Disclaimer and Authors’ Note:

Okay, this is a first for us. Ellbee and I have written together before, but not in a while, and always in the “Mummy” category. This is our first foray into LOTR-fic.

The only thing we really can claim in this story is the character Isobel. Yes, yes, a Mary Sue, some might say, but those who know our writing know we strive to make them believable. Everything else is owned by Professor Tolkien, of course. Our story takes place in a sort of mixture of the book-universe and the movie-universe. For example, the Council at Rivendell includes more men from Gondor than just Boromir, like the movie. But after the Fellowship is formed, they linger in Rivendell for a number of months while waiting for reports from scouts and the like, like in the book. The best of both worlds, we thought.

Chapter One

She rose slowly to the surface of wakefulness, at first only aware of the softness of her bed. Warm and comfortable for the first time in what seemed like ages, at first she could only burrow down more deeply into the bedclothes. But soon enough, memory flooded back – the terror, the fire, the harsh clang of swords, the screams. Her eyes flew open.

This was not her bedroom. Where was she? Was she a captive? As her eyes roamed over the room where she lay, she could only think that this was a beautiful prison. Her bed was in the middle of a small but airy room, with richly carved furniture of some pale wood she did not recognize. As she sat up to look around her more, she saw a tray piled high with food, sitting on a small table near the bed. The food was still steaming; someone must have just brought it, but she had heard nothing. She was quite alone.

It took only a moment for her to decide, or rather, for her stomach to decide, what to do next. She threw off the blankets and eased out of bed. Her legs shook a little beneath her, and it was a few moments before she was certain that her knees were not going to buckle. How long had she been in bed? Muscles protested as she carefully made her way to the laden tray.

The food was delicious. It had only taken a couple of bites to remind her of how hungry she was, and she had to stop herself from shoveling it all in like a barbarian. Once she had eaten her fill, she gained the courage to explore her surroundings a little more. She was surprised to find a trunk with women’s clothes inside, lovely clothes that looked like they would fit her perfectly.

They did. Dressed, fed and rested, she felt stronger, and courageous enough to approach the window. There where no bars to keep her in, but the room looked out onto a hillside covered with trees, their leaves turning golden and just beginning to fall. On a path below she could see two women carrying baskets of flowers. Their steps were light, and they sang as they pattered along the pathway. She gazed in wonder as the song reached her ears. Elves. They were elves. How had she come to the elves?

Most of her fear leaving her, she went to the door and cautiously tried the handle. The door was not locked, and she peeked out onto a long hallway. There was nobody there. With a deep breath, she left her room. She should at least find her hosts and thank them.

Many hallways later, she was hopelessly lost. She had gone up and down several wide stairways, and had heard elvish voices, but had seen nobody to speak to. And she had passed many doors, but she was not quite brave enough to open them. Frustrated, she gave a little stomp of her foot and made a petulant sound.

“Hello? Who‘s there?”

She spun around at the sound of the voice, to see a small man looking out one of the doors.

“Ah, Isobel, isn’t it? Nice to see you up at last. How are you feeling? Better, I hope?”

For a moment she could only gape, open-mouthed. How did he know her name? She had never seen him before in her life. Despite her confusion, her manners took over. “Much better, thank you,” she said, giving him a small curtsey.

As she approached him, she could see that he was very small, standing only as high as her chest. And he was very old; his face was lined and his hair was white, but he was rosy cheeked and merry, and he held a long pipe. “How do you do. I am Bilbo Baggins,” he said with a small, slightly arthritic bow.

He was a hobbit, she suddenly realized. She had never come face to face with one before; she thought they kept to themselves in their own land. How had this one come to be with the elves, so far from home?

But then again, one could ask her the very same question.

“Come in, come in, my dear, it’s quite all right. Have you eaten?” When she nodded, he continued. ”Of course you have. They keep a very good table, the elves do. Very generous. You came in with the men, I think, didn’t you? I must say, they weren’t quite sure that you would pull through. Been having adventures, so it seems.”

She remembered more now. The woods at night, how cold everything had been. Walking along the long road, every muscle in her body screaming in pain with each step she took. Her feet had hurt especially; she hadn’t even had time to put on shoes before she’d fled. And the men who had found her; she remembered them dimly, like an almost-forgotten dream. They were on their way to somewhere important, some sort of Council…

With a start, she noticed the elderly hobbit was staring at her, waiting for a response. Silence seemed rude, so she only said, “Yes, I came in with the men.” She hoped he would not ask any more, she did not feel quite up to talking about…everything. Not yet.

