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'We're afraid to inform you that our dear granny is finally succumbing to age. It would comfort our hearts if you found the time, at your earliest convenience, to be with her during her last moments.'
She clutched at the letter, staring at it, unaware of the rapid increase of her breathing, and of the worried look on Mr Barliman Butterbur's eyes, set on her face.
'Ah, Mrs Burrows,' he sighed, shaking his head with sadness. 'I know her. One of the boys who comes often is her nephew, if I remember correctly. Quite the character she is, I've heard. Such a shame. Is she an acquaintance of yours? Oh, what am I saying, of course she is, that's why you received that letter! But it's strange to think of it, I mean, what with you, Miss, being an Elf, and Hobbits--especially Shire-folk--not being exactly famous for establishing friendships with outsiders in gener-'
'I need one of your fastest horses, Mr Butterbur, please,' she said, relieving her tense jaw only for speaking. 'As soon as possible.'
'Why, yes of course! How silly of me getting carried away talking and all--Nob! Nob!! Where did you get yourself into now?!' The man walked away, while she read the short message for the tenth time.
So it had finally caught up with her once more. Death. Yet another loved one was to part, not to be seen again by her while the world lasted.
Her hands trembled and her eyes stung, though her emotionless expression didn't waver.
She remembered when she'd met Myrtle Burrows, all those many years ago. Unusual she had been since the beginning, and yet as typical as any decent Hobbit would be expected to be amongst their own kind. She didn't care for adventures, nor about doing anything out of the ordinary, as is usual in Hobbits. But that one day when the "strange Elf" had ventured to talk with the then Mayor in Michel Delving, something sparked within her. For whatever reason, she decided to enable conversation with the stranger, since both of them had been left waiting for the Mayor to arrive from whatever important matter he was supposed to be doing.
'... So, what business brings a…' She scrutinised the outsider's face. ‘An… Elf, to speak with our Mayor?'
Although the question could have been perceived as a little rude in tone, there was clearly nothing but curiosity in the woman's inquisitive eyes, not hindered by the nervousness in her voice and the surprise at finding herself with the courage to speak in the first place.
Indeed, Amarthniel herself was surprised. She'd come late in the afternoon, intending to be unseen by as many Halflings as possible. What were the odds that the one she'd meet would be the one with the nerve to talk to her?
She didn't speak for a couple of seconds. Then, blinking herself out of the surprise, she answered: 'I… came to inform him about some ruffians that have been spotted in the southern borders of the Shire. I wish to ask him to spread a word of caution for those who would find themselves around those parts, for business or for leisure.'
The Hobbit woman seemed encouraged by the hesitation in the stranger’s voice and spoke now with more confidence. 'Ah, well, that's very nice of you, but I doubt you'd find any Hobbits going that way at all, anyway. Those are some queer lands in the south beyond our country. There's nothing to do over there. But, how do you know about those people?' She added before Amarthniel could speak. 'I don't suppose that Elves can be ruffians themselves, can they? Do you live down there in the south?'
'No, I've simply been scouting those parts for a long time,' she smiled. She hadn't expected the Hobbits to take her seriously. Talking with the Mayor was her only hope that they would listen.
'Mmm …' A short silence. 'So, you pass your days in the wilderness just like that?' Amarthniel nodded. 'Isn't that tiring? Don't you ever feel like just going back home to a nice dinner and a comfy bed? What's that eagerness of being away all the time? Is that normal with Elves?'
'Not… usually,' she sighed, breaking eye contact and looking at the ground, chuckling despite the bitter feeling that swelled in her chest with those questions. It annoyed her. She hadn't come to the Shire expecting to feel uncomfortable because of the questions of some unusually friendly middle-aged Halfling. Just what was that Mayor doing?!
But the awkwardness did not escape said Halfling's attention, and she stopped talking for a while after that. Still, the thought bothered her, and eventually, she asked yet another question, in a more kindly tone. ‘... Are you too far away from home?'
Amarthniel glanced at her, stern in her expression. For a moment, she considered not answering; her bad character was slipping through, and she was slightly annoyed by such a personal question. But the Halfling fidgeted nervously under her stare, and she felt bad for her, and guilty '... There has not been a place I can call home for a very long time.' She answered then.
