An Unexpected Visitor

Summary: Seregil's final attempt at wizardry was accidentally sending himself into another plane of existence. Inspired by a similar fic by Miriam1, this is my idea of where he may have ended up.

A/N: The ages of the hobbits were calculated based on the birth years given in the Appendices to The Lord of the Rings. Seregil's age is based on how old he was when he left Aurënen. The last scene was taken partially verbatim from The Fellowship of the Ring, Chapter II: The Shadow of the Past.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Nightrunner Series or The Lord of the Rings. They are the property of Lynn Flewelling and J.R.R. Tolkien, respectively.

"...Then he really did it, sending himself into another plane."

"Plane?" Alec hiccuped, wiping his eyes.

"It is like another country or world, except that it does not exist in our reality. No one really understands why they exist at all, only that they do and that there are ways to cross into them. But they are dangerous, for the most part, and difficult to return from. Had I not been with him when he did it, he would have been lost. It was then that I was forced to say 'No more'."

(from Luck in the Shadows, pp. 198-199)

Samwise Gamgee worked busily in the garden of Bag End. It was a beautiful spring morning, and the young hobbit whistled a tune as he worked. As he pruned the rose bushes, there was a loud thump of something heavy landing on the lawn. This was quickly followed by a voice yelling out, "By the Four, what was that?"

Sam spun around to see a tall, lithe form slowly getting up on hands and knees, shoulder-length brown hair obscuring his face. What in the Shire was he doing here? What did he want with Mr. Frodo? The gardener put his pruning shears down and indignantly approached the figure. "Here, now! How'd you get here and what are you doing in Mr. Frodo's garden?"

The figure, obviously a little unsteady, eased himself into a sitting position. One hand on his stomach, he looked up at the indignant tween. Sounding quite ill, he said, "I'm afraid I don't know how I got here. And I don't know anyone named Mr. Frodo." He studied the hobbit a moment. "Where is 'here' anyway?"

Sam frowned. How could one of the Big Folk get to the middle of the Shire and not know where he was? And everyone in Hobbiton talked about Mr. Frodo. "You're in the Shire, in the village of Hobbiton." He pointed at the cozy hobbit hole. "This here's Bag End, home of Frodo Baggins. As fine a gentlehobbit as you'll find in these parts, he is."

The young man lowered his head again. "I suppose you're probably right." His face began to look a bit green. "By the Light, I could throw up."

Concerned now, Sam rushed forward and knelt by the stranger. "Beggin' your pardon, sir, but you're not looking well. We'd best get you inside and talk to Mr. Frodo."

Gratefully, the stranger allowed Sam to help him to his feet. The young man turned out to be as tall as Mr. Gandalf, and was dressed in a similar fashion, though quite a bit brighter. Luckily, he was able to walk mostly unaided. Otherwise, it would have been awkward for the hobbit to help him into the hole.

Sam opened the round green door into the tunnel-shaped hall. The tall visitor had to duck rather uncomfortably to avoid hitting his head on the low ceiling. As they entered, Sam called out, "Mr. Frodo! Mr. Frodo!"

Frodo Baggins was writing correspondence in the study when he heard the front door open and Sam began calling for him. It sounded urgent, so he wiped his pen nib clean and put the pen down. He came into the main hall to see his friend assisting a tall young man in brightly colored blue robes. The man's hair was obscuring his face, but he was clearly ill. "Sam, who've you brought to us?"

Sam quickly explained. "Well, I was working in the garden when he showed up. One minute, I was alone in the garden. The next, he was there, if you take my meanin', sir." Frodo nodded patiently. "Well, he seems lost and, with him not lookin' well, I thought he might like a place to rest, 'til he's feelin' better."

Frodo considered this. Sam was right. The man looked ill and needed time to recover. "Sam, why don't you get him settled in the kitchen? I was planning on some tea soon, anyway."

It wasn't long before the two hobbits and their guest were seated at the low table with a pot of tea. The young man seemed to be recovering from whatever ailed him. Frodo poured a cup for each of them. "So, my name is Frodo Baggins. My friend and gardener here is Samwise Gamgee. What's your name?"

The man studied the two hobbits a moment before answering. "My name is Seregil í Korit. What land are we in? I don't recall ever hearing about people like you."

