Chapter One

Into the Shire

A/N:Why hello there. If you've been following this series since the beginning, then go forth, awesome reader, and enjoy! If you're coming to this new, follow these instructions: 1) Go onto my author page. 2) Click on Starsight. 3) Read. 4) Repeat Steps 1-3 for Firesight. 5) Click on this story. Otherwise you'll be so lost that no number of Satnavs will be able to rescue you. We all clear? Marvellous. Off we go...

Disclaimer: Oh yeah, of course: obligatory I-own-nothing-but-the-contents-of-my-mind post. Now onto more important things:

She held onto grass blades until the ground stopped spinning, taking refuge in darkness when it was too exhausting to keep her eyes open.

Gradually, with patience came stability. She slowly sat on her knees and let cool night air brush her head. The sky was starry confetti cast over fresh ink. There were also fireworks.

She sat in the field awhile, unsure of whether she should focus her energies on standing up and getting somewhere, or on recalling who she was and what had happened to her. She did know she was a complete self, a woman with a history, with likes and dislikes. For instance, if she thought of a pear she knew that it was disgusting, that her favourite colours were pine green and burnt orange, and that a dragon was heading straight for her.

She gasped and threw herself face first into the grass, hands protecting her head. At once overcome with dread, she waited for the end as if she had practiced doing so a hundred times before. When the end then didn't come, she risked glancing up. Ferocious red and orange sparks descended from a single point of explosion in the sky, like branches from a tree.

The dragon was just another firework. But she had seen a real one before. She stood, shaky and breathless. Everything came back to her in a jumbled mess, memories flinging into her head like a rain of swords. There was too much of everything, too much loss, for her to understand. One thing she did pull out of the chaos: her name.

There was cheering just over a hill. Ember knew where she needed to go, if stealthily - she had no idea what race of creatures might walk these lands. As she hiked up the steep incline, Ember saw her legs and realised she was clothed entirely in white: boots, trousers, and her father's shirt (inexplicably repaired) all unnaturally white, as if the materials had been dazzled into their pristine condition. Even as she stepped in mud, the soles of Ember's boots remained clean, which she found thoroughly disturbing. The only non-white item was a dark blue cloak to match the evening sky, which she did not recall having before.

Finally, although without really wanting for breath, she reached the top of the hill and surveyed the landscape below. Immediately she drew back behind a lone tree, hiding herself from the largest, merriest garden party she'd ever seen. Round paper lanterns glowed soft as fireflies above a lake of hobbits, and colourful bunting fluttered in the mild evening breeze. It must be summer, Ember inferred, before alarm snuck up on her. In Erebor it had been the start of winter, which meant she had travelled not only through the sky, but through time itself.

She shivered and forced this realization into a box. Until she found a suitable sanctuary, for the sake of her sanity, all such revelations would have to be shelved. Back to observing what was presently before her: hobbits, musical instruments, plates of food, barrels of ale, a cake the size of a small nation, more hobbits, sparklers, washing up tubs, yet more food…and then she saw him. It was impossible not to, given the height difference. But even in a crowd of a thousand men, Ember would know that grey pointy hat and staff anywhere.

'Gandalf,' she whispered, her first word in an age. She felt a storm of questions rise to her lips, ready to be asked, but before her feet could move, the festive mood suddenly changed. Ember peered out from behind the tree trunk and watched curiously as one elderly hobbit in particular stood before the rest on a table. She presumed that this was the host.

'My dear Bagginses and Boffins,' he began with verve, to the sound of cheers, 'Tooks and Brandybucks, Grubbs, Chubbs, Hornblowers, Bolgers, Bracegirdles and Proudfoots…'

'Proudfeet!' a hobbit corrected, prompting laughter.

'Today is my one hundred and eleventh birthday!' declared the host, at which Ember balked. Did hobbits usually live so long?

'Alas, eleventy-one years is far too short a time to live among such excellent and admirable hobbits,' he continued. 'I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve.'

A baffled silence fell over the crowd.

'Someone's a master of wordplay,' Ember muttered to the air. She watched as the hobbit folded his hands behind his back and shuffled on his feet. His voice softened, but not quite enough to be out of earshot.

