Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

PROLOGUE

It was the sound that first reached Olórin’s ears as he stepped off the boat at Mithlond’s pier. A sound he had not heard in well over an Age or two. In the gloaming, the lament sang of loss and regret, and it touched a part of him that Olórin thought he’d left behind.

“I did not know one still lived,” he said to Círdan that night as they supped together.

“Survived is perhaps a more fitting term for that state of existence,” the shipwright replied. “Living requires a purpose. I fear he has none.”

Olórin rubbed a hand over the new beard he was still getting used to. “And I take it you offered him…?”

“I have offered what was in my power to give. He refused. I felt no inclination to foist upon him what he did not wish to have.” Cirdan’s tone brooked no further argument.

“I see…”

“Now, for your true mission…”

As Círdan talked further into the night, Olórin tucked this bit of information away, to return to once some of the more pressing matters were attended to. After all, Middle-earth being full of potential, who could say in what form an opportunity might present itself?

==========

CHAPTER ONE

THE THIRD AGE - 1369 (Shire Reckoning)

“Esmeralda Took, you come back here this instant!”

The young Hobbit spun around, her light brown curls whipping around her face as she planted her feet and glared back at her father. “No!”

“Don’t you take that tone of voice with me, lass, or—”

“You’ll what? Disinherit me?!” Her hands went to her hips. “Pray tell, what do I inherit exactly?”

“And that’s why I want to make a good match for you, for your future!”

“I’ll not be tied down to live my life on the arm of some… some stranger!” She raised her chin in defiance, and partly to keep the tears that burned in her eyes from falling down her face. “I’ll be choosing my own future, thank you very much! And it is not stuck in here!”

The elder Took sighed. “Y’can’t just go runnin’ off intae the blue.”

Esmeralda huffed. “Just watch me!” She spun back on her heel and stormed out the door, slamming it hard behind her.

Adalgrim Took winced and brushed the dust from his hair.

“Aye, that went well,” a voice said from a neighbouring room, and he looked up to see his oldest daughter emerge. “Did ya really think threatenin’ her would bring her round?”

“Don’t you start,” he replied as he sank down into an armchair. “Please tell me y’ve put the kettle on?”

“There’s water brewin’,” she replied. “And would it be so bad if she took a couple of years t’live a wee bit before she settles down? She’s only just come of age.”

Adalgrim scratched an ear. “You were married the same year you came of age.”

“And that worked out really well for me, didn’t it?” She levelled him with a look, but before he could reply, the kettle hissed. “That’s the water boiled. If you’re wantin’ tea, the leaves are in the cupboard above the fruit bowl.”

She headed to the door and followed her sister outside.

~*~

“Amber.” Her sister acknowledged her as she joined the younger Took at the garden gate.

In the distance she heard cartwheels scrape along the path and looked up the lane to see the tip of a hat disappear where the road went downhill.

She nodded in the general direction. “That him away, then?”

“Aye, off to Hobbiton,” Esmeralda replied. “Think he’s lookin’ to wind them up again.”

A snort. “Wouldnae be so wound if that lot weren’t so tight-strung.”

The younger Hobbit smiled a bit before moving to sit on a nearby bench. She looked up at her sister. “I’m not goin’ back in there; I’m not takin’ back my words.”

Amber sat beside her. “I’m not askin’ you to.”

“Then why’re you out here? Da send ye to talk some sense intae me?”

She nudged her sister in the ribs. “May surprise you to learn, but I don’t take my orders from him. Not these days anyway.”

Esmeralda ran her toes through the springy grass. “So why should I? I’m not a tween anymore, and he needs to remember that.”

“Oh I think you made that perfectly clear.” Amber smiled wryly. “Alright then, since yer all grown up, what’s your plan?”

The younger hobbit looked past the gate and sighed wistfully. “I want t’be like Uncle Bilbo. I want tae run off and have an adventure, meet other people; do somethin’ important.”

“Y’know he was almost eaten by trolls, and a dragon…”

Esmeralda shot her a look. “Yes, I know, but at least he got to do those things. What have I ever done except make tea and embroider handkerchiefs?”

“You were a wean!”

“And now I’m not!” She stood up. “I want t’see what’s out there. All those places he keeps talkin’ about.” She pointed down the lane. “I want to follow that road out the Shire and see where it takes me.”

Amber nodded slowly. “So what’re you waitin’ for?”

“What?” Esmeralda turned to stare at her.

“If you want t’go out there explorin’, lass, then you should.”

“Just like that?”

“I’m sorry. Were you wantin’ permission?”

“No, but…” the younger hobbit looked back at the house.

The elder snorted. “He’s got two other daughters, and a son. He can spare us. Now come on, the packin’ won’t do itself.”

“Wait… you want to come with me?”

“Well someone has t’keep you from gettin’ eaten by trolls.” Amber came up to her. “And besides, an adventure is somethin’ that’s meant t’be shared.”

Esmeralda launched herself at her sister with a squeal and wrapped her up in a tight hug, before letting go and skipping up the steps to the front door. “This is going to be so much fun!”

=============

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWO

Esmeralda squirmed in her bedroll yet again as she tried to find a position that did not involve another root or stone in her back. “Uncle Bilbo never mentioned how bloomin’ uncomfortable adventures are,” she mumbled.

Beside her she could hear Amber moving as the older hobbit stoked their fire and unwrapped their supply of food.

They were only a couple of days out of the Shire, but to Esmeralda it felt as if they had been walking for weeks, and she wasn’t too thrilled about having to ration food, even though they had been able to replenish their stock as they passed the odd farm or two.

Sleeping under the stars had been interesting at first, but as they left the lush grass of the Shire behind and the ground grew harder, comfort had considerably declined, and so had the fun.

“‘Twas you who wanted to go explorin’ if you remember well enough” Amber said.

All she got was a grunt in return and she smiled. The outdoor environment bothered her less, but then she had travelled briefly in the past. This was the longest her sister had ever been away from home, and it was showing.

She looked up at the slowly lightening sky - the sunrises and sunsets had been some of her favourite things on this journey to wherever they were going, but today looked to be a little different. “Hmm…”

Esmeralda had stubbornly refused to open her eyes just yet, but something about her sister’s tone roused her curiosity. She slowly cracked them open. “What do you mean, hmmm?” In response she felt the damp mist signalling the start of a light drizzle on her face, and she sat up quickly. “Oh, you are joking!”

As the drizzle slowly turned to rain, the two hobbits scrambled to pack up their little camp and wrap themselves in their oiled cloaks. Esmeralda sat under the wide boughs of a tree and ate a cold breakfast with water dripping off her hood. This wasn’t quite like the adventure she had envisioned, but she stubbornly refrained from giving into the temptation of turning back and going home. She would not give her father the satisfaction of saying he had told her so.

~*~

The rain fell harder as the sisters headed back to the road that had mostly turned to puddles of mud; and they trudged along, trying not to slip. In the distance, Esmeralda thought she could make out the shapes of hills through the mist. It made for a pretty and mysterious landscape that she would have appreciated more had she not been cold, wet, and tired.

“Tell me again where we’re supposed to be going?” Amber asked.

“He just said to follow the Great East Road to the West,” Esmeralda said, brushing a damp curl away from her face.

“He said?” her sister echoed. “Who is this…?” Then realisation dawned. “Oh that miserable troublemaking… This was all his idea?!”

“No! No, it was still mine. All he said was that if I ever did leave the Shire, then there was a nice walk to the West I could take if I wanted to see mountains.”

Amber muttered something under her breath that to Esmeralda sounded like the promise of retribution.

They pressed on with the rain still showing no signs of let up, and Amber was wondering whether they should risk a stop for lunch when they heard the unmistakable sound of something splashing through the puddles behind them.

Sharing a look, the sisters turned as one and left the path, making for the cover of some bushes, their green cloaks helping to blend them with the foliage.

Not long after, they heard the creaking of cartwheels along the sodden road, and peeking through the gaps in the bushes they saw a covered wagon come around the corner not far from where they had been, drawn by a pair of stocky brown hill ponies.

What was more intriguing were the figures driving the cart. At first the sisters had thought it was Big Folk, but as the cart drew ever closer, they noted the figures were much smaller - though not as small as Hobbits.

“They’re Dwarves!” Esmeralda whispered excitedly, all thoughts of the rain and cold forgotten for the moment.

“Shh,” Amber hushed her. “We don’t know if they’re friendly.”

“They don’t look UN-friendly,” she replied. “Look at that one’s hat!”

The dwarf she referred to held the reins of the ponies, his dark hair in two braids that curled outwards. His beard was short, but his moustache followed the curl of his hair. He wore a wool-lined brown hat on his head, the flaps of which were also turned outwards. It reminded Esmeralda of a rabbit.

The other dwarf beside him was much larger - one could even say rounder. His hair was a bright ginger, though missing on the top, and his beard was braided in a loop from one ear to the other across his stomach.

“Can’t be judgin’ just on looks,” Amber told her.

But in a moment that Esmeralda could only put down to impulse, she darted through the hedge before Amber could grab her, and jumped on to the road waving her arms at the cart that was now about to leave them behind. “Hie!! Hie! Wait!” she called after them.

“Woaah.” The cart came to a stop at the sudden call, the ponies snorting and stamping at this disturbance.

Amber scrambled on to the road towards her sister. “What do ye think y’re doing?!”

“Seein’ if we can get a ride,” she replied. “They’re going the same way we are.”

“Or they’ll just—”

“By my beard! Here’s a sight I never thought I’d see.” The new voice cut off Amber’s response, and the sisters looked over to see that the two dwarves had dismounted and come towards them. “A pair of Hobbits, out of the Shire no less. To whom do we owe this honour?”

Esmeralda stepped forward, her chin up (though she wished she didn’t look like a half-drowned rat). “It’s only polite for the gentle-dwarves t’be introducin’ themselves first,” she said, addressing the hatted dwarf who had spoken to them.

He grinned. “Very well. Bofur, and Bombur,” he gestured to his ginger companion. “At your service.”

Both dwarves gave a quick bow.

Her eyes widened and she felt her jaw dropping in surprise. “I know those names.” Realisation dawned when she knew where she had heard them before. “You’re Uncle Bilbo’s Dwarves!” Her squeal of delight made Amber wince.

“Uncle Bilbo?” Bofur inclined his head. “That would make you…?”

“Esmeralda Took,” she said and made a futile attempt to curtsey in her sodden skirts. “And my big sister Amber.” The other hobbit merely inclined her head.

“A pleasure,” the dwarf replied. “And where might you two be headed in such foul weather? You’re a long way from home, if I may add.”

Amber held up a hand before her sister could answer. “Could we possibly continue this chat under cover?” She nodded to the wagon. “In case neither of you noticed, it’s still raining.”

Bofur touched the brim of his hat. “Of course, where are my manners? Bombur!” The other dwarf who had been quietly munching on a piece of carrot looked up. “You do the driving while I take care of the hospitality.”

“Right you are, brother.”

There was a creak as the large dwarf returned to the ponies and climbed back onto the seat, while Bofur pulled back a flap of canvas and helped the hobbits climb into the wagon, before hauling himself in after them. The sisters found space to sit as he rummaged amongst the clutter and came up with a flask and a small package wrapped in brown paper.

“It ain’t much, but it’ll keep us goin’... if you’re good to say where we’re goin’?” Bofur asked.

“We’re headin’ West,” Esmeralda replied as she accepted the flask and took a swig, tasting a weak tea. “I heard the mountains there are nice this time of year.”

“Mountains. Got it.” The dwarf grinned and patted his brother’s back. “Bombur, take us home.”

~*~

On their second night with the dwarves since joining their wagon the rain had blessedly ceased, and they stopped to set up camp just before sunset

“So what brings two hobbits this far from home?” Bofur asked. “Last I checked there weren’t any dragons in the Blue Mountains.”

A flick of his flint and steel sparked a nice little fire, and the hobbits quickly fed it to keep it from dying out. Amber hung up the last of their wet clothes on some nearby branches.

“I just wanted tae see the world,” Esmeralda replied as she attempted to untangle her curls with her fingers.

“And to get away from our match-making family,” Amber added as she joined her sister by the fire. “Father in particular. He’s wantin’ t’see her settled down with a nice gentle-hobbit.”

“Oh wheesht yer trap!” The younger hobbit gathered up her hair and tied it back with a ribbon. “I don’t understand the whole marriage thing anyway. How can anyone be so tied down tae someone else and still be happy about it?”

Bofur finished stringing a small hunting bow, and was about to head into the little copse of trees near their campsite to try and catch a rabbit for supper, but decided to stay put for the moment to listen to the hobbits and see how this would all play out.

Bombur, too, was paying attention as he laid out his cooking utensils and got out some vegetables to peel and chop.

“Beryl and Citrine are both married and happy enough,” Amber said.

“That’s because one of them now lives on an apple orchard making cider and drinkin’ near as much as she makes; the other one has a garden where she grows mainly pipeweed and smokes nearly as much as she harvests,” Esmeralda shot back. “And both of them are too busy to spend much time with their husbands.”

Amber smoothed out a fold of her skirt. “I was happy, too. And Ollie and I spent a lot of time together, while it lasted.” She gave a little sigh, and if Bofur detected a hint of something, he said nothing as he busied himself with sharpening a couple of arrows.

