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b2mem2015-03-02 11:24 pm
starbrow.livejournal.com) wrote in b2mem2015-03-02 11:24 pm
'Your First Legendary Elvenking' by Amy Fortuna (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
starbrow)
B2MeM Challenge: Aman: who do Bilbo and Frodo meet once they are living in Tol Eressea?
Format: Short Story - ~3000 words
Genre: Humour, General
Rating: PG (some vague innuendo)
Warnings: none
Characters: Bilbo, Frodo, Finrod, Elrond, Celebrian
Pairings: Elrond/Celebrian, Finrod/Notebooks, Finrod/Not Getting Beaten Up By His Little Sister
Creators' Notes (optional): This story is partly inspired by LiveOakWithMoss' lovely Finrod/Beor story, Tis' my faith, every flower.
Summary: Bilbo and Frodo arrive on Tol Eressea and, at first, aren't sure what to make of it. But at least one person (and his notebook) is super excited to meet them.
Bilbo and Frodo were considered part of Elrond’s household on Tol Eressea, and as soon as they landed, they were all but carried to their rooms and given everything the heart of a hobbit could possibly want in the way of food. Both Bilbo and Frodo were taken somewhat aback at the great fuss made over them and the number of strange people who, it seemed, wanted to catch a glimpse of them at all hours of the day and night.
For a while, they felt overwhelmed and lost. Elrond was absorbed in ‘household duties’, or so the Elves who attended them said, but with a wink, and Bilbo remembered, with a laugh, that Elrond was now reunited with his wife, so it was only natural he should be somewhat distracted.
Gandalf had wandered off to, well, wherever Maia went to in Valinor. Frodo remembered him saying something about the gardens of Lorien, and the need for a bit of peace and quiet. They could hardly begrudge it to him.
Galadriel, too, was nowhere to be found. They heard rumours that she had been summoned to appear before the Valar, and no one they spoke to could tell them whether this was a good or a bad thing. In any case, she was no longer on Tol Eressea.
Three days passed like this. Their every need was attended to, and they did little but rest together in the sun and talk of old times. Frodo was already wondering what Sam was doing in the garden now, and thinking of Elanor’s cheerful baby ways with longing.
It was late morning of the fourth day, and they had just finished elevenses, the plates only just cleared away, when one of the Elves who attended them approached.
“Bilbo, Frodo, there’s someone here to see you,” he said.
“Anyone we know?” Bilbo said, looking up at the Elf, who turned and gestured at the open doorway.
“I bring greetings from my sister, who you know as the Lady Galadriel,” a musical voice said, and was immediately followed by the appearance of an Elf who looked very much like Galadriel in male form, except that his hair was more golden than hers and not quite as long. He raised an eyebrow. “I am Finrod Felagund, and my dear hobbits, I am very much at your service.” He made a low bow to the hobbits.
Frodo barely restrained a gasp. “Finrod - as in the one from The Tale of Beren and Luthien?” Bilbo sat up straighter, and gestured their guest to a nearby seat.
“The very same,” Finrod said, sitting down. “But now it’s your story, now it’s the Tale of Frodo of the Nine Fingers and the Ring of Doom that is the talk of the streets in Tirion upon Tuna.” He leaned forward, chin on his hand, looking Frodo up and down very soberly. Frodo sat very straight and still, watching Finrod look into him and almost through him. Then Finrod smiled and it was as if the sun came out from behind the clouds.
“Hobbits!” he said, laughter in his voice, spreading out his arms in a gesture of welcome. “Do you know I have never seen any of your folk before today? You are like the Secondborn, and yet unlike. The Thirdborn of Eru I name you, the hidden folk, the small and secret ones who prevailed where the Wise faltered.”
Frodo shifted uneasily in his seat. “I would not take praise that was not due me,” he said. “I faltered too.”
Bilbo reached for Frodo’s hand, patting it. “My lad, you got far enough to get the job done,” he said. “And much further than any of the Wise, even further than, with your pardon, my lord Finrod, your sister would have.”
Frodo shivered, remembering Galadriel’s eyes alight with imagined power and glory. “No. But she passed her test, where I fear I failed mine.”
