Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The night Sharkey's men came for Gaffer and Tom, Rose and her mother hid in the larder. Those Big Folk didn't know their way around a hobbit's kitchen, and probably didn't even know what a larder was. They certainly didn't look for one.

They left with a horrible clatter. Ma cried over a broken chair, a scrap of fabric caught on the doorknob, and even the silly waste of spilt milk. Rosie looked at the same things and only saw the signs of a struggle and of her father and brother fighting back, protecting her whilst she did nothing.

She left her Ma sobbing in the kitchen and went to find a backpack. She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders, packed a loaf of Mrs Bracegirdle's plumcake, and walked into the night. Someone needed to do something.

It was dark, of course. When she was a faunt, she had been scared of the dark – downright terrified when she had to go out and fetch in a wayward chicken, or walk just up the road to the Chubbs' cottage. Now, the dark was her cloak to hide her from the ruffians. They lumbered about with heavy boots and swaying lanterns that she could see from almost a mile away, sticking only to the cart-driven roads that they knew. She was able to slip between them, following footpaths and sheep-tracks, even in the middle of the night. The Shire was her home, and she'd never be lost in it.

When she passed Buckland, she made her bed under the unwelcoming eaves of the Old Forest to wait 'til dawn. No matter the danger, she couldn't very well wander into the Bree-lands in the dark. That way, lost hobbits lied.

Dawn came too quickly. She was used to a short night and an uncomfortable bed – they were all too familiar from harvest time. At harvest time, though, she woke up in a barn in the middle of her family and neighbours, huddled up to her Sam. The roots of a tree by the side of an empty road was a much less cheery awakening. She looked back to the Shire, saw the plumes of smoke rising from Sharkey's towers and hardened her resolve. Her Sam would go on. Her Sam needed her to go on, so that he'd have a Shire to come back to at all. She gripped the straps of her backpack and set foot on the road once more.

Bree was a wondrous sight, all buildings taller than any she'd ever seen, until the next one was taller still. Her heart leapt as she remembered old Mr Bilbo's tales, the joyful times he'd passed among those walls, and the friendly and helpful people he'd found within. Somebody here would help her, she knew. They would come to the aid of their long-time neighbours – they had to.

The great gates were closed, but the door within them was open with the daylight. She stepped through, expecting to see a doorward, but no one was there. The streets were empty. Her feet faltered over the cobbles. As she walked up the street, she saw shuttered windows; empty flagpoles on the walls; and leaking water pumps. Her heart sank with each step she took up the hill.

A creaking pub-sign called her on, and she scrambled after the glimpse of hope it offered. She heard voices inside, that she hadn't heard since leaving home. She tried the door, but the handle was too high up for her to put any welly behind. So, she bundled up her courage with her shawl, and knocked.

The door opened, revealing a Big Person with a shock of ginger hair, looking out at her head height and not finding anyone.

"Reece, if that's you playing silly buggers again—"

"Hey day," Rose piped up. She put a big grin on her face, determined to make a good impression.

The Big Person jumped and looked down at Rose. "Blimey, you don't half know how to give a woman a fright. Sorry, little mistress, you come right on in."

Rose sighed with relief. She followed her inside, down a tight but vaulting corridor, towards the voices. It didn't sound like the Ivy Bush did of an evening – no music, no dancing, not even any laughter. Maybe Big Folk were more subdued than hobbits, or maybe it was for the same reason as the shuttered windows. Rose was suddenly filled with pity for them, though her own people's plight was much more urgent. Would they really be able to help others, if they weren't able to help themselves?

The Big Person led her through to an open room with a fire and tables, half-full of suddenly silent Big Folk. Her guide made her way to the bar, waving her hand at the room with a shout to stop staring. By the time Rose had got herself up on a bar stool, with the help of some hobbit-sized footholds in the bar, everyone had got back to their conversations, if only quieter than before.

"I'm Barliman, landlord of the Pony," the Big Person said. She leaned on her elbows to get closer to Rosie's height across the bar. "Sorry about the welcome, we're all a touch wary of hobbits after… well. Who might you be?"

Rose gulped. "Miss Rosie, uh, Baggins," she said, hoping Mr Frodo wouldn't mind the borrowing of his name for the night. She felt in sore need of some protection, even if it was only in the form of a rich hobbit's name.

Barliman nodded slowly, staring past her like she was thinking of something, but then she shook her head and the look in her eyes faded. "You'd better eat your dinner in your room, Miss Baggins. It's bread and cold meats, tis better than nothing, and we've got a little hobbit hole on the ground floor for you."

Well, she hadn't had much better at home, now, had she. "That's all I need," Rose said, and followed Barliman's pointing finger into another corridor and away from prying eyes. Inside the room, the ceiling sloped downwards until it was a sensible height, and she bundled herself up in the farthest bed, closest to the ground. She would make herself a little nest to eat her dinner in – supper in bed, now wasn't that a luxury. She picked up the pillows to reveal a pile of feathers and a gash in the sheets underneath. Her breath caught in her throat. She put the pillows back and took the other bed.