Luckily, he did not take offense. “Yes, I see.” Suddenly serious, he looked at her with pity in his eyes. “It’s a dark time,” he murmured, almost to himself.

She turned away, and would have gone, but her eye fell on a largish book lying open on a cluttered table. She approached it slowly, her curiosity piqued.

“Ah, yes. That’s mine. I’m writing my own adventure, you see. It isn’t finished yet, I’m afraid. I mean to, but there is always something else that seems to call my attention. Like walking, and eating, and singing, and watching. A wonderful place, Rivendell is.”

Isobel caught her breath and turned to him, her eyes wide. “Rivendell?” she breathed. She had heard of Rivendell, the hidden city of the Elves, but had always considered it a myth. And yet, here she was.

“Oh, yes, it’s real,” he said, seeming to read her mind. “You’ll be safe here, my dear.” Her eyes widened, and she wondered just how much he did know about her.

He noticed that she still had her hand on the book. “Oh,” he said, “I don’t suppose you’d like to read it, would you? I’d love to get your opinion. It’s quite exciting, though I say it myself.”

He seemed so eager that all she could do was consent with a smile. And then he kindly showed her through the labyrinth of hallways and finally outdoors, to a quiet seat overlooking a courtyard. He chattered in a friendly manner the whole time, and of this she was glad, for it spared her from having to talk much, or explain anything. He installed her carefully on the bench, and left her, saying something about preparing for a meeting.

The day was cool, a crisp day in early autumn. She was glad she had put on a shawl when a breeze stole through the trees, making their golden-yellow leaves rustle. Settled on the warm stone bench, she let the book lay unopened in her lap while she took in her surroundings.

Rivendell. The land of the elves. She would never in her life have imagined that she would be somewhere like this. It looked almost unreal, a bedtime story come to life. Elvish architecture was open and sweeping, all graceful curves and light and air. She was almost dizzy in taking in all the color and light of this place.

The sun was warm on her shoulders, and she let the shawl slip a little as she opened the volume carefully to the title page. There and Back Again. A Hobbit’s Tale by Bilbo Baggins. The writing was neat and careful, with a bit of a flourish, rather like Mr. Baggins himself. A smile touched her lips as she turned the page and began to read.

A little while and several pages later, the sound of hoof beats drew her attention. Her heart thudded up into her throat, and she looked up, startled. But all seemed well; it was a party of elves riding through the front gates. They were probably here for the Council as well, the same one that her saviors, the men of Gondor, had come to attend. She watched them ride in, amazed by their graceful movements. She had never seen anyone sit a horse so well, or so naturally, as an elf. Afternoon sunlight glanced off them, shining on buckles and sword hilts, sweeping through the pale blond hair of one as he dismounted in one smooth movement. No, they were not the enemy. She took a few deep breaths and willed her panic to dissipate, then she bent her head once more over her book.

***

Legolas breathed in deeply and let his breath out in a sigh as he rode into the city. He had been here many times before, but never on such urgent and deadly business. Relief flooded through him – relief that he and his elves had ridden through the dangerous mountain passes with no injuries, relief that the wise would soon consult on the evil that had been spreading through the world. But mostly it was the relief that came simply from being here in Rivendell. No matter the state of the world outside this valley, the power of Elrond and the other first-born who dwelt here could be felt. Cares and fears slowly faded as he dismounted and looked around him.

That was when he saw her. She immediately drew his attention, a daughter of men among so many elves. Of course, he had known that men were called to this Council as well, but it was foolishness indeed to bring a woman on a dangerous journey through the wilderness.

He looked more closely at her. She was very different from Elvish women. Some of his men said that human women were all fat and ugly, but he had his own reasons for disagreeing. Her hair was a rich brown coiled neatly on her neck, her skin darker, rosier than the pale skin of elves, her body more generously curved. Though her head was bent over a book, her face and her form pleased his eye. His curiosity at her being there at all drew him toward her, he desired to speak to her. Leaving his horse in the care of one of the grooms, he ran lightly up the stairs to where she sat with her book. She did not look up, did not hear him. He stopped in front of her, noticing the very moment she felt his presence. And in the next moment, she would look up. Her eyes would be a soft brown, flecked with bits of black and gold. He did not wonder how he knew this, and when she lifted her head, he was not at all surprised to find he was right.

****

She was running a finger over one of the detailed and painstakingly drawn maps in the book when a shadow fell across her page. She nearly gasped aloud when she looked up, into the clear blue eyes of an elf, the same one she had seen riding in the gate. He gazed at her for a moment, and she felt the heat rising in her cheeks. He seemed to realize that he was making her blush, and turned his eyes to her book.