“Oh, Frodo,” Finrod said, kindly. His hand went out toward Frodo and then half withdrew again. “If we were to form a society of all those who fought the Darkness in whatever form and failed to defeat it utterly by themselves, you and I would be the founding members, perhaps, but we would shortly be joined by all my cousins, my brothers, my sister, my uncles, my little niece Celebrian, indeed, all my kin. If you have failed, and I do not think you did, your failure was far more of a success than my cousin Fingon’s, or even my uncle Fingolfin’s.”
Frodo lifted his head, looking Finrod in the eyes, seeing there only acceptance and shared old pain. “You fought him too,” Frodo said. “Of course you did, so the tales say.”
Bilbo, under his breath, began to mutter the words of an ancient song. “Then sudden Felagund there swaying/sang in answer a song of staying/resisting, battling against power/of secrets kept, strength like a tower....” He trailed off, looking sharply at Finrod. “You fought the Dark Lord with songs?”
Finrod laughed. “To each the weapon that best suits him!” He quieted, continuing. “Yes, I fought Sauron with a song. I called upon the Great Music, and wove all my memories of joy and gladness into that song. And so I was betrayed, for he found a way to awaken ill memories and so distract me. It was ever his way and the way of all who serve him.”
“The Nazgul,” Frodo said, whispering. “I thought of horrible things when they were near. They filled me with such fear. I could not stand against them.”
“You survived them, my boy,” Bilbo said. “That is all that matters, when it comes to that.”
Finrod glanced from one of them to the other quickly, then shook his head. “I have known you so little time and already our talk has turned so dark! I was sent here by my sister to gladden your hearts, not cast them down.” He put out his hands to them both, and Bilbo and Frodo each took a hand. Bilbo shook his but Frodo kissed Finrod’s hand, a gesture of respect, but also a token of esteem and friendship to one who had suffered like himself, and at the same hands.
“I was most pleased to come and meet you on behalf of my sister,” Finrod went on after a moment, “for my heart always yearns for word from across the Sundering Seas, and I would know all about your race, or at least all that you may tell me.”
Frodo laughed a little, looking over at Bilbo. “You may regret that, once we start on the family trees!” he said.
“Never!” Finrod answered merrily. “Family trees are a speciality of mine, and I would love to hear all of yours. I call to mind the days I spent with Andreth, Wise Woman of the House of Beor, tracing back her family trees in an effort to find the Edain’s earliest recorded histories. But a moment, I must retrieve my notebook!” With a laugh, he got to his feet and swiftly left the room, leaving the door open.
“Well, my lad, what do you think of your first legendary Elvenking?” Bilbo said, turning to Frodo.
“It seems right that he is the Lady’s brother,” Frodo said carefully. “Yet he seems so much more merry and young than ever she did.”
“He does, you’re right,” Bilbo mused. “He’s not my first Elvenking, though, but I think I prefer him to Thranduil, although I liked Thranduil well enough. But the Lord Finrod has a way of making this old heart feel young again, even more so than this land does.”
They looked up again and went silent as Finrod slipped back into the room, carrying a thick notebook, clearly well-used, and along with it a quill and inkwell. He sat down, making a little show of arranging his notebook at the proper angle and setting up his inkwell on the table near at hand.
“And now,” he said to Bilbo, “what of the earliest days of your people? What do your legends tell you of how you began?”
Bilbo answered at some length, and Frodo, who of course knew the tale already, drifted off into daydreams, warm and drowsy in the light of the sun. The air was soft and cool around him and soon he closed his eyes, vaguely hearing Bilbo talking steadily, punctuated every now and then by a verbal nod or an excited exclamation from Finrod. Just being in the presence of this prince of the Noldor was soothing, not unlike Elrond’s presence was, but even more so.
After some little time, they were interrupted by the arrival of luncheon being laid out before them on the table, and Frodo sat up, opening his eyes. Bilbo and Finrod were still talking eagerly. Bilbo was explaining the differences in the three kinds of hobbits, and Finrod was making quick sketches in his notebook from Bilbo’s descriptions, and showing them to Bilbo to see if they were more-or-less correct.
