The Companion (Hobbit fanfiction.)

Prologue

"Do not let the shadows of
your past.
darken the doorstep
of your future."

There is something you should know before we begin:

This story ends with my death.
The tale is quite legendary and many know of it, but unlike some other characters, my story has faded into the murkiness of time. There are very few who still remember that I was ever there.
This last attempt may well be the only legacy I leave after I am gone. Therefore, I sincerely hope that this tale reaches the ears of those it has to, and if you are reading this, I take it that you are one of those intended few.

But I might be getting ahead of myself here. Let us start at the beginning, at least where this specific tale began.

My adventure broke on a summer's night. The cool wind whipped at my dark hair, whilst my sky blue eyes searched the forest. All was quiet.

My long leather boots were silent on the damp forest floor.

I clenched my elven shortsword in my hands as I crept through the undergrowth. Even though I knew there was nothing to fear, I didn't allow myself to let my guard down.

A few minutes later I emerged from the trees and found myself in my favourite spot.

It was a large clearing. The moss was so thick it could have been a mattress, and it covered the ground in a perfect circle. When I looked up, I could see the sky through the trees. In the middle of the clearing, stood a giant willow tree. Its branches reached all the way to the forest floor, and with the help of it's leaves, the tree created the perfect sanctuary. A perfect place to think.

Gandalf wasn't fond of me thinking . Well it wasn't the thinking, but the overthinking he was afraid of. It's never wise, to dwell on the past. He would always tell me.

Yes, Gandalf the Grey, the Maia who was known across all of Middle-earth, though not in every place for the same reasons. Mithrandir to the elves, Olórin to some, The Grey Pilgrim to others.
To me however, he was simply Uncle.

When I was young, I always assumed he was the head of the order. Though I now know that honour belongs to Saruman the White. And before him, it had belonged to... my mother. She was one of the blue wizards, the pride and joy of the Maia, before she was brutally murdered by orcish filth.
Gandalf  and I rarely spoke of it, and I sensed that he thought if we made no mention of it, that I would find my way with more ease, without the past dragging me down.

But what he did not understand was that my past made up a great deal of who I was.

Tonight my thoughts were especially troubled.
I yearned to see the world beyond our sheltered part of the woods. After my mother's death, Gandalf kept me away from the world, only now and again taking me with him when I was too young to be left alone for long periods. Even though I was raised fairly sheltered, I was far from uneducated. I had read more books about the world than I could count. I knew Middle-Earth's history as far back as the records go. I just wanted to see the entirety of the realm in those legends.

My thoughts drifted to my father.
I never knew the man,  but I was once told that he was one of the great kings of men, and that his destiny was one that many things depended upon. Whoever he was, people say I have his mind and soul, but that my appearance is that of my mother. I have her long raven colored hair, her tanned skin and her strong posture. But I am told that I have my father's piercing eyes, his boldness and humour.
I never asked about him, but that didn't prevent the questions swirling in my mind, and that sometimes I wished desperately for answers to those questions...

As I lay on the soft moss, I caught a glance of something flying above the tree tops. I could make out the wings, talons and piercing eyes of an eagle. The message was clear:
Come home.

Why could he possibly want me back at this early at night? The sun was only just creeping over the horison. I knew he said that soon he would be leaving. But he was often away, meddling in the affairs of our world, so this announcement was not much of a surprise. It was his agitation over the past few months that bothered me.

I knew I had to go and see what he had to say. Even though I didn't want to leave this little piece of paradise.

I stood up, took my sword and started off.
As I glanced back one last time, I got a sinking feeling that it would be a long time before I would return.

Then I turned and headed back.

I came to the little cottage we lived in. Gandalf was sitting on the bench in front of the windows, smoking his pipe. He looked up as I came nearer.

"Illdera, I thought perhaps you might have lost your way," he said with a smile.

I smiled back, "Uncle, you do know that I could navigate these woods while asleep. I could not lose my way even if I tried to."

He didn't answer, but just stared out into the darkening sky.

"Uncle?" I tried to catch his attention.
"You mentioned you were leaving soon, when are you departing? And where to?"

He looked up, and it seemed as though the ages could be seen in his features, weighing on his usual gentle face. "Sit down my dear, we need to talk."

I looked at him curiously. He had only once before told me those words, and I knew that something serious was on his mind.
I sat down next to him as he started talking.

"Have you ever heard of Thorin Oakenshield?" Of  course I had heard of the legendary leader of the dwarves, the prince who lost his home to a firedrake.
Gandalf didn't wait for my answer, most likely because he knew exactly what it would be.
"Well... I am joining him, 12 other dwarves and a hobbit on a quest. They are intending to take back the Lonely Mountain."

I laughed: "And was this quest initiated by you?"

He looked at me, not even smiling at my joke. Something was definitely wrong.

My expression turned wary. "What does this have to do with me? Why would you even tell me about your ventures? You usually keep me in the dark on these things"

"That might have been a fault on my part. Perhaps I should have shown you more of the world. Nevertheless, I want you to come along."

I stared at him, shocked. My heart fluttered at the idea of finally earning total independence and freedom.
But my excitement did not overpower my confusion.
"Uncle, why must I come? What use could I be to a company of dwarves? I am nothing of significance"

"You know that not to be true, you are..." He began.

"No." I cut him off. "We are not discussing this right now. Just tell me why."

"Illdera, I have my reasons. You are something of value. I want to keep an eye on you" He said sternly.

We went on for some time, me demanding answers, and Gandalf refusing to give them, before I finally gave in. No one could argue with my uncle for long. There was one who managed it once. But she was long gone.

"Alright," I sighed. "But I will have to take a detour. I'll meet you at the halfling's. Where is it?"

He told me. The Shire, which house, and where it was located(Hobbiton, of course), then he left.
I packed a few things I might need. Just the essentials. Food, water, a blanket, those kind of things. And of course my weapons. My bow and arrows with the blue and gold plumes, my shortsword and a silver dagger in my boot. I then adjusted the buckles on my leather vest, and felt a strength start to grow within me.

Just before sunrise, I also started off. I had to visit my aunt first. She had to know about this...