“Yes, see that’s the other thing.” Esmeralda’s voice softened. “When it stops lasting. I’d rather not have my happiness tied t’someone else. Besides,” she perked up again. “Look at Uncle Bilbo. He’s quite happy, and he’s not married.”

Bofur gave an involuntary snort, and Bombur’s knife clattered onto the plate he was using as a chopping board as he tried to mask a laugh as a cough. Both hobbits looked up sharply as the dwarves tried in vain to go back to their tasks. Amber’s eyes went from one to the other as she put the pieces together.

“Oh you are jokin’,” she said. “You’re havin’ us on. He’s never had anyone up there ‘cept some of us family and the weans he teaches letters and tells stories to.”

“Perhaps none that y’ve seen,” Bofur said.

Esmeralda picked up a flaming stick from the fire and started to rise. “Start talkin’, Dwarf, or I’ll add that hat to the fuel pile.”

Bofur held up his hands. “Easy, lass. Ain’t my story to tell. But, if you make it back to the Shire, you ask Bilbo about that mail shirt Thorin gave him.”

Amber pulled her sister back down. “Sit, and put that back before ye torch the whole camp.” Then she leveled Bofur with a look. “Wait, Thorin? Thorin Oakenshield?!” she exclaimed as Esmeralda spat out some of the water she’d just drunk. “Bilbo Baggins married a Dwarf King?!”

The dwarf grinned. “As I said: ask him.” He picked up the bow and a few arrows. “Now, I’m off t’catch us some supper.”

============

Chapter Text

CHAPTER THREE

Whatever respite they’d had from the rain was over by the following morning as they began the crossing of the Tower Hills. The Dwarves and Hobbits spent the next few days taking turns to walk and ride in the wagon so as not to overtire the ponies who were about as fed up with being wet as the rest of them.

Nights were spent huddled under oiled cloaks to try and keep as much of the rain off them as possible, yet thanks to some skill of the dwarves - Esmeralda wasn’t quite sure how - they always managed to get a small fire going, which meant a mug of hot tea at the very least.

Bofur, and sometimes Bombur, would try to keep the hobbits’ spirits up by telling them stories from the time of Bilbo’s quest, though no more was spoken of Bilbo’s seemingly secret union with the dwarf king no matter how much Esmeralda pressed them for answers. Amber finally muttered something about the stubbornness of dwarves and told her to let it lie.

On the morning of the fourth day, the Sun saw fit to bless them with her rays once more, as they cleared the last of the hills. Esmeralda awoke in the back of the wagon confused, as the sound of loud, running water didn’t seem to match with the warm light coming in through the flaps of the canopy.

She hopped out of the back and went to join her sister where she stood with the ponies. They were on a small rise, and the dwarves stood a few paces in front of them looking down at what seemed to be a river. A rather large one.

“Rain’s swelled the Lune,” Bofur said as the hobbits joined them.

Below where they stood she could see the river below rushing with speed to the west where it opened into one of the largest bodies of water she had ever seen. To the east she could just about make out a small settlement of some kind, though to whom it belonged she could not tell. She turned back to the dwarves.

“Is that gonnae be an issue?” Esmeralda asked.

“Well yes and no,” Bofur replied. “We were hopin’ to make it across to Harlond: small Elf village further west of here. They don’t have much so we usually trade ‘em grain and root vegetables in return for some of the finest fish and oysters you’ll ever have in your life.” He sighed wistfully as he spoke about the seafood. “We usually stop there for a night or two, then turn around and head home to the Blue Mountains by way of the western slopes.”

“But with the river all swelled up, I s’pose you cannae go,” she surmised.

“The track’s likely underwater,” Bombur said.

“It’s a small annoyance,” Bofur added. “We can still get home along the eastern side, but it would mean abandoning the wagon and the ponies. Another reason we prefer going by the western side.” He regarded the hobbits then somewhat sadly. “And I’m afraid that means your journey ends here.”

“What?!” Esmeralda’s eyes widened in shock. “No, that’s… that’s not fair!”

“I’m sorry,” the dwarf said. “It’s not how I hoped we’d part, but the eastern slopes aren’t places for hobbits - there’s no path; just steep climbs and ice falls and chances of an avalanche or two the higher you go. Bombur and I can just about manage it with a pack each, but I’m not about to risk Bilbo’s wrath by takin’ the two of you up there.”

“Uncle Bilbo crossed the Misty Mountains with you!” she railed. “And he managed it!”

“And we nearly lost him a couple of times!” Bofur snapped back uncharacteristically. His eyes looked a little haunted by the memories. “And that was with 13 of us looking out for him! It’s out of the question, lass.”

“No!” Esmeralda cut him off. “I’m no’ turnin’ back and goin’ home just for my Da to say I’m better off in some lad’s home mindin’ the fire and gettin’ tea on the table.”

“Mera,” Amber stepped in to try and reason with her. “We can’t fight a river. And there’s no shame in goin’ home now. We’ve got this far, and look!” She gestured behind them. “We reached the Mountains. We’re close enough t’say we made it.”

Esmeralda gazed up, and then up a little more, at the towering walls of blue-sheened rock, crowned with sheets of white, that rose high above them, their peaks still shrouded in grey clouds that promised the chance of more rain to come. She closed her eyes and breathed in deep, then caught the most interesting scent on the air that made her snap her eyes open again.

“You can ride the ponies down to the Grey Havens,” Bofur was telling her sister as he gestured to the settlement she had seen a moment ago. “The Elves can resupply you for some of the journey back, and without a laden wagon to pull, the ponies can get you home quicker.”

“Close enough ain’t good enough,” she said and turned to head down the path that led to the river. “There has to be a way through!”

“Mera!” Amber darted after her headstrong sister to ensure she didn’t throw herself into the water.

Bofur let out a curse and looked at Bombur, who nodded and went to the ponies while he ran after the Halflings. By the time he reached the bottom, making sure Bombur was managing to guide the wagon safely, the younger hobbit was already pacing back and forth along the sodden bank, looking for any path that could safely lead them to the haven.

“Es… Mera… You need to stop.” Amber tried reaching for her sister. “There’s no way through; the water’s too high and too fast.”

“We can’t give up here!” Esmeralda turned to face her. “And even if you and I go back, what about them?” She pointed at the dwarves. “You heard them! Ice falls and avalanches. They could die!”

“Well, we cannot have that!” A new voice cut in. “Perhaps I can be of some help.”

All arguments ceased as Hobbits, Dwarves, and even ponies turned to see who had spoken; and to their wonder they saw a figure steering a rather large barge down the swift waters towards them. His light brown skin glistened with a sheen of water. He was barefoot, and wore loose grey trousers; a sea-green shirt was cinched at the waist with a belt. His silver hair, streaked with brown hung loose about him, and there was no mistaking the pointed ears that peeked through the strands.

“Oh my sun and stars, it’s an Elf!” Esmeralda said somewhat breathlessly, forgetting for a moment that she was angry with everyone and everything. “Oh he’s so pretty!”

They watched him as he guided the barge through the choppy water, to finally dock along the near bank. He tossed a couple of ropes to the Dwarves, who - after a moment’s hesitation - tied them securely to nearby trees to stop the barge from floating away on the current.

“I thank you for your kind words, my lady,” the Elf replied as he hopped off the vessel and walked through the shallows as if he was just wetting his toes in a stream. “Allow me to introduce myself: I am Aeros of Harlond. I was on my way home there from Mithlond when I could not help but hear of your plight.” He regarded the group. “Whom do I have the pleasure of meeting?”

Esmeralda’s cheeks went pink as his grey eyes stopped on her. “Um… Es-Esmeralda Took,” she managed to say, feeling slightly entranced.

“And her sister, Amber,” said the older Hobbit far more calmly. “We’re from Tuckborough in The Shire.”

“Bofur, and Bombur of Ered Luin, at your service.” The Dwarves added, looking bemused at this newest predicament. While they didn’t necessarily share some of their kind’s outright hostility towards Elves, they didn’t exactly go out of their way to socialise with them either.

Aeros gave a slight nod of his head. “Well met, friends. If you are looking to reach Harlond by road, while you are in the right place, I fear the recent rains have left the path under half a fathom of water. Going on foot is nigh impossible unless you can swim, but even that I would not advise as the currents are strong and the river is deep and you would risk drowning.”

Bofur let out a breath. “So what’re you proposin’ we do instead?” he asked. “Or did ya just pop by to tell us what we’re already seein’?”

If the elf took any offence to the dwarf’s less-than-generous response, he did not show it. Instead, he walked past the group to where the ponies stood, still hitched to the wagon. Gently he took a head in each hand and spoke to them in soft words that the others did not understand, before releasing them and stepping back. In the next moment, the ponies turned tail and galloped back up the path disappearing behind the rise.

The dwarves exclaimed in alarm and moved to run after them, but the elf blocked their path.

Bofur glared up at him. “What’d you go and do that for?!” he demanded, as Bombur pushed past to get to the wagon and secure it. “We’ll never catch them now!”

“Peace,” Aeros said. “I merely told them to seek shelter in Mithlond while I ferry you all down river to Harlond. That is where you intend to go, is it not?”

“It is.” Amber stepped in once more to stop anyone saying something foolish.

The elf smiled down at her. “Then come, let us load your supplies onto my vessel. I am afraid you will have to abandon your wagon here for now. If you secure it further up the path, it should be safe until someone can retrieve it again.”

The dwarves mulled over this proposal, and with no other options available, they agreed to the elf’s plan. Quickly Bofur and Bombur unloaded the wagon, and with the hobbits’ help they were able to transfer most of their goods and supplies onto the barge. It then took the combined strength of both Bofur and Aeros to lift Bombur up after them, with Bofur following a little more nimbly. He reached down a hand to help Amber on board. The older hobbit hesitated as her feet touched the water and she looked up at the dwarf on the boat.

“Ain’t sure about this; hobbits aren’t meant to be on the water,” she said. “And I can’t swim. Neither can she for that matter.” She nodded to Esmeralda who barely heeded the water that swished up to her knees as she waded in after her sister, more taken with watching the elf.

“You can hold my hand, if that helps?” Bofur offered as he grasped her forearm. “And I won’t let go, I promise.”

Amber took the dwarf’s hand and let him pull her onto the barge while Bombur easily hauled Esmeralda on board. The elf untied the ropes, and as the vessel started to move down the river, he ran towards it, almost like he was flying, and hopped on. Esmeralda could have sworn she saw him run on one of the ropes that now trailed behind them.

“Fear not, little Hobbits,” Aeros said as he started to steer. “By Ulmo of the Waters, I promise you will be safe on my boat, and I will do everything in my power to ensure it.” The current caught and jostled them as he guided the vessel to the middle of the river that grew increasingly wider the further down they went. “However, you may find it a smoother ride below deck.”

Bofur guided a rather pale-looking Amber into the hold, Bombur following if for no other reason than to see if there was any food he could easily access from their supplies. Esmeralda however remained on deck with the elf. She had caught that scent again and it intrigued her more than the swaying of the boat. As she turned her head to find its source, a cry overhead made her look up and she saw a strange flock of birds flying above them, heading west.

“Sea gulls,” Aeros said as he followed her gaze. “A common sight this close to Harlond.”

“Are we close to the Sea then?” she asked.

“Not close,” he replied. “But not far.” He pointed in the direction the birds had gone. “We will soon be entering the Gulf of Lhûn within which lies Harlond. Beyond that is the Great Sea: Belegaer.”

“I’ve never seen the Sea before,” she said. “I mean, I know it’s there; I’ve heard folk talk about it. Just never seen it y’know?”

“Should you wish to, there is a path that runs south-west from the haven. Follow it and it will bring you to the shores from where you can view the Sea in all its glory. When the sun sets is the best time; there is a profound beauty when she touches the waters that words cannot describe.”

“You’re describin’ it pretty darned well,” Esmeralda told him.

“You are most kind,” Aeros replied, then looked up. “Take heed! We are now in the Gulf of Lhûn.”

The tree-lined banks suddenly opened up before them and Esmeralda beheld the largest body of water she had ever seen in her young life. The current slowed as the river emptied into the gulf and the barge now glided smoothly along the water without so much as a bump. Aeros pulled up the large oar he had been using as a rudder and with a few quick strokes caught a smaller, quicker current near the southern bank that helped to move them along faster.

Amber and the dwarves joined them on the deck while above them the clouds broke apart to reveal a pale blue sky. Beams of sunlight shone down at intervals, and where it touched the water it seemed to sparkle - as if the surface was covered in hundreds of jewels. Esmeralda looked on, entranced. Most hobbits were taught to fear the water from a young age, and her family were no exception, but looking at the wide expanse of the gulf before her, she felt almost calm, like she could float here for ages just taking in the beauty of what lay around her.

Further ahead of them, and out in the middle of the gulf, she spotted what looked to be a ship sailing ever westwards towards a gap in between two tall cliffs.

“What is that, and where is it going?” she asked.

Aeros turned his head to see what she was looking at and Esmeralda thought she saw a flash of something wistful cross his face before he looked back at her with sea-grey eyes.

“An Elven caravel,” he replied. “They are sailing to the Blessed Realm of Valinor. Some because they are weary of Middle-earth; some to simply find healing and peace.”

“That sounds nice,” she said. “But why can’t they do it here?”