“Ah,” he said, his voice soft and rich, “That is a grand tale you are reading.”

“This?” she answered in surprise. “Do you know this story? But…the little man who gave me the book, he said he wrote it. Why, it isn’t even finished yet.”

A smile curled his lips. “All the finest tales are unfinished. But I do know this story. We are in the midst of it even now.” He bowed slightly. “I am Legolas, of Mirkwood.”

She held out her hand. “My name is Isobel,” she said. She did not elaborate any further. Where would she say she was from, in any case? Her home was no more.

He took her hand and bowed over it. His hand was warm in hers, and she liked the way it felt. “A pleasure,” he said. He cocked his head a little to one side, considering her. “And what does a daughter of men do here in Rivendell? Do you attend the Council?”

She nearly laughed at that notion. Why would he ever think that? “No,” she said with a small shake of her head. “The men of Gondor brought me here.” As she looked into those clear blue eyes, something made her want to explain herself. For some reason, she knew that she could tell this elf everything. “My home was--”

Her words were drowned out by the single peal of a bell, pure and clear. Both their heads turned in the direction of the sound.

“The Council.“ Legolas’s voice was quiet, all trace of smiles gone. He turned back to her, apology in his eyes. “I must go,” he said, releasing her hand.

“Of course,” she replied with a nod, letting her hand fall back into her lap. Their eyes met for a brief moment, and he smiled, and then was gone.

Isobel watched him jog across the courtyard and down a small flight of stairs, moving as effortlessly as a cat. Contentment warmed her on the inside, as surely as the sun warmed her shoulders. It had been wonderful to see him again.

Again? Her brow furrowed. Her home had been on the northern outskirts of Gondor, and she had never seen an elf in her life. Yet talking to Legolas, she had had the odd sense of being at home. He more than likely reminded her of someone from her youth. With a small shake of her head, she returned to her book, falling easily back into Mr. Baggins’ adventure.

****

Although their meeting in the courtyard was brief, Isobel remained on Legolas's mind through the night and into the next morning. Shortly after the Council had recessed, he had spoken to one of Elrond’s attendants, who told him more about the human woman in their midst. She had indeed been brought into Rivendell by the men of Gondor, wrapped in one of their cloaks and quite unconscious. They had found her in the road, shoeless and clad only in a torn linen shift. They had been able to learn from her only her name, and that her homestead had been attacked in the dead of night by orc marauders. She had fled the destruction, and had apparently wandered for days, seeking shelter. Since they could not very well leave her there, she had been brought with them to Rivendell. She was not seriously hurt, but was exhausted, nearly starved, and had required rest. Yesterday was the first day she had regained consciousness. His heart had twisted a little in sympathy at her plight.

The next morning, he was not surprised to see her in the courtyard again, sitting on the same bench. Her dress was different, but otherwise she did not look as though she had moved from the time of their previous meeting. As he mounted the steps to the courtyard, she turned her head and smiled at his approach. She did not look surprised to see him.

"Good morning," she said when he drew near. His eyes widened a touch. She spoke Elvish! He felt a wide smile break out across his face.

"Good morning," he replied in the same language. "I hope you are feeling well today. Would..." His voice trailed off as her face fell a little.

"I'm sorry," she said with a small nervous laugh. "I'm afraid that I deceived you. That's the full extent of my Elvish." Her cheeks pinked a little as she ducked her head to study her slippers. "And that is only because the old hobbit gentleman taught me the words this morning."

To her relief, he simply smiled and said, "Ah, that must be the same Bilbo Baggins whose book you read."

She slid over on the bench just a little, a silent invitation for him to sit beside her, and invitation he instantly accepted. "Yes, he's been very kind to me, but I'm afraid I'm..." She fell silent. Looking at him, now so near, she was caught once again by his eyes, so startlingly blue, so young and yet so old, and so gentle, that she completely lost the thread of her thought. With a start she remembered herself, but it was too late to do anything but blush.

His smile only broadened. "I am glad to see you looking so well, better even than yesterday. You look stronger, and your cheeks are much rosier."

Isobel could not suppress a laugh, and found she did not want to. It had been too long since she had had anything to laugh about. "Are you teasing me?" she asked boldly.

"Of course not," he said gallantly. At least he did not recoil at her familiarity. "In fact," he continued, "you look so well that I wonder if you would not like to walk a little."

"Oh, yes, I'd like that very much." She did not ask how he knew she had been unwell. He gestured for a servant to take her book back to Bilbo, and led her down a wide set of stairs into a wooded area. She had not ventured so far before, but the ground was level and smooth, and covered with a carpet of gold leaves. The air was fresh and crisp, and she began to feel glad to be alive.

