Avari

The night was warmer than usual; the figure sat still, his favourite pipe pressing to his lips at least twice a minute, the small circles of smoke floating high above him. A worn book lay across his lap, the last few pages empty; he had not had time to hunt for more adventures in over half a century.

He held his pipe tightly between his teeth, gently turning the pages until he was near the front of his novel, his travels through Mirkwood, his rescue of the dwarves he still counted as friends even after the loss of many over the years.

His weathered fingers found another page, one he longed to fill upon his arrival in Rivendell, it was split for each of the variations of Elves. Each were near enough a different race, split far further than the groups of hobbits that coated the pleasant place he called home, his precious Shire. That was what he longed to know, to fill himself and his novel with as much detail as possible, to learn what he could in his last over-long years upon this Earth.

It was the idea of knowledge that drew him in, a most unusual want for a hobbit normally so happy to remain ignorant of any going ons’ outside of the Shire, it had only increased his lust for adventure.

But that was before Frodo, before he suddenly had someone to care for, poor boy, orphaned so young. Frodo had an idea that he was planning something, but of course, he was a Baggins. He was far more intelligent than most Hobbits.

Bilbo Baggins would miss his young cousin as he went on his adventure. Well aware that Frodo would join him if he could, he had searched through this vert book plenty of times, always amazed by Bilbo’s adventures. He had the similar lust his older cousin did.

Bilbo closed the book, finishing the last of the weed in his pipe and placing it down on the arm of his chair. He leant back, a smile gracing his still youthful face; he would fill those empty patches of paper if he was lucky.

And Bilbo Baggins always had carried a hint of luck.

The odd request came at twilight.

“Lord Elrond wishes to hold council.” Instantly those simple words had lifted many an eyebrow and hushed whispers including my own. “Lord Elrond has not called for council from us for close to six hundred years, what is of such importance he feels he must write?” The bird that had delivered the letter chirped lightly and my uncle waved his hand to allow it flight. It refused, hopping across the long table and stopping not far from my seat, I caught my brothers eye and he rolled them, it was all the permission I needed to break off some small pieces of thin bread as the confusion grew louder.

“He speaks of Mordor. We are not obtuse enough to be unaware of the threat, but I must admit the extremity of such did escape me until his words.” My uncles voice had lifted to hush the small crowd, and all joyful thoughts at the union of my elder sibling had fallen into a concerned silence, clinging to the words he read from the long scroll, “He writes of the growing threat, of Sauron’s eye that they have resurrected from Mirkwood and which now glares aflame across miles. More so than this,” His jaw jutted slightly, “Lord Elrond claims that the ring has been found.”

I felt my brow furrow, “The one ring, forged by Sauron himself has been discovered. The enemy is aware of this and will continue to push through Middle Earth, bringing with them death and destruction until they have reclaimed it.”

Nobody had to ask what would happen next. The affairs of the majority of Middle Earth were separate from our own, a mixture of choice and consequence and even through my naivety I knew about the Dark Lord, the rings he had tried to tempt others with, the one he had forged to control them all, to give himself absolute power.

“They found the ring?” One aghast voice, some relative on my mothers' side stood, his dark hair already ruffled as his hand travelled through. “The ring has been lost for centuries, who... how?”

At this my uncle almost smiled, although it was bittersweet, pained. “It is in the hands of a hobbit of all creatures, found in the shire where it had been for over sixty years. The hobbit bearing this burden is on his way to Rivendell, if the magi Gandalf is to be believed. Lord Elrond plans to commence the council in a week.”

“To discuss what? If this is indeed the ring as claimed, it must be kept as far from Sauron as possible, it should be taken from Middle Earth, some should travel West, farther than Valinor and...”

“And he would continue to hunt it down until the sea ran dry!” Someone else cried; their face paling with dread, “The only option is to destroy it, but a hobbit has no chance of such a task.”

“The only way to destroy the one ring of power is to toss it into the fire and flames from which it was forged. Mordor is the only viable course of action, Elrond must mean to lead an army, to attack and...” My brothers voice lifting had shocked me a little, I was intensely trying to process the information to understand of whom they spoke, of this Gandalf, and hobbit was only a word I had read.

“Can he be attacked?” I felt myself speak rather than heard it, and although the louder in the hall had overshadowed me my uncle still turned, “Can he be defeated in simple battle?” The shake of his head was minuscule but the concern resting thickly on his tanned features made my previously pleasantly full stomach churn.

He lifted his hands, waiting for a silence that took a few minutes for the worried to reach. “We shall send a convoy as Lord Elrond wishes, this is not something that is avoidable, the fate of Middle Earth is the fate of us all, as far removed from it as we wish to be. I retire to my rooms now, any who wish to travel with me must state their case this evening, for we leave at sunrise.” He nodded to my brother, smiling at his bride before turning, pure white cloak causing a snap of breeze to dance over us as he vanished outside into the thick trees.

