20 | The Lady of Rivendell

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Frodo Baggins | Hobbit of the Shire

Location: Rivendell, Middle Earth, Arda

Time: October 2980 T.A

"Mister Frodo, who is that?" Sam asked him when he tapped his shoulder.

His gaze went towards the direction of his friend's eyes, only to find a tall elven woman gracefully entering the Hall of Fire. All eyes seemed to cross her for at least a moment, as she smiled kindly to whoever she passed. Her dark burgundy was not something he recalled before, almost like a sleeveless coat that was buttoned all the way in the centre. Golden embroidery decorated the fabric, shimmering under the warm lights as she gracefully walked.

One would think first that she was any other elf, but the moment he looked up to her head, Frodo spotted the difference. Her ears round much like the big folk. Even with silver hair, she would've stood out from any woman he saw in Bree.

He shouldn't be staring anyways, but he felt as if he was captured once more at her.

"I think from what Uncle Bilbo and Uncle Thorin said, she is Illyria Ettelëa." He quietly told them, "The Lady of Rivendell."

Sam paused, furrowing his brows as he said, "Wait, but I thought Elladan and Elrohir said their mother was gone...well away."

"She must have returned." He responded, humming to himself. "She is a sorceress, apparently."

That was what his uncles told him. Even before the Quest of Erebor, Uncle Bilbo knew about Illyria Strange (which was still a rather peculiar last name in his opinion) and her origins. How she was from another world was far more different and yet so similar. Or so what they told him.

Growing up, he knew very little of the elves until his parents passed away and Uncle Bilbo returned to raise him. His foreign uncle who in turn was once king of a dwarven mountain. A mountain out of all things! His relatives couldn't believe it, calling it all improper and un-Baggins-like, and were appalled to find him married to a dwarf as well.

A male dwarf no like.

However, nobody couldn't step up to eye Bilbo Baggins and Thorin Oakenshield. The more obscure reason was that the dwarves began to migrate around the Shire, helping build their homes and improving the tools and weapons they possessed. They even began trading with them, with new fabrics and materials they couldn't easily obtain. The Thain, a close relative to Uncle Bilbo through his mother, had an agreement with Thorin and the dwarves of the Blue Mountains – enabling them to protect the Shire from the increasing attacks at their borders.

Since then, it almost felt that dwarves and hobbits have integrated within one another. There was still some hostility and prejudice against them, but Frodo could tell (even at his age) that it was gradually getting better.

Though, what was this had to do with Illyria Strange being a sorceress. Uncle Bilbo was always grateful to her, informing them from time to time that if she never stumbled upon him, he would never accept to go with the Company.

And Uncle Thorin would never be alive because of her.

Unfortunately, Frodo never knew how that was possible. His uncle always said that she saved him and his nephews (his cousins) from Azog the Defiler. Though with what words they used, he speculated that there was something more about it.

Uncle Bilbo's stories when he was younger even involved Illyria Ettelëa. His favourite had been the one where the sorceress enchanted a safe landing for them during their escape from Goblin Town – creating a giant pillow for them all. Frodo had been so awed when Uncle Bilbo described it that it was so vivid in his mind.

Though his dreams lately had been mostly nightmares. Nightmares about Weathertop again.

He would forever thank Lord Elrond for healing him, knowing that the Peredhel was known in this world to be the greatest healers (or so what the twins told them on the way here). Frodo was even more thankful to find Gandalf the Grey greeting him in the room he slept – well and alive.

There was also another elf in the room before Uncle Bilbo arrived. An elven woman, Lady Arwen, the daughter of Lord Elrond and Lady Illyria. She was perhaps one of the most beautiful elven ladies (and perhaps really the first one) he ever met. Her voice was soft and yet strong, haunting as her eyes glowed under the evening light.

That was where he recognized her. Lady Arwen looked quite like Lady Illyria, though with darker hair and grey eyes. She was sitting beside the fire, listening into a story with another elven lady and a dwarf – perhaps his cousin: Kili. The red-haired elven lady must have been Tauriel.

Chatting on the way up to them, Frodo found both his cousins munching on some fruit when they walked over.

Pippin leaned over and pointed out, "She looks like an elf. But she has round ears."

Turning to him, Frodo corrected him: "Was. Uncle Bilbo said she was once Elemmírë of Rivendell...even as old as Lord Glorfindel."

They met Lord Glorfindel, or so he remembered vaguely. He remembered the blurred face and even more of his golden hair. Even as they raced through the great plains of Eregion, he caught the glimpse of the ancient elf.

When he glanced over across the other side of the hall, he spotted the tall elf speaking to Uncle Bilbo and another dark-haired elf. His smile and laughter rang like bells, his voice almost causing the other elves to glance over with their own.