'... Oh.'
After this, both remained quiet, deep in thought, until the Mayor arrived at last. Then the little woman excused herself and asked to meet him first, saying she was there only for a small, unimportant matter and that she'd be done quickly. Indeed, only five minutes later, she came out, and Amarthniel passed her with a little bow of her head.
The Mayor, too, was a little sceptical, but she managed to scare him enough, just a little, for him to understand the potential danger of the circumstances. He assured her he'd spread the word, but he couldn't promise that people would listen. And there wasn't much more she could do about that.
When she came out, she found the woman outside, waiting for her, her third surprise that afternoon.
'Ah, there you are! See, I was thinking… I suppose you're heading off now to the south again, or to someplace away from civilisation to hunt for some food and pass the night, aren't you? Well, I was going with the thought of preparing dinner for my children, and I thought, "Well, Myrtle, quite a decent Hobbit you'd be going to eat some delicious meal while there's some folk who won't even have a spoon for theirs!" If you take my meaning. As such, I am inviting you to come have dinner with us, at the very least.'
Amarthniel frowned and shook her head, smiling incredulously. 'You are indeed strange for a Hobbit, aren't you? But as grateful as I am, I'm afraid I could not accept your offer. There's no need to worry about where I'll make my bed or what I use for a spoon,' she laughed. 'I shall disturb the Hobbits no longer for today.' She bowed. 'Have a good evening.'
She moved to leave, but the Halfling quickly stepped on her way.
'No, no, that won't do! You're in Hobbit country now, and I’ve heard that Elves also appreciate good manners, do they not? Well, there's no refusing such an invitation! I will not take a "no" for an answer!'
Amarthniel sighed in annoyance.
‘The conceptions of “well manners” change between the races, I assure you,’ she answered defensively. She'd already said no, and that was that.
At least until some twenty minutes later, when she found herself bending down carefully not to hit her head against the low--for her--ceiling of Myrtle Burrows’ hobbit-hole. Her children (and husband, and brother, and sister-in-law, and nephews and nieces) were already waiting for her, already having started preparing dinner themselves since "she'd taken so long".
Then, they saw her.
Amarthniel had a hard time not laughing at all their expressions when they spotted her. The children shrieked, while the adults put a hand to their chests and stepped back. Myrtle's husband even tripped on his sofa behind him and fell on it.
'Myrtle! What--!'
'Don't start! She's a hungry traveller, and we have plenty of food in this house. I don't want to hear any of it!' She warned them. 'I believe we can find it in our hearts to feed the needy?'
Amarthniel raised an eyebrow at being called “needy”, but she was too amused to say something against it. 'I thank you all for your hospitality. I assure you I will only be a nuisance for a short time.'
'You shush, girl. Now, I'm afraid we don't have a chair that suits your size, but I think we can manage a make-shift … Come and help me with the other sofa, husband!'
Even years later, Amarthniel wasn't sure about how Mrs Myrtle had convinced her to go to her house that night. How she’d managed to appeal to the deeply buried longing of her heart, allowing herself to rest, if only for a single night, from the oath of unending struggle she'd put upon herself. By the end, even the other Hobbits in the family were friendly to her, especially the children, and they invited her to have dinner some other time. For about a month, she did not show up, but then she did, and thereafter she was a common sight in Michel Delving for many a year.
Initially, the Burrows were frowned upon by the other Hobbits, with people here and there talking about how they'd lost their hobbit-sense and were bewitched by "Elven magics". But in truth, most were curious about Amarthniel and, as they saw her in the streets, approached her more and more, having deemed her not a threat, asking her questions not unlike the way Myrtle had the first time. And, in time, even though she still left South to keep her patrol around the borders of the Shire, the people of Michel Delving became used to her, even trusting her to invite her to their own homes too.
Over the years, she and Mrs Myrtle grew quite close. The woman was ever curious to hear about her new friend's life before her arrival in The Shire, and the more so since Amarthniel rarely spoke of herself, properly or at all. The Hobbit had to be very insistent, and the more their relationship grew closer, the more confidence she had to ask for more.