“All three kinds have hair on the feet, though?” Finrod asked, and continued as if to himself, “...and I thought Men had hair everywhere!”
Frodo couldn’t keep himself from laughing at that, and at his giggles, Bilbo and Finrod both turned to look at him, and then laughed themselves. Finrod recovered first, and quickly drew something in his notebook, then turned it so that Bilbo and Frodo could see.
It was Frodo, smiling, looking contented and happy as he lay back in his chair. “There, you see, I can show my sister, whose wrath I would otherwise fear, that I have fulfilled her charge to me,” Finrod said.
“I imagine the Lady Galadriel’s wrath would be formidable indeed to face,” Frodo said.
Finrod gave him an earnest glance. “Her wrath has softened over the years, if anything. I shall not speak of certain broken bones inflicted by her upon me in our youth.”
“Oh, come now, what did you do?” Bilbo said with a grin.
Finrod stuck out his chin with a flash of a smile. “It was entirely unprovoked!” he said. “I may have said something about the wholly ridiculous affection she had for Laurefindel once upon a time, always swanning around in that silly clothing he favoured. It was but a passing fancy of hers, but, alas, it did not pass quickly enough to spare me from injury!”
Bilbo and Frodo both roared with laughter at the thought of the Lady Galadriel, stately, beautiful, and graceful, as a small elfling composed entirely of golden hair and fury, overcoming Finrod, formidable warrior prince.
“Very well, very well,” Finrod said at last, laughing himself even as he tried to get them to stop laughing. “From what I have heard of hobbits, I am surprised I have managed to distract you from luncheon for even this long.” He grabbed a roll from atop a pile of them and stuffed it in his mouth. From behind Frodo, a choked, wheezing sound could be heard, as if one of the Elves serving them could barely restrain his own laughter at the sight of the lordly prince stuffing his face like any hobbit.
Bilbo and Frodo glanced at each other, very nearly bursting into giggles again. But they were hobbits, and there was food. They addressed themselves to the table eagerly.
After the luncheon dishes were cleared away, Bilbo and Finrod went back to talking about the early days of the hobbits, punctuated now and then by comments from Frodo, who sat up now, feeling well-rested, well-fed, and content.
It was mid-afternoon, not far from tea-time, when Elrond walked in, closely followed by a beautiful silver-haired elf that Bilbo and Frodo knew must be Celebrian. Finrod glanced up, and then stood up, as Elrond and Celebrian both bowed to him briefly.
“My little niece,” Finrod said, taking Celebrian’s hands in his own, “I am glad to see your restored happiness at last, well-deserved and longed-for! And,” he turned to Elrond, “to meet finally the master of Imladris, of whom I have heard tell much that lightens my heart. Welcome, Elrond, dear friend who I am just now meeting!” He laughed and took Elrond’s hand, and Elrond promptly pulled him forward into an embrace. Celebrian smiled and embraced them both, her arms around them.
Bilbo and Frodo glanced at each other, and smiled happily. After a long moment, the three separated. Elrond and Finrod drew aside, talking very quietly to each other or perhaps only with their minds, Frodo could not tell. Celebrian glanced over at the hobbits.
“Bilbo, Frodo,” she said, coming over to them, “my apologies are due that I did not greet you sooner and welcome you to my household. You are of course free to go where you will on Tol Eressea and live with whom you wish, but Elrond and I hope that you will stay with us.”
“I will be content to rest my old bones here in your fair home,” Bilbo said. “I can think of no other place more fitting to spend my days.”
Frodo nodded. “I too will stay with you. Imladris is the fairest house I ever knew, and I grieved that of the time I spent there I could not stay longer.”
Celebrian smiled. “Then you are welcome. All that we have is yours, and any service we might render you we shall do it gladly.”
“Thank you, my Lady,” Frodo said, bending his head a little.
Finrod came over, taking Celebrian’s hand. “I bear news of your mother,” he said, and she turned to look at him.
“The Valar wished to speak with her about the Rings of Power, and about her temptation to take the One,” he continued. “For she was very near the brink and almost was utterly lost.”