“Not all of Middle-earth is like our home,” Amber told her. “There’s dark and dangerous places beyond our borders. Away East of The Shire it’s a far wilder and unforgiving world, and more perilous than you can imagine.”

There was something in her voice again that made Bofur glance at her, wondering what her story was and if she was truly out here just as her sister’s chaperone.

“She speaks from wisdom,” Aeros said quickly, stalling any reply from Esmeralda. “There are some hurts that go too deep for any medicine in Arda to ever mend. Those kinds of wounds can only find healing in the Undying Lands.”

The younger hobbit considered this. “Sounds like an interesting place. Do you think we could visit?”

The elf regarded her in much amusement. “Alas, my lady, as far as I can remember, only one mortal has ever set foot in Aman and lived.”

Esmeralda quirked an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t really call it “undying land” then if y’die the moment y’set foot there.”

Bofur nearly choked on the swig of ale he had taken - prompting Bombur to thump him hard on the back - and wondered if they were all about to be thrown overboard, but the elf merely laughed as if this was the funniest thing he had ever heard in all his immortal life.

“Truly! Perhaps some renaming is in order. I shall pass on your thoughts to the next ship so they may deliver your concerns,” he said. “Now perhaps we should see to our own harbour as we are close to Harlond and will be docking soon.”

The Elf Haven looked like what Esmeralda imagined one would look like, but also looked completely foreign at the same time. A few small boats and ships were docked at various piers around them - mainly fishing vessels, she noted - and the settlement was made up of mostly curved, wooden huts surrounding the occasional stone house. Elves bustled about hauling in their catches on the docks or mending damaged watercrafts in long boathouses. Most paid them no heed, though a few eyes lingered on the two hobbits as they disembarked.

Amber wasted no time in putting considerable distance between herself and the water, and the dwarves looked relieved to be off the barge as well. Esmeralda caught a muttered ‘barrels’ and ‘fish’ as Bofur had hopped off, and she recalled Uncle Bilbo had mentioned similar when telling stories of his quest. She lingered as the elf secured his barge to the dock.

“Will we see you again?” she asked.

“One knows not what the future may bring, but perhaps you shall,” he replied. “You are all welcome to stay here a few days should you wish to.”

“I don’t know how the Dwarves would feel asking for more help from the Elves,” she said.

“Then it is fortunate they have Hobbits with them.” Aeros smiled at her. “Farewell for now, my friend.”

============

Chapter Text

CHAPTER FOUR

Hobbits and Dwarves sat around a blazing warm fire outside one of the elven huts that they had been given for the duration of their stay. It was small, but the dwarves had valiantly offered to sleep outdoors, preferring the harder ground, so that the hobbits could occupy the two small cots inside. In the west, the sun had started to sink towards the water, and Esmeralda wondered if she would get to see that sunset Aeros had spoken of to her while on the barge.

Bombur lifted a skewer of what he called prawns off the fire, and using a brush made of leaves, slathered on more oil before placing them back over the fire to continue cooking. Below the dripping prawns, on some of the hotter rocks of the firepit, several parcels of fish wrapped in large leaves were also steaming. Esmeralda had watched earlier as Bombur had gutted and dressed the fish with onions and slices of lemon before wrapping them up and placing them in the fire. Now as the sky darkened, he reached for one. She marvelled at how neither flame nor heat seemed to bother him as he brought the parcel to his nose and sniffed.

“It’s ready,” he said, placing the one in his hand on a wooden plate and passing it down to Amber.

Esmeralda’s mouth started to water as she received her plate, and she hungrily unwrapped her parcel to get at the fish inside. The steaming white flesh glistened with juices and the smell was enough to make her grab a fork and dig in. As she ate, Bofur leaned over and deposited a couple of the prawns in her plate, and she stared at them wondering how to eat them.

“Perhaps I can show you.” A familiar voice almost made her jump out of her skin, and she turned to see Aeros come up beside her. “I hope I am not intruding. I thought I would come and see how our guests are faring and it appears I have happened on quite a feast. If it helps, I have brought wine.” He held up two bottles.

“Now you’re talkin’! Come, take a seat.” Bofur shifted so the elf could sit in between him and Esmeralda, in considerably better spirits now that he had food in his belly and the promise of wine.

Aeros made himself comfortable and accepted the plate of food Bombur passed him. He picked up one of the prawns by the tail, the fingers of his other hand going around the body. “Now, just like this.” He gave a sharp twist and the head, shell and limbs came away, revealing the succulent meat within. He took a bite and his eyes closed in what could only be described as satisfaction. “Master Dwarf, this is exquisite. You must share your secret with me.”

Bombur beamed at the praise for his cooking and handed him another, as Esmeralda copied Aeros’ actions to get to her own prawn.

“Mmm… ohhh… yes! By the ancestors’ cartwheels!” The moan she let out was enough to make even Bofur blush, as Amber looked on mortified. “More of that in my mouth please!”

More amused than anything else, Aeros placed the last prawn on her plate and set about opening the wine he had brought, pouring out the pale gold liquid into the tin cups the dwarves had with them. As the sun finally vanished below the waters and the sky darkened, the group finished their food and the elf raised his second cup of wine in a toast.

“To the Lady of the Stars!” he declared.

“To you tree-hugging boat-makers,” Bofur slurred, decidedly long past his second cup.

“To delicious food,” Esmeralda added.

Somewhere just past the fire, Bombur snored as he lay flat on his back. The large dwarf had fallen asleep contentedly, not long after the second bottle of wine had been opened. Bofur looked at his brother as he downed the last dregs of his own cup, then nodded and lay back as well. He was snoring in seconds.

Amber looked at them bemusedly, then stood. “To finally sleeping in a bed for a while,” she said. “Mera?”

As much as Esmeralda would have liked to stay up talking with the Elf, she knew the subtle command when she heard it. Sighing, she finished her wine and stood as well. Bidding Aeros goodnight, Amber ducked into the hut first, while she lingered at the entrance.

“Do Elves sleep?” she asked.

“We do,” he replied. “Though not in the way in which mortals define it.” He smiled and gave a small bow of his head. “Goodnight, my lady. May you sleep well.”

“Goodnight.”

~*~

The bed was about as comfortable as an Elven bed could be, though considerably larger than Esmeralda was used to. Across from her, Amber was already snoring softly in her own bed, so she lay back and tried to let the sounds of the wavelets lapping at the shores of the haven lull her to sleep. Through hooded eyes, she could just make out the dull glow of the fire outside, considerably reduced from what it had been earlier that evening. Beyond were the low shapes of the sleeping dwarves, and the seated silhouette of the elf - the last things she saw as her eyes closed.

The waves continued to lap at the docks, the wind changed direction, and the fire burned to low embers. The moon rose higher in the sky as the night deepened, and all was quiet and still.

So there was absolutely no reason for Esmeralda to jolt awake when she did, but as she slept a sound haunted her dreams. A song - though more of a dirge - carried carefully on a light breeze that trickled into her ears until they rang with it. In her mind she saw flashes of swords and burning ships.

She sat up, blinking in the darkness, and rubbing at her ears, but the song had not dissipated. In fact, as more of her senses came back, it sounded as if it was coming from outside the hut. She wondered if it was Aeros singing. Quietly climbing out of the cot so as not to wake her sister - Amber could sleep through a thunderstorm if she wanted to - Esmeralda made her way to the door and stepped outside into the cool night air.

Aeros was sat where they had left him hours ago, but he was silent until she stepped up beside him.

“You hear it, too,” he said.

The haunting melody filled the air around them, but if there were words, she could not make them out.

“What is it?” she asked.

The elf passed her a small flask of something that was most certainly not wine, but she took a drink from it nonetheless. She knew stalling when she saw it. The spiced liquor within instantly sent a warmth through her body.

“Fermented potatoes,” Aeros replied, and Esmeralda nearly coughed up the second sip. “The other is a long story. Too long a tale to be told tonight.”

“I dreamed of ships on fire.”

“It will be dawn not too long from now,” the elf said. “You should sleep while you can, and be comforted that nothing will harm you. Harlond is well protected.”

Esmeralda tossed the flask back at him. “Uncle Bilbo wasnae wrong when he said Elves would rather choke themselves than give a straight answer,” she grumbled as she stalked back into the hut.

============

Chapter Text

CHAPTER FIVE

For all that Aeros had described the Sea to her over the last couple of days, nothing could have prepared Esmeralda for when she finally beheld it with her own eyes. Blue waters stretched out as far as she could see, towards a horizon that she knew she would never reach. Much closer, and far more tangible, waves crashed onto a beach of golden sand, the foamy water rushing over her bare feet and then pulling away again, only to repeat the process minutes later.

On either side of her, the sands were broken up now and then by clusters of seaweed-covered rocks, and atop one of these Amber sat with Bofur, keeping as far away from the water as possible, while watching her sister to make sure she kept to the shallows.

Even further back, where sand gave way to grass, under the shade of some trees Bombur started preparing a fire pit for that evening’s meal. Under Aeros’ instructions, they had pitched tents here so as not to be taken unawares by the tide later that night, the elf cautioning them not to venture into the water in the dark, lest they be taken by the currents and never seen again. He had left them after they had more or less settled, citing other errands he had to run, but promised to return - though not stating exactly when - to bring them back to Harlond again.

“Not joining your sister?” Bofur asked Amber.

“Hobbits and water aren’t the most compatible,” Amber replied.

“So you’ve said.” The dwarf chuckled. “Though clearly no one told her.” He nodded to where Esmeralda jumped over a small wave and landed back down with a splash.

“Mm, you try telling her she cannae do somethin’ and see how that works out.”

The two laughed at that, and Bofur glanced at the older hobbit again. There were moments when she reminded him of Bilbo, and then there were moments where he just could not figure her out. He could tell she would have rather been at home in the Shire, but she also seemed to be enjoying herself out here in the wilds. She had clearly embarked upon this mad journey for her sister’s sake, yet it seemed to him that there was also a part of her that was doing this for herself - as if she had something to overcome.

And he admired her for that.

The problem was, he wasn’t sure if what he was starting to feel stopped at mere admiration.

He pulled a small flask from a pocket and took a swig, thought for a moment, then held it out to the hobbit. She eyed it before looking at him and raising a brow. He grinned. “S’just a bit of mead.”

Amber took the flask and tried a mouthful, wincing slightly as it burned its way down her throat. Still, it tasted nice, so she took another gulp, then another. Bofur blinked then and reached for the flask, easing it out of her hand.

“You’d best go easy on that, lass,” he said. “Can’t be havin’ you all tipsy.”

Amber chuckled. “I’m fine. Stuff like that all over Tuckborough if y’know where t’look.”

Bofur snorted. “We went to the wrong place all those years ago when we stopped off in Hobbiton.”

“Please. Hobbiton’s full of folk who think they’re the Maker’s gift to Middle-earth. Why’d you think that wizard’s always hangin’ around the Smials?”

“I would imagine the drink and pipeweed.”

“You would imagine rightly.”

They laughed, and then looked up as they heard a splash, in time to see Esmeralda pick herself up from where she had fallen into the water, seaweed dangling from the edges of her skirts. She was laughing, and braced herself as another wave came in, breaking against her and sending a spray of water into the air.

“Well, she’s happy,” said Bofur.

~*~

Above them, the sun had moved ever westward, and the sky to the east had started to deepen. Over the Sea, the colours had taken on more pink and purple hues, intersected with streaks of yellow and deep orange as beams of light cut through the few clouds.

“Maybe after this I can convince her to come home, now she’s got the adventure out of her system,” Amber said.

“What’s at home?” the dwarf asked. “Possible entrapment for her, sure, but what’s there for you? Someone waitin’ for you to return?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “No one aside from Da, and whatever suitors he’s got lined up.”

“You don’t strike me as the type to be chosen for,” Bofur said.

“And I wasn’t, but my marriage came and went.” She looked at him. “He was Ollie Thornburrow. Hobbit from Bree. Sent Da round the bend when I brought ‘im home to meet ‘em. As you probably noticed, we’re not the best when it comes t’strangers from outside The Shire, and Da was no exception. But we Tooks are stubborn, and Ollie was a good lad.” There was a pause and a sigh before she continued. “We had some good years together; Ollie was happy enough to move to Tuckborough and eventually won Da ‘round as well. Then one day he gets a letter from Bree sayin’ he’s needed there ‘cause his Ma’s taken ill.

“I told him not to go; I told him t’wait for a passing caravan so he wouldnae have to travel alone, but he said if he didn’t leave right away he might not get t’see his Ma alive again. So off he went. And about a week later they found him on the edge of the Great East Road. They never told me how he’d died, just that he was dead. There’ve been rumours of course: some said he went through the Old Forest, or got lost in the Barrow Hills. Others said he was probably attacked by brigands or orcs. It didn’t matter how in the end, just that he was gone and not coming back; and I was a widow.” She released the bit of skirt she had been twisting around her hand.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Bofur handed her back the flask, and she took a long drink from it before replacing the lid. He didn’t mind. “Is that why you came with her?”

Amber passed the flask back to him. “I needed to see that there’s still some light and beauty in the world.”

Bofur met her eyes as he reached for it, and their fingers brushed briefly. “Aye, that there is.”