Frodo remembered the Balrog Slayer's tale too. How he had defended the remainder of his people against a balrog after the destruction of an ancient elven city. How his sister, Elemmírë, helped Princess Idril and Tuor to safety down to the Havens of Sirion.

It had been a tragic story in his opinion, one that found him almost forlorn and empathetic to those elves. They did not deserve to lose their home. Even if he were homesick right now, at least Frodo knew there was at least a home he could return to. A smial which he could snuggle up with tea and with his family.

Merry was the first to ask in shock, hissing back, "Really? How old?"

Suddenly, a soft chuckle murmured in his ear.

Or rather his mind.

'Older than these very foundations, Master Meriadoc.'

The voice spoke, sending him jolting awake before he tried to look to where he heard it from.

Frodo knew he wasn't the only one when Sam, Pippin and Merry were acting like himself – confused and alarmed.

"Wait who said that?" Merry questioned.

Whilst they searched, Frodo realised who was approaching them.

Lady Illyria sauntered over, her gaze straight down at them as she plastered a sincere smile, greeting them: "Good evening, Master Hobbits." She looked at each of them before she added, "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

Merry, the one who even asked the question the first place, shyly looked up to her for a moment before looking back down as he answered: "None at all, my lady."

And then Pippin decided to pipe in quite loudly, "We were just talking about you—ow!"

Frodo widened his eyes slightly, more thankful that Merry stepped in and nudged his elbow at his cousin and hissed, "Pippin, don't be rude."

With a hand raised up, the Lady of Rivendell assured them, "It's alright." Her eyes stared down at the certain green-eyed hobbit and spoke, "Peregrine Took?"

"How does she know my name?" He asked, gulping nervously up to the lady.

"Of course, Mister Bilbo and Mister Thorin told her." Sam uttered before he cleared his throat and bowed to her as he greeted, "My lady."

Her eyes immediately softened, speaking sincerely at Sam when she began, "Now I remember a face. I knew your father when I first visited Hobbiton, he had been kind and gave me clothes when I was lost."

"My father said you were the kindest and most beautiful elven lady he ever met." Sam told her sheepishly as he continued, "Even if he couldn't understand what you were saying."

A grin formed on her lips, her eyes sparkling as she pressed her index finger over her lips.

Lady Illyria teased, "Shh, make sure your mother doesn't hear you or your father say that Samwise Gamgee." Her smile returned, her eyes now darting over to Frodo. She spoke, "And you must be Bilbo's nephew."

"I am."

He placed his hand over his chest, bowing his head down to her as he introduced himself: "Frodo Baggins at your service."

Once he glanced upwards, he saw her eyes brighten an eerily blue and white – her smile widening. "Ah! Mae govannen. A dwarven greeting in Sindarin!" Lady Illyria laughed softly, an amused grin on her lips. "Thranduil's going to have a track and field day when he finds that out. We're not really on good terms; I just let my brother and husband do the talking most of the time."

Frodo had to take a second to register her words, a little peeved and nervous speaking to such a person. Though with how she spoke to them, it was as if she was just speaking to friends, her voice so welcoming and lighthearted. There was a tone that reminded him of the twins (assuming that was where they got their character from), one that was full of openness that rung into his heart that soothed him rather than made him awkward.

He didn't know what to expect when meeting such an ancient elf. Lord Elrond had already been someone he knew to be far older than the very foundations he now stood in, but Lady Illyria Ettelëa was considered born in Valinor along with her brother, the Teleri elf: Círdan, and the Lady of the Golden Wood – Galadriel. One of the high elves of the Noldor.

And yet she japed as if she was just like an ordinary race of Man. He saw her with another elven woman, bustling about the house and doing what he assumed to be preparations for tonight and the council he was invited to tomorrow.

Though what confounded him was that Uncle Bilbo and Uncle Thorin informed him that she had been with Uncle Bilbo for hours, catching up with news in one of the gardens.

Frodo wanted to ask her about that, though he understood it may be a little too forward to ask someone.

And speaking of asking too many forward questions...

"You are the Lady of Rivendell, why don't you wear anything like what Lady Arwen wears?" Pippin questioned before his eyes bulged before he stammered, "Not that I'm saying you do not look good in your clothes, m-my lady! Y-you look as radiant as fireworks!"

Frodo could feel panic rising in him, much like Merry and Sam.

Out of all people, he should have expected Pippin to say something so bluntly.

He was ready to see the offending expression cross over Lady Illyria's face. But instead, he was met by a raised brow before she laughed along.

Waving a hand lightly, Illyria lightly responded, "It's alright. Lord Erestor thinks of it as well." She grinned, gesturing a thumb over her shoulder as she said, "Nah, I'm used to wearing my own clothes when I'm here. Plus, my daughter looks much better with them than I do. I mostly trip upon them."