Frodo went pale, remembering that Galadriel had all but said she deliberately drew them to her, and that she admitted that she had long thought what she would do if she came upon the One Ring. And he had offered it to her, simply out of a wish to no longer bear the burden of it.
“She did at the last pass the test, but they wish to speak with her in the Ring of Doom still.”
Celebrian swayed. “Does she have anything to fear?” Behind her, Elrond slipped an arm around her waist and held her close, not speaking, his face buried in her hair.
Finrod paused. “I think not.” He looked at Frodo, noticing the tension in his face, and bent down, placing a hand against Frodo’s cheek. “Frodo, listen. You did not do wrong by offering it to her freely. For all we know, it was that free offer, that example of a rejection of power, which gave her the strength to resist the One herself. Her choice was hers to make, in any case, and we know she chose aright, so fear not for her.”
Frodo nodded, some of the tension draining away at Finrod’s touch and words.
Finrod straightened, turning again to Celebrian. “If I may beg the indulgence of the lady of the house,” he began formally, but was interrupted by Celebrian’s laughter at his overly-formal manner.
“You know you may have anything we can give you, uncle,” she said. “What would you like?”
“Time, niece,” he said. “I wish to spend some days with these two,” he gestured to Bilbo and Frodo, “as long as they are willing to answer my questions. Also, I may need more notebooks and ink. It has been a very long time since I discovered a new race of the Children of Eru, and there is much to discuss.”
“Oh,” Elrond said, looking up, “I meant to say at the first that some of your notebooks on the Secondborn survived the sack of Nargothrond and made their way to my house, including a single copy of your Athrabeth.”
Finrod’s face filled with excitement. “The Athrabeth survived? Glad am I to hear it!”
“A copy now resides in the library of Imladris, and also in the library of Minas Tirith in Gondor,” Elrond said. “I brought the original with me, along with all your other notebooks, and they are yours once more." He laughed, shaking his head at Finrod. "I was most startled at some of your findings about my ancestors, and thoroughly impressed by the depth of your research."
Finrod raised one eyebrow. "I live in hope that you did not make copies of all my notebooks!"
"Nay," Elrond said, "only the ones which concerned themselves with philosophy. The rest I return to you, unread by any save my eyes alone. Take back your own, Friend-of-Men, if you will.”
“I will indeed,” Finrod said, and bowed very slightly to Elrond. “My thanks to you for your keeping of my most valued treasures.”
“I will now ensure that you have rooms prepared for you,” Celebrian said. “It is not my indulgence you must beg, but theirs, uncle,” she gestured to Bilbo and Frodo, “for you will talk them hoarse if you are not careful.”
Finrod held up his hands, laughing. “I will be careful, I will.” He turned to the hobbits. “Will you also grant me time, so precious to you I know, that I may record all that you will tell me of your people?”
“I will, gladly,” Bilbo said. “As many days as you need. An old hobbit loves little more than regular meals, a warm spot in the sun, and someone to natter on to about family history, in any case.”
“I will as well,” Frodo said with a smile at Bilbo.
“Then we are agreed,” Finrod said, and turned back to Elrond and Celebrian. “Your pardon I beg, my dear ones, for this scholar must bend to his task.” They laughed, and, Elrond’s arm still around Celebrian’s waist, left the room, Elrond whispering something in Celebrian’s ear, at which she laughed merrily.
Finrod took his seat again and made as if to take up his notebook once more. But Bilbo put a hand on it.
“I believe it’s time for tea,” he said.
Format: Short Story - ~3000 words
Genre: Humour, General
Rating: PG (some vague innuendo)
Warnings: none
Characters: Bilbo, Frodo, Finrod, Elrond, Celebrian
Pairings: Elrond/Celebrian, Finrod/Notebooks, Finrod/Not Getting Beaten Up By His Little Sister
Creators' Notes (optional): This story is partly inspired by LiveOakWithMoss' lovely Finrod/Beor story, Tis' my faith, every flower.
Summary: Bilbo and Frodo arrive on Tol Eressea and, at first, aren't sure what to make of it. But at least one person (and his notebook) is super excited to meet them.