From where she was playing at the breakwater, Esmeralda watched them curiously and briefly wondered how much of a hard time she would have to give Bofur. Her attention was fortunately drawn back to the Sea where the Sun had finally dropped low enough that the bottom of it was just about skimming the edge of the horizon, setting the twilight sky ablaze with colours. Aeros had not been exaggerating the beauty of it.

The others joined her to watch the sunset, though they stood just beyond the water’s reach. Bofur casually draped an arm over Amber’s shoulders, and Esmeralda glanced back with a raised eyebrow to see if her sister would protest, but the other hobbit seemed content for him to do so, so she let it go for the time being.

============

Chapter Text

CHAPTER SIX

She was on a ship in the middle of a large harbour she did not recognise, and not for the first time wondered what she was doing there and why everyone was screaming? And why was it so bleedin’ hot?! A crack made her look up and she saw fire creeping up the large mast behind her before the crescent sail burst into flames. The vessel rocked, and she tried to steady herself, but the mast gave another crack and started to fall towards her. Her scream joined the chorus, knowing there was nowhere to outrun it, and she threw up her arms as the burning sail engulfed her…

Esmeralda flailed in her tangle of blankets and sat up, eyes wide and panting as she shoved the sheets off her and tried to breathe. One by one her senses returned and she realised she was hearing the same song she had heard the other night back in Harlond.

There was a startled yelp from across the tent, and Amber sat up with a gasp. She looked over to see Esmeralda watching her and sighed in relief.

“Oh praise the stars, it was only a dream,” she said.

Esmeralda raised a brow. “You as well, then?”

“Aye.” Then she, too, heard the song. “What in the name of the Old Took is that infernal noise?”

“Sounds like someone singing. I heard it before that first night in Harlond, but Aeros said it was a long story and didnae really elaborate after that.”

Amber got to her feet and made for the opening in the tent. “Well they can bloody well pipe down, or go wail somewhere else. Some of us want to sleep.”

Esmeralda joined her sister outside and was a little surprised to see Bofur there as well. The three of them shared a look and Bofur inclined his head in the direction of the beach.

“I appreciate a good song meself,” he said. “But preferably not when I’m sleepin’, and certainly not with visions of me burnin’ to death. Shall we go see who’s been singin’ us this pleasant wee lullaby?”

The younger hobbit was already in motion, and the other two ran to catch up with her - more to ensure she didn’t drown in the higher tide. The waves had now come further up the beach, to lap and splash around the rocks that Bofur and Amber had been sitting on earlier that evening, and it was behind a group of these rocks - with the water churning around their ankles - that the three of them took cover, peering as best they could into the dark to see who would be out at this hour.

All this time the song echoed around them, and Esmeralda noted even as awake as she was now, how sad it sounded.

“Over there!” Amber exclaimed in a whisper, pointing left past the rocks and down the beach.

The others followed her finger and could just about make out a tall figure robed in white who seemed to almost glimmer in the moonlight. Whether it walked or floated, none of them could tell.

“What is that? Is it a wraith?” Esmeralda asked, straining her eyes to try and see the figure more clearly. “Sounds like one. Wait. Do wraiths even sing?“

“Might be thinkin’ of sirens, or banshees,” Bofur remarked.

Don’t be daft,” Amber replied, “Ain’t no such thing as wraiths.”

“Uncle Gorbadoc says there are. Says he’s seen one in the Old Forest. Heard him tell Gran-Da once.”

“Uncle Gorbadoc and Gran-Da used t’see lots o’ strange sightings after they’d sampled a few drams o’the special malt, and I don’t mean the beer.”

“Whatever it is, it seems t’be comin’ this way,” Bofur spoke up. “And while I’d like to know more about this particular whisky, we should probably decide what we’re going to do about it.”

Esmeralda rose and started to climb over the rock. “I say we go find out what—”

A large hand clamped over her mouth as an arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her off. Amber and Bofur spun round to see Aeros holding on to Esmeralda as she flailed like a cat. He set her down and turned her so she could see him before uncovering her mouth, then blinked as she hauled off and smacked him on the arm, though more in surprise than because it hurt.

“Bullroarer’s Bollocks! You cannae just go round grabbin’ people like ye gonna kidnap ‘em!” she hissed at him.

Aeros held up his hands. “My apologies, but I do not believe it would be safe to approach… him… at this time.”

“Him? You mean you know what it is?” Amber asked.

“It is more… who it is,” he replied.

“Well who is it then?” Bofur asked, a little exasperated. “Given he is the one keepin’ us awake, I think we’re owed an explanation for why we can’t go over and tell him t’knock it off.”

The elf sighed and beckoned them a little further up the beach and away from the water before answering. “He is an Elf from a bygone Age, with a very… troubled past.”

“Did that past include settin’ some ships on fire?” Amber asked.

“Amongst other things,” Aeros replied. “He and his kin were responsible for a lot of… hardship and distress in the world at the time, to say the least. He eventually lost all of those he loved, including some who might have loved him. Now he wanders the shores lamenting his misdeeds with nowhere else to go.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to just… y’know…” Bofur drew a finger across his neck. “Put him out of his misery if he’s that unhappy?”

When the elf did not answer, Amber narrowed her eyes at him. “Oh you’re leavin’ him tae suffer aren’t ya? Because… it was your ships he and his kin burned?”

There was sorrow in Aeros’ grey eyes when he next spoke, and a spark of anger. “My brethren’s ships. On two occasions. After he and his brothers had also slain many of our number, including those I held dear. So perhaps we are a little slow to mercy in this instance, and would have him wander and reflect on his wrongs. We would not hinder him should he choose to sail to the Utmost West, but neither would we help him.”

Bofur let out a low whistle. “And here I thought Thorin could carry a grudge. Turns out you all have him beat by a few thousand years.”

Amber sighed and shook her head. Then she looked around, wondering why she had not heard her sister pipe up at all during this conversation. “Where’s Esmeralda?!” The younger hobbit was nowhere to be seen.

~*~

It was about halfway through the Aeros’ recounting of historical events that Esmeralda noticed the figure had stopped its movement and the song had ended. In fact, the more she looked, she was convinced that it was in fact now moving away from them. Her curiosity for finding out who this Elf was eventually won out over listening to a tale from over 2,000 years ago, and she quietly slipped away as Bofur talked about slitting throats.

Making sure to keep out of sight as much as she could, she followed the figure along the beach until it turned inland and made for a small line of dunes. In the moonlight she could just make out the outlines of a hut nestled in amongst them, and it was into this that the figure disappeared.

Esmeralda hurried after it, stopping just outside and daring to peer in. What she saw inside was someone who seemed to live a very lonely life. There was a tattered bed towards the back separated by a flimsy cloth screen that had been pulled back. The lone shelf lay empty, there were no tables or chairs to speak of - just an old mat on the floor. Worst of all however was the fact that she could not make out any signs of food or drink anywhere within.

It stirred a sense of pity in her heart, because she knew this was no way for anyone to live, not even a phantom.

And as for the figure inside, it was no wraith or siren she looked upon, but a very thin and tired-looking Elf. He stood perhaps a little taller than Aeros; long, lank dark hair that had seen better days hung down his back, and she saw scars that looked like they came from very nasty weapons. He wore trousers and a long shirt that looked like they needed washing months ago, but his feet remained bare and weather-worn. She wanted nothing more than to give him a bath and a hot meal, but unsure of who this elf was - Aeros had mentioned he had burned ships - or how he would react, she hesitated.

A bat flew past her head and she squeaked, then quickly covered her mouth, but it was too late. The elf turned to the door and caught her in his gaze. His eyes were grey, and she noted amongst the sadness in them there was a dim light. Seeing her, his expression grew almost puzzled, and she wondered for a moment if he had even seen a Hobbit before.

“Perian?” he murmured at her, and looked like he was still not quite sure what he was seeing.

Seeing no point in running away, Esmeralda gave a small wave and a smile. “Hello,” she said. “Don’t mean t’intrude, but yer singin’ woke us up… and…”

She trailed off as the elf’s attention shifted to something past her and he frowned. Glancing back she saw that Aeros had come up behind her and was frowning in turn at the elf in the hut.

“Noldo,” he said.

“Teler,” the other elf replied.

Esmeralda sighed and rolled her eyes at them. “Y’know if someone referred to me as just ‘Hobbit’, I’d be kickin’ them in the shins for bein’ a mite rude. Would ye like to try again with actual names this time?”

“There is no need,” Aeros said. “Come, we are leaving. Your companions are worried about you, and the night presses on.”

There were a hundred questions Esmeralda wanted to ask the elf in the hut, but Aeros did not seem to be pleased to be there, and he was right in that this was probably not the time to be asking them. She also realised Amber was going to skin her alive for disappearing so close to the water, and if she wanted her sister on her side, it was best to appease her now.

She would have to wait until the morning.

“I’ll come back,” she whispered to the other elf, then hurried to catch up with Aeros.

~*~

Amber was the only one still outside when they returned to their campsite, Bofur having turned in to join his brother, who had not been at all disturbed by the night’s events. She glared at her younger sister hard enough that Aeros glanced at them and took his leave quickly. Esmeralda held up her hand and ducked into their tent.

“Have you lost your cartwheelin’ mind?!” The other hobbit followed her inside, still looking to unleash the lecture she had been brewing while the younger had been missing. “You do not go running off down the beach by yourself in pitch darkness!”

“I had to find out.”

“You could have drowned!”

“But I did not.” Esmeralda sighed as she sat on her cot. “It was an Elf.”

“I don’t care if it was the Maker! You—”

“You didn’t see him, Amber, he was…” she threw her hands up in the air helplessly. “He was the saddest sight I have ever seen. It was as if he wants to die, but can’t”

“And if that’s how he wants t’live, it’s his choice, but I’ll not be the one to tell Da his fool-headed daughter went and threw herself intae the Sea chasin’ after some wraith.”

Esmeralda looked at her. “You don’t mean that, and I thought you didnae believe in wraiths.”

Amber sat down on her own cot. “I don’t. But I also don’t see what we can do that the Elves in these parts cannae.”

“I don’t think the Elves here want t’help him. The way he and Aeros looked at each other, you’d think they wanted to wallop each other.”

“Well, Aeros did mention somethin’ called a Kinslayin’ and a 2,000 year old grudge.” The older hobbit lay down. “It’s a wonder any of ‘em are still alive at all, the way they seem to’ve went round hackin’ each other t’bits.”

“Come with me tomorrow. We can take him some food. He looked like he hadnae eaten in months.”

Amber looked at her. “You don’t have to do this, Mera. He may not want t’be saved.”

“He might feel different after he’s got some proper food in his belly.” She lay down in her cot as well. “And if I do nothing, it’s gonnae haunt me for the rest o’ my life - that I could’ve done somethin’, but didn’t.”

The older hobbit shook her head, but she knew in her heart that her sister was right to want to help this strange elf. “Get some rest then,” she said. “We’ll tackle this when it’s light.”

============

Chapter Text

CHAPTER SEVEN

The following morning, the two hobbits filled a basket with what food they had, that they thought would make a decent meal, and quietly set off down the beach towards the dunes without disturbing the still-slumbering dwarves. Aeros was not anywhere they could see, so they decided not to worry about him for the moment.

The shack had no door, so Esmeralda resorted to knocking on a wooden slat to see if there was anyone within. She peered inside to see the cloth screen being pulled back, and a disheveled-looking elf standing and staring back at her. Behind her she heard Amber give a soft gasp as she beheld the poor creature’s run-down appearance.

“Periannath?” he murmured almost to himself, again looking uncertain as to what he was seeing.

Esmeralda remembered he had said a similar word the night before when he had seen her, though she had no idea what it meant.

“Good morning!” she said instead. “We brought breakfast to share, if you’d like some?” She held up the small basket in case the elf did not understand the Common Tongue. “Y’know… food? To eat?”

Amber glanced around the single room. “Oh, y’ve got nowhere t’sit in here. We could eat outside on the beach? The sun’s up and it’s a nice day for it.”

The elf hesitated, his eyes darting between the two hobbits, trying to guess their motivation. It reminded Esmeralda of an injured owl she came across in a field once, and the way it looked at her like it thought she was going to eat it. She handed the basket to Amber.

“Sister, why don’t you go ahead and set it all up. We’ll be right with you.”

Amber gave her a look, but decided to trust her. “Don’t be too long.” She took the basket from her and headed back down towards the beach to find a nice spot to set up their picnic. Esmeralda took a step inside the hut, holding her hands up and approaching slowly, as she did with the injured owl, keeping her tone light and cheery.

“S’pose I should take my advice from last night,” she said and touched her chest with one hand. “My name is Esmeralda Took. Some call me Mera for short. I’m a Hobbit from Tuckborough in The Shire.”

“You are… Mera?” the elf asked.

“That’s right,” she said. “What is your name?”

“My… name…?” He hesitated a moment as if trying to recall it, and Esmeralda wondered what it must be like to live all alone for so long that he could barely remember his own name. “Im Magalor estannen.”

Maybe she should’ve asked Uncle Bilbo to teach her some of that strange Elven language he was so fond of, but then she had not known she would end up finding some ancient Elf hermit who liked to sing haunting ballads by the seashore every night.

“Could ye maybe repeat that?” she asked.

He nodded. “Call me Maglor.”

“Right, hello Maglor.” She took a few steps further into the hut, and held out a hand. “Would you like tae join us for breakfast?”