'I, er, I h-have things to do…I regret to announce - this is the End. I am going now. I bid you all a very fond farewell. Goodbye.'

And in a blink, he vanished. A collective gasp rustled over the hobbits in the garden, some standing, others outright fainting. Ember's own moment of stunned silence was fleeting - a faint anger took over like hot water on a fresh wound. She took advantage of the commotion below and tore away from the tree. Gandalf was on his feet already, moving so quickly and so purposefully towards the nearest hobbit house, he could have been gliding. Her mind took knowledge from the near future and brought it before her: in under a minute the hobbit would track invisible footprints up the front path and enter that house, only to be immediately confronted by Gandalf. Childishly determined to be the first one there, Ember swept herself down steep grasses towards the back garden. She already knew every door would be unlocked on the first try.

Amidst the impromptu and hysterical searches that began for the elderly hobbit, not a single person noticed the way his front gate and door gently creaked open and shut without any visible mover. Once inside the privacy of his own hobbit hole, Bilbo Baggins removed his ring and indulged in laughter.

'Ho-ho!' he chuckled, tossing the trinket in the air before securing it in his waistcoat pocket once more. Humming blithely, he took his favourite walking stick from the wall and wandered into the living room, where the hearth crackled cheerfully.

'I suppose you think that was terribly clever.'

The hobbit almost jumped out of his skin at the sound of Gandalf's voice. He wheeled around to face the wizard, who was leaning against the mantelpiece as though having waited there for some time.

'Wha - how did you -'

'So the disappearing act has become your signature,' came a third voice, 'Or am I under some outdated impression?'

Now it was Gandalf's turn to look taken aback. Silence fell over the room as a white figure stepped out from the shadows of another doorway. Bilbo was convinced they had a ghost in their presence, the ghost of someone he had not seen in over half a century. Gandalf stood up straight, the ceiling scraping his head.

'...Ember,' he said softly, a smile creeping into his face like the first tinges of dawn. 'I always hoped we would one day meet again.'

'But…but this cannot be,' said Bilbo. 'How are you alive? Where have you been? Why are you here now? How is it you haven't aged?'

'Steady, my friend,' said Gandalf, 'Ember likely has no more answers to these questions than you do.'

'And I will want them answered,' said Ember sternly. 'For the present, I'm much more concerned about your behaviour, Bilbo, and why you still possess that wretched ring.'

'It - it was just a bit of fun!' Bilbo tried, before catching their expressions, 'Oh, you're probably right, as usual.'

He plodded to the hearth and took down a long pipe from the mantelpiece.

'You will keep an eye on Frodo, won't you?'

'Two eyes,' said Gandalf, 'As often as I can spare them.'

'Frodo?' said Ember, 'A pet of yours?'

'A pet!' exclaimed Bilbo, shaking his head. 'Ember, Frodo is my nephew. I'm leaving everything to him.'

'What about this ring of yours,' said Gandalf with a voice on edge, 'Is that staying too?'

'Yes yes, it's in an envelope over there on the mantelpiece,' replied Bilbo distractedly. As Gandalf riffled through various opened envelopes, the hobbit straightened up. '…No. No wait, it's here, in my pocket.'

He held it between his thumbs, eyes affixed. Ember felt uneasy just by watching the hobbit from a distance. There was something about his gaze that reminded her too much of the gold-sickness that finally broke Thorin Oakenshield.

'Heh, isn't that odd though?' Bilbo said to no one specific. A frown crept into his aged face. 'Yet, after all, why not? Why shouldn't I keep it?'

'I think you should leave the ring behind, Bilbo,' Gandalf said firmly, 'Is that so hard?'

'Well, no…and yes!' Bilbo glanced at the wizard over his shoulder with mistrusting eyes. 'Now it comes to it, I don't feel like parting with it, it's mine, I found it, it came to me!'

'There's no need to get angry,' said Ember, stepping forward.

'Well, if I'm angry, it's your fault, both of you!' snapped the hobbit. 'It's mine, my own…my precious.'

