"Firiel, have you seen my favorite quill?"
The world fades into view around you, the colors trickling in from the edges of your vision. A familiar face appears across the room, searching through a drawer. The sound of the paper rustling as he moves it calms you. You look around, wondering at the serene nature of this place. It too is well-known to you. The portraits hung above the mantel, the chair you are comfortably seated in, the pipe placed on that same spot on the desk for so many years it's worn an indent into the wood- this is home.
"Ah, nevermind, I probably left it in my bedroom."
The figure turns away before you can get a good look at him, but you already know who it is. His footsteps are steady, and this reassures you. He has not carried himself with an even pace for many months. You know you could get up, walk around the halls, see every notch in the doorframes recording your height, and your brother's, as you grew; the wallpaper in the den, hidden by a painting as of recent years, pricked by numerous stray darts; the spices hung from the rafters in the pantry. Still, you stay seated, let your gaze wander across the study. Your uncle's, you recall, though he hasn't used it for quite some time now. He went away, to finish his book. It was his old ring, wasn't it, that sent you and your brother out not too long after he left?
A wry smile appears on your face, and finally, you stand. Your hobbit feet make a quiet thud on the carpet and you catch a glimpse of yourself in the looking glass hung above the cluttered desk (your uncle, though usually very tidy, could never keep his papers neat). That smile on your lips is one you have not shown in some time. You tilt your head, surprised, though it is a faint feeling, as if your emotions are distant for the moment. Your hair is put up neatly, not ragged; your lips are plump, not dry and cracked; your freckles are healthy and your cheeks are rosy, not masked by burn spots and starved thin. This is you from back home.
You are not home, however. You have not been home in months and months. So you look away from the glass and take a step forward. Down the corridor from the study, you can hear your brother humming to himself and the muffled opening and shutting of drawers and cabinets. The air is cool, a relief, though a year ago, you would not have thought as much. Then, you would have reached for a shawl, asked your dear uncle if it was alright for you to shut the window; now, though, you stand at the opening, reveling in the breeze. It blows your hair and your clothes, yet you do not feel its breath, and you close your eyes, just for a moment, as the bright, friendly sun brightens the world of your vision.
"Firiel?"
"No, Frodo, I haven't seen your quill."
"She's waking up."
The dream is gone. You attempt to cling to it for a second more, relishing in the vision of home, but you try in vain. The cool air, however, is still here, as well as the warmth encompassing your body. This time, you can feel the breeze as it sweeps across your forehead, gentle, nothing like the harsh, clawing winds of Mordor. This cannot be that place, then, you conclude. And so you let your eyes open. Beside you is Frodo. His hand is bandaged, yet he smiles. He seems healthier than you remember. There is a light in his eyes again. Blankets rest over you (that explains the warmth), and you can feel a pillow under your head. For just one moment, you breathe in the sweet air of a free, good place, and Frodo lays his good hand over yours.
"Sleep well?"
You sit up, tears forming in your eyes, and throw your arms around your brother. A chuckle comes from the other side of the bed you rest in, and you know that voice as well as you did as a child: Gandalf. Frodo pats your shoulder, letting you lean against him, as you are still weary, in need of support, and you kiss his cheek as you look to your right. The old wizard it is indeed, though his hair and robes have gone from grey to white, and he is very much alive. What a wonderful thing it is, you realize as you shake his hand with glee, to meet again someone you thought was gone forever, finding them safe and whole once more.
"Firiel!"
It is Merry Brandybuck, running in from the doorway, swiftly followed by Pippin Took, and your heart swells to see them. They leap onto your bed, crying and cheering and beaming their toothy smiles, as you meet them with the same fervor, if not equal movement. Frodo warns them to be calm, but you brush off his warning with a laugh, hugging your friends again and again. Next to appear is Aragorn. He kneels beside the bed and as you swing your legs over the side, brushing aside the blanket, trying to maintain an air of decorum in the presence of a king, he takes your hand and kisses the back of it, then leans his forehead against your fingers.
"You are no small hero, Firiel," he says, humble as ever, and you smile at him, your eyebrows creasing as you try not to tear up any further. As he rises, you fling your arms around him in a hug, and after a moment of hesitation, you feel him return the embrace. He bows his head to you as he stands a few seconds later, and Frodo grants you his arm to balance you. Your body is still weak, but you feel better than you have in months- no doubt thanks to the wonders of elven healing. Aragorn pats your hand, then lets it go, and you smile softly at him. He is a king of kings, kneeling before you, your dear friend, and it is clear to you he has changed since you last met. So have you.
Looking up from straightening the long linen shirt you are now garbed in, you notice Gimli has burst into the room, clapping and laughing in his joy, and you gladly accept the hug he offers you. The chatter all around you has grown as your friends have continued to flood the room, yet there are two people still missing. Three, really, and your heart is heavy for a moment as you remember Boromir, who died a hero's death. A tear slips down your cheek. Frodo frowns at you, worried, but you lift your hand to your face and brush away your sorrow. A mild smile, the grief clear in your eyes, reveals to him your thoughts, and he nods sadly.
More celebration among your companions commences, mostly spearheaded by Merry and Pippin. Feeling better, you walk among your friends, Frodo never too far behind, ready to take your arm should you stumble, but you do not. Elrond appears, and you take a minute to thank him for what he's done to help you along your journey, and especially now, bringing you back from what you are sure must have been near-death for the second time in the last year. He smiles sagely, ever the elven image of a stern yet kind wisdom, and lays a firm hand on your shoulder, looking out the window at the rivers flowing through his valley kingdom. You observe the view as well, taking in the peace and beauty you didn't think you'd ever see again, and hardly notice when the elf lord steps back.