She wouldn't ask for help in Bree. She would just have to go somewhere else. Surely, someone would help.

In the morning, when she went to find breakfast, the dining room was blessedly empty of suspicious Big Folk. The barmaid was only tired, not distrusting. Rose recognised a head of hair that hadn't seen a bonnet overnight, and had to stop herself from offering to help with it. It wasn't her place. She looked around the room as she waited, and her eyes lingered upon a beautiful but neglected fiddle, hanging up on the wall behind the bar. Before she'd had a chance to ask, the barmaid caught her gaze.

"No, you can't play it, but you can take the dreadful thing when you go," she muttered, plucking it off the wall and dropping it on the bar with a sound that made Rose flinch. "All it's brought me is bad luck."

Rose tried to smile. "Well, I'll do my best to tune the luck out of it," she said weakly. The barmaid didn't respond. It was early, and Rose seemed to be the only one there for breakfast – she couldn't blame her for her mood. Instead, she accepted the gift for what it was, and tucked the instrument in her pack, cushioning it with her bedroll. Perhaps she could bring it back on a better day.

Standing on the top of the steps to the Pony, Rose tugged on the straps of her backpack to give her some confidence. Bree had been her only idea, but she knew there were other towns around here, with more hobbits in them. She'd just have to… find them. Somehow. She set off down the steps.

"Miss Baggins!"

Rose turned to see Barliman poke her head out of the door. She sighed with her whole body when she saw Rose, which made Rose's mouth twitch into a proper smile.

"I meant to say last night, only it went plain out of my head, and then you were up so early this morning, and I thought you'd gone, and – it's only to say that Mr Gandalf was looking for a hobbit by the name of Baggins." Barliman heaved in a huge breath after she'd got out her message. "Is that you? He said to tell you that he'd gone on to Rivendell, wherever that is."

Wherever that is? Rose knew exactly where that was. Well. She knew how old Mr Bilbo had gotten there, long ago. He had had such a wonderful way with words, she felt like she'd walked that road hundreds of times, all from the comfort of the fireplace of the Green Dragon.

"Thank you, Miss Barliman," she said, instead of any of that. She made her way out of the East Gate of Bree, and onto the East Road to the Misty Mountains. Of everything she thought she'd find on her quest, she hadn't dared let herself hope to hear word of her beloved friends. Oh, how she hoped she was walking towards them.

The East Road was quiet, clear, and empty. Not once did she feel that she had missed a turning, which made her more confident; but not once had she seen another traveller, which made her less brave. She worried that when she next saw a living person, she would jump out of her skin in shock – and that's if they were friendly.

That evening, she made herself a little camp in a hollow beside the rode. She lit a fire with the wood of the dead tree crawling over the rocks around it, and roasted herself a potato in the embers. Whilst it cooked, she brought out the fiddle and tended its poor out-of-tune strings. When she was satisfied, she played a little to chase away her fears. She had a campfire, she had a fiddle, she had her supper. What more could a hobbit want?

The melody of the Springle Ring warped in the dark night, listing towards the song it was based on. Even that was plaintive and quiet on its own. She couldn't bring herself to sing.

Chapter Text

The twilight cast a silver shade over the trees as she walked down the empty road. She didn't know how far the hidden valley was – in Mr Bilbo's stories, he'd been riding a pony, or surrounded by friendly dwarves, or generally not paying attention to the passing of miles beneath his feet. She should stop soon for the night, she knew, but somehow she was more afraid of the dark when she stood still. Setting a fire and spreading out her single bedroll only made it much more obvious how alone she was.

Up ahead, where the path rounded a bound through the trees, she saw a light. It bobbed along, a tiny flicker of sunlight in the dusk, coming ever closer. She ducked behind a tree to watch its approach. She had no lantern to give away her presence,and in the near-dark, the colours of her hair and clothes blended with the undergrowth.

The light came closer. Soon, Rose was faced with a beauty like none she had ever seen. She stood transfixed, head poking out from her hiding spot with not a care in the world. The elf – for she must have been an elf, no mortal woman shone like that – smiled when she saw Rose, and her hurried pace slowed to a graceful walk.

"I heard there was a lone hobbit on the road," oh, and her voice sounded like music, "And I feared it was Miss Peregrin," she said.

That shook Rose out of her stupor. "Peregrin? You know Pippin?" She skipped from the tree to hug the elf around her waist. "Thank my lucky stars!"

The elf laughed a peal of ringing bells. "I do know her, indeed." She patted Rose's back, like a mother with her child. Rose slowly stepped away, like she was being perfectly polite, and it was normal where she came from to embrace strangers you met on the road at night.