Bilbo and Frodo were considered part of Elrond’s household on Tol Eressea, and as soon as they landed, they were all but carried to their rooms and given everything the heart of a hobbit could possibly want in the way of food. Both Bilbo and Frodo were taken somewhat aback at the great fuss made over them and the number of strange people who, it seemed, wanted to catch a glimpse of them at all hours of the day and night.
For a while, they felt overwhelmed and lost. Elrond was absorbed in ‘household duties’, or so the Elves who attended them said, but with a wink, and Bilbo remembered, with a laugh, that Elrond was now reunited with his wife, so it was only natural he should be somewhat distracted.
Gandalf had wandered off to, well, wherever Maia went to in Valinor. Frodo remembered him saying something about the gardens of Lorien, and the need for a bit of peace and quiet. They could hardly begrudge it to him.
Galadriel, too, was nowhere to be found. They heard rumours that she had been summoned to appear before the Valar, and no one they spoke to could tell them whether this was a good or a bad thing. In any case, she was no longer on Tol Eressea.
Three days passed like this. Their every need was attended to, and they did little but rest together in the sun and talk of old times. Frodo was already wondering what Sam was doing in the garden now, and thinking of Elanor’s cheerful baby ways with longing.
It was late morning of the fourth day, and they had just finished elevenses, the plates only just cleared away, when one of the Elves who attended them approached.
“Bilbo, Frodo, there’s someone here to see you,” he said.
“Anyone we know?” Bilbo said, looking up at the Elf, who turned and gestured at the open doorway.
“I bring greetings from my sister, who you know as the Lady Galadriel,” a musical voice said, and was immediately followed by the appearance of an Elf who looked very much like Galadriel in male form, except that his hair was more golden than hers and not quite as long. He raised an eyebrow. “I am Finrod Felagund, and my dear hobbits, I am very much at your service.” He made a low bow to the hobbits.
Frodo barely restrained a gasp. “Finrod - as in the one from The Tale of Beren and Luthien?” Bilbo sat up straighter, and gestured their guest to a nearby seat.
“The very same,” Finrod said, sitting down. “But now it’s your story, now it’s the Tale of Frodo of the Nine Fingers and the Ring of Doom that is the talk of the streets in Tirion upon Tuna.” He leaned forward, chin on his hand, looking Frodo up and down very soberly. Frodo sat very straight and still, watching Finrod look into him and almost through him. Then Finrod smiled and it was as if the sun came out from behind the clouds.
“Hobbits!” he said, laughter in his voice, spreading out his arms in a gesture of welcome. “Do you know I have never seen any of your folk before today? You are like the Secondborn, and yet unlike. The Thirdborn of Eru I name you, the hidden folk, the small and secret ones who prevailed where the Wise faltered.”
Frodo shifted uneasily in his seat. “I would not take praise that was not due me,” he said. “I faltered too.”
Bilbo reached for Frodo’s hand, patting it. “My lad, you got far enough to get the job done,” he said. “And much further than any of the Wise, even further than, with your pardon, my lord Finrod, your sister would have.”
Frodo shivered, remembering Galadriel’s eyes alight with imagined power and glory. “No. But she passed her test, where I fear I failed mine.”
“Oh, Frodo,” Finrod said, kindly. His hand went out toward Frodo and then half withdrew again. “If we were to form a society of all those who fought the Darkness in whatever form and failed to defeat it utterly by themselves, you and I would be the founding members, perhaps, but we would shortly be joined by all my cousins, my brothers, my sister, my uncles, my little niece Celebrian, indeed, all my kin. If you have failed, and I do not think you did, your failure was far more of a success than my cousin Fingon’s, or even my uncle Fingolfin’s.”
Frodo lifted his head, looking Finrod in the eyes, seeing there only acceptance and shared old pain. “You fought him too,” Frodo said. “Of course you did, so the tales say.”
Bilbo, under his breath, began to mutter the words of an ancient song. “Then sudden Felagund there swaying/sang in answer a song of staying/resisting, battling against power/of secrets kept, strength like a tower....” He trailed off, looking sharply at Finrod. “You fought the Dark Lord with songs?”
