She was born questioning her place in Middle Earth.
She grew realising that her powers brought only pain.
She journeyed, to find the truth and love for herself.
An orphaned ranger hailing from Imladris, Varilerin had always sensed an impending do...
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T.A 3001
Bilbo Baggins had never been this busy before since his trip to Erebor. With his grand birthday approaching in a few months, he had preoccupied himself with ordering of food, setting up tents, seeking out attractions, readying dozens of tables, and sending out hundreds of invitations. 111th is no small number for a Hobbit whose hobby was to seek dangerous adventures after all. And certainly his party would be as lavish as the treasures he had retrieved from Erebor, which had not been depleted for decades.
Once most of the matters were settled, Bilbo tried to finish the invitation letters for his countless of friends—some of them were made of simple parchment and some outright leather. Most of the invitations had been delivered a week ago, and those which were left were the special ones: for several Elves whose dwellings were too far to reach by mere mortal, an overly-curious Wizard, and a wandering ranger who had no home at all. He leaned back, cracked his knuckles, before he picked out a small parchment paper. He thought for a long moment and scribbled his words, before he rolled the paper to the size of a small scroll, smaller than his own palm.
Frodo sneaked behind Bilbo with a pot of tea and refilled his uncle's cup. "Who is that for?" Frodo asked, leaning closer.
"For a strange friend of mine," Bilbo answered.
"Whoever requires a parchment as small as that?" Frodo scoffed. "A snail?"
"No," Bilbo retorted, tying the parchment carefully. "It's for Daefaroth."
Frodo's face lit up, then twisted incomprehensibly. "Do you think he'll come?" he asked dubiously.
"Of course he'll come! That lad will be delighted, in fact, to you grown into such a marvellous Hobbit."
"I don't remember seeing him before when I was a child," Frodo reasoned.
Bilbo chuckled, taking staggered steps towards his garden. "Of course, you haven't. He's stealthier than a fox, that man. Now, you've always wished to know how I maintain our correspondence..."
On the fence perched a raven, conspicuously out of place. Bilbo approached the bird and offered it some bread. "You're sending a bird?" Frodo asked. "But I thought your friend is a traveller."
"That, my lad, is a secret I can never uncover," Bilbo explained as he offered the scroll to the bird. Seemingly understanding his intentions, the bird clutched the scroll with one of its legs and flew away quickly. "Take it to Daefaroth, will you?"
The bird cawed as a sweet reply. "Did you just talk to a bird?" Frodo chirped.
"No, but I think my friend does," Bilbo chuckled.
oOo
A few months later, Shire welcomed the queer guests whom Bilbo had long awaited. Elves and Dwarves came, bearing with them strange gifts beyond their comprehension. They arrived in groups, though cumulatively, their numbers were many, as if Bilbo had embarked not to slay a dragon but to form a guild or the sort. On the morning of his birthday, another stranger, quainter than the others, arrived on a cartwheel carrying numerous fireworks. His hat was pointy and the smoke from his pipe puffed happily as he rode across Shire, towards Bag End.
