The Ranger And The Prince.

Going Home.

It had been nearly centuries since last I had been out into the vast world of Middle-Earth to adventure as surprising as it may seem, I was still content staying in Mirkwood.

Though it would usually seem that I was always bustling to go outdoors, I was finally settled down. My three beautiful children were what kept me tied to Mirkwood.

Don't get me wrong, I still longed for adventure but I dare not leave my family's side. After all, Gemstone - our eldest - was only early into her hundreds and Jewel - our youngest - was only in her fifties, looking no older than a child of ten in the eyes of men.

I vowed that when they were old enough, me and Legolas would let them come on one of our adventures. After all, we needed some tracking companions.

Whenever my mind did wander to the world beyond Mirkwood, I found myself on occasion, longing to see the Mines of Moria, my long lost home. Now I myself was a parent, I wanted nothing more than to see the place where I grew up.

I wondered what my father would have said if he had been able to meet Legolas, Gemstone, Amethyst and Jewel. He'd probably have something snarky to say about Legolas. What can I say, I got my sense of humour from my dwarven father.

It seemed a shame that my children would never be able to grow up and see the splendors of the Mines of Moria, after all, it was where I grew up.

That evening, I was sat beside little Jewel, reading from the book Merry and Pippin had given us all those years ago. I often found myself re reading the tales withing the book's pages. Everyone in the fellowship besides me and Legolas had written in it.

There and Back Again, A Hobbits Tale By Bilbo Baggins.

The Lord of the Rings, By Frodo Baggins.

The Gardener and the Ring-Bearer, By Samwise Gamgee.

Esquire of Rohan, By Meriadoc Brandybuck.

A Fool's Hope, By Peregrine Took.

The White Tree, By Aragorn King of Gondor.

Brothers in Arms, By Gimli son of Glóin.

Though extra pages were filled into the bed, me and Legolas were still yet to write our own stories, despite having so many years to do so.

We were Elves. We had lived so long and would love for thousands of years yet to come. How then do you pinpoint one particular story to tell?

"And thus it was, a Fourth Age of Middle-Earth began," I smiled, reading from the last few pages of Frodo's retelling as Jewel drifted of to sleep in her blankets, "And the Fellowship of the Ring, though eternally bound by friendship and love, was ended."

Though I knew Jewel was already too sleepy to listen anymore, I still read on, a sad smile on my lips as I remembered the little Halflings.

"Thirteen months to the day since Gandalf sent us on our long journey we found ourselves looking upon a familiar sight. We were home. How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on when in your heart you begin to understand there is no going back? There are some things that time cannot mend, some hurts that go too deep that have taken hold. Bilbo once told me his part in this tale would end, that each of us must come and go in the telling. Bilbo's story was now over. There would be no more journeys for him save one. The Elves had accorded him a special honour, a place on the last ship to leave Middle-Earth. My dear Sam, you cannot always be torn in two. You will have to be one and whole for many years. You have so much to enjoy and to be and to do. Your part in the story will go on."

Closing the book softly, I looked down at Jewel with a sorrowful smile. She was curled up and already asleep so I carefully bent down and kissed her lightly before standing up and leaving her be.