There was another moment of hesitation, and then he allowed her to take his hand. “That would… be nice.”

Esmeralda smiled at him and led him out into the sunshine, and she could not help but notice how he straightened up a bit more in the light as she led him down to where Amber had laid out a small, but homely meal of bread, apples, cheese, honey and smoked fish. There was also a small flagon of cider.

“Who’s this then?” the older hobbit asked.

“This is Maglor.”

“Mae govannen,” the elf said in greeting.

She gestured to her sister. “And this is my sister Amber.”

“Hello again,” Amber said, and then nodded to the food. “C’mon now, sit down and have somethin’ tae eat. By the looks of ye, you’ve not been fed proper in a while.”

Esmeralda had already sat down and was helping herself to bread and cheese, so the elf joined them and then blinked as Amber immediately handed him a thick slice of bread, topped with some of the smoked fish and drizzled with honey. He took a tentative bite and then his eyes widened before he finished it off in seconds. The hobbits exchanged a look and Amber made up a second slice for him.

“E mann câw elvennui,” he said, accepting it and taking another bite. “It is wonderful. I thank you.”

“Eat as much as you like,” Amber said. “Y’poor thing. Do those other Elves not feed ye?”

“They would… rather keep their distance… from me.” He spoke between mouthfuls of food. “There is fish in the sea… fruit in the trees… just nothing like this.” He worked his way through his third slice before he finally slowed down. “You have been very kind…such kindness as I have not known in over a thousand years. Why?"

The sisters looked back at him confused, not knowing how to answer.

“It’s because they’re Hobbits,” came Bofur’s voice. “It’s just how they are. I wager they didn’t even see it as a kindness; they just thought you might be hungry and brought you some food. Why they are the way they are remains a mystery, but…” he smiled at Amber. “They’re worth more than all the riches in Middle-earth.”

He reached their picnic spot with Bombur - who carried a large iron pot filled with fresh mussels - and the hobbits made room for them. Maglor stared at them in wonder.

“Dwarves… and Hobbits?” he tried the strange word. “Spending time together…. How extraordinary. Please, tell me of how this friendship came to be; for I remember a time when a great friendship existed between the Elves and Dwarves also.”

Bofur grinned. “Well, it all started some years ago when 13 of us had a wee party at their uncle’s house and convinced him to come on a journey with us….”

~*~

Across the next two days, they visited the elf regularly and Bofur and Bombur recounted the tale of their quest to reclaim Erebor, and the adventures they had along the way. Maglor listened in fascination as they spoke of stone giants and goblin caves; spiders, dragons, and the large battle that nearly ended some of them.

“I, too, lost a home to a dragon and we were only saved thanks to the valour of the Dwarves,” the elf said. “It was many thousands of years ago, but I sometimes find myself missing it. You were right to go and reclaim your home if you could.”

“I’m sorry you could not reclaim yours.” Bofur reached over and squeezed a shoulder. “But I hope that dragon met a nasty end.”

Maglor touched his hand in silent thanks. “Your Bilbo Baggins should have his deeds sung far and wide it seems,” he said. “Few look upon a fire drake and survive, and yet there is no song about him?”

“Not that we’ve heard,” said Amber. “T’be honest with ye, most folk in the Shire think he’s a bit crackers.”

“Perhaps I shall make one, and it could be called: ‘The Ballad of Bilbo Baggins - The Greatest Halfling of Them All’,” replied Maglor.

The others laughed at this, and Maglor found his lips twitching upwards into some semblance of a smile - an expression he had forsaken some time ago. But these mortals’ laughter was infectious and any resistance would have been in vain.

When they saw the elf’s mood grow lighter, they told him more stories from the Shire to Erebor until days gave way to dusks, sharing with him what food they had from their supplies until their packs started to empty.

As the Sun charted her course towards the horizon on the third evening since their first meeting, Maglor stood and waded into the sea, diving under the waves before reemerging with a fish in each hand. These he would have normally eaten raw - or lightly cooked had he the will to make a fire - as he had done so many nights before.

On this night however, Bombur took command, stuffing the cleaned and hollowed fish with whatever herbs and fruit the hobbits had managed to forage, and then wrapping it in tree bark Bofur had shaved before placing it on the hot coals of their fire to steam.

“Wait till you taste that,” Esmeralda had said. “It is so delicious, I could stuff my face with it every night.”

Maglor had forgotten about the simple joy of eating good food with pleasant company, until he put a piece of the fish in his mouth and the burst of flavours, accompanied by the gentle laughter of the others, brought him to the verge of tears.

“Eglerio anin mastor!” he cried, and the others looked at him in confusion. “Praise to you, Master Dwarf, for this beautiful meal. I have not had the like in many centuries.”

Bombur merely blushed in response.

On these nights, rather than lamenting his losses to the waves, Maglor sang to the hobbits and dwarves songs of the Elder Days when the world was young; of the great smith Aulë that made Bofur and Bombur sit up with no little bit of pride at the mention of the Dwarves’ creator; and of the Two Trees of Valinor that made the hobbits listen in rapt attention.

============

Chapter Text

CHAPTER EIGHT

On the morning of the fourth day Bofur stood on the beach near their small camp, but rather than gazing out across the Sea, he faced inland looking southeast to where the shadows of the Blue Mountains loomed faintly in the distance.

Amber walked over to him and followed his gaze. “Will you go home from here?” she asked.

“We’ve been away longer than we intended,” he said. “Our original plan was to return to Ered Luin and help those who want to, to make the journey back to Erebor. This little detour was a nice break - just gave the folk more time to pack - but we need to get back on task and help our people get on the road before the seasons change.”

“It’s just been nice having you with us,” Amber replied. “But yer right. Supplies be runnin’ low, too, and maybe….” she sighed. “Maybe it’s time for us to think about our return journey as well. Mera can’t run forever.”

Bofur took her hand. “I shouldn’t be asking ye…”

She looked at him. “If I’d come with you? To the Blue Mountains? To Erebor? If I was braver like Uncle Bilbo, or Esmeralda - she would follow you both without a second thought - I would say yes. But…”

“But you got yer family and your Da. And the Shire is where yer roots are. I understand.”

“You will stop by and visit though, won’t ye? On your way back t’Erebor?” she asked.

The dwarf leaned in and kissed her cheek. “It’s a promise, good lady.”

Amber blushed three shades of pink and swatted him. “Away with ya, cheeky beggar.” Then she nodded down the beach in the direction of Maglor’s hut. “So what do we do about the Elf?”

“Probably a question for everybody,” Bofur replied, and keeping hold of Amber’s hand, walked back to where their tents were.

~*~

Esmeralda looked up from where she had been brushing her hair to see them approach, and one glance told her all she needed to know.

“We ain’t leavin’ Maglor,” she said as they neared. “We can’t! How cruel would that be t’give him this friendship and then take it away after three days?!”

“Like betrayal,” Bombur said.

The younger hobbit pointed to him. “See?”

“He may not want to leave,” Amber said, though she couldn’t even bring herself to believe that.

“Oh of course, I would also love to keep living’ in my little run-down sea-shack all by meself, just singin’ sad songs and eatin’ raw fish once a week,” Esmeralda snapped. “Make me feel real good ‘bout me life.”

“Alright! I get it,” Amber replied. “But it still begs the question: if he leaves here, where is he gonnae go? He ain’t exactly popular with these Elves, and does anyone else out there even remember him?”

“If we could get Aeros on board as an ally, he might stand a chance,” Bofur said.

“If we could get them tae stop hissing at each other like cats first,” Esmeralda added. “They cannae even say each other’s names.”

“Then that’s where we start,” said Amber. “Even if we have t’lock them in a room together.”

~*~

That evening Esmeralda made her way to Maglor’s hut, with a large plate of the fire-grilled prawns Bombur had made as a special treat before they parted ways over the next couple of days, knowing they were a favourite of the younger hobbit. She also carried a small basket of berries and a flagon of ale. As she neared the shack, she saw a small fire was already burning brightly outside, and Maglor sat beside it as if he had already known she would be coming by.

“Just me tonight,” she said, as she sat down. “Amber’s gone t’bed early, and the Dwarves are doing… whatever it is Dwarves do when they’re plannin’ something.”

“They are planning on leaving,” the elf said. It was not a question. “That is prudent. We are near their home mountains after all.”

Esmeralda started shelling the prawns. “They need to return to their people.”

“As you do, to yours.”

“I’m in no rush.” She handed him a smaller plate with some shelled prawns and berries that he accepted gratefully. “Were it up t’me I’d travel the world. Nothin’ fer me at home but a lifetime of servitude to whoever my Da says I’m to marry.”

“So you are running away instead.” Once more, not a question. He bit into one of the prawns and gave a noise of satisfaction. “Mm, please give Bombur my thanks. These are very good.”

She narrowed her eyes at him as she munched on her own prawn before washing it down with a swig of ale. The elf did not seem to notice as he still ate like he had not seen food in days, and it only served to convince her more that they could not leave him here to waste away again. She finished off another prawn and some berries, then went for the kill.

“I’m not the only one here runnin’ though,” she said. “Why’re you really out here?”

Maglor looked at her. “I fail to take your meaning. This is my home, I am not running from anything.”

Esmeralda scoffed. “That’s a pile of sheep dung.” She gestured around them with a prawn tail. “Plenty of Elven settlements nearby, yet you’re out here livin’ in a shack no right-minded Hobbit would even house cows in, and yer fair starvin’. You Elves might live forever, but I don’t think deep down that you want t’be livin’ forever like this. So what’re you runnin’ from?”

He was silent for a moment. “I am not welcome in those settlements.”

“Care t’explain why not?”

“Surely your other Elven friend has reliably informed you of my past.”

She popped a few berries into her mouth. “I’m askin’ you though. I want to hear it in your words.”

The elf finished off the last of his food and set his plate down. “This is not some little faerie’s tale to be told around the hearth of wherever it is you Halflings call home. I have hurt people!”

“Aye, and who amongst us here hasn’t?” Esmeralda replied. “But walkin’ around on the beach at night singin’ the same song over and over, and keepin’ folk awake with visions of burning ships isnae how ye atone for it.”

“I have killed others, including my own kind - especially my own kind. I have made orphans of children. What do your kind know of the evils of the world?!”

“It isnae a wee contest ‘bout who’s the most awful, ye daft beggar.” The hobbit levelled him with a look. “And aye, you should feel bad about it, really bad; they’re horrible things. But you moanin’ about it to yerself every wakin’ moment doesnae bring all those people back now, does it? And it certainly don’t help those whom you took ‘em from.”

Maglor deflated somewhat. “I do not know how to atone for the evils that I have done.”

“Well, have ye tried sayin’ you're sorry, for starters?” she asked. “Where I come from, most wronged folk tend t’be a wee bit more forgivin’ once they hear an apology.”

“It is not that simple.”

“It isnae that hard either.”

“Why are you even trying to help me? What makes me worthy of such redemption?”

“Old Took give me strength.” Esmeralda rolled her eyes. “Y’know for all the wisdom you Elves are supposed tae have, y’aint got a lick of common sense about ye. We don’t want you to die, or whatever it is happens to your lot when ye start wastin’ away.” She took another swig of the ale. “And dyin’ alone, all by yourself? That’s the easy way. If y’ve done such terrible things then you shouldn’t be gettin’ off easy. You should be workin’ t’make it right.”

The elf looked as if he wanted to curl into himself. “I would not know where to begin.”

“You could try startin’ with the neighbours,” the hobbit replied.

============

Chapter Text

CHAPTER NINE

Aeros could not help but stare as the two hobbits came down the path that led back into the main settlement of Harlond. They seemed to have left their dwarven friends behind them, but somehow gained an elf. An elf that he was none too pleased to see walking towards him.

“Clearly there have been… developments,” he said when they neared.

“Aye. Made sense for the Dwarves to head back to the Blue Mountains from where we were,” Amber said.

The sea-elf shifted and for a moment the hobbits thought he almost squirmed.

“And you seem to have… befriended… our singing phantom,” he remarked. “We had wondered why the past few nights seemed quiet.”

Esmeralda patted Maglor’s arm. “Quiet here perhaps, but we’ve had a lovely time together. He’s been entertainin’ us with songs and tales, and he’s quite good on that harp of his.”

“I wonder if you would think him so lovely if you knew—”

“We know,” Amber cut him off. “From what you told us, and what he told us; and we think it’s time ye found a way to mend this rift.”

Aeros frowned and looked away. “You know not what you ask. What he and his brothers did…”

“Was not forgivable,” Maglor spoke up. “I tried to stop them many times, to make them see that we were doing evil. They would not listen.”

The sea-elf turned back to him. “But neither did you stay your own hand. So many returned to Mandos needlessly - they had lives that you cut short and removed from this world. You spilled the blood of your fellow Elves with your own blade!”

“To my greatest sorrow and heartbreak, I did,” Maglor replied, and he dropped to a knee in front of Aeros, head bowed. “And for that, all I can do is ask your forgiveness; and to allow me to make amends for all the evils I committed in the name of that cursed Oath. Please, len iallon, díheno nin.”

There was a long moment of silence that followed, and the hobbits looked between the two elves wondering what the outcome would be. Esmeralda shifted and was about to say something when Amber touched her shoulder and silenced her with a shake of her head. This was not for them to interfere. Just then there came a high, piercing cry from overhead, and Aeros and hobbits looked up to see a bird circling above them. Maglor remained where he was.