Truly, she no longer cared about manners. Not since Pippin's name had been mentioned. "But she was…alone?" She didn't dare to ask about her companions directly.

"No, not alone," the elf said, her hands waving and dancing in front of her, "She had three friends."

Suddenly, the ground seemed like a very comfortable seat. Rose curled her legs up underneath herself and gripped her arms tightly, staring into the dark. "Good," she said, "Grand, wonderful." She took a deep breath. "They said they were dead, but I never believed them but," she whipped her head back up, "But they're safe?"

The elf tipped her hands to the sides. When Pippin did that, she was hiding how nervous she was. "They left my sight some months ago," the elf said.

Rose's heart leapt to her throat at the thought of what that could mean. "Then they're on their way back home, and I missed them!"

"Not exactly."

"Not exactly? Then – then where are they?"

The elf looked around them at the quiet forest. "We should not speak of such things here. Where are you headed, all alone?"

Rose stood up and brushed herself off. "To Rivendell – am I far off?"

"No, no, you are near," the elf smiled. "Let us make our way there, and talk in safety."

Using the light cast from the lantern, they set off in the direction the elf had come from.

"I think it's very safe here," Rose said. She barely had to look at her feet, the road was so clear. "I haven't seen a soul."

"But souls have seen you, from the shadows," the elf said. Rose shivered and huddled closer in to her cloak, "And kept your path clear."

Oh. Nice souls. "Thank you?" She called out timidly.

The elf laughed again, and Rose wanted to wrap herself up in the sound. "Thank them at Rivendell."

Knowing that she was nearly there, doubts began to creep in. At the last place she had gone for help, she hadn't been treated the way travellers were in stories. "Can I – will I be welcome there?"

"I am Arwen, daughter of Elrond," the elf said, "And Rivendell is my house. I welcome you, Miss —"

"Cotton," Rose said quickly. She felt no need to hide under Mr Frodo's name here. "Rosie Cotton."

Arwen smiled widely. "Master Samwise has missed you."

Rose hummed, looking down at the ground to hide her growing smile. "Good," was all she said.

They forded a river at the base of a valley, the cool water a balm on her tired toes. The path climbed steeply after it, making Rose huff and puff whilst Arwen glided onwards effortlessly.

"What did you come all this way for," Arwen asked, not at all out of breath, "If not to find your friends?"

Rose slapped her hand to her forehead as she realised she'd completely forgotten everything she was doing this for. Was that really all it took? One mention of Sam from a pretty elf and all her duty got washed away with the bathwater?

"I – I didn't think I'd get this far," she said, leaning against the rocky side of the ravine to get her breath back. "The Shire is – we're under attack."

Arwen gasped. "Under attack?" Her shock gave Rose hope that she might find sympathetic pointy ears for their troubles.

"That makes it sound like it's still happening," Rose said, "Rather than that we've already lost…"

"A moment," Arwen said, raising her hand in a sign that even Rose understood to mean 'shut up'. "You do not want to repeat such ill news more than you must." Or, perhaps it meant 'calm down, I'm listening'. Maybe Rose didn't understand at all. "Let us get you to food, and rest, and shelter, so that the waking morning may find the weary traveller returning home." She offered Rose her arm, and she took it, though it was high up by her shoulder. "Then, we can seek my father's counsel together."

With Arwen's guidance, Rose no longer had to concentrate on trips and jumps. Instead, she focused on the elf beside her, and the things she promised. Her father – Lord Elrond. "A touch different to reading moon runes," Rose murmured.

"Pardon?"

Rose giggled. "Oh, it's nothing."

Suddenly, they crested the hill and a valley spread out before them. It was now full night, but the valley wasn't dark. It was covered in lights, tiny sparkles in the air that gave the impression of great and delicate buildings amongst the sounds of rustling trees and rushing water.

"It's beautiful!" Rose cried, turning to look at Arwen in amazement.

Arwen smiled. "It is. I look forward to your reaction in the morning, if this is what you think when you can hardly see it at all."

Rose laughed and tugged the lantern from Arwen's hand, running down the path ahead.

Chapter Text

"Wake gently, Rosie," Arwen called, but the hobbit had woken with the sun. She stood with her arms on the windowsill of the guest house, looking out on the bridges and verandas over the Bruinen.

Arwen set down her burden of breakfast – much more than an elf would eat. She had been bringing Bilbo his breakfast for years now, and knew just how much a hobbit could plough through.

Rosie turned around to greet her with another sweet hug, and Arwen was glad her hands were free of lanterns to return it.

"Well," Rosie said, pulling Arwen to sit down opposite her at the table, "It's all worth it, if I only got to meet an elf and visit her home."

Arwen laughed. "Quite an adventure, just to meet me."

Rosie was quiet as she buttered her bread. Surprisingly, she passed the roll onto Arwen's plate before buttering another for herself. "I didn't think I was the adventuring type," she said quietly.