Finrod laughed. “To each the weapon that best suits him!” He quieted, continuing. “Yes, I fought Sauron with a song. I called upon the Great Music, and wove all my memories of joy and gladness into that song. And so I was betrayed, for he found a way to awaken ill memories and so distract me. It was ever his way and the way of all who serve him.”
“The Nazgul,” Frodo said, whispering. “I thought of horrible things when they were near. They filled me with such fear. I could not stand against them.”
“You survived them, my boy,” Bilbo said. “That is all that matters, when it comes to that.”
Finrod glanced from one of them to the other quickly, then shook his head. “I have known you so little time and already our talk has turned so dark! I was sent here by my sister to gladden your hearts, not cast them down.” He put out his hands to them both, and Bilbo and Frodo each took a hand. Bilbo shook his but Frodo kissed Finrod’s hand, a gesture of respect, but also a token of esteem and friendship to one who had suffered like himself, and at the same hands.
“I was most pleased to come and meet you on behalf of my sister,” Finrod went on after a moment, “for my heart always yearns for word from across the Sundering Seas, and I would know all about your race, or at least all that you may tell me.”
Frodo laughed a little, looking over at Bilbo. “You may regret that, once we start on the family trees!” he said.
“Never!” Finrod answered merrily. “Family trees are a speciality of mine, and I would love to hear all of yours. I call to mind the days I spent with Andreth, Wise Woman of the House of Beor, tracing back her family trees in an effort to find the Edain’s earliest recorded histories. But a moment, I must retrieve my notebook!” With a laugh, he got to his feet and swiftly left the room, leaving the door open.
“Well, my lad, what do you think of your first legendary Elvenking?” Bilbo said, turning to Frodo.
“It seems right that he is the Lady’s brother,” Frodo said carefully. “Yet he seems so much more merry and young than ever she did.”
“He does, you’re right,” Bilbo mused. “He’s not my first Elvenking, though, but I think I prefer him to Thranduil, although I liked Thranduil well enough. But the Lord Finrod has a way of making this old heart feel young again, even more so than this land does.”
They looked up again and went silent as Finrod slipped back into the room, carrying a thick notebook, clearly well-used, and along with it a quill and inkwell. He sat down, making a little show of arranging his notebook at the proper angle and setting up his inkwell on the table near at hand.
“And now,” he said to Bilbo, “what of the earliest days of your people? What do your legends tell you of how you began?”
Bilbo answered at some length, and Frodo, who of course knew the tale already, drifted off into daydreams, warm and drowsy in the light of the sun. The air was soft and cool around him and soon he closed his eyes, vaguely hearing Bilbo talking steadily, punctuated every now and then by a verbal nod or an excited exclamation from Finrod. Just being in the presence of this prince of the Noldor was soothing, not unlike Elrond’s presence was, but even more so.
After some little time, they were interrupted by the arrival of luncheon being laid out before them on the table, and Frodo sat up, opening his eyes. Bilbo and Finrod were still talking eagerly. Bilbo was explaining the differences in the three kinds of hobbits, and Finrod was making quick sketches in his notebook from Bilbo’s descriptions, and showing them to Bilbo to see if they were more-or-less correct.
“All three kinds have hair on the feet, though?” Finrod asked, and continued as if to himself, “...and I thought Men had hair everywhere!”
Frodo couldn’t keep himself from laughing at that, and at his giggles, Bilbo and Finrod both turned to look at him, and then laughed themselves. Finrod recovered first, and quickly drew something in his notebook, then turned it so that Bilbo and Frodo could see.
It was Frodo, smiling, looking contented and happy as he lay back in his chair. “There, you see, I can show my sister, whose wrath I would otherwise fear, that I have fulfilled her charge to me,” Finrod said.
“I imagine the Lady Galadriel’s wrath would be formidable indeed to face,” Frodo said.
Finrod gave him an earnest glance. “Her wrath has softened over the years, if anything. I shall not speak of certain broken bones inflicted by her upon me in our youth.”
“Oh, come now, what did you do?” Bilbo said with a grin.