They walked in silence for some time, a silence that was strangely comfortable. All trace of nervousness melted away as they fell into step together; she felt as if she were sharing a walk with an old friend.

His voice broke the stillness. "Why do you sigh?" he asked.

"It seems so strange. My husband would have liked to see this. He always intended to travel." She had not meant to tell him that, but for some reason the words spilled out before she could stop them.

He seemed to understand. "But he did not?"

She shook her head with a sad smile. "No. He always put it off. 'After the harvest,' he would say, or 'Perhaps in the spring.' And then he caught a fever, and he died within a week." She ran her hand along the leaves of some evergreen bushes, not meeting his eyes.

"I am sorry. And yet your grief does not seem new."

"He died a little over three years ago. We had not been married long, so I did not know him well. But I was fond of him."

"You married him, and yet you did not know him. This is very strange to me."

"My family arranged it," she said. She should have felt irritation at his question, but she knew it was simply curiosity that prompted it, not judgment. "It was a very good match for me. Even after he died, I had a manor, a farm, an income. That is...until..."

He said nothing, waiting for her to continue. Soon enough she did. "They came in the night. We had no warning." Her voice was very low, and it shook a little. "I would have been killed, if Bart had not roused me; he nearly threw me out the window. I don't even know if he's alive. I hid in the woods and watched the house burn. But then they started hunting through the trees, and I ran, and ran, and…"

Turning away from him, she pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. It was over now, and she would not break down. He said nothing, but she could feel him very close to her, his presence comforting. In a minute or two she regained her composure, and turned to find him looking toward the south.

"These are dark times," he said, unconsciously echoing Bilbo's words. He looked down at her with a gentle smile. "But this place will heal you, and lessen your pain, if you let it. It has always done that for me. I wish I too could linger here, but I must go soon."

It was as if a cloud had passed over the sun, and she was silent for a moment. "So, are you going home, now that the Council is over?" she asked in a small voice.

"No, my path lies southward. You may have heard about our journey. I saw you last night; you have become friends with the hobbits. They are very...talkative creatures."

"Oh, yes, indeed they are." Had he been watching her? The thought warmed her. "They told me all about the 'secret council' and the adventure they will be going on. But they made it sound like a lark, a day trip."

"It is no lark, I am afraid. We must go to Mordor, to destroy a great evil."

His matter-of-factness dismayed her. She had spent some time the night before talking with two of the hobbits, Merry and Pippin, or rather, they had spent time talking with her, as they did more of it than she. They had been quite carefree about the whole business, and she half suspected they had made it all up. But now a fist clutched at her heart.

"It sounds like suicide," she said with horror. "Why would they make you… that is…all of you… do this thing?"

"No one ‘makes’ us go," he said calmly. "It is a great honor to be chosen."

She stopped dead in her tracks, making him turn to face her. "What! Are you mad?" Her voice rose angrily, a little desperately. "You asked to be chosen? Why would you do such a thing, don't you know what will happen to you? It's insanity, you mustn't do this!" He only looked at her, his eyes wide.

Her hand flew to her mouth, as if she could take back the words she had just said. "I'm so sorry," she breathed. Embarrassed, she looked down to the ground, studying her shoes. "I don't know why I said that. It's none of my business, of course. Please forgive me."

For a moment he said nothing, and it was a few moments before she could look up again to face him. She was afraid of what she would see; she feared she had annoyed him, and had managed to lose a friend almost as soon as she had found one. But he did not look annoyed or angry at her outburst. Those blue eyes were as soft as ever, and regarded her only with concern.

"There is nothing to forgive,” he said quietly. “You have been through a terrible ordeal, and have lost many who were close to you." He reached for her hand, holding it between both of his in a gesture of comfort. "And you have every reason to fear the future. You yourself have seen the changes that have come over this land. If we do not do this, if Sauron is not stopped, the whole of Middle-Earth will fall. There is no one who is not afraid."

She blinked away tears as he looped a lock of her hair behind her ear, letting his hand fall back onto hers again. "But you are not afraid," she said. His hands on hers were warm, his grip firm but gentle. He practically radiated calm, and she felt herself soothed by it.

He shook his head, giving her a small smile. "Do not be too certain of that," he said. "Perhaps I am simply better at hiding it."

He guided her hand to his arm, and by unspoken agreement he began leading her back to the great hall. She was glad for it, actually, as she had grown weary, both from the exercise and the emotion. She stole a glance or two at him as they walked back, and one time he turned his head, catching her eyes with his. A small smile passed between them, and Isobel felt cheered.