"I don't think one has to be an adventurer to do what needs to be done," Arwen replied. She ate with Rosie, though she would have to pace herself so as not to be defeated by Rosie's superior appetite. "I am not the adventuring type, though I wish I were."

"Where would you go adventuring?"

Arwen felt herself blush. She ducked her head, letting her hair fall in front of her cheeks. "It doesn't matter where," she said, "Only with whom."

Rosie nodded and made an agreeable hum around a mouthful of fruit. "Are they off an adventure now?" She asked. "Are you worried?"

If Arwen was worried, Rosie must be terrified. Arwen at least knew their goal and their route, their companions and their plans. Though in this case… perhaps ignorance was bliss. "Hopefully your Samwise is looking after him," Arwen said, rather than spill her fears over such a lovely morning.

Rosie dropped her fork. "They went together?!"

"They did."

"Well then," Rosie said, picking up a knife and happily cutting into her sausage, "They're both in good hands."

Arwen laughed, the statement so unexpected it delighted her. "Are they? What do you know of my star?"

"I know he's yours," Rosie said simply, "And he must be worth something if he is."

Arwen's hands came up to her neck, instinctively looking for the jewel that no longer resided there. "He is, indeed, worth a great deal."

"And they'll have Mr Frodo with them," Rosie continued. "He may not know how to light a fire in a grate, but he can light one under anyone's heart."

Arwen had wondered if Samwise and Frodo were promised to each other. Frodo's fires were catching, that was certain. Perhaps it was easier for all of them if things were already decided. "You are a lucky woman, Rosie Cotton," she said, and Rosie grinned. That was that, then.

"I've no claim to them. I do like 'em, though."

Or perhaps not.

"What's his name, your star?"

Arwen shook herself out of her thoughts. Now was no time for that. "He has a different name in each land he visits," she said, "But I call him Estel. It means 'hope'."

"That's a lovely name," Rosie said. "Samwise means 'idiot'."

"And what does he look like, this Sharkey?"

Rose had hoped he wouldn't ask that. The tricky truth was that he looked almost exactly like Lord Elrond, if Elrond had been sucking on a lemon for the last few years. "Well, he's a Big Person," she said, "He's pale, like you, but he looks ill. The only hair on his head's his eyebrows, and they're scary. His clothes… well, they're rags, really, but I suppose they were probably white once?"

Arwen and Elrond looked at each other. Arwen's hands shuffled on her lap.

Elrond sighed. "I had hoped that wouldn't be the case," he said.

"You know him?"

"Your description sounds like a wizard we know as Curunír," Arwen replied, "Whom Men call Saruman. Once, we used to work together."

"You worked with him?" Rose's eyes flicked to the windows of the council chamber, past the mostly empty rounded benches. She probably wasn't as fast as an elf, but she could get through smaller gaps.

"We did, when he was still a champion for the light," Elrond said. He leaned his elbows on his knees and covered his face in his hands. Arwen patted his shoulder, and he leaned into her.

"He… betrayed you?" Rose asked quietly.

"He does not believe he has," Arwen said. "He believes he is still working against the Dark Lord, by building an army to face him, but we know that Shadow cannot be defeated by its own tools. In the mean time, all that he has done has thwarted and complicated our plans to stop Sauron once and for all."

Elrond raised his head and looked at Rose, his eyes piercing. "He believes he is still following the task set out for him, to protect Middle Earth, which is why I find it hard to believe that he is bent on the destruction of your home. His magic is that of creation, not of ending."

"Oh, he's creating alright," Rose said darkly, "For every tree he cuts down, he builds a chimney in its place, taller than the houses in Bree, and without anyone living in them."

"A chimney? What is he making that he needs chimneys?"

Rose bit her lip. "More bricks and iron to make more chimneys?"

Arwen laughed, as though she had made a joke, rather than given her best guess at understanding the mind of evil wizards. "Father, did Gandalf tell you of what he saw at Isengard?"

"No, we were too busy with records of the lands of Men, but now I regret that deeply."

"I had the time to hear his tales," Arwen said, "And he spoke of chimneys spewing smoke of many colours, where Saruman boasted he was creating engines of war."

Rose gripped her shawl tight in her fingers, remembering her grandfather's fingers weaving it. "You think he's using the Shire to make weapons?" And they were already so overrun…

Arwen looked nervous, and patted Rose's shoulder like she had her father's, but it wasn't much comfort.

"They could not be anything like what he had made at Isengard," Elrond said, placatingly, "He had lived there for centuries, and he had resources of the earth and hoards of knowledge in his library. What weapons do the ruffians carry?"

"They have knives, hacksaws of things they are, and some bows."

"He is hardly building an army capable of taking on Mordor," Arwen said.

Elrond held his hand to his chest. "That is true, and yet it is capable of taking on a people so peaceful they settle their own differences with harshly worded letters."