"Firiel."
You turn around to see Samwise, and the tears brimming in the shallows of your eyes finally begin to fall as you wrap your old friend in a tender hug. He has gone through hell and back with you, never faltering; when you lost your way, he got you back on track; a dozen times at least, he saved you from a single step that could have been the end of you, and thus the world; he is every bit the hero you are and more. So is Frodo, of course, and you draw your brother into the hug as well, all three of you bearing tearful smiles. Although you love all the others dearly, only these two shared your entire journey, only they know just what you went through. The bond you three share will stand the test of time, you're certain.
"Firiel?"
"Goodness, my name is popular today," you jest as you look to the newcomer, but your smile fades just a little when you see who it is. Your reaction is not born of distaste, not at all, but of nerves. After all, the last words you left him with were those confessing your love- you haven't a clue whether or not he felt the same, and if he did, you don't know if his feelings have changed in your absence.
"Legolas."
He hesitates in the doorway. It is the same place he stood when you first met him, all those months ago. Your hand comes up to cover your mouth. You both stare at each other.
Pippin crosses his arms, smirking. "Go on, then, you two."
At that, you both give a start forward, meeting in the middle of the room. He pulls you into his embrace as he kneels, wary of your current weakness, and you bury your head into his shoulder and neck, flinging your arms around him in return. He holds you close, but not too tight, and you breathe him in, feeling the ache in your chest finally beginning to fade. It's only been a few months, but it feels like a decade has passed since you last saw him, and judging by how he's now placing a kiss on the top of your head, trying not to tremble, he's felt the same.
"No more adventures for a long time," he mutters into your hair and you give a soft laugh. He tilts his head slightly, and you realize your breath must have tickled his skin. Nuzzling your face into his neck, you smile at the quiet, contented sigh he gives.
"Agreed," you promise, and he leans back. You notice about half your companions have left the room, and those that are left have congregated a little ways away, as if giving you and Legolas a bit of privacy. You appreciate their tact- this is, after all, quite an important moment of your reunion with everyone, and they've all realized it.
"Your note-"
"I meant it."
"Good."
With each word, you've both leaned a little closer to the other, and now he kisses you, cupping your cheek with one hand as he tightens his other arm around your back. You're glad he does, as he keeps you upright when your legs tremble, gently weaving your hand through his hair while the other bunches up the shoulder cloth of his tunic. You giggle into the kiss after a moment, your heart leaping with joy, and he gives a 'hmph'.
"Am I really that bad a kisser?" he asks, and at the twinkle in his eyes, you grin, tugging on his shirt and pulling him closer to you again. His lips hover above yours, but you tease him a moment, holding back.
"Not in the slightest."
He gives a soft grunt, not bothering to find the words to reply, too preoccupied with kissing you again. This time, you lean in more, and it gets a little more passionate until you're interrupted by Merry giving a wolf-whistle as Pippin starts cheering.
"Get some, Leggy!"
Legolas grimaces, but the look of mischief is still in his eyes (despite his slightly-rumpled tunic and the pink on his cheeks), and he scoops you into his arms bridal-style as he looks at the two hobbits across the room.
"Call me that again and you're not invited to the wedding."
They immediately scurry off, apologizing to the elf, and you give a laugh, twirling a lock of his blonde hair around your finger.
"The wedding, hmm?"
He looks down at you and readjusts you in his arms so you can lean your head on his shoulder, and you, of course, comply. You're trying to hide how earnest your smile is behind a smirk, but he notices and his gaze softens.
"We'll talk about that some other time."
You nod. It's not as if there's a need to rush your romance (your heart does a pirouette at the thought that this is, in fact, a blooming relationship), the world is no longer in any danger from Sauron and his forces. The Shire is a good place to settle down, one of peace, and as he sits down on your bed, leaning against the headboard with you still in his arms- and now his lap -you pepper kisses along his chin, drawing quiet laughter from him. Frodo and Sam are the last to leave the room, and your old friend has to usher your brother out as he calls back a warning to Legolas to 'be good to my sister'.
Yes, the Shire is your home, and soon enough, you hope as you relax in your beloved's arms, it will be not just your home, but his as well.
YCIOH: There is no doubt in your mind that you will be going home to the Shire before too long. It may be some time, seeing as you have much to catch up on, and likely some events to attend in Rohan and Gondor (the most notable, of course, being Aragorn's close-at-hand coronation), but when you do finally head West again, you want him to be at your side. If he doesn't want to live in Hobbiton... well, that's a discussion for later, you determine, and tuck that thought into the back of your mind as you lean up for another kiss. For now, you just want to relish this moment with him.
HCIOY: What joy he felt when he saw your face again after so long. Sure, you're a little gaunt, and clearly exhausted, not to mentioned scarred (in multiple ways) by your quest, but you're still you, the same hobbitess he fell in love with when the Fellowship first set out. That was certainly proven by how you held him and kissed him and, now, curl up in his embrace. He brushes a kiss across the top of your head and as you look up at him fondly, his heart gives a long sigh, finally lightened, and he smiles.
Up next: Confessions ~ Thranduil