'Precious?' repeated Gandalf. 'It has been called that before, but not by you.'

'Argh! What business is it of yours what I do with my own things?'

'I think you've had that ring quite long enough.'

'You want it for yourself!'

'Bilbo Baggins!' Gandalf growled, his aura darkening significantly. 'Do not take me for some conjurer of cheap tricks. I am not trying to rob you.' The very walls around him seemed to bleed blackness, the manifestation of a wizard's righteous anger. Yet, as soon as it had begun, it was over - the room was restored to its original warm firelight. Gandalf's shoulders relaxed, as did his expression. 'I'm trying to help you.'

This was what brought Bilbo back to his senses. His eyes at once looked like those of a lost child - he stumbled into Gandalf's arms, shivering and scared by his own mannerisms.

'What has happened here,' muttered Ember, disarmed and in disbelief. 'What has happened to you, Bilbo? I feel as though this is decidedly not the same hobbit with whom I journeyed, however long ago it's been.'

'Indeed, much has changed,' Gandalf nodded, 'But one ring is not enough to rid us of the Bilbo we know and trust.' He put both hands on the hobbit's shoulders and regarded him with kind eyes. 'All your long years we've been friends. Trust me as you once did, hm? Let it go.'

'You're right Gandalf,' said Bilbo at last, 'The ring must go to Frodo. It's late, the road is long. Yes, it is time.'

A pack of belongings on his back, the hobbit made for his round door and opened it onto the cool evening.

'Bilbo?' said Gandalf, waiting in the hallway.

'Hm?'

'The ring is still in your pocket.'

'Oh,' murmured Bilbo, with only a slight sincerity to his forgetfulness. 'Yes…'

He took the ring from his waistcoat pocket, but did not relinquish it right away. Ember watched in silence, sensing his struggle from afar. Bilbo looked down at the ring in his open palm with a stony face, lips clamped together. Slowly but surely, he tipped his hand until the ring slid away and fell to the floor. Ember's heart flinched at the thud it made on landing - no ordinary trinket had the weight to do that…

Wasting no more time, Bilbo turned away and stepped out into his front garden. For a moment he gripped his walking stick, blinking like an owl. Ember and Gandalf followed behind him, uncertain of what to say.

'I've thought up an ending for my book,' said Bilbo, looking relieved of a great burden as he faced them. ' "And he lived happily ever after, to the end of his days."'

'And I'm sure you will, dear friend,' said Gandalf, smiling as he stooped to shake Bilbo's hand.

'Goodbye Gandalf.'

'Goodbye, dear Bilbo.'

'Ember.' The hobbit may not have had the same appearance as his younger self, but the way he looked at her, she could have been seeing through time. It was the most familiar he'd been all evening. 'Even were I not about to leave, I wouldn't know where to begin. I do hope our paths will cross again soon, but for now: I am sorry.'

Often, those three words were so small, but the feeling that carried them to her ears made Ember aware of how, at other times, they could be very powerful. She found a smile tucked away somewhere.

'Farewell for now, old friend.'

With a little wave, Bilbo set off into the night, closing his front gate behind him. The song he sang, about a road going ever on, flitted like a smoke trail in his wake.

'Until our next meeting,' Gandalf said to himself.

As soon as he closed the door, Gandalf knew his next task was to deal with Ember. Her arms were folded, brown eyes determined. He acknowledged her glare before diverting his attention to the ring, sitting on the floor, seemingly harmless.

'Leave it.'

He sighed, but obeyed. This much he did know about the ring - it was not about to sprout wings and fly from the house. The witch and the wizard walked silently back into the living room and took up opposing chairs. Ember looked patient, patient enough to sit there for as long as necessary to get her questions answered. She leveled her eyes with his in the firelight.

'Explain.'

He explained. It took twenty minutes of uninterrupted talking; Ember listened to every word with a disturbingly statuesque stillness. Gandalf began from Smaug's destruction of Erebor. After that, Ember had severe difficulties remembering what had happened.

'You would not have survived for much longer, had I not sent you here,' said Gandalf. 'After bringing the battle to an end, you were like a dying candle spent of its wick. I feared you would burn to death from within and fade into non-existence.'