"Well," Rose said, feeling the need to stick up for her species, "It's not like I haven't punched someone for coming on to me too hard in the pub."

Arwen burst into laughter and Elrond shook his head, smiling. "If only you could send Saruman away with a solid right hook," he grumbled. Rose giggled at the idea. Lobelia had certainly tried. Elrond stood. "I will talk to our scouts to see who we can spare. Clearly, the Shire is need of aid, but we are spread thin as dark times trouble us all. It may be a few days or even weeks before I can send anyone back with you."

Rose stood up to meet him, nearly twice her height. "I don't think some of us have weeks to spare, Master Elrond."

He rubbed his forehead again. "I know. I am sorry. Perhaps it will be sooner than that, but I cannot afford to be giving out false hope."

Rose clenched her fist. She wanted to be angry with him, or upset that her family would have to stay in the ruffians' clutches for so much longer, but he was so kind, and so, so very tired. So she hugged him and left him to his headache. First stop: find the kitchens and tell them how to make a proper headache curer.

Chapter Text

"Hobbits," Father said with a groan.

Arwen laughed. "Hobbits," she agreed.

"I should not speak so hastily about them. I fear I have cursed myself to be the tower which they are determined to shake."

"Determined to hug, perhaps."

Father laughed quietly. It was not a sound she heard very often these days, and she treasured it. "Now, I must be grateful that hugging is a Cotton-only greeting, for if Frodo had done so to me when he left…"

"I would have wrapped him up in a blanket and locked him in Bilbo's room."

Father laughed again, just once, then sat down heavily on a bench. "Every person we cannot help is a log added to a bundle that I already cannot carry."

Arwen sat next to him and held onto his arm like she had as a child. "We help who we can, and we inspire those we can't to help themselves. And, if we have faith in our friends – in Frodo…"

Father sighed, and let his hands speak of his fears of failing hope. "We must believe that Frodo can bring light to the whole world, where we can only hold a candle against the night."

"I could go with Rosie," Arwen said.

"You could," Father agreed, surprisingly. "You would be a great boon to their morale, a rallying cause to fight around."

Arwen sat up, concerned rather than pleased. He had not asked her to leave the Valley since she came home from staying with Grandmother in Lórien. "Ada?"

"I cannot keep you here, always asking you to placate those I cannot. Your skills are in more than words – perhaps the Shire needs you."

"Why say so now?" She asked. "Together, we do a lot of good here. You couldn't see every petitioner in the hours in the day, and you cannot split yourself into multiple minds to talk about everything there is to say. Think of Isengard! I was able to share what you had not had the time to discuss."

"Because I have seen your heart, Arwen," Father snapped. He stood and walked away from her, to stand by the windows looking out onto the valley. "It beats in a way I cannot counsel against. You will stay when I go, and if I must imagine you in Middle Earth until the end of your days, I would not imagine you alone."

Arwen stared at him. She had not expected him to admit what she had chosen until they stood on Círdan's harbour. "And the Shire?"

"Rosie could be a good friend. You should do what you can to make mortal friends."

"Mr Bilbo, what do they call kingsfoil in this place?"

The old hobbit jumped in his seat and Rose grinned. He looked around for her voice. When he saw her, he broke into the happiest smile she could ever remember from him.

"Rosie Cotton, by Mahal's beard!"

"Hello, Mr Baggins," she said, tapping his feet in heyday.

"Oh, I preferred Bilbo, let's stick with that." He took her hand and pulled her to sit down next to him.

"Very well, Mr Bilbo," Rose said. "What are you doing here? I didn't even know you were still alive!"

"Oh, I am very much alive, and I am very much retired! Now, the much more interesting question is what are you doing here? Because you'd better not be retiring, you're barely thirty."

Rose giggled. "I'm in my forties, Mr Bilbo."

"Oh, time flies, doesn't it." Bilbo scratched his head through his mass of hair, which had only got bigger and wilder in the last seventeen years (had it been that long?). "If you came here for Samwise, you've missed him, I'm afraid."

"I know, Lady Arwen told me," she said.

Bilbo didn't seem to hear her. "Off with my little Frodo, gone to save the world…"

Rose frowned. She squeezed his hand to get his attention back. "Gone to what?"

"Save the world," he said with a sigh. He shook his head. "You said Arwen told you? You should ask her about it. It's a long story and I'm sure you've had far more than enough of my boring old tales."

"You couldn't be more wrong!" She said. "I'd never get bored of your stories. So—"

"How did you meet Arwen? What have you been up to, becoming friends with elves?" He poked her cheek like a faunt. "We'll make a Baggins of you yet!"

Rose looked away to hide her face from his bothersome grandparent eyes. She hadn't known his nephew when Bilbo left, and he was only joking, but old hobbits could very quickly put one and two together and get three. "She came to meet me on the road and helped me find the secret way in. I'd never have found it, and now I think I still couldn't, because I was so distracted," she said. "She's lovely."

