✧

𝔗𝐡𝐞 ℌ𝐨𝐛𝐛𝐢𝐭

The sun had turned her gaze once again upon the Hidden Valley, and her rays lit the way for Naerien as she left her quarters three days later. She was feeling strange, and by that, she meant she didn't know how she was feeling. She was no longer num...and that was odd. She felt as though a fog had been lifted from her, and everything she had been suppressing for so long was rising again. She was more sensitive to both physical and emotional stimulation and it felt as if her vision and hearing were sharper. The worst of it was that she wasn't sure how she should feel. She still felt grief, and she still felt the pain of her scarred past. But on top of that was a stronger feeling, one of hope. Hope that she wasn't simply a shell of a person and that if she could now feel again, then perhaps she could finally move on.

The thought of moving on caught her off guard. She hadn't expected her train of thought to arrive at that idea, but, then again, the previous day had been entirely unexpected. Naerien wasn't quite sure how she felt about that either.

Frustration bubbled up within her. She was agitated at her own confusion and her heart's indecision. It was as if her very soul was of many different personalities that all wished to prevail. It was surely going to drive her mad.

The previous day's events were the cause of her raging emotions and thoughts, she knew (the unexpected arrival of thirteen dwarves, a hobbit, and a wizard could have that effect). She had spent so long-running and hiding from her past, but now she was forced to face them...at least she was supposed to.

Her mind turned to Thorin and his mission. He intended to take back his home. It was either brave or wholeheartedly stupid...or both. Naerien did not know which. All she knew was that it was a brazen attempt...and whether that attempt would succeed or fail was a mystery as well.

The she-elf hadn't realized where she was going until she had arrived in the chamber in which the Mural of Dagorlad was spread wide on the wall. Opposite was the gentle-faced statue of an elf who carried the shards of Isildur's sword, Narsil. What she hadn't expected to see (unexpected things seemed to happen often now) was the half-ling, Bilbo Baggins. He was staring at the mural with interest, his keen gaze in particular eyeing the dark figure of Sauron looming over Isildur, the former King of the Númenoreans.

"Do you know the story?" Naerien asked curiously. She would admit that the half-ling's presence in Rivendell interested her a great deal. She didn't understand what a hobbit was doing among the Company of Thorin.

Bilbo jumped out of his skin like a frightened rabbit and spun around. Naerien smiled apologetically and stepped forward. "I apologize," she told him quickly, "I did not mean to scare you."

"N-no," the hobbit stammered, still collecting his wits. "It's alright. I just didn't see you come in." He still had a shocked look on his face, as if the notion of an elf speaking to him was unbelievable. Naerien could understand the feeling, as many other races in Middle-earth knew elves to be mysterious and unearthly. He cleared his throat and a look of recognition flittered across his face.

"I'm Bilbo Baggins," he greeted, recovering his manners rather quickly. Though he seemed to have forgotten that they had met previously. "Forgive me, but, erm, I've forgotten your name," he admitted sheepishly.

"My name is Naerien," she told him, and he nodded to her, flashing her a polite smile.

Bilbo turned back to the painting, his eyes sparkling with interest. "I haven't," he said suddenly, then quickly clarified, "heard the story, I mean."

Naerien nodded and stepped closer, her eyes studying the painting darkly as she clasped her hands together. Her green eyes were dark as she stared at the image of Sauron. "Thousands of years ago, during the Second Age," she started to tell the story and her heart grew heavy again, "there was once a great elven kingdom called Eregion. It was ruled by a wise and kind king who was also the greatest jewel-smith of the elves. He was so skilled, in fact, that he and the great jewel-smiths were sought out by Sauron.

"Sauron was perhaps the greatest evil Middle-earth had ever seen, and the servant of a being of pure darkness. He deceived the elves of Eregion to craft for him sixteen rings of great power. However, the king, Celebrimbor, did not trust Sauron, even though he wasn't aware of his true identity. So he crafted three rings in secret, and they were the most powerful.

"Celebrimbor was wise to distrust Sauron, because he too had crafted a ring in secret. It was the greatest of all the rings, and had the power to bind the others together. The Free Peoples have devised a verse about them:

"Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,
Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,
Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,
One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.
One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,
One Ring to bring them all, and in the darkness bind them,
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie."

Naerien paused after she finished the poem, glancing at the hobbit, who looked completely enraptured by her tale. He was staring at the mural again, his blue eyes wide. She took a deep breath, then continued her tale, hoping that he didn't notice that her voice quivered as she spoke.

