The Fellowship of the Blade
Melissa Merriweather
Disclaimer: The children of the original Fellowship (with the exception of Elanor Gamgee), Sauron's evil spawn Diablos, and the (screwed-up) plot are the products of my imagination and, therefore, belong to me. So if it's possible to hold a copyright to them, well, consider them copyrighted! On the other hand, JRR Tolkien created Middle-earth and everything else you recognize from The Lord of the Rings, so he owns them. And, lastly, I am not getting paid for writing this.
Author's Note: Summer at last! Now I can concentrate on the good things in life--- sleep, TV, and fan fiction! This is my first LOTR story to ever be published on the Net, but I'm not going to ask you to be gentle with your comments. Go ahead and flame me if you want! Constructive criticism, words of praise, and suggestions are very much welcome. Also, although I have done my fair share of research, I'm not an expert on Middle-earth, so please don't hesitate to correct me if I make a mistake with geographic location, history, and the like.
Okay, that's enough blather from me! On with the story…
Chapter One
Once upon a time, sixteen years after the great War of the Ring, there lived in the Shire three Hobbits who were the very best of friends. Their names were Elanor Gamgee, Alasdair Took, and Niphredil Brandybuck.
Elanor was the daughter of Sam and Rosie. She was a feisty child, with bright gold hair and large blue eyes that were forever sparkling with a zest for life. She loved adventures and was always getting scratches or tears in her clothes from climbing up trees and other unladylike activities, something that distressed her very ladylike mother.
Alasdair was the son of Pippin and Violet Hornblower. While Elanor's eyes sparkled with joie de vivre, Alasdair's dark brown eyes, the same color as his unruly wavy hair, gleamed with mischief. He was a naughty child who loved pranks as much as Elanor loved adventures. There were times when he was lazy, a trait everyone said he inherited from his father, but fortunately he had been blessed with his mother's keen intellect.
Niphredil was the daughter of Merry and Daffodil Proudfoot. She was neither adventurous nor full of mischief; on the contrary, Niphredil was as prim and proper as it was possible for a young Hobbit to be. Her shiny red hair was always well-combed and in place, and even her oldest clothes were as good as new. She was unfailingly polite and behaved always with proper decorum, and she had acquired the very Hobbitlike trait of disliking anything out of the ordinary.
One day these three friends were sitting on a grassy hill, idly watching fellow Hobbits go about their business as their respective parents chatted merrily over tea and crumpets inside Sam and Rosie's house.
"There's Mrs. Bolger, off to market again," said Niphredil, waving at an elderly female Hobbit carrying a large empty basket, who smiled back and shuffled past them.
"Seems that's all she does these days," Alasdair remarked. "And I guess I can't blame her--- between the five of them, her husbands and sons eat enough to feed a small town!"
"They must run out of food everyday," said Elanor. "No wonder they're so big! Do you know old Mr. Bolger can't even get through a doorway anymore?"
Alasdair's eyes widened. "Really? I haven't seen him since his birthday last, last week. Now I know the reason why."
He and Elanor burst into laughter, earning a withering glare from Niphredil. "You mustn't say such things about people," she scolded them, her disapproval apparent in the expression of her face and in her violet eyes. "It isn't proper."
"Oh, you're such a wet blanket, Miss Prim and Proper," Alasdair grumbled. "It's not like Mr. Bolger can hear us."
"He can't even get through the door of his own house!" cried Elanor, a remark that caused her and Alasdair to laugh all over again.
Niphredil started to roll her eyes, but desisted when she remembered that eye-rolling wasn't an attractive mannerism for a young Hobbit. She settled instead for a dignified, "I do wish you would stop that."
"I wonder what our parents are talking about," said Elanor after a while, glancing at her house.
Alasdair pulled up a blade of grass and methodically started chewing on it. "Our mothers are probably discussing embroidery while our fathers reminisce about the adventures they had when they were young," he replied.
"Ah, yes!" Elanor's large blue eyes grew misty with longing. "In Lothlorien and Rivendell and Fangorn and all those enchanting places! Do you think we'll ever have an adventure like the ones our fathers had?"
"I hope not," said Niphredil sharply, for she disliked talking about strange adventures. "I'm perfectly content with staying in the Shire, thank you!"
"Staying in the Shire!" exclaimed Elanor, gesturing at their clean and peaceful surroundings. "Living the rest of your life here, never once setting foot outside its borders? Come on, Niphredil, aren't you the least bit curious as to what's out there?"
"No."
"Of course you wouldn't be," Alasdair scoffed, looking at the redheaded Hobbit depreciatingly. "As for myself, I would like to experience at least one big adventure before I die."
"I do not wish for only one," declared Elanor. "I want hundreds! I want to see Ents and Elves and Men and Dwarves…"
Niphredil was extremely tired of this conversation, which they'd had more than a dozen times already. She stood up, intending to go into the house and enjoy what was left of the tea and crumpets, but then she heard the clatter of hooves on the ground.
"That sounds like a horse," muttered Alasdair. No sooner had he said that when a magnificent snowy-white steed came running down the path, bearing a slender figure in a hooded pearl gray satin cloak.
Elanor and Alasdair sprang to their feet, staring with wide eyes. Horses were rarely seen in the Shire. Hooded riders were even rarer.
Spotting the three awestruck Hobbits, the stranger pulled back the reins, causing the steed to stop.
"Greetings," said a clear, lilting voice from beneath the hood.
Elanor was the first to recover from her surprise. "Who are you?"
The stranger reached up with a gloved hand and removed the hood, revealing a pale face of unearthly beauty, framed by long dark hair. Alasdair's gaze wandered to her pointed ears and almost fell over.
He grabbed Elanor's arm and gave it a violent tug. "Elanor… she's an Elf!"