Frodo felt his lips twitch, seeing the joy truthfully in her eyes when she looked over to her daughter.

Was this what Uncle Bilbo saw in her? Why he always said she was unlike any elven lady or even a race of man he ever met. There was some comfort in the casual chatter she brought to them, and Frodo somehow wanted to continue speaking to her about – well – everything.

He wanted to know about her world. Her stories. She appeared to be someone filled with countless tales. Especially as a sorceress as well as once an elf.

But their moment was cut short as the same elven woman walked over to her, nodding curtly before she glanced to Lady Illyria and then to them with a sincere smile.

She said, "My lady, there you are." She continued whilst informing Lady Illyria, "Master Hobbits. Russanarmo is looking for you."

With a sigh, Lady Illyria murmured under her breath, "Probably to sort out his hand."

He and the rest of them looked up to them confusedly.

Who was Russanarmo? And what about his hand? Did he damage his hand?

Apologizing to them, Lady Illyria spoke, "Please excuse us. I must see what's happened. It's lovely to meet you all. Please enjoy the food and drink."

They all share simultaneously a goodbye, bowing slightly before their host before she was guided away by the elven woman out of the Hall.

He then heard a deep-toned sigh from his left. When he glanced there, he saw Merry had stared off with dreamlike eyes at where Lady Illyria once stood.

Merry wistfully said, "I think I'm in love." He was then hit by Pippin's hand instead as he yelped, "Ow!"

Whilst Merry glared back, the other hobbit rolled his eyes before he stated, "You always say that you're in love, Merry." He added, "Also, Lady Illyria is married. Definitely not something you should cross as well."

The two then proceeded to argue and pester one another, now racing towards the large table of food at the other end. It was then he was left with Sam, chuckling at his cousins' antics. Now he understood why Uncle Thorin was so fed up with them, always comparing the two with Fili and Kili.

And when Elladan and Elrohir had been with them – now that was a nightmare.

"What about it, Sam?" Frodo nudged his elbow at his friend, quirking his lips as he asked, "Any eyes for an elf maiden?"

Making a flustered noise, his friend stammered out: "Mister Frodo...you that I—"

He chuckled, patting Sam's back whilst they ushered themselves toward his uncles, off to hear a song Uncle Bilbo had made along with Uncle Thorin. Frodo sighed, smiling kindly to him, "I know. Nothing can sway you from Rose Cotton out of all the ladies in all Arda."

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Aragorn | Lord Thorongil

The feast in the Hall of Fire continued for the past couple of hours, with many of the residents and guests of the Homely House listening to stories or songs whilst many others lingered out into the gardens to escape the noise.

And like him, he preferred the latter: choosing to wander his childhood home in peace. It may be the only time he would gain such solitude, anyway, considering how much it was bustling despite it being day or night at all. Even arriving here, he had yet to find himself time alone. A time for him to reflect and think of his choices.

His future.

Sometimes he couldn't even comprehend again about that.

He wondered then why he even found himself in the hall of tapestries when he was attempting not to think of what was to come. Though perhaps it was his own doing, his own curiosity wanting to see the walls he last saw before he left for Gondor with Legolas. Walls which had paintings and tapestries depicting the very day his ancestors defeated the darkness...only to succumb to their own selfish deeds.

Aragorn sauntered slowly around the dome-shaped hall, the light from the moon easily shining down onto the paintings on the outer walls. His eyes graced over each of them, all of them dedicated to the very moments of the pivotal war of the Second Age.

The Last Alliance of Elves and Men.

The first painting had been a landscape painting of the army of Middle Earth. The Noldor and Sindar Army, led by the High-King Gil-Galad and his once herald: Lord Elrond. They both stood strong and proud, their royal blue and gold armour showing the heraldry of the Noldor in their banner. Next to them was the High-King of Gondor and Arnor: Elendil along with his sons, Anárion and Isildur. Their banner showing the Tree of Gondor in all white and silver.

The next was a painting of the Siege of Barad-dûr, the notable fiery mountain – Mount Doom – shown in the distance. The armies of both elves and men clash against the armies of Sauron. It was a bloodbath frozen in a mural. Though what intrigued him was the great bright light emitted within them.

The Oialëa's light blinding all her enemies.

The next few paintings were of the final battle. King Elendil and High-King Gil-Galad fighting Sauron in the flesh, and sadly being defeated by the dark lord. Not long until Lady Elemmírë arrived, almost besting Sauron hadn't he caught her off-guard and brought her down, fortunately only injured.

He then stopped at the final painting.

There on the painting was King Isildur, using the bottom half of King Elendil's sword and cutting the finger of Sauron's hand where the Ring was placed. And from what was noted by Lord Elrond, Lady Elemmírë and those who lived from that battle, the true depiction of Sauron's defeat.

Or formerly his defeat.

