Finding Love in Imladris (Lord Elrond love story)

Chapter three: The Shire

Far over the Misty Mountain’s Cold

To dungeons deep, and caverns old

We must away, eve break a day

To seek the pale enchanted gold

 

The dwarves of yore made mighty spells

While hammer’s fell like ringing bells

In places deep, where dark things sleep

In hollow halls beneath the fells

 

For ancient King and Elvish Lord

There many gleaming golden hoard

They shaped and wrought, and light they caught

To hide in gems on hilt of sword.

            There farther away I am from Gondor, the more I remember of that poem. After we left Bree; Thorin, Gandalf, and I rode our horses for about a half a day’s journey west, into Hobbiton. Thorin said he had some business he had to tend to in The Blue Mountain’s. After we bid him farewell, Gandalf and I continued our journey to the home of Bilbo Baggins. My thick cloak was clinging to my body now; The Shire is far warmer than the mountains of Gondor. Sweat was causing my hair to cling to my forehead, cheeks and neck. I wiped the sweat from my brow; I could feel my cheeks darken underneath my hood. Gandalf told me he was going bid Mister Baggins a quick hello before the company came and destroyed his lovely Hobbit hole.

            I was left wandering around The Shire with my horse; though after quite some time I let my horse go. He looked as though he could use a walk, and possibly some food. I walked for hours in the blazing sun of The Shire, I found a large willow tree by a pond. I decided to rest my tired limbs and relax before I go to Mister Baggins home. I strip off all of my weapons and my cloak, making sure that no one can see me. I sat at the base of the tree with my back against the trunk and my legs stretched out before me. I set my head against the cool bark of the tree and watched the sun shine through the branches. I looked like a light shining from the heavens through the tree; it reminds me of when I was still very young. Long before my Papa started training me, he told me remark able stories of all races. The Elf’s, the Dwarves, the Hobbits, and the grotesque story of Sauron. I remember my favorite part of the story being, when Lord Elrond of Imladris, tried to convince Isildur to cast the ring into the fire. When my Papa told me Isildur’s refusal to destroy the ring and use it for power, it only made the human’s look far more moronic to me than I ever thought they could.

            I smile at the thought of my Papa telling me those stories as he once did. I look behind the branches of the willow and I see that night has fallen before me. I move aside the branches of the great tree, I am greeted by the bite of the cold air. I sigh, and realize it is probably best if I went to Mister Baggins’ home. I take my cloak and fasten it back around body. I then put all of my weapons in their rightful places and lift my hood up over my face. I go through the branches of the willow and begin to look for the door with Gandalf’s symbol on it. I have known the man so long I do not even need him to tell me what to look for any more, I just know now.

 After about half of an hour, I see a Hobbit Hole with Gandalf’s symbol on it. I walk up to the door, and realize it only comes to just under my chin. I sigh, then lift my hand and give the door three hard knocks. Within a few second’s a hobbit comes to the door, he has reddish hair, and is rather stubby, he does not seem like the kind of Hobbit who would go on a quest. I bend my knees so I could get a better look at him. “Hello.” I say as he opens the door. I see him try to catch a glimpse of my face under my hood.

“Hello.” He says, finally giving up looking for my face.

“Jemini Fell.” I say, “It is a pleasure to meet you Mister Baggins.”

“Thank you, the pleasure is mine. Good evening.” He says stumbling over his words.

“I,” I say and look up at the sky, “It is a very good evening.” I say, I turn back to him and give him a small smile in my hood. “May I?” I ask gesturing to the home.

He nods out of his trance. “Yes, yes of course.” He steps aside and allows me to enter.

I duck my head trying not to hit it on the low ceilings of the home.“I am not late am I?” I ask removing my cloak and hanging it on the rake.

“Late?” he asks, “Late for what?”

I shift my weight on to my left foot and look at him. “You truly, haven’t the slightest idea what is happening do you?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “If had an idea of what was happening, I would know why there are two dwarves in my pantry curious of what blue cheese is.” He says slightly exasperated.

“As much as I would love to tell you Mister Baggins-“

“Bilbo,” he says, “a woman as kind as you is allowed to call me Bilbo.”

“Well Bilbo,” I cross my hands in front of me. “As much as I would love to tell you what is happening. I think it is best if Gandalf told you.”

            He sighs and flinches at the sound of a crash, I just look in the direction of the chaos. My eyebrow’s furrow, but the rest of my face remains neutral. I look at Bilbo, he shrugs. I then turn away from him and duck through the hobbit hole, slithering through the home silently. I eventually come upon a room with a large table to the straight in front of me and a pantry to the left. I hear voices coming from the pantry, they sound as though they have a very heavy Scottish accent. “What is this?” said a man.

“I don’t know I thought it was cheese. Gone blue.” said another.

“It’s riddled with mold.” said the first voice.

            I then see a piece of blue cheese fly out of the pantry, I roll my eyes. Dwarves, wonderful: now I get to travel with wet, smelly, ugly dwarves. My stomach churns in annoyance; I walk to the entrance of the pantry. I turn to face the two dwarves; however I am greeted with one of them pouring ale on my boots. I look down at my boots, and then look up with only my eyes. The dwarves are staring at me; the taller one’s eyebrows are furrowed in confusion. “Now what was that for?” I ask, standing as tall as I can and cross my arms over my chest.

“What you want lass?” said the taller one. The top part of his head is bald and riddled with tattoos, what hair he has goes to the middle of his back and he has scars all over his visible skin.

“I am here for the same reason as you.” I tell them, and sit on the table so I can let my back be in an upright position. “Perhaps I should introduce myself,” I say and hold out my hand. “Jemini Fell, daughter of Ragnor Fell.”

The tall one crosses his arms over his chest. “Dwalin,” he says, “Son of Fundin.”

“Pleasure.” I say with a smirk and my hand still out.

The shorter and older one walks up to me and takes my hand. “Balin son of Fundin.” He says, his white beard is almost as long as his torso and at the end it turns out. His hair is also white, though it is short; he has wrinkles on his face and a hooked nose. This man seems to have much experience for his age.

“It is very nice to meet you Balin.” I say releasing his hand, I hear Dwalin scoff.

            Erebor has better be worth this quest.