Frodo and Sam looked at each other. Sam shrugged. Frodo answered, "This is the Shire and we are Hobbits. Our people have lived here for more than 1400 years. Though I'm not surprised you haven't heard of us, as most of us prefer to stay to ourselves."

Seregil sipped his tea, considering this information. "Who rules here?"

Frodo was startled by the question. "No one." At the look of surprise on Seregil's face, Frodo explained. "We mostly live our lives. There's a Thain, the head of the Took family, who's in charge of the Shire-muster. But that hasn't been called for in many years.

"Then, there's the Mayor. He's elected every seven years, at Midsummer, and presides at banquets. He's also in charge of the Messenger Service and the Watch. That's all we've ever needed."

Sam jumped in at this point. "There's also the Master of Buckland. He's the head of the Brandybucks. And the folk out in the East Farthing still accept his say-so on public matters."

Seregil smiled in amusement. "Where I'm from, I'm actually the son of a khirnari."

Frodo was curious. "What's a khirnari?"

Seregil explained, "The khirnari is a clan leader. The khirnari of the eleven major clans sit on a council to decide matters of importance to all the clans."

Sam furrowed his brows. "So, you're going to be a clan leader?"

Seregil shook his head. "No. I'm the youngest of five children. I have four older sisters. My eldest sister, Adzriel, will likely be our clan's next khirnari." His expression grew sad.

Frodo asked, "What's wrong, Seregil?"

Seregil looked at the concerned hobbit. "I'd rather not talk about it."

Sam studied Seregil's face. "Are you... one of the Fair Folk? An Elf?" There was awe on the young hobbit's face. He had always wanted to meet an Elf, and talked about it frequently.

Seregil's grey eyes widened in surprise at the question. "My people have been called the Fair Folk by humans, but I've never heard us called Elves. What are they?"

Frodo sipped his tea as he considered how to explain what little he'd learned from Bilbo. "Well, they are the Firstborn. All the other Races awoke after. As long as they aren't killed, they can live forever. Their name for themselves is the 'Eldar', the People of the Stars."

Seregil grinned. "Well, forever might be a bit much. We Aurënfaie do live longer than average men. The average for humans is around 30 or 40. The elderly might make it to 70. My people don't start even looking old until around 300 or so. I'm only 28."

Frodo whistled in appreciation. "My mother's maternal grandfather, Gerontius, died at 130. He's the longest lived hobbit in history."

"Don't forget old Mr. Bilbo," Sam reminded.

Frodo grinned. "Sam's right. Uncle Bilbo will be 120 this Halimath."

Seregil raised an eyebrow. "Really? You seem a bit young to have an uncle that old."

Frodo blushed. "I'll be 42 the same day as Uncle Bilbo's birthday. Of course, he's not really my uncle. We're cousins. It's just that he's so much older than I, that I started calling him uncle."

"So he must have had some interesting stories to tell you about his life," Seregil noted.

Frodo nodded. "Yes. He's one of the few hobbits to have had an adventure and returned from it. You have to understand, Seregil: few hobbits have adventures in the first place. Bilbo's become something of a local legend around Hobbiton. I sometimes wish that I could have an adventure." He looked wistfully out the window. That dream had become stronger since Bilbo went away, especially in the autumn.

Seregil smiled in understanding. "I've liked the idea of adventures my whole life, also. I don't think I would stay in one place for long if I had a choice."

Sam seemed surprised. "You're not even out of your tweens, yet!" At Seregil's confused look, Sam elaborated. "Your tweens are the years between 19 and coming of age at 33. I'm only 30, myself."

Seregil lowered his raised teacup to its saucer. "I understand your shock, Sam. I'm still a child among my own people. It'll be a couple of years before anyone considers me an adult. And it'll take another century before I'm considered mature enough to do anything worth doing." This last was stated wryly.

Sam now studied Seregil's blue robes. "Do your people do magic? I know Elves are said to. And then, there's Wizards, like Mr. Gandalf. But what about you?"

Frodo shook his head in amusement, watching Seregil's jaw drop in surprise. The hobbit waited for his guest to answer Sam's question.