'So you made me fade out of time instead.'

'Not I,' Gandalf corrected, to her surprise. 'Such power is not within my domain, but as it quickly became clear, the Valar were watching over us. It was a power I borrowed with permission on very short notice, one might say.'

Ember rested her jaw in her palm and stared at the fire, deep in thought.

'I see. Dare I ask how far into the future I've come? Because while you are exactly the same outwardly as you were not one week ago, Bilbo is almost unrecognisable.' Her eyes widened as she touched upon a possible theory. 'Is that what the ring has done to him? Accelerated his path to death?'

'Quite the opposite, my dear. Bilbo is, as the hobbits put it, eleventy years old, an age exceedingly few reach, and none in such good health.'

'Oh yes, so he said…' Ember met Gandalf's eyes. 'And I suppose a being like you doesn't age at all?'

'Beings like us do not,' said Gandalf, 'Sixty years have come and gone since the Battle of the Five Armies.'

'Sixty years?' gasped Ember. She held onto the arms of her chair as though she might suddenly be dragged away. 'But…but what about A-'

'Bilbo! Bilbo!'

The door swung open, accompanied by a voice Ember did not recognise - more than a youth, but not a fully matured adult.

'He's gone, hasn't he?' said the young hobbit, standing in the hallway, looking thoroughly disillusioned. 'He talked for so long about leaving. I didn't think he'd really do it.'

'Frodo,' said Gandalf, rising from his chair, 'I'm sorry he did not stay to bid farewell, but he is in good hands -'

'What's this?'

Frodo narrowed his eyes at Bilbo's ring, still on the floor, forgotten. Gandalf intercepted the hobbit in moving to pick it up.

'Uh, wait, allow me -'

But as soon as his large spindly hand neared the object, Gandalf stopped and lurched, as if blinded.

'Gandalf? Are you alright?' said the hobbit, anxious enough as it was. Ember hurried to the wizard's side to steady him. She glanced at the ring and wondered how dangerous it would be to make the same attempt. Simply by sitting there it exuded something ominous - she decided against it.

'Bilbo must have dropped it on his way out,' murmured Frodo. He bent down to pick it up himself, cautiously at first, but then had it in his hands without any trouble whatsoever.

'I don't understand. He's never without it. How could he miss it so easily? Oh, where has he gone?'

'He's gone to stay with the Elves,' said Gandalf, blinking himself back into composure. From the mantelpiece he offered an empty envelope to Frodo. He looked understandably confused, but took Gandalf's hint all the same and slipped the ring inside. Gandalf promptly sealed it within the paper folds. 'Furthermore, he's left you Bag End, along with all his possessions. The ring is yours now. Put it somewhere out of sight.'

With that, Gandalf swept his cloak and pointy hat off Bilbo's stand in the hall. Ember frowned, unsure of his motivations, and whether she should be following.

'Where are you going?' said Frodo, his befuddlement increasing.

'There are some things we must see to.'

'We? Oh…' Ember, having only the white clothes and blue cloak on her back, went to the door with Gandalf. She wanted to resist and stay put in one place for more than ten minutes, but then again, what answers or solace would she find in an unfamiliar hobbit hole?

'What things?' asked Frodo.

'Questions,' replied Gandalf, taking up his staff, 'Questions that need answering.'

'But you've only just arrived! You haven't even introduced me to your companion…I don't understand.'

'Neither do I,' muttered Ember, speaking her first words before Frodo.

'Nor I,' said Gandalf, to their mutual surprise. 'As for my companion, I do apologise, but worry not - there will be plenty of chance for introductions in the future.' With one hand on the door, he turned back to Frodo, eyeing the envelope in his small hands. 'Keep it secret,' he said, with a mixture of encouragement and severity. 'Keep it safe.'

Then off into the night they went.

A/N: Woo, first chapter! *confetti* I hope you've all enjoyed the beginning of the third volume in the Stars and Fire series. If so, please make my day by leaving a review, and if not, tell me how I can improve by leaving a review anyway! Next chapter will be up in just 24 hours, how exciting. Until then, readers!