Finrod stuck out his chin with a flash of a smile. “It was entirely unprovoked!” he said. “I may have said something about the wholly ridiculous affection she had for Laurefindel once upon a time, always swanning around in that silly clothing he favoured. It was but a passing fancy of hers, but, alas, it did not pass quickly enough to spare me from injury!”
Bilbo and Frodo both roared with laughter at the thought of the Lady Galadriel, stately, beautiful, and graceful, as a small elfling composed entirely of golden hair and fury, overcoming Finrod, formidable warrior prince.
“Very well, very well,” Finrod said at last, laughing himself even as he tried to get them to stop laughing. “From what I have heard of hobbits, I am surprised I have managed to distract you from luncheon for even this long.” He grabbed a roll from atop a pile of them and stuffed it in his mouth. From behind Frodo, a choked, wheezing sound could be heard, as if one of the Elves serving them could barely restrain his own laughter at the sight of the lordly prince stuffing his face like any hobbit.
Bilbo and Frodo glanced at each other, very nearly bursting into giggles again. But they were hobbits, and there was food. They addressed themselves to the table eagerly.
After the luncheon dishes were cleared away, Bilbo and Finrod went back to talking about the early days of the hobbits, punctuated now and then by comments from Frodo, who sat up now, feeling well-rested, well-fed, and content.
It was mid-afternoon, not far from tea-time, when Elrond walked in, closely followed by a beautiful silver-haired elf that Bilbo and Frodo knew must be Celebrian. Finrod glanced up, and then stood up, as Elrond and Celebrian both bowed to him briefly.
“My little niece,” Finrod said, taking Celebrian’s hands in his own, “I am glad to see your restored happiness at last, well-deserved and longed-for! And,” he turned to Elrond, “to meet finally the master of Imladris, of whom I have heard tell much that lightens my heart. Welcome, Elrond, dear friend who I am just now meeting!” He laughed and took Elrond’s hand, and Elrond promptly pulled him forward into an embrace. Celebrian smiled and embraced them both, her arms around them.
Bilbo and Frodo glanced at each other, and smiled happily. After a long moment, the three separated. Elrond and Finrod drew aside, talking very quietly to each other or perhaps only with their minds, Frodo could not tell. Celebrian glanced over at the hobbits.
“Bilbo, Frodo,” she said, coming over to them, “my apologies are due that I did not greet you sooner and welcome you to my household. You are of course free to go where you will on Tol Eressea and live with whom you wish, but Elrond and I hope that you will stay with us.”
“I will be content to rest my old bones here in your fair home,” Bilbo said. “I can think of no other place more fitting to spend my days.”
Frodo nodded. “I too will stay with you. Imladris is the fairest house I ever knew, and I grieved that of the time I spent there I could not stay longer.”
Celebrian smiled. “Then you are welcome. All that we have is yours, and any service we might render you we shall do it gladly.”
“Thank you, my Lady,” Frodo said, bending his head a little.
Finrod came over, taking Celebrian’s hand. “I bear news of your mother,” he said, and she turned to look at him.
“The Valar wished to speak with her about the Rings of Power, and about her temptation to take the One,” he continued. “For she was very near the brink and almost was utterly lost.”
Frodo went pale, remembering that Galadriel had all but said she deliberately drew them to her, and that she admitted that she had long thought what she would do if she came upon the One Ring. And he had offered it to her, simply out of a wish to no longer bear the burden of it.
“She did at the last pass the test, but they wish to speak with her in the Ring of Doom still.”
Celebrian swayed. “Does she have anything to fear?” Behind her, Elrond slipped an arm around her waist and held her close, not speaking, his face buried in her hair.
Finrod paused. “I think not.” He looked at Frodo, noticing the tension in his face, and bent down, placing a hand against Frodo’s cheek. “Frodo, listen. You did not do wrong by offering it to her freely. For all we know, it was that free offer, that example of a rejection of power, which gave her the strength to resist the One herself. Her choice was hers to make, in any case, and we know she chose aright, so fear not for her.”
Frodo nodded, some of the tension draining away at Finrod’s touch and words.
