ONE YEAR EARLIER

“I'm telling you, it’s just over that bridge!” said Thorongil, frantically pointing.

“I'm not so sure,” answered Elerína, staring intently at a hand drawn map and turning it in her hands.  She was having more trouble than her husband adapting to the limits of her mortal form. Robbed of the near omniscient senses she enjoyed in Valinor, she felt very disoriented.

Thorongil grabbed her hand and led her across the water and up the picturesque green hill to the last round door along the road.  Every house had a pretty garden, but Bag End had the finest.

Elerína knocked on the round green door.

“One moment, if you please!” shouted a voice from within.  A moment later the door opened to reveal an older, but by no means elderly hobbit of round proportions.  “I told you you could keep my spade…”

At the sight of two of the big people, dressed more in the manner of elves than men, he stopped short.

“I'll be!” he gasped.  “I'm Samwise Gamgee, Mayor of the Shire.  How might I be of service?”

Elerína knelt down and shook his hand.  “I'm Elerína, and this is Thorongil. We have something for you.”

She took an envelope from her pouch and handed it to the hobbit.  It was addressed, in Frodo’s distinctive script, to ‘The Master of Bag End.’  Return address: ‘Over the Sea.’

Sam tore the letter open at once and read the first line standing in his open door.  

‘Dearest Sam,’

After he read the first few sentences, and felt sure it really was from his old master, Sam regained some of his wits.

“Sam you ninnyhammer!” he exclaimed.  “It’s as my old gaffer used to say: Sam, you've got a mind for one thing at a time and hardly that!  Here I am, reading my letter, while the two of you stand on my front porch! Come in, if you have the time, and I'll fetch you some tea.”

They did indeed join Sam and Rosie for tea, and then cakes, and then some dried meats, and more and more until even the two maiar couldn't eat another bite.  Then Sam took his guests to the Mathom-house of Michel Delving, where Thorongil, who had up until this point been very quiet, bombarded the hobbit with questions about nearly every item in the museum until Sam was out of breath.

“You sure do know your history, master Thorongil!” said Sam as they left.  “You've heard all about me and the Shire, and now I wish to know a bit about you.  I don't know much about ‘Valinor,’ as Frodo called it, but I know that we don't get many visitors from over the sea.  What brings you to our lands?”

“To the Shire?  We are just passing through,” replied Thorongil.  “Olorin recommended we stop here before going someplace called ‘Bree.’”

“Who might this be?” asked Sam.

“Gandalf,” smiled Elerína.  “You knew him as Gandalf.”

“Gandalf!” cried Sam.  “Now that’s name I haven't heard in a quite a while.  Well any friend of Frodo and Gandalf is forever welcome in my land - it still feels strange calling it that, Mayor or no.  But I think you might find Bree more to your liking. If I'm wrong I beg your pardon Miss, but the two of you look like the sort who are looking for an adventure, and this is not a land with much use for swords.”

Sam pointed to Thorongil’s sword which hung by his side.

“That one there looks a match for old Gandalf's sword,” he continued, marvelling at the countless jewels on the pommel and hilt.  “And Aragorn’s too; my, his was a sight to behold when he drew it.”

Thorongil smiled and bowed.  “I hope it can match their deeds, when the time comes.”

“Well you certainly can't walk to Bree tonight,” observed Sam.  “There aren't many rooms furnished for folk your size in the Shire, but I keep a spare bed in Bag End for such an occasion.  Speaking of walking, you might want to rent ponies for the trip…”

“We sent our horses meet us on the far side of your land,” explained Thorongil.

“You sent your horses?” laughed Sam.  “I do so love elves and your ways. I often forget that beasts understand your speech, and will do as they’re told, too!”

Thorongil suddenly realized things like that, and other behaviors he was used to, would arouse suspicion among mortal kind.  He would have to be more careful in the future.

“Well, it looks like rain may be coming,” Sam went on, “so by your leave I think we should hurry home to Bag End!  You should join Rosie and I for dinner tonight; she's making roast lamb and potato stew!”

Thorongil and Elerína gladly accepted the offer, and the feast was even better than advertised.  Sam and Rosie were excellent chefs - as hobbits tend to be - and when they had visitors they spared no expense.  Dinner at Bag End more than lived up to its reputation.

That evening the two maiar sat with the hobbits in parlour of Bag End.  Elerína eagerly listened to endless Shire gossip. Thorongil was thoroughly uninterested, and stared off into space; or more accurately, time.

That night when Sam went to put out the fireplace, he found Thorongil standing in his parlour, staring intently at the mantle.

“Is there something up there?” he asked.

“Not anymore,” answered Thorongil cryptically.  “Not anymore…”

Elerína stepped up behind the Hobbit.  “My husband has a … gift … that allows him to see things not as they are, but as they once were.”

What Thorongil saw Sam couldn't guess; but Elerína could.  He saw Sauron’s Ring, and through the mists of time it gnawed at him - the greatest weapon of the Ages of the Sun now lost forever to the fires of Mount Doom.  What a waste…

The End.

Author's Note:

HEY GUYS, Silz here. heraldofmanwe left his final note last chapter, but now it's my turn.

Let me say first and foremost, give it up for Heraldofmanwe. Getting to teach my brother how to write was such an honor, and even more of an honor because he's really quite good. Like, really good.

He's got several stories written out already in his little corner or the universe, unfortunately we're waiting to publish the next one until we reach a certain point in Flight to the East. So be on the lookout!

Thank you all for reading, reviewing, and voting. Hope to see you elsewhere!

Silz