Scions of the Third Age

Elanor wondered why she was asked to ride in the wagon with the injured Aibreán, for the shieldmaiden slept a great deal the first few days. The hobbit lass felt useless to help and frankly she got a little bored.

Eldarion rode close to the wagon with Fastred as promised. Yet, as Elanor was under the canopy it was difficult to converse with her friends without shouting – which naturally she did not want to do while the Lady was sleeping.

Riding close to the wagon also was the ranger Tanner. He checked often on his belovèd, and was nearly as frustrated with Aibreán’s constant sleeping as Elanor was.

Even so, Elanor was ready to provide anything the invalid needed and was on hand to cover her with an extra blanket for warmth or to tuck another pillow behind her to cushion the bumpy ride.

In the meantime, the lass grasped for anything else to pass the time – whether rereading one of the several books she brought with her or tending to the special pots of elanor flowers she had been carefully cultivating during the trip to present to the Queen. Sometimes she would just sit and watch Aibreán sleep, hoping to see signs of improvement.

One day, as they were nearing the town of Bree once again, Elanor did indeed see color back in the Lady’s face and a depth of breath to her slumber that had replaced the shallow in and out at the beginning of the journey.

Lady Saelind had looked pleased that morning after changing the dressing on Aibreán’s wounds so it looked like the patient was on the mend at last.

While Aibreán slept on, Elanor returned to Frodo’s book and slowly perused each page. Once again she got caught up in his story, particularly taken by his harrowing encounter with the Nazgûl on Weathertop, when she was startled to hear, “What are your reading over there, little sister, to make you gasp so?”

“Only my Uncle Frodo’s book of his adventures,” she answered shyly after catching her breath.

“Adventures indeed!” Aibreán agreed. “I’d heard Master Baggins had written them down. I should like to hear them if you’ve a mind to share them with me.”

Elanor was eager to do so and flipped back several pages to start the battle at Amon Sûl from the beginning. After finishing the first tale, the hobbit lass was encouraged to read a few more, as the sometime bard promised to give her elvish lesson in return.

Of course, the petite lady-in-waiting-to-be was only too happy to comply!

By the time the company road into Bree, Elanor had learned quite a few useful words and phrases and Aibreán had heard a great deal of Frodo’s book.

Because of the shieldmaiden’s condition, Eldarion decided they should stay at an inn to give her a day to recuperate without the bumpiness of the road. Saelind agreed readily and Barliman Butterbur’s Inn of the Prancing Pony was chosen as their destination.

The innkeeper was more than thrilled to see old faces as well as the new ones who resembled his one-time friends.

“Well, if you all aren’t a sight for sore eyes!’ he greeted his guests warmly. “Men and hobbits… and an elf and dwarf too! Well, we’ve got room for all. Come in… come in…”

It took the rest of the afternoon to get everyone settled, but by evening there was a merry gathering in the common room.

As Aibreán was upstairs sleeping with Tanner and Saelind to look after her, Elanor got to come down for the early part of the evening. She sat with her father and Meriadoc and Peregrine, as Fastred was off at a table with Eldarion and his men. “No place for a hobbit lass,” she sighed wistfully.

The room was lively with talk and laughter, but as much of it was not directed towards her, Elanor got rather bored. With nothing to keep her, she had decided to go to her room when the lithe and princely elf Legolas and his stouter dwarf-friend Gimli joined her father’s table.

Not having had an opportunity to meet either of her father’s old companions, Elanor firmly kept her seat to hear what they might have to report.

“How’s the ale here, Master Took?” asked Gimli with a gruff but amiable bark

Raising his stein, the Thain replied, “Excellent, my dear Gimli! Butterbur serves it in pints, you know!"

“Pints?” the dwarf grinned. “Legolas, care for a wager?”

“Not tonight, Gimli,” the elf prince answered. “But I’m sure Pippin and Merry will oblige you in your game. I would not count them out either. If they can handle Entdraught, they might just drink you under the table.”