Bilbo wagged his finger playfully in front of her nose. "Now now, Rosie, you be careful – don't go falling for an immortal! It's very hard to find yourself in love with someone who'll live forever after you."

She laughed and batted his finger away. "I'm not in love with her, I'm just saying she's very pretty."

"Aye, that she is."

"Who's Mahal?"

"Nobody. What did you come in here scaring me with your yelling for?"

Rose rolled her eyes and let him distract them again. "What do the elves call kingsfoil? I'm trying to tell one of the healer folks how to make Mrs Bracegirdle's headache helper."

"Ah! Athelas," Bilbo said. He picked up the cane leaning on the arm of the settee and levered himself upright. He made his way over to one of the bookshelves quite literally lining the walls of his parlour and pulled out a book. He flipped the pages of what looked like herb-lore until he landed on an illustration of kingsfoil. "You're lucky you're among elves, who still know its good uses – most of the Big Folk no longer remember the reason behind the name. But here in Im-laaa-drisss…."

Chapter Text

Arwen found her after she'd been politely kicked out of the kitchen for being in the way. Nobody needed her help. They'd happily taken the recipe to help with headaches, and let her make a batch to show them how it worked, but they didn't need another body taking up space, let alone one who barely reached counter height.

There were no fields to till, because they grew everything in orchards that they seemed to run on magic. There were no animals to care for, because the livestock were so tame that they herded themselves. There probably wasn't even any laundry to do – Rose would hardly be any more surprised if they told her that the bloody river itself did it for them.

So, she was useless here, and she couldn't go home, because then she'd have come all this way for nothing (except for the little voice in her head that said she wouldn't have met Arwen if she hadn't). It's not that she wasn't grateful, she was very grateful, but she hated not being able to thank them for it!

"When I have nothing to do but wait," Arwen said, appearing out of nowhere and frightening Rose's heart into her throat, "I go to the Hall of Fire to listen. Sometimes I hear something that inspires something in me, but sometimes it only soothes. Either way, I would be pleased if you would join me."

Stop fussing around and annoying people, Rose heard between the words. She looked so lovely and friendly as she said it, too. By her hairy toes, was there nothing whatever to grumble at?! She bit her tongue and followed Arwen.

"So what's the firey hall about? Do you have speaking fires here?"

Arwen had to stop herself from smiling every time she looked over at Rosie's grumpy little face. The frown would wear away towards a look of wonder, and then she would catch herself, and her eyebrows would furrow right back to where they started. She reminded Arwen so much of Samwise – he had felt that he should not be allowed to enjoy himself whilst his Frodo was unwell and asleep. Though their faces were very different, they had the same scrunch to their nose when they laughed or frowned.

Rosie was clearly drawn in by the song being sung, and the accompaniment from the dulcimer. The music was beautiful – Arwen's brothers were skilled musicians, she could never begrudge them that. It was the ballad they were singing that had sent Arwen out from the Hall herself, not an hour before, to find Rosie. It didn't sting so much, now that she was not alone.

"Would you like me to translate?"

Rosie blinked up at her, opening and closing her mouth like she couldn't decide. "Please," she said, eventually.

"They are singing the Lay of Leithian," Arwen said, "It is a long and sad tale of the elf, Luthien, and her mortal lover, Beren. This part tells of Luthien's sorrow after Beren's departure on a dangerous journey."

Rosie looked at her with wide eyes, then turned back to the players. She finally let go of her anger, though her eyes filled with something sadder.

"What did they leave to do?" Rosie asked quietly. "Mr Bilbo said they went to save the world."

Arwen sighed. "Did you ever see Bilbo's party trick?"

Rosie laughed. "When he disappeared and scared the trousers off half of Hobbitton? Yes, I definitely did."

Arwen shook her head in disbelief. She'd heard a similar story from Bilbo, but the old hobbit was the most prodigious liar she'd ever met. The things that had been done before they knew the danger…

"You're not telling me Bilbo's a wizard, now, are you?" Rosie asked, still chuckling.

"No, but he had a wizard's ring – worse than a wizard."

Rosie huddled in on herself as Arwen reached the inevitable conclusion of her tale.

"Why did Frodo have to be the one to go?"

"Someone had to. And Frodo, selfless as he is, volunteered."

Rosie nodded. "And Sam?"

"Because Frodo went."

Rosie nodded again. "I would have gone too. I should have."

Arwen's hands came once more to her neck and the place where the Evenstar no longer lay. "I think every day about the choice I made to stay behind."