“An osprey,” Aeros murmured. “Some say it is a messenger of Ulmo, sent to guide us when we are finding it hard to move.”

“Maybe it’s tellin’ ye that it’s time tae move on from this grudge,” Esmeralda said. “So you can all heal together.”

The sea-elf sighed and then crouched in front of Maglor. “Your deeds are hard to forgive,” he said. “But the Halflings speak true, and perhaps their coming here was to show us how to value trust and friendship over our differences.” He touched the other elf’s shoulder. “I forgive you, Maglor Fëanorion. It is time we healed.”

Maglor stared at him a moment as Aeros stood and then helped him to his feet. “Thank you. I… Any way in which I can make amends….”

“That will be up to others to decide, and not for me alone to say. But I will advocate for you to the council, and help to convince them that your repentance is true; and to start on the path to forgiveness lest the dark powers work more evil through us.”

Above them, the osprey cried again as it circled once more and then flew out over the gulf to disappear amongst the distant cliffs.

“I am grateful for your kindness,” Maglor said then, his eyes lingering on the hobbits. “All of you.”

“Come,” said Aeros. “Let us seek the council.” He started to lead the other elf away.

“Woah hold on! Just one more thing,” Esmeralda said, raising her arms to keep them from moving. “You might want tae clean him up first. Cannae make a good impression on folk if ye walk in lookin’ like somethin’ the tide washed up a hundred years ago.”

“A’int polite t’say, but she’s right,” Amber agreed. “Right now you’re remindin’ me of the smell of Uncle Flambard’s fermented eels on a hot summer’s day.”

Maglor cracked a small smile, as Aeros outright laughed.

“Praise to the wisdom of Hobbits,” he said, then turned to the other elf. “You may use my bath, and I should be able to find you suitable fresh clothing.”

“Once more, I am grateful,” Maglor replied.

~*~

The sunset cast blazing pinks, reds and orange across the sky above the Gulf of Lune. The hobbits sat in front of the elven hut at their old campsite tending a pot of fish stew over the crackling fire. Amber had a wooden board over her legs where she was slicing some bread while her sister made short work of peeling some sweet potatoes. They worked in silence for a while before Amber finally put down her knife.

“Perhaps it’s time, Mera,” she said.

“Time for what, Amber?” Esmeralda asked.

“T’go home. We’ve come as far West as we can possibly go; there’s nothin’ else out here for us. And to be honest, I miss the Shire; I’m ready to head back.”

Esmeralda busied herself with cleaning her own knife. “I just… don’t know if I am, though. What’s changed for me? Da’s still goin’ t’find some awful Hobbit for me t’marry, and I’ll never be allowed out the house again.”

“Do you not think you’re being a little dramatic?” Amber asked. “He let me marry Ollie after all.”

“Only because you fought for him.”

“So why can you not do the same? You’ve talked to Dwarves and Elves, climbed hills, sailed on boats. Are you meanin’ to tell me the Hobbit who did all that cannae tell her father that she’ll marry whoever she wants and in her own time, thank ye very much?”

The younger hobbit looked at her sister. “Would he listen to me?”

“Y’made the Elves listen to ye,” Amber said. “And if he doesnae, do it anyway. You told Maglor to stop runnin’ and start livin’ his life. It’s time you did the same.”

“Only if you have my back,” Esmeralda replied.

“I’ll always have your back, Mera,” the older hobbit said.

“As will I!” another voice answered.

The hobbits startled and looked past the fire and down the path, to see a tall, dark-haired elf approach them. His hair shone in the last light of the sun, and he seemed almost to glow in the encroaching twilight. He was dressed simply in a pair of grey trousers and dark blue shirt, and like the other Elves of Harlond, remained barefoot. But the hobbits noticed a regalness about him that had been absent before.

“Maglor?!” they cried, and started to rise.

He raised a hand to stop them. “Nay, do not rise. I will join you, if you are willing?”

“Of course,” Amber said. “You’re always welcome to our fire.”

“I thank you.” He sat beside Esmeralda and was immediately handed a sweet potato and a knife.

The younger hobbit grinned. “Best hurry up with peelin’ that so I can add it to the stew,” she said as she leaned to check on the contents of the pot.

The elf laughed and got to work. “As my lady commands.”

Amber shook her head and cut the last of the bread, then unwrapped the small pat of butter to spread it over the slices. “How did it go with the council?”

“They were not overly thrilled to have me in their midst,” he said. “But Aeros kept his word and spoke for me after I had spoken of my contrition and remorse for what I did in the past.”

“So they’ll let you stay here?” Esmeralda asked, tasting some of the stew and adding a few more foraged herbs to the pot. “Give you a home with them?”

Maglor finished peeling the last of the sweet potato and started to chop them into chunks. “It was proposed.” He smiled to himself. “It was also proposed that I be put on the next ship to Valinor and sent away from Middle-earth forever…. I declined both.”

The hobbits stopped what they were doing and stared at him.

“You what?” asked Amber.

“Are ye daft?!” Esmeralda exclaimed. “They offered you a home here and you said no!? Why would you do something so fool-headed?!”

Maglor leaned over and added the chunks of sweet potato to the stew. “As you said, it is time I learned how to live in this world again, and atone for my evils by helping to fight the evils of this world. I do not want to be sequestered here, nor get on a boat and flee - that would be the easy way.” He looked at the younger hobbit with a knowing smile.

Esmeralda looked at the stew and stirred it furiously, still struggling to find the right words to say.

“Where will you go?” Amber asked in the meantime.

“Well…” the elf suddenly looked a little sheepish. “I was hoping I could come with you?”

Amber’s jaw dropped, and Esmeralda whipped her head around to stare at him with wide eyes.

“You want to come with us?” the older hobbit asked, still not quite sure she had heard correctly. “Back to the Shire?”

Maglor nodded. “If you will have me.”

“You…” Esmeralda jabbed a finger at him. “Want to come back to the Shire with us??” she echoed her sister. “To stay…?”

“Just for a short time. I would like to see your home, and meet your famous Uncle Bilbo Baggins - I believe we could have an interesting talk about dragons.”

Amber let out a breath. “Well… most folk already think Tooks are odd. Bringin’ an elf home wouldnae be too out of character I guess.”

Esmeralda squealed as she threw herself at the elf and hugged him. Maglor froze for a moment - he had not been shown physical affection like this in millennia - but willed himself to relax, and gave the excited Hobbit a pat on the back. She pulled away after a moment and returned to the fire, then started to ladle the stew into bowls.

“You would love the Shire,” she said, handing him a bowl. “If ye think what we’ve been makin’ here’s good, wait until you try actual Shire-grown, Shire-farmed food.”

“I struggle to believe anything could surpass this wonderful fare,” Maglor said as he started to inhale the stew. “But I look forward to being proved wrong.”

Amber accepted a bowl from her sister next. “You wait until you try one of Aunt Lalia’s meat pies.”

Esmeralda made a face as she ate her own stew. “The pies are probably the only nice thing about her. It’s why no one wants tae get on her bad side even if they don’t like her.”

Maglor smiled to himself as he listened to the sisters gossip about various relations in their seemingly large family. For a moment, he was reminded of much younger days, when he and his brothers would do similar about their uncles, before Jewels and Oaths destroyed their lives. But there was no point dwelling on what could have been. This was what he had now, and he had to make the best of it.

“How are we goin’ t’convincel Da?” Amber asked.

At this, Esmeralda got a wicked grin on her face, and for a moment Maglor felt a sense of nervousness that he had not felt in an Age.

“That’s easy. Since he’s so determined t’marry me off, we tell him the Elf’s my husband.”

============

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TEN

Maglor sat relaxed under one of the many trees that surrounded the large warren of Hobbit holes known as the Great Smials in the Tookland, his back to its trunk as a light breeze wafted over his skin.

Some weeks ago, his return with the pair of hobbit lasses had predictably resulted in an uproar, particularly when the younger hobbit had made good on her word and introduced him as her husband.

He had wondered if the girls’ father’s head would pop clean off his shoulders.

Since then, Amber had managed to placate him, informing him that Esmeralda was by no means married to the elf, though she did also warn him not to press her lest she actually go ahead and do so.

As for the rest of the clan, they had settled down not long after the Thain pointed out that most of the Shire thought them strange anyway, so what was one elf amongst them for a wee while? As such, rather than ignore him completely, the Tooks seemed rather determined to adopt him.

Balancing his parchment and quill on his knee, Maglor reached for one of the many honey-and-oat biscuits that lay on a plate beside him - yet another gift of food he had been bestowed with by concerned Took mothers after they’d taken one look at him and deemed him “thinner than the beer at Lobelia Sackville-Baggins’ birthday party” - he would have to ask one of the family what that meant.

Voices at the gate made him look up, and he saw Esmeralda talking to a hobbit-lad just outside. Trying not to pay too much attention to what they were saying, he went back to the song he was trying to write, after the fashion of some of the Hobbit songs he had heard since his arrival. Still, he caught some snatches about a market and stalls for Aunt Lalia’s meat pies and Beryl’s cider.

He looked up again in time to see the lad raise and kiss Esmeralda’s hand, and the lass turn a bright pink, before she left him at the gate and came into the garden. He raised an eyebrow at her.

“Ye saw nothin’, Elf,” she said.

“Nothing.” He shook his head. “Aunt Lalia’s meat pies are very good however. You should absolutely sell them at this market. What is this market?”

She helped herself to a biscuit off the plate Maglor held out to her, then took a second. “The Hobbiton Market Day. They have this big fair up there every couple months. Folk from around the Shire come to show off all the things they can make. Aunt Lalia’s pies usually sell out by noon.” She took a third biscuit. “Personally, I think folk just buy the things so they can send her off home faster.”

“Are you not a bit too hard on her?”

“Y’re only askin’ that cos she took a likin’ to ya and gave ye extra pies. I think she’s plannin’ t’fatten you up like a Yule Hog and then eat ya.”

Maglor laughed. “What else happens at this market?”

“Oh, the usual…” Esmeralda looked at his curious expression. “Did they not have markets back when…?”

His smile grew a bit melancholy. “Beleriand was mostly a place of war under the shadow of Morgoth. If there were such things, it was not anywhere that I lived. And in Valinor, we wanted for nothing.”

“Right.” Esmeralda placed her hands on her hips. “You Elves sound like y’really need t’have some fun. So aside from buyin’ and sellin’ they might have a few games set up; some contests, music playin’.”

Maglor’s eyes lit up at the mention of music. “Would it be too bold of me to come along to this market? I know you are all used to me here in Tuckborough, but I am unaware if other Halflings might find the sight of me upsetting.”

“If they do, they can kindly turn their eyeballs elsewhere,” she said. “‘Course ye can come. And if anyone makes things difficult for ye, just find one of us Tooks and we’ll set ‘em right.”

“I thank you.”

Esmeralda nodded, then turned to go into one of the hobbit-holes. “If you’re alright out here, I’ve got to find Amber and tell her to ask Beryl if she needs extra help at the orchard, make sure Paladin’s not burnt the kitchen down trynae make himself lunch, and see if Da’s locked in the wine cellar again.”

Maglor held up a hand. “You are quite busy, I shall not keep you.”

The hobbit disappeared into the dwelling, and Maglor turned back to his writing, about to dip his quill in his inkpot when he heard the faintest scuffle of a foot against the other side hedge. While it was unlikely there would be the threat of an enemy here, he straightened nonetheless.

“I hope you are not up to anything uncourteous out there,” he said aloud.

There was a muttered curse before a familiar face appeared at the gate and Maglor recognised the lad who had been with Esmeralda a moment ago; and while he looked rather sheepish at being caught out, the elf suspected he had not been up to any real mischief. So he held up the plate of biscuits.

“Care to have some?” he offered. “I fear the giver has vastly overestimated my ability to finish this entire serving, delicious as they are. It would be a shame to have them go to waste.”

No sooner had the words left his lips when the young hobbit was through the gate and walking over to him. Maglor set the plate down between them and he wasted no time in making quick work of one.

“So you’re the Tooks’ adopted Elf?” he asked.

“It would appear that I am. I am called Maglor,” the elf said. “To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking? Am I right to guess that you are not a Took?”

“Oh gosh, where are my manners?” The hobbit dusted some crumbs off his mouth. “My name is Saradoc Brandybuck, and you’re right. I’m from Buckland, in the Eastfarthing. I’m just here to help my Aunt Amaranth and Aunt Asphodel with their smoked trout stall at the market Esmeralda mentioned.”

“Well met,” Maglor replied. “May I ask why you were tarrying by the hedge after you bid Esmeralda goodbye?”

The lad blushed a furious red. “Ah… well… I… That is… I was hoping I could speak to her again, after she had finished talking to you, but I was not expecting her to rush away inside.”

“I could summon her back—”

“No! No, that's quite alright.” The hobbit cut him off. “You don’t need to. I have not quite worked up what I want to ask her, and I do not want to ask her until I am certain of what her answer would be.”

The pieces of this puzzle fell into place then, and Maglor nodded. “I see. I am happy for you. She is a very sweet hobbit.”

“Oh she’s sweet as a candy apple in the autumn,” Saradoc replied. “Beautiful, clever, brave, kind.”

“I agree,” Maglor said. “I take it you wish to court her?”

