Into the West (A Lord of the Rings Fan Fic)

Chapter Thirty Three

It felt strange to be back in Rivendell, a place which had been her home for so many years, after such a long time and so many changes; where once she had welcomed her return to the bustle of Rivendell, Amaruil now found herself perplexed by it and felt wrong footed as she rode through the entrance. It wasn’t just the time which had changed both her and her old home, though it certainly had, but it was also the way she looked at it; she knew that she would likely not view Imladris as her home again and that she would spend her years in the forests to the south with Legolas, Arwen, Aragorn and the friends which she had made in Gondor. It seemed that, no matter how nostalgically it was possible to look upon something which had been lost to the past, one never felt quite the same as one thought one would when faced with it again. For Amaruil, not necessarily out of choice but not entirely out of necessity, Imladris had ceased to be her home; not only that but she was faced with the terrifying reality of the consequences of the Elves’ retreat from Middle Earth; everywhere she looked Amaruil saw houses which stood empty or had been almost entirely emptied since she was last here. Although they were not always empty of their contents it was the marked absence of life which scared Amaruil as she looked round at a place which had once stood so great and so esteemed, even among Elves and one had only to listen to a portion of one of Bilbo’s stories to hear how The Last Homely House was viewed by the rest of the inhabitants of Middle Earth. She knew, however, that she was being absurd and melodramatic, by no means was every elf in Ennorath leaving with Elrond – most of the Elves who had felt the Sea-longing had left before anyway; though it pained both Amaruil and Arwen to think of it, they knew he had delayed his journey to see everything out to the end and to offer her one final chance at another life.

It wasn’t long though before Amaruil found herself back in her home, wandering through it absentmindedly and trying not to think of the fact that her family would never again return here; it was a curious feeling, to see something left behind forever but that which seemed to have been dropped at a moment’s notice, almost like someone had walked away from a mirror and left their reflection standing there, watching out for them and waiting for their return. Both Amaruil and the reflection knew that their other half wasn’t coming back though and the hope which they clung onto was just that – a slender hope which had tied itself around their hearts and refused to let go. It was eerily quiet as Amaruil walked through the halls of her house and it unsettled her not to hear her mother humming an ancient lay from somewhere or another, or the light footsteps of Merenwen tapping their way merrily down the hall, or the happy laugh of her father leaking out from under this door or that. It still didn’t feel like they had gone but she knew that it was not a good idea to stay here too long or perhaps the realisation might begin to sink in. Perhaps she would realise – once the last ship had left the docks at the Grey Havens – perhaps then she would finally realise that she was not alone in the world, not really, but that she was the flower left to bloom on its own in her family, the dancing seed which blew the other way in the wind; no matter how much she loved Legolas and her friends Amaruil felt adrift in a sea of unfamiliarity without her family and it unnerved her to contemplate living the rest of her life here in Ennorath, separated from them forever by the tumultuous sea that stretched from shore to shore.

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“Amaruil!” Elrond beamed as he greeted her that evening. “It is so wonderful to see you again!” Neither he nor Amaruil mentioned the one person whom he was not seeing again and she fervently wished that it hadn’t had to be this way.

“Arwen bids you very well,” she replied in a small voice as Elrond smiled sadly, the expression lending a pathetic weariness to his face while his years tinged it with something that hovered between understanding and resignation, a strangled pain which made it even harder for Amaruil to watch.

“Though she could not come,” he observed, “for love of Aragorn and of Gondor keeps her away. It is not an unexpected loss though, I knew that she would not for we spoke of many things before I took my leave and all that we had to say was said. It is well that she chooses to stay there for she will surely affect both Aragorn and his people well, besides which too much sadness would come of our meeting again. My time here is over and my final sacrifice to this war and land has been made; Arwen and Aragorn’s child will reunite our bloodlines once more and she will strengthen the failing line of the Men of Númenor. It is more than I ever looked for and will be the foundation upon which the Dominion of Men and the removal of the evil which has warped this land for far too long will be built but, I must confess, I wish that it did not involve all that it does for I shall miss her dearly. I shall miss all of my children dearly.”

It took a moment for Elrond’s final sentence to sink in but when it did Arwen said, “I thought that Elladan and Elrohir were to sail with you for the Undying Lands.”

“No, Elladan decided to stay and provide what aid he could to his sister as well as leading the Elves of Imladris and Elrohir too chose to stay; I think that, on one level, they wish to remain close to their sister although I wish greatly that they would not decide to stay here and make the same choice that she has,” he replied. “It seems that all of my flesh and blood has been left here to ripen the fruits of Men.”

“Perhaps it is not as bad as it would seem,” she suggested hopefully while people on either side of them continued to fill the hall with their conversations.

“And you too are staying here,” he added sadly as Amaruil ducked her head. “In place of four Elves we have two hobbits, an exchange which does not seem to quite add up,” he laughed.

“That reminds me, where is Bilbo for I have not seen him in many a month.”

“He is keeping court over there,” Elrond answered with a nod of his head towards a dark corner. “He always seems to be sleeping now; one hundred and twenty nine is ancient for a hobbit, their lives are almost as short as those of Men. It will do him good to come with us, he has more than earned it. Mae govannen Amaruil,” he said by way of dismissal, returning to his food as she wound her way through the chattering elves and towards a tiny frail figure who sat hunched in the corner.

“Mae govannen Bilbo,” she murmured, waking him slowly from his sleep and chuckling slightly at the comical expression of confusion on his face as he wondered where he was.

“Ah! Amaruil!” he exclaimed. “Mae govannen! I was just wondering when I would next see you again for in your absence I have had much to tell you.” As he said this he beamed widely, fishing around in his coat for more pipe weed which he stuffed into the end of his pipe, which was miraculously still clamped in his mouth even after his rest, and began to puff away cheerfully on it. “I finished my book!”

Amaruil grinned as a large smoke ring drifted lazily past her nose. “That’s fantastic Bilbo,” she said sincerely, “I cannot wait to read your account of your adventure.”

“Ah well you see that’s the thing,” he said, “I do believe that I gave all of my papers to Frodo, to organise and whatnot for I find that I have so little time to do it and even less time to write. I would so much like for my story to be followed directly by that of Frodo and, as I was unable to write it – being so busy, I thought I had better just give it to him.”

“That is a pity my friend,” Amaruil said, “but a good idea to be sure.” As she said this Bilbo suddenly looked at his smoking pipe and frowned. “How odd!” he exclaimed. “Why this is the first time in months that I have smoked! I do not smoke any more you see and I gave my best pipes, made for me by some elves here, away to the young Masters Meriadoc and Peregrin when they stopped by here some months ago.”

“Would you like me to take that from you then Bilbo?” she asked as his head drooped back onto his chest. “No no it’s fine,” he mumbled before slipping back into sleep, “I shall do it myself eventually.”

“Goodbye Bilbo,” Amaruil said to the small hobbit, “I will see you again soon.”

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Hey guys, this is the last part that I have pre-written so hopefully (because I have no work tonight I think) I will be able to get a bit more done tonight; I would, however, like to write a bit more of The Next Great Adventure and hopefully some more of The Bounty Hunter (my original novel) too. Still, we are slowly slowly slowly crawling towards the end of this (it has become much longer than I was expecting!) and thaks for supporting it!