A few tried to hold the atmosphere a joy a little longer but it had all drained and within the hour several younger men were stating their intentions of going, fiddling with the small dagger constantly in their belts and raising their voices. The rest of the group headed left back to their homes with separate words, voices still low and urgent, concern rife and overflowing.

“Will you offer yourself?” My brother had found me fiddling with my sleeves, as ever finding irritation with the way they prohibited much use of my hands. “I want to read this letter from Lord Elrond myself, although it shall be with a heavy heart.” He forced a small smile over his lips, patting the back of my head in the way he always had done although it had been a long time since I had grown out of enjoying the sense of petting. “It shouldn’t be too heavy, today is your wedding day Anath, and you should allow yourself some joy if there seems to be little found in the future.”

“You know little of the world outside our borders and yet you feel the appropriate dread. Imagine how those more travelled do? Uncle has told me a lot about the second age, about the battles that truly spurred our separation from other elements of elfdom and those we count as kin. I will not find any joy tonight, I will speak to Enobia first though. Find Mother and ensure you both get home before anything gets too heated and tempers are lost.”

I nodded, sucking on my cheeks, “You sound a lot like Father when you speak like that.”

“Old or wise?” I was glad of his hint of humour and my shrug drew a true chuckle, “I will come by to tell you both everything I have found out. Now sort out that pest of a bird and off with you Chiara.”

My uncle did indeed leave as soon as the first rays of sun rose, bathing the forest we called home in orange and gold streaks. However, the group that accompanied him was smaller than expected, and contained those most unlikely, myself included. My mother had refused to go to our home and I was not overly surprised, the tense look that overcame her features was stuck and she had all but stormed down the lit pathways until we reached the carved palace of our leader and family.

She demanded as much information as possible from her younger brother, and she received it in snippets I understood, connected to form a greater picture. The danger was worse than I had imagined, and I cursed my ignorance. “We will aim to reach Rivendell as swiftly as possible; I need fast riders and open minds.” That want had secured my role in the venture.

I slid apprehensively into the saddle of my mare, not for fear of riding her, which I did most often but for the journey ahead. My ability upon horseback had been part of the reason for my mother’s suggestion, her other was my youth, “How much more an open mind can you hope to take with you? We have kept her under close observations for decades too long and she yearns for it. You will find no truer council than your own blood; you know this to be true, brother of mine.”

“Your daughters' skills with weaponry and a horse is but a hobby, a skill developed through sparring with the others to keep them away from trouble. I do not wish to draw her from the safety of our home.”

“If you do not make the right decision we will not have a home before too long.” Upon noticing I had quite clearly been eavesdropping I was sent far enough away for their words to become illegible and I have no clue what words she could have used against my uncle to convince him I should be part of his envoy.

I asked him when he met me, upon his own stallion although until we were further from our collection of marble and rock homes we could do little more than trot. “Your mother has always been very successful in her powers of persuasion.” I felt my tongue dart over my lip, “Persuasion are not the only powers you speak of.” He had no answer for me which in truth was answer enough, my mother had the foresight, and it came in flushes of dreams.

Those dreams had been the reason since childhood she had been so un-keen to let me leave the forests far edges, yet now were the reason she was sending me half way across the world as we knew it. It was hard to stop myself from questioning her persistently, but a deeper part of me was excited at the chance to experience Middle Earth, to finally experience the world away from my kin, to see the creatures and other races I had read about, to see different terrain, to do something.

And, as my uncle seemed to believe, all that was needed was our council and once a plan had been decided we would be free to return home, no harm done and hopefully with a better relationship between ourselves and the elves of Rivendell. By the time we left the excitement bubbling in me was my main emotion, not letting my brothers jealously or worry burst it and heading out with my uncle and two others he trusted deeply.

The journey took us close to the week, but we only stopped for the horses, not needing a large amount of sleep to continue. I used the week as a time to ask all questions I could think of, to questions trees I did not recognise, to discover more about dwarfs whom he claimed would be there, about hobbits and this Gollum figure they spoke about in low voices. I discovered the origins of the ring more clearly, the journey of death it had mapped since it’s creation and how it had come to be in the hand of a hobbit in the Shire.

I even learnt more of our own past, our difference from our kin; our height, stoutness, hair and skin colour.

“Yes.” Riyte had complained one night, taking a long draw on his pipe, scrawling notes of our journey into his large leather-bound book, “And they even have the nerve to refer to us as ‘wild elves’.”