Finrod straightened, turning again to Celebrian. “If I may beg the indulgence of the lady of the house,” he began formally, but was interrupted by Celebrian’s laughter at his overly-formal manner.
“You know you may have anything we can give you, uncle,” she said. “What would you like?”
“Time, niece,” he said. “I wish to spend some days with these two,” he gestured to Bilbo and Frodo, “as long as they are willing to answer my questions. Also, I may need more notebooks and ink. It has been a very long time since I discovered a new race of the Children of Eru, and there is much to discuss.”
“Oh,” Elrond said, looking up, “I meant to say at the first that some of your notebooks on the Secondborn survived the sack of Nargothrond and made their way to my house, including a single copy of your Athrabeth.”
Finrod’s face filled with excitement. “The Athrabeth survived? Glad am I to hear it!”
“A copy now resides in the library of Imladris, and also in the library of Minas Tirith in Gondor,” Elrond said. “I brought the original with me, along with all your other notebooks, and they are yours once more." He laughed, shaking his head at Finrod. "I was most startled at some of your findings about my ancestors, and thoroughly impressed by the depth of your research."
Finrod raised one eyebrow. "I live in hope that you did not make copies of all my notebooks!"
"Nay," Elrond said, "only the ones which concerned themselves with philosophy. The rest I return to you, unread by any save my eyes alone. Take back your own, Friend-of-Men, if you will.”
“I will indeed,” Finrod said, and bowed very slightly to Elrond. “My thanks to you for your keeping of my most valued treasures.”
“I will now ensure that you have rooms prepared for you,” Celebrian said. “It is not my indulgence you must beg, but theirs, uncle,” she gestured to Bilbo and Frodo, “for you will talk them hoarse if you are not careful.”
Finrod held up his hands, laughing. “I will be careful, I will.” He turned to the hobbits. “Will you also grant me time, so precious to you I know, that I may record all that you will tell me of your people?”
“I will, gladly,” Bilbo said. “As many days as you need. An old hobbit loves little more than regular meals, a warm spot in the sun, and someone to natter on to about family history, in any case.”
“I will as well,” Frodo said with a smile at Bilbo.
“Then we are agreed,” Finrod said, and turned back to Elrond and Celebrian. “Your pardon I beg, my dear ones, for this scholar must bend to his task.” They laughed, and, Elrond’s arm still around Celebrian’s waist, left the room, Elrond whispering something in Celebrian’s ear, at which she laughed merrily.
Finrod took his seat again and made as if to take up his notebook once more. But Bilbo put a hand on it.
“I believe it’s time for tea,” he said.
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“The Thirdborn of Eru I name you, the hidden folk, the small and secret ones who prevailed where the Wise faltered.”
Still Finrod! And I love any mention of his song battle. You describe is very well through Bilbo's voice:
Bilbo, under his breath, began to mutter the words of an ancient song. “Then sudden Felagund there swaying/sang in answer a song of staying/resisting, battling against power/of secrets kept, strength like a tower....” He trailed off, looking sharply at Finrod. “You fought the Dark Lord with songs?”
Finrod laughed. “To each the weapon that best suits him!” He quieted, continuing. “Yes, I fought Sauron with a song. I called upon the Great Music, and wove all my memories of joy and gladness into that song. And so I was betrayed, for he found a way to awaken ill memories and so distract me. It was ever his way and the way of all who serve him.”
I love the idea of Finrod writing a history of Hobbits. It's a lovely feel good story that ties together the Hobbits' role in finally triumphing in the battle for Middle-earth and how it relates to that of the high elves of the First Age.
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It's lovely to see fic from you. Oddly enough, I actually hunted up Least Expected on the Wayback Machine about a week ago :-)
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Somewhere I still have a backup of all the files from Least Expected - I'd love to get them online again somehow. There must be stories in there which have never been posted anywhere else.
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Your Finrod is like an Elven Santa Claus! He seems to just spread joy wherever he is. I just know that he is going to become a great friend to our two hobbits! I love it.
Thank you for such a wonderful encounter!
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I think, now, if any of my characters encounter Finrod in Valinor, he will be rather like this.
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- Erulisse (one L)
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