“I suppose that is one way to put it. I just have no idea where to begin.” His shoulders slumped and he reached for another biscuit before eyeing the parchment on Maglor’s lap. “What are you doing there?”

“I am attempting to write some music in the Hobbit style,” the elf replied. “The lyrics are proving a little bit complicated.”

“You can write music?” Saradoc asked, sitting up a bit straighter. “I think I know how we can help each other, Mister Maglor. Perhaps if I gave you the right words?”

Maglor smiled. “I believe that could work nicely.”

============

Chapter Text

CHAPTER ELEVEN

It was easy to forget that he was still an outsider in their midst because of the kindness and hospitality the Tooks had shown him over the past two months. There was barely a time they did not include him in whatever it was they were doing - whether it be inviting him to one of the drinking houses for a pint, or asking him for tips on how to better care for their flora, or insisting he be the taste-tester of the various and sundry dishes they liked to cook up.

In turn, when the nights were clear he would often play his harp and sing for them - sometimes ballads of bygone Ages; sometimes more livelier tunes where a couple of others would join him with a fiddle, a lute, or a skin drum while others would get up and dance. Amber and Esmeralda had pulled him up to dance with them on occasion and no one seemed to mind that he did not know the steps.

And unbeknownst to him, the time he spent in their company helped to heal something in his heart that long was broken; and one day he just knew that he felt more whole and full of love for life than he had in millennia.

So it unsettled him a bit when some hobbits looked at him suspiciously, or shook their heads at him and turned away, as he walked along the Hobbiton streets on Market Day; and for the first time since coming to live amongst the Tooks, he realised just how much he stood out amongst the halflings, in more than just height.

“Hey,” Esmeralda’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Ignore ‘em. Hobbiton folk are just stuffy, is all. Best way to stick it to ‘em is to enjoy yourself.”

“She’s right,” Amber added from his other side. “Go round, sample everythin’. Ain’t no one gonnae say anythin’ to ye when there’s Tooks around t’be hearin’.”

“Brandybucks won’t be standing for any unkindness either.” Saradoc came up to stand with Esmeralda. “C’mon, let’s go have a look together.”

He held out an arm to the younger of the two sisters, and Esmeralda took it with a bright grin that Amber raised an eyebrow at.

“How long’s that been goin’ on then?” she whispered to Maglor as they set off behind the younger pair. “Is that even somethin’?”

“It is not for me to say,” the elf replied. “Only that flowers will bloom in their own time if one does not over-tend them.”

Amber gave him a look. “Alright then, keep your secrets, ye scraggly beanpole.”

Maglor smiled. “In that case, I must ask you which of these fine delicacies would be best for filling me out.” He gestured to the various stalls heaving with all kinds of different foodstuffs.

At that moment Esmeralda returned and shoved a sticky, flat roll of flaky pastry into his hand. “You have to try that. They’re some of the best in all the Shire.”

Curious, Maglor bit into it, and instantly a cinnamon-laced sugary sweetness filled his mouth which balanced nicely with the texture of the pastry. It was one of the most delicious things he had ever tasted in his life.

“Mm,” he sighed in pleasure as he finished it and licked his fingers in a decidedly un-elven manner, before Amber passed him a handkerchief to clean them. “Edregol vaer, that was delightful. My praise to its creator!”

A few of the hobbit vendors and bystanders could not help but smile at this, and as they progressed through the market, more of the stallholders started to offer him their samples of food and drink. As Maglor tried the various cheeses, meats, breads, and cakes; fruits and vegetables and nuts; and drank the proffered beer, cider, and wine, he made sure to compliment their makers loudly on their skill and artistry. This resulted in more than a few murmurs of what nice manners he had, and how courteous he was, and what a healthy appetite for an Elf.

“Make sure you leave some room for Aunt Lalia’s meat pies or she’ll never forgive you,” Amber said, watching Saradoc lean in close to whisper something into Esmeralda’s ear that made her sister laugh, while she tucked a bottle of maple syrup into her already full basket.

“I could not possibly eat a morsel more,” Maglor confessed. “Lest I burst like one of those sweet cherry tomatoes - they were most succulent.”

“Maybe a wee sit-down’s in order then,” she replied and led him out of the market and towards a lush green field within which a large tree stood.

Their path was suddenly blocked by a hobbit woman dressed in an array of colours that made Maglor wince at their brightness; and looking at her expression, he wondered if she had just been sampling limes.

Amber scowled. “Step aside, Lobelia,” she said.

“So this is the stray you picked up on the road,” she sneered as she looked Maglor up and down. “Feeding him like a cur as well now, are we? I half expected you’d have him on a leash.”

“Did ye, aye? Maybe I’ll put a leash round ye neck!”

Only Maglor’s quick reflexes stopped Amber from lunging for the other woman’s throat, but it meant he had no arms free to stop Esmeralda - Saradoc wisely chose not to restrict her - who stalked forward with a furious expression that could have rivalled Oromë in his wrath. A few other hobbits in the immediate vicinity cautiously moved away from them.

“Not stolen anyone’s spoons today, Lobelia?” she asked, unperturbed by the glare that was thrown her way. “Is that why y’re out here with that face lookin’ like curdled milk?” A few of the nearby hobbits chuckled. “And did ye dress yerself in the dark? Is it any wonder folk here cannae stand t’look at ye.”

To her credit, Lobelia attempted to stand her ground. “You need to mind your tone, you little chit.”

“And ye need to mind all that manky foot hair.” Esmeralda ploughed on. “Maybe ye should’ve spent time brushin’ all that matting out instead o’ pickin’ on innocent beings just mindin’ their own business.”

Maglor forced his demeanour to remain stoic, but some hobbits outright snickered, as they watched to see how this would all play out. He still kept a hold on Amber, but it seemed to all of them that Esmeralda needed no help at the moment.

Lobelia raised her chin and stuck her nose in the air, determined to get the last word in. By now some of the other Tooks had come over to see what the commotion was, and she did not fancy having to deal with the whole clan.

“I can see that gallivanting off to all those strange places has done nothing to improve your manners,” she said. “You’re as cracked as that Mad Baggins, and it’s not a wonder no respectable Hobbit wants to court you.”

“And you would be wrong.” Saradoc spoke up and stepped forward. “I fully intend to court Miss Esmeralda, if she will allow me.”

A chorus of surprised murmurs went through the gathered crowd, but Lobelia merely sneered at him. “I said, respectable hobbit, boy. Everyone knows you Bucklanders are just as much outsiders here as that Elf is.”

Quick as lightning, before anyone could grab her, Esmeralda launched herself at the other hobbit, stopping just short of colliding with her, but startling Lobelia enough that in attempting to get away she slipped (Esmeralda swore later her foot had not gone anywhere near the woman) and landed on her bottom in a muddy puddle.

“If ye dinnae want mud on yeself, don’t throw it at others!” Esmeralda raised her voice as Maglor and Amber pulled her back. “Now away an’ bile yer heid, ye miserable cow, and think shame on yerself for being so unkind tae someone who’s never done ye a lick o’ harm.”

She turned away and rejoined the rest of the Tooks, along with Maglor and Saradoc. The rest of the crowd dispersed as well, leaving Lobelia to pick herself out of the puddle.

~*~

They sat down under the shade of the large tree and Citrine passed around a plate of small buns that, when Maglor bit into one, released a sweet, smoked cream. Beryl and Amber handed out small cups of cider, and strawberries. For a while the only sound any of them made was when Maglor gently strummed his silver harp.

Then Esmeralda turned to Saradoc. “Did you mean it?” she asked him. “When you said you wanted to court me?”

Saradoc sighed though his cheeks turned red. “That was not how I intended to ask you. I…Oh the swamps take it, now is as good a time as any.” He stood and looked at Esmeralda, and took a deep breath. “Oh the summer time is come, and the trees are sweetly bloomin, and the wild mountain thyme, grows around the purple heather….”

There was a stir amongst the gathered Tooks as they recognised one of their own songs and all heads turned in their direction, and Esmeralda stared at him slightly wide-eyed. It was at this point Maglor changed the tune on his harp to accompany Saradoc’s words as the young hobbit lad continued to sing.

“Will ye go, lassie, go? And we'll all go together,
To pull wild mountain thyme, all around the blooming heather. Will ye go, lassie, go?”

“You were in on this, too?!” Esmeralda pointed a finger at Maglor, who grinned and kept playing; and from nearby, her younger brother Paladin produced a small fiddle and joined in. “This is a conspiracy!”

Saradoc knelt in front of her. “I will build my love a bower, by yon pure crystal fountain; and around it I will pile, all the wildflowers of the mountain.”

He jumped to his feet and waved his arms to the gathered hobbits to join in with him. Esmeralda buried her face in her hands as the Tooks, needing little encouragement at this chance to showcase one of their beloved songs, sang along loudly.

“Will ye go, lassie, go? And we'll all go together,
To pull wild mountain thyme, all around the blooming heather. Will ye go, lassie, go?”

Maglor’s heart felt fuller than it had ever been before as he played on and lost himself in the sound of the clear hobbit voices singing together. He had been surprised at how beautiful the song was in its simplicity when Saradoc had first introduced him to it, and he had worked diligently to ensure he could capture its beauty in the harpstrings.

The young Brandybuck turned once more to Esmeralda who had dared to look up again.

“I will range through the wilds, and the deep glen so dreary,” he sang. “And return with the spoils, to the bower o' my dearie.”

This time, Maglor joined the hobbits in their singing, unable to stop himself from sharing their joy.

“Will ye go, lassie, go? And we'll all go together,
To pull wild mountain thyme, all around the blooming heather. Will ye go, lassie, go?”

Saradoc knelt before Esmeralda again and this time took her hand as he brought the song to its end. “Will ye go, lassie, go?”

“Aye,” she said, and cheers broke out amongst the gathered crowd.

~*~

Maglor had removed himself from the main crush of the jubilant hobbits, watching as Adalgrim Took warned the young Brandybuck not to break his youngest daughter’s heart… or her fool head for that matter.

“Well done,” a voice said from behind him.

He turned to see an older hobbit standing there, and tilted his head trying to get a read on him. He was mostly dressed like all of the other halflings he had seen, in the bright colours of nature, but Maglor noted there was also something quirky about him, and a strange air seemed to surround him.

“My part was small,” the elf said. “Forgive me, but you are…?”

“Mad Baggins, as a certain relative likes to refer to me. I believe you had a run-in with her earlier,” he replied. “To others, I am Bilbo Baggins.”

Maglor smiled. “So you are the famous Uncle Bilbo that Esmeralda keeps talking about!”

“It would appear so,” Bilbo replied. “Mae Govannen.”

“Ah, he speaks some of the Elven tongue. Ni veren an le ñovaded,” he said, “I am called Maglor.”

The hobbit hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his waistcoat and nodded. “I thought you would be.”

“You know of me?”

“I’ve read of you.” Bilbo said. “Elrond of Rivendell has many books about the Elder Days.”

Maglor blinked then. “Elrond? He still lives?”

The hobbit turned to go. “Perhaps you’d like to come with me to Bag End and have some tea. I believe you have much to be caught up on. Endearing as my Took relations are, lorekeeping is not high on their lists of things to do.”

His heart pounding in his chest, Maglor followed the hobbit up the hill.

============

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWELVE

Amber and Esmeralda found him under his usual tree in the garden late that night once they had all returned to Tuckborough. Most nights, it was not unusual to hear him playing his harp and singing softly into the dark, but on this night he was silent - his harp lay by his feet - and he was instead gazing up at the stars overhead. The look on his face told Esmeralda that he was in some memory of his past.

“Y’met Uncle Bilbo then,” she said quietly.

“I did,” he replied. “A most interesting Hobbit. I can see why you all are so fond of him. We talked about dragons.”

“Did he happen to mention a certain Dwarf King he’s supposed to have married?” Amber asked.

Maglor smiled a bit then. “I do not believe that topic came up,” he said. “However he did mention he was planning on another journey to the Lonely Mountain.”

Both sisters stared at him. “What?!”

“He’s nae goin’ by himself. That’s flat,” Amber said.

“Peace. I do not think he is. He mentioned a caravan passing through the Shire that he plans to join.”

That placated Amber for a moment, but Esmeralda still looked at him. She had spent enough time around him to know when he had something weighing on his mind; she just needed to pry it out of him.

“Ye didn’t go up t’Bag End just tae talk about dragons and Uncle Bilbo’s travel plans, though, did ye?”

Maglor shook his head. “It appears he passed through many lands and realms on his original adventure with the Dwarves. He mentioned an… an Elven settlement east of here, somewhere in a valley on western side of the Misty Mountains. It is called Imladris.” He sighed. “Boe annin mened.”

While she had yet to understand more than a few words of his language, Esmeralda picked up on the sentiment easily. “You want to go there. You want to leave.”

Amber frowned. “Why do you think you’d be more welcome there, than with the sea-elves?”

“Do ye just not want to stay here anymore, because of what happened with Lobelia?” Esmeralda asked.

Maglor looked at both their crestfallen faces. “My dearest friends, no! That is not it at all. My days with you here have been the happiest of my long life, and I will forever be grateful to you and your great family for taking me in as one of your own,” he said. “But while I care not for her words, there was a bit of truth in what she said.”