"When Sauron saw that the time was right, he used the One Ring to take control of the other rings, including the Elven rings, which had been crafted with the same magic as the others. He captured and tortured Celebrimbor, forcing him to give up the locations of all the rings." She paused, no longer in the present. She was standing on a scorched battlefield. There was an army of terrible, dark creatures battling an army of elves, glowing like hope among despair. Above the heads of the elves and the orcs was what she initially thought was a banner. A moment passed and revealed that it wasn't a flag at all. Hoisted high on a wicked-looking pike was —

She sucked in a breath, squeezing her eyes shut and opening them again. Bilbo was watching her carefully now, so she continued the story, her vision blurred by tears that she refused to let fall.  She knew that he saw her sorrow, but she simply ignored it and carried on. "However, the location of the Elven rings was a secret Celebrimbor carried to his grave.

"For many years Sauron reined over Eriador with an iron fist. He had torn Eregion asunder and the surviving elves had fled with the aid of Elrond, who founded Rivendell to keep them safe.

"There was one thing Sauron feared, however, and it was a race of Men called the Númenor, who arrived with an army at a time when all hope was lost. The elves allied with the Númenor and took a stand against the forces of Sauron. Without the aid of Men, the world would not be as it is today.

"They destroyed Sauron's army and he fled to the East, but that was not the end of the Dark Lord. He gathered his strength and amassed another army, but in his desperation to strike down the Númenoreans, he attacked before he had recovered his full strength.

"The son of the Númenor king, Isildur, fought against Sauron on the plains of Dagorlad in Mordor and he cut the Ring off his finger. Deprived of his power, Sauron's mortal body was destroyed, and Eriador was free once again.

"Ever since then, the Free Men of Middle-earth have lived in relative peace."

There was a long, thoughtful pause between the hobbit and the elf as both reflected on the story in different ways. For Bilbo, the story had been exciting, but for Naerien, it was her bloody, tragic past that very well could have ended much differently.

"And...what happened to the Ring?" Bilbo inquired curiously, breaking the silence finally.

"Isildur took the Ring, refusing to destroy it," she explained. "But three years later he was killed by a band of orcs and the Ring was lost." Naerien fixed her gaze upon the mural, lost in her mind again. She had gone deeper in her memories than she had ever been, and the horrors she saw were enough to fuel the nightmares of mortal men for years to come.

✧

After that morning, Naerien had finally decided what emotion would take her heart. It seemed like the hope of moving on had dangled the keys of freedom right in her face, only to snatch them away and leave her in the prison that was grief. She had quickly excused herself from the chamber, and though she didn't know it, Bilbo had put enough pieces together to understand.

The truth was, Bilbo couldn't stop thinking about that morning. Even as his time in Rivendell wore on (the dwarves were more than happy to spend more time than they had planned in the Hidden Valley), the hobbit couldn't stop thinking about the pure agony that had shone through her dark, regal voice as she retold the tale to him. When she had asked him about the mural, he never thought she would tell the story from personal experience. If Bilbo knew anything, it was the difference between retelling a story you have heard from someone else and recalling your own memories.

He shivered at the thought of witnessing so much war, despite the warm air around him and the sun on his face. An overwhelming pity for the she-elf swept over him.

Naerien, meanwhile, had decided to focus on the silver circlet she had abandoned days ago. This was her solution to most things, she was ashamed to admit. When the pain became unbearable, she would run from it and distract herself, becoming numb once again. It was safer, she would always tell herself. If she was numb, then she would never feel the pain of loss again.

Bilbo didn't see or hear of her until a day later, after Elrond himself had approached him and told the hobbit that he was welcome to stay in Rivendell if he so chose. The hobbit was wandering alone again, for that was by far his favorite thing to do in Imladris, when he came across her in Lord Elrond's House. He was passing the entryway of a large, dark room that was only lit by a hearth in the center, when he saw her familiar dark blonde hair rolling down the back of a figure sitting beside the roaring fire. If she were any other elf, he would have not recognized her, but one thing he noticed was that, aside from a rare few, none of the elves had fair hair.

He debated whether or not to enter the hall, but his curiosity of the place, and of the she-elf, finally won out. He walked silently into the room, finding that Naerien was the only one inside.
She caught his movement and turned her head. Bilbo swore that, in the firelight, he could see tears on her face. Before he could know for sure, however, she turned her face back to the fire.

"I didn't mean to disturb you," the hobbit started to say immediately, suddenly feeling as though he shouldn't have entered, but she cut him off.

"This is the Hall of Fire," she informed him, her words low in volume but surprisingly strong. "Any and all are welcome to sit and think."

