Exploring Westernesse [ Lord of the Rings x Silmarillion ]

The House of Old Friends

A/N: Rest in peace, and God bless you, Master Tolkien. January 3, 1892 - September 2, 1973.

As the boat bearing Maglor, Fingon, Elladan, Elrohir, and Míril drifted across the waves and approached the shore, the spray of seawater tossed a salty tang into the air. The rush of air as the swans pulled their boat blew their cloaks behind them. The night seemed still, and yet the gentle up and down of the waves showed how truly alive the world was.

As the boat docked, Maglor took each person’s arm and hoised them up onto the stone pier. He pulled Elladan up, the last to leave the boat, and pointed down the row of beachfront houses. “The one we’re visiting isn't far from here. A five minute walk at most.”

“Good.” Míril yawned, causing her to pause before she could continue. “I'm exhausted.”

“The night is still young, my friends,” Fingon teased. He spun around to face them, walking backwards. The golden ribbons in his hair flashed in the moonlight of Telperion’s blossom. “Come along. Follow me.”

The twins followed Fingon quickly, while Míril trailed slightly behind. She once more admired the beauty of the land she now called home. The bright stars above, the white stone below, the atmosphere had become irreplaceable to her. She ran her fingers through her salt-soaked hair absentmindedly.

Maglor walked beside her. He held his arms behind his back and said nothing. Instead he observed her quietly. With each step they made, their destination drew closer and sleep would come soon. He knew she looked forward to getting home after so long.

Fingon stopped in front of small cottage style house. Tucked away around a corner, but still sitting near the beach, a small glow shone through the curtained windows.

The elf nodded with a smile. “Here we are.” He approached the door and knocked quietly.

A few moments passed before a small figure opened the door. His hair, dark yet peppered with silver-grey, looked on them in amazement.

“Frodo!” cried all three of the half elves.

The Hobbit flashed them a gentle smile. “My, you barely look any older than when I last saw you years ago!”

Míril laughed. “Frodo, it is good to see you. But what are you doing up so late?”

“He likes to do his writing at night,” Maglor chipped in with a smile at the hobbit. “Is that not correct, Master Frodo?”

“As usual, you are correct, Lord Maglor.” Frodo beckoned for them to follow him inside.

“You know I don't want you calling me by my title,” Maglor protested, following Míril inside. “To you I am but a friend.”

Frodo nodded. He walked over to a small kettle and put hot water on. “And you know I feel the same. I insist you drop the 'master’ from my name.”

Maglor dipped his head an agreement. He sat down at a chair designed for elvish visitors. The others took a couch and the floor. Frodo returned to them after putting food on plates and nodded.

“Maglor would you follow me? The rest of you, stay here,” he said to them. “We’ll be right back.”

As the two disappeared deeper into the house, Míril looked around. She reached to the small table before her and took a seed cake. Her mouth watered as she realized it had been many hours since she’d last eaten. She wolfed it down in three bites.

When Frodo and Maglor returned a minute later, they brought an even greater surprise. For being pushed in an elven crafted wheelchair sat a hobbit, old of face, but young of heart. The top of his head was bald, but white hair still sprung up around it. His blue eyes twinkle upon seeing the half elves, and he smiled.

“Elladan. Elrohir. Míril.” Bilbo chuckled lightly. “How good of you to visit!”

“Bilbo,” Elrohir laughed in glee. “This is unexpected to say the least. But certainly not unwelcome!”

“Unexpected, yes.” Bilbo blinked back tears. “The Valar have smiled upon me and allowed us this meeting before I pass.”

“Don't speak like that,” Elladan frowned. “Surely just living here extends your life!”

Fingon replied for the hobbit. “It does, to a certain extent. But hobbits are not elves, though we lament this fact.”

Bilbo saw Míril glancing to a side table. On it were several books. One, black with silver script, another red with white script. He smiled.

“Let’s not talk of death any more tonight. I see Míril has found my books!” The elderly hobbit smiled fondly at the texts. “I fear I will not finish them.”

“I thought we weren't to talk of death!” Maglor interjected.

Bilbo smirked and shrugged. But Elrohir eagerly stood and walked over to the table. He reached out to take the red one but Frodo shook his head.

“They aren't finished yet,” he explained.

Elrohir rolled his eyes. “This again, old friend? You always were secretive about your stories.”

“‘The Adventures of Tom Bombadil’?” Elladan remarked, peering over his twin’s shoulder. “‘The Children of Húrin: a Westron Translation of Narn i Chîn Húrin’? ‘Beren and Lúthien: a Westron Translation of the Lay of Leithien’?”

“Ambitious projects, I know,” Bilbo sighed. “I fear I've bit off more than I can chew.”

Maglor lay a hand on the hobbit’s shoulder. He sighed and shook his head. “At least you have Frodo here to continue your work even if you cannot complete it.”

Frodo frowned slightly but he nodded and knelt in front of Bilbo. The elderly hobbit smiled fondly at his nephew. Pain and joy crossed his eyes as memories flooded in.

“I am blessed to have you at my side, my lad.” He ruffled Frodo’s hair. After a moment of silence he turned to the rest. “What are have you done in the Blessed Realm so far? And what do you plan to do next?”

Elladan, Elrohir, and Míril recounted all that had befallen them since arriving. Frodo and Bilbo nodded along, asking questions about this or that, thoroughly engaged. Every so often Maglor or Fingon would jump in with more information.

“You rode an eagle?” Bilbo laughed. “I have not done that since the days of my adventures with the dwarves! Exhilarating, yes?”

Míril nodded immediately, her heart pounding just thinking about it. “It was amazing. I can't describe it in words.”

Frodo agreed. Maglor, however, simply shrugged. “I suppose I am the only one present who has never had the luxury.”

They laughed merrily, as it was true. Fingon had ridden Thorondor, Miril, Elladan, and Elrohir had ridden Isilmo, and the hobbits, Gwaihir and Landroval.

The company remained for many hours. The pleasant warmth of the hearth and the comfort of the blanket she had been given coaxed Míril to sleep a few hours in. With her head on the couch cushion, she drifted away, dreaming of the days she had spent in Rivendell.