The younger hobbit frowned. “Lobelia’s a horrid cow, ye don't need tae listen t’her.”

“And I do not. But Mera, we both knew that I would not be staying in the Shire forever; we knew I would have to leave one day,” he said gently. “And it would appear that time will soon be upon us.”

Amber crossed her arms. “If it’s not Lobelia, then what is it that’s makin’ ye want to leave? And why there?”

The elf sighed. “My foster son.” The hobbits stared at him. “I told you before that my past actions made orphans of children. He and his brother were two of them. I fostered them as my own for a while, until they were old enough to fend for themselves. One became mortal, a great King of Men, until he died. The other - Elrond - I have not seen in almost two thousand years.”

A tear ran down his face, and Esmeralda pressed her handkerchief into his hand.

“Do you think he’ll want t’see you?” she asked.

“I know not, but like with Aeros and the sea-elves, I must beg forgiveness and try to make amends for all the hurt I caused,” he said. “And thanks to all of you, I know how to do that now; I know how to show him that I have changed.”

“We’ll come with you! Like before, us together on the road again.”

“Nay, Mera,” he replied gently. “You have a whole new journey of your own to go on; and I foresee your family will go on to do great things. And this is something I must do by myself, if I am ever to atone for every evil I have done.” He smiled then. “But I will not be journeying there alone, be assured. I will be joining Bilbo.”

Amber smiled knowingly then. “It’s Bofur’s caravan, ain’t it?” Maglor nodded. “He mentioned before we parted that he’d be passing through the Shire in a few months time with the rest of the people returning to Erebor. I’m glad at least you’ll have friends for the journey. And Uncle Bilbo’s not afraid of knocking some heads together if any of those Dwarves give you grief.”

He laughed. “That is indeed reassuring to know.”

Esmeralda threw herself at the elf then. “I’m gonnae miss you so much, y’rag-wearin’, fish-eatin’, wailin’ banshee.” She hugged him tight. “I’ll never forget you.”

Maglor hugged her back. “I will always be in your debt, Esmeralda Took,” he said. “Thank you, for seeing good in me when I could see none. You will live in my heart forever.”

~*~

“Of all the comrades that e'er I had: they're sorry for my going away.”

The leaves in the trees around the Shire had started to change colour when Maglor looked over the assembled Tooks who had come to bid him farewell, and realised that he could call many of them his friends now.

“Farewell, my wonderful and most noble Hobbits,” he said. “I share your sorrow at this parting, but alas, I must now say goodbye. My most sincere gratitude for your hospitality, and especially your food, during my stay here.”

A murmur of laughter went around the group, and there was a comment of “At least we’ve fattened him up for the winter” from one of the mothers who were all sniffling and dabbing at their eyes with their handkerchiefs. It made him smile fondly in spite of the heaviness in his heart.

“But most of all, thank you for your kindness, your care of me, and your friendship,” he continued. “I shall carry that with me until the end of my days. May the Valar bless you all….”

“And all the sweethearts that e'er I had: they’d wish me one more day to stay.”

He then knelt to say goodbye to Amber and Esmeralda, who tried to smile for him. Esmeralda placed a delicate circlet of vines and flowers on his head that she had woven. “So you look proper Elven for where yer goin’,” she said, and her voice trembled.

No longer could he hold back his tears then, and he wept openly as he pulled them close and embraced them tightly to him like he never wanted to let them go. Their own tears soaked into his shirt as they held on fiercely. He knew loss of course, even death, many times over. But this felt different, and not just because he knew they were mortals. This felt like his heart knew a piece of it would forever remain with these sisters and did not want to be parted from them.

“But since it fell into my lot that I should rise and you should not…”

In the end, it was Adalgrim Took, who came over and gently pried his daughters off the elf, one by one. Amber first, then Esmeralda, who fought even then to hold on to him.

“...I’ll gently rise and softly call: goodnight and joy be to you all.”

Maglor stood, and tried to smile. “Namarië, my most treasured friends,” he said to them. “Go towards goodness.”

“So fill to me the parting glass, and drink a health whate'er befalls…”

Feeling his heart break just a little more, he quickly turned from them and mounted his horse, then raised his hand in a final goodbye, wishing he could block his ears so he could not hear Esmeralda’s sobs.

“...Then gently rise and softly call: Good night and joy be to you all!”

He remembered the ballad he had sung for them the night before, that he had written especially for them as a parting gift, knowing how highly hobbits valued songs; and as he nudged his horse forward - without looking back, for he knew if he did he would never be able to leave - to join Bofur and Bilbo where they waited for him further up the path, he raised his voice up in song once more.

“So fill to me the parting glass and drink a health whate'er befalls; then gently rise and softly call: Good night and joy be to you all!

“Goodnight… and Joy… be to you all!”

============

Chapter Text

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

THE THIRD AGE - 1418 (Shire Reckoning)

Walking around Rivendell, with its sunlit paths, lush trees, ever-flowing waterfalls, and constant birdsong, one could almost forget that it was almost November and soon autumn would be giving way to winter outside of the valley.

Almost, because every now and then a cold wind would blow down from the mountains that made him very glad he still had his jacket on. He wandered the grounds and the gardens, peeking into the open buildings every now and then, partly out of curiosity and partly looking for his cousin.

“Wherever has he got to?” he murmured to himself.

He turned a corner and followed another path, crossing over yet another bridge spanning a fast-flowing stream, into yet another garden. That was when he heard a sound that was most certainly not birdsong. Someone was singing quietly along to the gently plucked strings of a harp.

While an elf singing in Rivendell was hardly unusual - he had heard plenty of them already - it was the choice of song that caught his attention, because he was quite certain it was not of Elven design.

“Fare-thee-well thou first and fairest…”

In fact, he could have sworn he had heard his father sing it to his mother on occasion.

“Fare-thee-well thou best and dearest…”

He hurried towards where he thought the voice was coming from, hoping to find the singer before the song ended, because that was also most certainly not a voice he recognised, beautiful as it sounded.

“Yours be every joy and treasure…”

He tried to peer through the tall hedges that lined some of the paths, and finally broke into a run, rounding a corner before coming to a quick stop.

“Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure.”

The dark-haried elf seated on a low bench looked up from the silver harp he was playing, the music stopping immediately, and his grey eyes widened. “A Hobbit!”

“Um, yes,” he said. “Hello. I’m sorry for disturbing you, but I heard that song you were playing and… well… only I’m certain I’ve heard it before, back in the Shire. My father used to sing it to my mother sometimes.”

The elf tilted his head and looked at him curiously. “You have come from the Shire?”

“Yes. We arrived a few days ago, but Master Elrond wanted to make sure the rest of us had recovered from the flood and the Black Riders and everything,” he replied. “We’re still waiting for my cousin to wake up, though he has assured us the danger has passed.”

“It appears you have been on quite the adventure.” The elf’s smile was fond, as if he was remembering something from his past. “You remind me of another Hobbit who went on an adventure, not too long ago.”

“I suppose Bilbo is a difficult Hobbit to forget. He used to tell us all stories about the Elves, before he went and disappeared at his birthday party.”

“It is not Bilbo that I speak of,” the elf said. “What is your name, young Hobbit?”

“I’m Merry,” he replied. “That is, Meriadoc Brandybuck, of Brandy Hall in Buckland. But most folk call me Merry.”

The elf’s eyes widened again. “A Brandybuck you say?” He leaned forward, setting his harp aside. “What are your parents called, if you do not mind me asking?”

Merry shrugged. “My father’s Saradoc Brandybuck. My mother was a Took before she married my Da. Her name is Es—”

“Esmeralda!” The elf jumped to his feet, and the smile on his face could have rivalled the Sun itself in its radiance. He knelt in front of the hobbit, and Merry thought he saw tears in the elf’s eyes. “She had… you are… her son. I should have guessed. There is much of her in you, especially of her spirit, I sense. Oh what a joyous day this is!”

It was Merry’s turn to sit on a nearby bench as he stared at the elf and tried to make sense of what he had just heard. “My mother she… she used to tell me bedtime stories as a child. About an Elf named Maggy that once lived in the Shire. I thought it was a faerie tale she was making up.”

The elf laughed then. “Maggy indeed. I am actually called Maglor, and it is no faerie tale. I did live in the Shire for a short time. In the Tookland.” He sat beside Merry. “How is your mother? Has she been well?”

“As well as can be,” Merry said. “She and Da are likely to be Lady and Lord of Buckland soon.” He looked at Maglor. “Is that how you know songs from the Shire? Did she teach you?”

“The songs were mainly your father. He asked for my help to court your mother, and that was when I was introduced to the songs of your people.”

Maglor stood again and went over to the bench on which he had left his harp, reaching below it and retrieving a flagon before returning to where Merry sat and offering it to him. “Here. For the shock.”

Merry accepted it and took a deep swig of the refreshing cordial within, then stoppered it and handed it back. “Thank you,” he said. Then he blinked as everything caught up with him. “Wait… earlier you mentioned a Hobbit who went on an adventure, who was not Bilbo. You mean it was…?”

Maglor nodded. “Esmeralda. In fact I should say it was two Hobbits, because your Aunt Amber was with her.”

“Aunt Amber passed a couple of years ago.”

An immense sorrow filled the elf’s grey eyes, and he closed them and placed a hand to his breast. “Mandos receive her spirit with grace. Nínion anin gwannad lîn.”

Merry placed a comforting hand on his knee. “If it helps, she went peacefully, at over 100 years old.”

“That comforts me.”

“Did you never go back to see them after you left?”

Maglor shook his head. “To my sorrow, I did not. I knew if I returned there I would never be able to leave again. And the Shire was not where I belonged. There was much I needed to do elsewhere, so I chose to settle here instead.”

Merry nodded. “So how did you meet my mother?”

The elf smiled. “She saved me.”

“I’m sensing it’s a long story.”

“You would not be wrong.”

The hobbit settled in. “Well it’s a beautiful day, and I have all the time.”

So Maglor told him: of his exile and isolation, and how Esmeralda - and Amber, and a pair of Dwarves - had found him and dragged him back into the world simply with the lure of food and songs.

The day wore on, and Merry listened fascinated to the tales of his mother’s escapades, until a bell rang out from the main halls signalling that it would soon be dinner.

“I wish I could be as half as brave as my Mum.” Merry got to his feet and looked at Maglor. “Thank you for telling me about her life before me.”

Maglor smiled. “From what I have heard of your journey here, you have already shown exemplary bravery. She would be proud.”

“That’s kind of you to say. I’m glad we met.”

“As am I,” the elf replied. “The Valar bless you, young Meriadoc. May you go on to do great deeds.”

=================

Chapter Text

EPILOGUE

THE THIRD AGE - 1421 (Shire Reckoning)

A flock of gulls flew overhead and Maglor followed their flight as they passed over the mast of the large ship that stood at the docks. If there was any stirring within him, he ignored it.

There was the slightest movement by his elbow, and he glanced to his once foster son

“You are leaving then…” he said.

“I am. I have completed my work here, my daughter is married, and now I wish to be with my wife again. Would you deny me that?”

“Of course not. I have only ever wanted your happiness,” Maglor replied. “But you still have sons, and what happens to your refuge? Would you let that fade into ruin, Elrond?”

“I would not.” Elrond turned to him. “Which is why I entrust guardianship of Imladris to you, to maintain as refuge for all peoples until such time as the Last Ship sails West.”

Maglor blinked. “To me?”

“Did you not say your wish was to heal all things that have suffered? With beauty and food and song as much as with medicine?” Elrond asked. “There are still many who carry the scars of Sauron’s war, and they still need a healer.”

“What of your sons?”

The Half-Elven smiled knowingly. “Who else would have more experience of managing a pair of unruly twins than you?”

Maglor laughed then. “You always were a cunning little thing.” He reached out then and embraced the other. “Fair Voyage, Elrond,” he said. “Namarië.”

“Namarië.” Elrond returned it, then smiled and nodded behind him. “And worry not about riding home with a heavy heart. I believe you will have much to catch up on.”

The other elf turned, as Elrond proceeded towards the ship, and found a pair of hobbits standing not far off. They, too, looked as if they had said their goodbyes to someone dear.

He recognised one of them as Meriadoc, and the other beside him - with his bright eyes and equally bright spirit - was unmistakably a Took.

“Come, my friends,” he said, going over to them. “I believe Master Círdan keeps stock of certain vittles that are guaranteed to lighten a Hobbit’s heart.”

“What was he sayin’?” The younger hobbit asked his companion as they followed him into one of the halls, in a voice and accent that was so wonderfully familiar.

Merry gave an equally familiar chuckle. “He said he knows where they keep the good ale.”

~*~

Círdan watched as the two young hobbits and the ancient elf disappeared inside, then turned to the Istar beside him and raised a brow.

Gandalf merely smiled serenely. “Whatever it is you would like to say, you may as well say it now.”

“Your method of dealing with many of the problems in Middle-earth has been quite… curious.”

“Oh yes? And which method would this be?”

“Halflings?” Círdan asked.

Gandalf chuckled. “Indeed. Quite amazing creatures. And very effective. They have never failed me.”

The shipwright smiled then. “It appears they have not. You must tell me, how is it you came by them?”

“Actually, it was them who came by me.” The Istar’s smile grew warm with fond memory as they walked to the ship. “It began when I woke up in a wheelbarrow.”

=======

END.