It took Seregil a moment to decide how best to respond. Finally, he said, "All Aurënfaie have inherent magic. Many are capable of doing magic; some are better than others. I can't do much, maybe one or two spells. Most magic won't work around me, if it works at all. Whenever my mentor Nysander casts a spell on me, it works right, with occasional side effects. When I do it myself, it's hit and miss. I can do minor spells, but as I've done harder ones, I've found myself suffering headaches at best. At worst, I get violently ill."

Frodo put a hand on Seregil's. "I'm so sorry to hear that, Seregil."

Seregil shrugged. "It's something I've gotten used to." He winced a bit and put a hand to his head.

Frodo was instantly concerned. "Seregil, what's wrong?"

Seregil looked up. "Do you have something magical?"

Frodo's left hand strayed to the pocket where he kept the most mysterious piece of his inheritance from Bilbo. "Maybe. Why?" His tone came out defensive.

Seregil studied his host. "Because the magic I'm feeling hurts. Negative magic affects me worse than the kind that Nysander uses. Are you friends with a wizard that knows what he's talking about?"

Sam began to bubble with excitement. "Oh yes, sir. Mr. Gandalf is the best Wizard I know of to help out a hobbit in need. He's been coming 'round the Shire for years and years. It's said he was good friends with the Old Took. And he's the one that got Mr. Bilbo to have his adventure..."

Frodo cut into the younger hobbit's rambling speech. "What Sam is trying to say is: Yes. Gandalf is a close family friend, and I do trust him."

Seregil nodded. "Next time you see him, ask about that item. There is something very wrong with it to affect me like this."

As Frodo nodded, he saw a strange shimmering vortex appear in the kitchen door. Turning to Seregil, he asked, "What's that?"

Seregil slowly stood up. "It's a translocation portal."

An old man who looked remarkably like Gandalf, with his shabby robes and long beard, emerged from the vortex. "Seregil, my boy, I was so worried about you. I'm so glad you're safe." Frodo was struck by the fatherly way the old wizard treated Seregil.

Now, the elderly man examined the kitchen. "Interesting place you've brought yourself to, Seregil." He turned back to the younger man. "It took me quite a while to find you. Are you ready to go home, now?"

Seregil grinned sheepishly. "I'm more than ready, Nysander." He turned to the confused hobbits. "Thank you for your hospitality. Remember my advice." He walked over to Nysander and followed him into the vortex.

The vortex vanished, and the two hobbits sat in silence for several minutes before either could say anything. Sam commented, "That Nysander looked an awful lot like Gandalf, didn't he, Mr. Frodo?"

Frodo nodded. "Yes, he did, Sam. I wouldn't be surprised if they were similar as people. Seregil's advice is the kind I'd expect to hear from Gandalf. I hope he visits soon. Gandalf, I mean."

"So do I," Sam agreed. "I don't like the sound of what Seregil said."

It was eight years after that strange visit until Frodo finally saw Gandalf again. Hearing the tale of the Ring from the Wizard, he recalled Seregil's words about getting advice from the old man. But Gandalf had little advice to offer him, just that It needed to be destroyed.

"I do really wish to destroy it!" Frodo cried. "Or, well, to have it destroyed," he corrected himself. "I am not made for perilous quests. I wish I had never seen the Ring! Why did it come to me? Why was I chosen?"

"Such questions cannot be answered," Gandalf told him. "You may be sure that it was not for any merit that others do not possess: not for power or wisdom, at any rate." Frodo didn't like the sound of this. "But you have been chosen, and you must therefore use such strength and heart and wits as you have."

Frodo was sure Gandalf was mistaken about this. Him? Take the Ring on so dangerous a journey? "But I have so little of any of these things! You are wise and powerful. Will you not take the Ring?" Surely Gandalf was better suited for a Quest of this magnitude?

But Gandalf explained that he was far less suited to it than Frodo. The Ring would tempt him into using It, and that would be far worse than he could imagine. It was all up to Frodo what happened next.

Still not sure he was doing the right thing, Frodo agreed to keep the Ring. But the Enemy was searching for it, so he would have to leave home. The adventure he had always wanted was calling him. This wasn't quite what he had in mind, but it was here.

Glossary

Halimath- the ninth month of the Shire calendar, corresponding roughly to our September.