Rosie launched herself from her chair to sit in Arwen's lap and hug her around the waist. This time, Arwen was prepared to catch her. "I didn't mean to say that you should have gone! I was just—"

"I know. I felt the same." Arwen wrapped Rosie in her arms and held onto her tight, as her brothers sang of the madness of Luthien's grief. "Truly, they did not need me. Stealth was their byword, and they could not take more than they needed. I can navigate, but I am not a ranger. I can fight, but I am not a warrior. My best work is with people, and my words, and my blessings, and so I stay here, where I am needed. Yet still…"

Rosie nodded against her breast. "Yet still." She extracted herself from Arwen's arms and sat down beside her, fitting herself into the chair that was really only made for one. "You can fight? Could you teach me, and then I can teach the hobbits back home?"

"I would be honoured."

Rosie smiled a smile that Arwen knew well. It was a smile Luthien must have been familiar with, reflected in the pools in Doriath.

"Now, they sing of Luthien's magic – she wove her hair into a rope, which allowed her to evade her guards and escape from her home into the wildlands beyond."

Rosie listened to her explanations, transfixed by the music until the canto was finished. Of all of them, Arwen supposed that the ending was more on the hopeful side of the scale.

"Will you sing for us, o Tinúviel?" Elladan teased. Elrohir swatted him with his mallet, and Arwen ignored the bait.

"Please forgive my brother," Elrohir said, walking closer to speak to Rosie. "If you would like to play, we love to hear what our guests bring from far-off lands. We have many an instrument, if you would borrow one?"

Arwen avoided looking at Rosie, so that should would not intimidate her with her desire.

Rosie hesitated. "I brought a fiddle," she said.

Arwen grinned at her immediately. "May I join you? My harp is waiting by the wall."

Rosie smiled shyly. "I'd like that very much."

The hobbit hurried out of the hall. Arwen couldn’t tear her eyes away from her hair bouncing against her shawl.

“Arwen Evenstar,” Elrohir intoned dramatically. Arwen rolled her eyes pre-emptively. “Catching lovestruck mortals like fish in a net.”

Elladan hummed. “Or is it that she is the fish, who has some affliction of her vision that makes them the perfect bait?”

“She is not lovestruck, and nor am I,” Arwen said. She ignored their snickers and wheeled her harp into the circle by the fire. “Or, I should say, she is, as am I, for someone who has gone into grave danger. To know her is to be understood.”

She felt two hands on her arms in silent apologies, then her brothers melted into the shadows. A few more seats filled with listeners as the sun set outside the windows, though the majority would not appear until after dinner. She ducked her head to listen to the strings whilst she tuned them, waiting for her duet partner.

Rosie scrambled back into the hall, out of breath and surprised by all the people she kept nearly bumping into. “Got it!” She huffed. “What’s your A? Or do you call it La?”

Arwen laughed. “You have time to breathe, there’s no rush in these walls.”

Rosie frowned. “Well, I know, but I want to play with you all the same.”

Arwen bit her lip against a grin, and plucked the note. Rosie groused at the violin as she fought with its pegs, and told her about its strange journey to reach Rivendell.

“What shall we play?” Arwen asked. “If you tell me the key, I can follow your lead, or you could harmonise with me?”

“I was thinking on the way from my room, because I thought we couldn’t possibly know any of the same tunes, being so far apart, but then I remembered Mr Bilbo’s tunes that he sung us, from his adventures, which was ages ago, but of course you're all very old – I don't mean—"

“Breathe, Rosie.”

“Sorry!” Rosie breathed. “I think he probably forgot the words, or didn’t know the language, but it went—” and she played a melody on a down-bow.

“Tra-la-la-lally?”

Rosie covered her mouth with her hand, bow sticking out the end. “You don’t really call it that?!”

Arwen plucked the next chords. “We do.”

“With all your hour-long ballads about ancient heroes, with words that sound like wine for your ears?”

“Wine is not the only drink,” Arwen said, “Even elves want the sweetness of a pressed apple from time to time.”

Rosie laughed. “Well, I never. Down in the valley, then?”

“Down in the valley.”

Chapter Text

As they spun up the playful tune on their strings, elves from throughout the hall joined in. Rose could scarce believe her ears that the song she had played hopscotch to were played in these hallowed halls, let alone that there were so many verses Mr Bilbo had not recorded.

When they finally came to an end, Rose practically ran off stage to wait in the shadows for Arwen. Her new friend joined her after she had safely covered her instrument, and Rose pulled her by the hand back to their earlier seat. The mood in the Hall was merry, like a grand evening at the Ivy Bush, complete with alcohol being brought around the audience as another jig began. Rose giggled her way to sleep in the chair by the fire.

She woke up the next morning in the hobbit-sized guest room, which seemed right.

She passed the next few days like that: gossiping with Mr Bilbo; playing and listening in the Hall of Fire; and talking to Lady Arwen. She had been serious, it turned out, about teaching Rose to fight. Arwen took her to a woody clearing and showed her many ways to hurt a man, and to stop him from hurting you. She was graceful, and competent, and beautiful, and Rose was convinced she would never be able to learn any of it.