The room went completely silent, save for the sound of the crackling fire within the hearth. Without knowing quite what to do, Bilbo sat down a little ways away from her. He noticed quickly that the Hall of Fire was not furnished — there weren't even any chairs to sit upon. Only the massive hearth sat in the center of the room, centered between two rows of carved stone pillars. It was much grander than the one at his hobbit hole back in Bag End and he couldn't help but long for his sitting room. He imagined himself back in his armchair, with a book in his hands. Alas, he was far away from Bag End, on a journey no one but Gandalf seemed to want him on.

They sat in silence for a long while, and Bilbo wasn't quite sure how much time had passed. The flames were calming in that he no longer felt the weight of the journey ahead of him on his shoulders. Every thought of proving his worth had left his mind for the time being, and it seemed as the fire simply burned his troubles away.

It seemed as though Bilbo had only blinked and the light outside began to fade. It was as though he had been in a trance, the dancing flames taking his consciousness captive. He managed to shake himself from the blissful state and looked around the darkening hall. Naerien was still there, he realized, but she had moved. Her movement had caused him to wake from his half-awake, dream-like condition. He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the growing gloom.

Wordlessly, Naerien stood to leave, but, before he could stop himself, he stopped her. "Wait!"

She turned around, driven by curiosity. "What can I do for you, Master Baggins?"

He was at a sudden loss for words. He wasn't sure why he had called for her; his voice seemed to have a mind of its own, much to his displeasure. He came up with an excuse rather quickly, though he fumbled over his words. "I was just, er — what I mean is, if you don't mind, um...Do you mind if I join you? Unless, of course, you'd rather be alone..."

Bilbo wasn't sure if it was a trick of the shadows, but he swore there was a ghost of a smile on her face. "Of course. I have no plans for the evening."

So they walked side-by-side out of the Hall of Fire, not speaking a word as they did so. They listened to the water running through Rivendell, echoing pleasantly off the walls of the House of Elrond. The birds had gone to sleep and the crickets had taken their place in the unending song of the world, chirping their steady rhythm like they did night after night. It was an odd thing, seeing a she-elf and a hobbit sharing time together, but neither of them seemed to mind all that much. The silence between them was soothing to their souls, gentle and comforting like the midsummer breeze that blew through their hair and clothes.

When Naerien broke the silence, it wasn't jarring or unexpected. Her silvery voice seemed to join in the hymn of the night — a deep, melodious song that blended seamlessly with nature's soft orchestra. "Thank you, Master Baggins, for walking with me." They had ended up standing on one of the many crisscrossing bridges that connected Rivendell together, looking out over the Hidden Valley as the crescent moon's light twinkled down upon its guests and inhabitants.

"Of course," Bilbo replied readily. "I should be thanking you for allowing me to walk with you."

"You act as if I am royalty," she chuckled lightly, turning to him. "I am but a humble soul, just the same as you."

"Well, I don't know about that," he replied. She raised an eyebrow at his words and his eyes blew wide, realizing how they sounded. "No-no, I didn't mean it like that," he stammered quickly. "I only meant that you're an elf."

Naerien seemed genuinely amused with his struggle, which caused the hobbit to flush pink in the cheeks as he tried to recover his wits.

"I am not helping my case, am I?" He asked embarrassedly. She chuckled openly this time, her soft smile causing Bilbo to break into an unsure smile.

"No, I'm afraid not," she replied good-naturedly. "But I understand what you say." She turned her gaze to the Valley below them, her face pensive. "The rest of Middle-earth think of elves as otherworldly, as if we are beings of myth."

"Well, yes, actually," he admitted with a small chuckle.

"In many ways, we are," she told him, turning her forest green gaze to meet his eyes. "We live forever, witnessing the changes of this world like no one else can..." she paused for a second, thoughtful, before continuing, "but we are also people of Middle-earth, just like your kind. I bleed, just like you do; I feel the sun on my skin the same way you do. You and I are the same, Master Baggins. In fact, I envy you."

Bilbo looked at the elf, her ageless features bathed in moonlight. He saw her as someone vastly different from himself. He was just a hobbit, one of the smallest creatures in Middle-earth with no other skills than making smoke rings and having short bouts of unusual courage. Gandalf was a wizard who had the powers of magic at this fingertips; Thorin was a dwarf prince with a claim to one of the greatest kingdoms on Middle-earth; Naerien was a millennia-old elf with infinite wisdom. It confused him to no end that she was envious of him.

"Why?" He found himself asking after a long silence. "Why would you envy me?"

She gave him a tired, weary smile. "Your eyes are full of innocence, Bilbo Baggins. You are unaware of the hardships of this world — of the great evils that the darkness spits out. I envy you because you have not seen what I have seen, and I pray you never will."