To her, for the first time in an age, Amarthniel confessed many things about herself. For the first time in hundreds of years, she'd allowed herself to cry. To admit that she was tired of fighting. To admit that she still held the same irrational fear of deep gorges, just like when she was a little girl, along with the terror of failing to protect the few people that she loved, having failed way too many times at that in the past. Myrtle Burrows listened, and was moved, and became ever more insistent on having Amarthniel’s visits.
With the Burrows family, Amarthniel learned to enjoy life's little pleasures, like simply sitting in the sun on a lazy afternoon without worrying or anxiously blaming herself for what she used to believe was a waste of time. She even learned how to smoke!
Before then, the Halflings' deliberate ignorance of the outside world, making little of its dangers and struggles, exasperated her. She believed they were selfish and lacked empathy. But now she'd begun to understand that it wasn't so, at least not with most of them. They were indeed very good people, with no natural tendency to be malicious; they were merely, purely, incredibly optimistic. And from them, she learned to look at life with less heaviness in her heart. At the very least, she started trying, and for the first time in who knew how long, she experienced genuine happiness.
But the dangers west of the Misty Mountains were increasing, and around the Shire, the watch of the Dúnedain doubled, and Amarthniel, who had long helped them in their endeavours of protecting the northern lands, had to be away for longer periods of time. Still, whenever she had time, she made sure to pay a visit to her good friend, not only because she missed her.
Myrtle was, of course, growing old. Amarthniel tried to remain cheerful, as Myrtle herself reminded her whenever she caught her staring in worry when the troubles of age began to appear.
'Don't look at me like that! Death is a very normal thing, my girl. And yes! I'll continue calling you that---you may be older than me but still I grow old faster than you, and I daresay it's more than just in body. I need to know you won't give up on daring to socialise again after me. If you need to continue your travels and your struggles, then don't do it alone! You have to promise!'
And she tried. Oh, she tried. But every one of those signs was a subtle reminder of the one thing she still did not know how to deal with: the death of those she loved. The only two things she knew how to do in order to keep at bay the horrible anxiety that consumed her at its mere thought were to ignore the feeling, instead of working on it, putting on a perfectly stoic mask and diverting any stray thought into maintaining herself busy in the wilderness. The other was to stay away from the people she still cared for, in a vain (and truly cruel) attempt at severing her "over-emotional" ties with them.
So stupid. She knew it. But it worked. It had always worked. She could deal with the panic attacks that woke her in the morning, as a result of everything she kept inside. It was only for a few minutes every day. She was fine.
Which was why she wondered, as she clutched at the letter in her hands, almost ripping at its edges, already smeared with tears, trying to calm down before heading out of the room and taking the horse she'd just asked for, why had she decided to grow close to these small, optimistic, short-lived Hobbits? Why had she put herself in that situation again? Once they died, she would never see them again. Not even on the other side of the Sea, for her oath had been to remain in Middle-earth until the very last remnant of Morgoth was erased from Arda. This didn't only mean his servants, it was the very influence of his negative thought on every living being that would endure until the End. Such hatred was that which she felt for him.
Such an oath haunted her now. Back then, just as the War of Wrath was over, she was still young, she was still angry, there was still energy in her left to continue the fight that she knew very well was far from over. Back then it seemed rational. Back then it felt like the only thing she could do to drown the sadness of missing her father. But now? Now that she'd tasted the bitterness of the long, long years of the Elves of which she was granted kinship, she faltered. But to break such an oath? She remembered well what had happened to the sons of Fëanor. After so many a year, she would go mad whether she continued it or broke it.
'You have to promise!'
She hadn't promised. Not that day.
'Miss!' A knock on the door. 'Begging your pardon, but the horse is ready!'
She looked at the door, swallowing, trying her best to sound composed. 'Thank you. I'll be there in a moment…'
But she had to now. She had to go and let her know she'd be alright. Her old mask was cracking; soon it wouldn't be of much use anymore. There were still tears rolling down her face when she thanked Nob and Mr. Butterbur and rode on to the Shire.
'We're afraid to inform you that our dear granny is finally succumbing to her age. It would comfort our hearts if you found the time, at your earliest convenience, to be with her during her last moments.
She insists on seeing you and keeps repeating that she won't go anywhere until she does. She would also like you to know that, as such, there is no hurry, but that when you do come, you don't forget to bring your pipe!
Our best regards,
The Burrows family.'