At dinner, or in the library, or sitting at the back of the Hall, she saw Lord Elrond with a twitch in his brow and countless letters in his hands. She felt sorry that she had added to his list of problems, but the Shire wasn't just something on a list – it was her home. So, she smiled, and she waited, and she tried not to feel too guilty about the happy hours she had had here.

"Mistress Perian," an elf called out. He had a bald head and dark skin, and Rose thought his name began with a G. "Will you not sing us something from your Shire?"

"Give 'em the campfire song," Mr Bilbo hollered.

Rose waved her bow in a salute towards him. "Only if you join us, Mr Bilbo!"

The Hall erupted with cries of encouragement, making Mr Bilbo look very put-upon.

"If you insist," he sighed.

Arwen's eyes twinkled with a smile. "We do."

The old hobbit grumbled, but made his way up to the fire as quick as his stick could walk him.

"We play this whenever we have a sing around," Rose said, playing through the chords for Arwen, "It's tradition, for how we start telling tales."

"Then let us hear it," Arwen replied, and plucked an arpeggio. Rose played the final line of the chorus, then Mr Bilbo began to sing.

"Sing me a story of heroes of the Shire…"

Arwen taught her how to fight with her first and her feet, and with weapons. Once, Arwen had tried to give her a sword.

Rose held it in trembling hands. "No one will have one of these at home," she said, instead of letting on how much it scared her, "We'll have hoes, or stout sticks."

Arwen frowned to herself, twirling a dagger in her grip as she thought. "Estel said much the same, now I remember. Very well," she said, taking back the horrible sword and sitting it in its rack, "Sticks it is."

That night, it was Rose's turn to come up with a harmony on the fly. The song was wonderful, the melody falling over itself like a waterfall, and of course Arwen's voice was like starlight. Rose did her best to match it on her fiddle, a babbling brook under the harp's river, but she found herself getting swept away. She didn't know where one word ended and the next began, let alone what they meant. She played what she could and loved what she couldn't.

As the last plucked chords faded to nothingness, Rose found that she couldn't tear her gaze away from Arwen.

The elf smiled down at her. "You reminded me of this song."

Rose gulped and set aside her fiddle. She didn't want to snap a string. "Me?"

Arwen laughed. "Yes, indeed. In the common tongue, the words would be something like…" she trailed off and plucked the chords again, much more slowly and hesitantly. "Wandering the empty road in twilight’s silver shade, following the hidden paths alone and unafraid, let the sunlight free the heart forever bound to roam, and let the waking morning find the weary traveller returning home."

Rose stared at her. Arwen stared back, the moment frozen in time. After a while, Rose looked around and realised that they were alone. The Hall had emptied.

"We must be late for supper," Arwen said softly.

"We must be," Rose agreed.

Neither of them moved to go.

She could not have said how it happened, only that at one moment, they stood apart, and that in the next they were kissing. Arwen's hair fell about Rose's head and Rose's hands gripped Arwen's face. Her mind raced with careless thoughts, pushing after the other, at a dizzying speed. Not a one featured the elf in front of her.

They parted slowly, equally, sadly.

"I must leave in the morning," Rose whispered. "I've been gone too long."

Arwen bowed her head, her brow coming to rest on Rose's forehead. "I know."

In the dawn light, Rose walked up the hill to the last Homely House one final time. Her hands rested on the straps of her pack to stop herself from doing something silly (though it was far too late for that). As she approached the great doorway, she saw Mr Bilbo and Lord Elrond waiting alone on the balcony to meet her.

Well, fuck her, then. Rose felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes, but she refused to cry. If the friendship and shared secrets and emotional release of the last few days had meant so little to Arwen, then Rose didn't care that she hadn't come to see her off. Why had she thought it'd be different? She was just a Shire hobbit – only a common mortal.

As she braced herself to say goodbye to old Mr Bilbo, the grand door eased open and her heart jumped into her throat. In a purple tunic, blue sash and white britches, with a pack on her back, stood Arwen. Rose stared at her, like an idiot.

"I will come with you," Arwen said, as though they had decided it already. Elrond didn't look surprised. Bilbo waggled his eyebrows, the meddling grandda.

Well, Rose thought again. "Of course you will," she said. She turned away from the elves to get herself back under control. She heydayed Bilbo and he pulled her into a hug.

"You tell the SBs not to get into the wardrobe in my second bedroom," Bilbo said with a finger to his nose, "They'll find nothing useful there, they're only decorative – but knowing Lobelia, she'd manage to cut herself on them, and I don't want her getting Frodo's bed linen dirty."

Rose giggled, her heart running like a rabbit between her flip-flopping feelings. "I'll remember that, Mr Bilbo," she said. Her voice shook, but her feet were firm.

Arwen and her father parted from where they had been close, then Arwen joined her on the steps. She held out her hand and Rose took it.

"I wish good fortune towards the freedom of the Shire," Elrond proclaimed. He raised his hand to his chest, then held it out to them. "May you return safely home."