What if Bilbo adopted a human baby that was left on his doorstep when she was just a few days old? Elayna and Frodo grew up together and treat each other as brother and sister so that's what everyone understood them to be. So then eighteen years lat...
It has been a few weeks since the Battle at the Black Gate. All of the hobbits have recovered nicely and all invitations have been sent for my wedding and Aragorn's coronation. Leoglas left about a week and a half ago to inform his father. Éomer and Éowyn returned home to Rohan four days after returning from the gate. They left with an invitation to return for the upcoming events and a strong alliance between Rohan and Gondor. A rider was sent to Rivendell with invitations. I sent one for my father too... though I doubt very much that he will travel, he will at least know I am happy and safe. I have been sleeping better, thanks to Naevys helping me come to terms with all that has happened and sneaking into Aragorn's room at night. He makes me feel safe. I mean last night I wanted to do more than sleep, for the first time I felt ready. But he shook his head and told me to be patient. I woke up angry with him and ignored him all during breakfast, though I shouldn't have, as that was the only alone time we will have today. Because today, well today everyone returns, because tomorrow I am getting married to the love of my life. I smile as I watch him chase Pippin around the throne room. That is until Sarah catches my eye and gestures for me to follow her. I gesture to Frodo and Sam that I am going and they acknowledge with a thumbs up. My last fitting, the seamstresses have outdone themselves. I smile as I walk into my new living room. It was supposed to be my bedroom but Aragorn has since decreed it unnecessary for us to have separate bedchambers so this is a cross between my dressing room and my living room. Once the fitting was complete Sarah and my new maid, Emily, because I apparently need two, help me dress in a manner befitting a queen welcoming important guests.
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