Aragorn glanced down, spotting the tiny speckly of gold that was supposed to be the weapon and hitched his breath. That ring was supposed to up to Mount Doom. It was supposed to be destroyed...and then his ancestor chose to use it instead. A prize for decades, centuries, of hardship and war.

Rather it brought war once more. However, it was now a war that was slowly gaining in the favor of their enemies.

He looked over his shoulder, seeing nobody yet within the room until he found himself eyeing the statue of Princess Silmariën, once the daughter of Tar-Elendil of Númenor. Her placid gaze almost looked unlike her, staring down into his face as her palms were out with a stone blanket over them. [1]

On top of the flat surface was the blade itself. Once Narsil, the broken sword was split in two.

Carefully reaching towards it, Aragorn held the grip of the sword, gulping back down as a moment of worry filled him.

He gently placed it down and took a step back, lowering his head away from the judging eyes of the statue.

It was then he heard a familiar voice ring around the room.

"Why do you fear the past? You are Isildur's heir, not Isildur himself. You are not bound to his fate." Arwen's voice echoed into his mind, a mixture of ringing bells and haunting tones that had him almost wincing at the questions she held.

However, he already knew what to say, closing his eyes for a moment as he replied to her.

"The same blood flows in my veins." Aragorn whispered back, "The same weakness."

When he turned to her, he found himself captivated by those grey silver eyes. How the moonlight captured them to glow ever so brightly even had him under a spell at how beautiful she was.

Whilst Lady Illyria shone like the sun, his beloved shone like a star.

However, within the Evenstar, there was a fire. He saw it easily; he heard it in the determination in her voice as she took a step and gazed up to him.

"Your time will come. You will face the same evil. And you will defeat it." Arwen spoke, changing to her native tongue. "The shadow has already swayed so many. But not over you...not over me."

He stared at her, wondering how someone like her could show so much strength and passion. Aragorn always wondered as he grew, how even elves could reluctantly show encouragement. The world they lived in was constantly moving, ageing and withering around them.

Then he realised that not all elves were like Lord Elrond of his family. It was indeed only the elves of Rivendell who had a different perspective of them, an open mind towards those of men and other races.

And much like Lady Illyria, Arwen always showed strength in her words that made his chest tighten and his heart moved at her words.

"It may have been so long ago, and yet they speak of it like it was just yesterday. My mother and father have given so much to this world. To let it grow and have others grow with it." She told him, "They tell me long ago that I will never have to fight the darkness. That my brothers and I will live in peace."

He placed a hand carefully upon her shoulder as he spoke, "You will still live in peace." Aragorn hinted, despite the pang in his heart. "Sailing to the West. It will protect you."

However, Arwen simply gave him a sad smile causing the pang in his heart to plummet instead.

"My way to the West is now uncertain. You have heard of what has happened," She responded - pain and sadness washing over them both. "I will not be invited. Not when the Valar have forsaken my own kin. The Firstborn are now divided. There will be no place for me on a ship. Neither my people."

He inhaled sharply. That had been what Lord Elrond and Uncle Glorfindel discussed with him. It was there he remembered Lady Illyria's words. His promise to her – to keep Arwen safe.

Though with that now in mind: how could he now? How could he keep her safe from darkness when nowhere was safe anymore?

But Illyria's promise wasn't to bring Arwen to safety. No, he promised her to watch Arwen's back. To protect her when she needed him the most. Aragorn had seen her fight; he saw her magic and her light. All he could do was make sure she would never need to use them to defend herself.

His sword will be the first thing the enemy would have to cross before dealing with the Evenstar herself.

And if not his sword: his very own body will be the shield of his own heart. [2]

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[1] - Princess Silmariën: The eldest child of Tar-Elendil. The Ring of Barahir is given to her and is passed down to her descendants.
[2] - Movie Scene: This is based on the movie scene and extended edition and the interaction between Aragorn and Arwen but minus Boromir's involvement. There is also added dialogue from Arwen as well as the before description of the dome-shaped room and the paintings.

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A/N: We finally get a Frodo viewpoint! Just to clarify if I hadn't addressed this clearly, Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin are similar in ages in comparison to canon. I know Frodo is supposed to be the eldest, then it's Sam and then the youngest are Merry and Pippin. 

Here as it's 2980 T.A, they basically should still be kids basically. The timelines have shifted on purpose, evident when Lokachari said through the letter that the Song (aka the timeline) has accelerated. The universe basically is making sure whatever should happen has basically forced itself to fit it within those forty years when Illyria's been gone.

Also, note again that considering their young age - especially Frodo - these kids are practically going on a dangerous journey.

Just like Aragorn, who is so much younger than canon. He's not as experienced as canon Aragorn but he's been forced to experience so much and had to mature and grow wise in such a short period.

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Edited: 01/03/2022