taller elf backward. Maglor seemed startled at first but his arms quickly flew up to wrap around Elrond.

“It will be alright, pia ilmanya,” He promised.

Philipa smiled at the touching scene before her but it was impossible not to note how Elrond shook slightly and Maglor held on ever so tightly. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms, as best they would fit, around the two elves. Perhaps it was impossible to hug all the sadness out of somebody, but Philipa was certainly going to give it a try.

No one moved for long moments, Maglor and Elrond wrapped up in the reality that they were here; they were alive and finally reunited after too many years, Philipa determinedly holding onto the elves that were at least twice her height.

“Atto,” Elrond said again, voice muffled from his face being pressed into Maglor’s shoulder. “I’ve missed you.”

“You should not have. I am nothing but a kinslayer,” Maglor told him.

Elrond pulled back suddenly enough that Philipa stumbled backwards. Glorfindel helpfully broke her fall and propped her back up.

“Do not-do not tell me that I should not love you,” Elrond said, “for who was it that bandaged my wounds and taught me to fight? Who was it that picked me up when I fell and sung me to sleep every night? Who was it that held me through dangers and darkness? Who protected me from anything that the world might throw at me? It certainly wasn’t Earendil,” The elf-lord said bitterly. “You were the one who kept me safe for all those years, and you have earned my love many times over. So yes, I missed you. And I will say it.”

Maglor’s expression was pure shock. “Yonya…I thought-I thought you hated me. You told me you hated me.”

“I could not hate you. I could never hate you, no matter how hard I tried to feel what others would expect me to. Oh, maybe I hated you a little at first when I was young and afraid and had just been snatched from the only home I’d ever known, and perhaps I hated you a little bit when I’d just been left with strangers I didn’t know, but mostly, I was hurt. It hurt that you would leave me after all the care you’d taken to raise me and Elros. I was hurt, and I said things I didn’t mean. And I regret them. I have since the moment they left my mouth.” Elrond stared him down with fierce determination.

“Oh, yonya,” Maglor said, and they feel back into each other’s arms. Philipa very determinedly wrapped her arms around both elves, and Glorfindel hung awkwardly off to the side.

“Will you stay?” Elrond asked. “Yes, I will stay. I will not abandon you again, little one.”

Elrond laughed, although it almost sounded like a sob. “I am not so little anymore, atto.”

“I know, but you will always be my little one,” Maglor said, pulling Elrond further in. To Philipa, he said “Thank you for returning me to my son. I have been wandering lost for far too long.”

“Yes, thank you Philipa,” Elrond agreed. “I have been waiting for him to return for many years.”

Philipa smiled. “Oh it’s all well and good, it was only right of me to go find him once I realized that he was actually your father. After all, I let him go at first.”

She sensed that they probably wanted some time together, and so Philipa tapped Glorfindel on the arm. “Do you think you can help me find a way to get home?”

“Of course, Mistress Philipa,” The tall elf said courteously.

They wandered off to a different part of Imladris, and as they did Philipa heard the quiet sounds of a reunion held off far too long.

Chapter Text

A few days later, Philipa was once again on her way home. She had insisted that she didn’t need an escort, and the elves had reluctantly complied, but Maglor gave her a knife, a sword to her, and told her to stay safe, and Elrond had insisted on sending her with supplies, including an elven cloak. She had promised to write, and Maglor had promised to visit. All the elves had been quite friendly and helpful in gathering what she needed for her journey back to the Shire.

Imladris was beautiful and the adventures had certainly been fun, but now she was on her way home after far too long.

Thankfully, her journey back to the Shire was completely uneventful. Not a single ruffian was to be found, and the road felt much safer as Philipa passed through Bree and headed into the forest.

Somehow, the journey felt shorter, this time, despite the lack of a traveling companion. Perhaps it was the uncertainty of what waited for her at the end. Certainly, she knew that the Shire, a place she had called home for many years, waited there, but she had no clue as to the reactions of her family. After all, hobbits did not go off adventuring. That slight sense of fear made Philipa dread somewhat the inevitable reunion, and that dread made the trip seem faster than ever.

After several days of walking, Philipa rounded a bend in the dirt path and saw her home once more. The afternoon sun shone down gently onto the Shire, and Philipa’s nerves momentarily melted away at the beautiful sight. It was truly lovely, the faint feeling of home, the gentle breeze, the shining sun. Even Imladris in all its glories could not compare to seeing a home one has been missing for a rather long time.

Feeling rather less brave than she looked, Philipa walked down through the Shire, passing her many friendly neighbors along the way.

“Hello, Miss Philipa!” One of the Gamgees called.

Philipa waved back as a group of young hobbits stared at her unfamiliar way of walking, developed from a while of keeping up with Aiano, as well as the elven cloak she wore. She meandered softly through the familiar landscape, all the way to the house at the end of its lane, and knocked on the door.

“We are not taking visitors right now, I am afraid,” Philipa’s mother started, poking her head around the door. “Philipa!” She exclaimed. “Oh, you’ve been gone for ever so long. Hugo, Philipa’s back!”

Philipa’s father emerged from the hobbit hole. “Philipa,” He said, in that particular way of his, the one that meant he was glad to see her, despite his mellow tone. Hugo was a mellow fellow.

“Hello, mom, hello, dad,” Philipa said, “I’m sorry that-“

“Oh shush,” Her mother cried. “Hugo and I are simply happy that you’re safe, daughter!”

Oliver barked in agreement and licked Philipa’s face as the family fell into a hug. It felt very safe and very warm, with the little family all wrapped up together. For a moment, everything was as it should be in Philipa’s world.

After her parents got over their relief to see Philipa home safely, there was much lecturing about ‘tell us before you go off’ and ‘scandalous adventuring’, but at the end of the day, her family was mainly glad to see her home and well. This, now this was perhaps the best outcome that could have been hoped for.

It would certainly take a while for Philipa to settle back into the Shire. It was hard not to be on the lookout for outlaws, and not constantly seeing big folk seemed somehow strange. Philipa supposed that Aiano had been right when he said that you never expected quite how difficult adventuring would be.

“I wasn’t expecting adventuring to be quite this tricky or for me to miss home so much.”

Aiano winced. “You never do.”

But still, she was home, and Maglor was home with Lord Elrond, and it had all worked out.

When Philipa finally had some time away from her parents, she visited Ogo in his study. “Grandfather, I found out what the letters say.”

“Oh? My dear, you must tell me all about it,” Ogo said. He smiled benevolently

Philipa thought back on her adventures, everything from the first ruffians to the wonders of Imladris and tracking down Maglor Feanorion himself. “Well, grandfather, it went like this…”