Gimli looked startled at the thought for just a moment, then found the humor in his friend’s taunt and laughed heartily. “Half the fun is trying, eh?”

Elanor watched as the burly Lord of Aglarond strode to the bar with his two hobbit drinking companions, but slowly she felt herself being contemplated by a pair of cool, serene eyes the color of cornflowers.

Trying not to be daunted by his frank perusal of her features, she spoke up, “Elen síla lúmenn’ omentielvo, herumin.”

Rather surprised to hear her speak to him in his own language, the elf first raised in interested eyebrow then nodded politely and responded, “Elen síla lúmenn’ omentielvo, vanisiler.”

She grinned suddenly at him, happy to have both impressed him and gotten the phrase correct. “Hannon lle,” she said, then admitted, “And that’s about the extent of my knowledge of elvish, Your Highness. I’m still learning though. I know more words and phrases, but nothing to carry on a conversation.”

“You seem an apt pupil, Mistress Elanor.”

Ducking her head, she added, “I’m hoping to be able to speak to the Queen when I meet her and not completely embarrass myself.”

“Both Arwen and the King will appreciate any effort you put for on their behalf, I’m sure.”

“Can you tell me about them? Do you spend much time with them in Gondor?”

Legolas shook his head slightly, “No, not much time at all, I’m afraid. Gimli and I are mostly riding through Fangorn exploring or working in his cave city in Rohan.” Elanor looked crestfallen and the elf prince added, “But I can tell you that every good thing you heard about the King and Queen are true. And I rather doubt that you’ve heard a bad thing said of them at all.”

“Well that much is true,” she agreed. They were quiet for a time, and she tendered, “May I ask you a question, Your Highness?”

“You may… and you may also call me ‘Legolas.’ That title has no meaning for me outside of Mirkwood.”

“Are you going to take the ship like my Uncle Frodo someday, Legolas?” she asked artlessly. “It seems like all the elves that are still here plan on staying…”

He sighed heavily, “I must admit to you that I long to take the ship. And I will one day, but not anytime soon, I’m afraid.” Consternation crossed her suave features and he asked, “Why do you ask, vanisiler?”

“I was hoping you might bear a message to Frodo for me. I was only a baby when he left, but I want him to know that we haven’t forgotten him. I read his book nearly every day, and even though I was little and can barely remember him I still miss him.”

The smile Legolas gave her was sweetly wistful, “Little Elli, I promise to you that no matter how long it takes before I set sail, whatever message you want, whether it’s written or verbal I will bear to Frodo Baggins for you.”

Brightening, she asked, “Really?” He nodded solemnly and put his hand over his heart in promise. “Oh, but that is so wonderful! This is something I have longed for! What shall I say? I must go write something right now…” she stood to leave, then remembered herself, “Hannon lle, Legolas! Hannon lle!” and blew him a kiss as she skipped upstairs.

Bemused, Legolas watched her a moment then slowly turned to join Samwise in his conversation with Folcred and his brothers. Still, his mind stayed with the hobbit lass and her message for some time.


Elanor labored for more than an hour over her note to Frodo Baggins. When her father came upstairs sometime later, he found her sound asleep at a little writing desk, her golden head pillowed on one arm while the other lay across the desk holding the vellum packet that was her completed missive.

Samwise picked up the letter to examine it more closely. The ink now dry, he ran a soft thumb over his old friend’s name, which was girlishly written across the front with many loops and curlicues. Wistfully he smiled thinking of Frodo and hoping the Hobbit-Ringbearer was happier now living in the Undying Lands.

Propping the packet up against the ink well so Elanor would see it when she woke, her father then gathered her up in his arms and tucked her into one of Barliman’s lovely feather beds. Even in her sleep, Elanor felt the softness of the mattress and the warmth of the cozy coverlet and sank deeper between the crisp linens with a contented sigh.

That night they all slept soundly.


-end of Chapter Twelve-