The goblins hadn't and never would forget their loss to the Halflings of the Shire. More than once their race had been defeated. Frustratingly enough for the goblins, the Hobbits were not a war-like race; in fact, they almost detested war. More than enough goblins caved revenge against the Shire-folk, but more so after the one known as Frodo Baggins destroyed the one ring, once again scattering them, just as they were regaining some of their former power. First it was Bullroarer Took, and then Bilbo with the Dwarves, and then Frodo; the last straw.
In the last thirty years after the War of the Ring, the goblins had multiplied in great numbers, but the Great Goblin himself had no desire to make an attack on their foes, an attack on those responsible for the destruction on their once great civilization.
There was a great rebellion under all the mountains, in all the goblin strongholds, and the usurpers took control. In no time at all, messengers were sent to all of the goblin chieftains; they were to organize all their forces in the dark forest of Mirkwood. There they would destroy the few remaining elves, and then they would move on, killing and razing everything in their path to the Shire. People would learn to fear them once again.
Important to know; after the War of the Ring, and after the Hobbits returned home, adventurism wasn't ridiculed as it was in earlier times. It took a while, but after a few years of Sam, Merry, and Pippin telling was stories in the Green Dragon, the other Shire-folk became accustomed to the idea that adventures could be a wonder.
The afternoon found three aging hobbits sitting around a table at the Green Dragon, remembering the old days when Frodo was still one of their number.
"What do you suppose became of Mr. Frodo?" Samwise Gamgee asked the party.
It was a common question, but they never got tired of asking and answering it.
"I suppose he's off living with the elves, in whatever home they made off for. He's probably sitting around a table with friends, rather like us," Pippin said distantly.
As Merry was about to put forth his speculation, the door to the pub burst open and a handful of out-of-breath hobbits came trotting in, all trying to speak at the same time.
"One at a time, please. We can't understand you when you're all talking at once!" Sam said merrily. The only time hobbits were in such a hurry to give news was when something happy was about, such as a party.
They all stopped talking at once and took some time to catch their breath, but soon enough one of them, a short sandy haired boy spoke up.
"Elves, sir. Elves have been spotted crossing the border. The shiriffs sent us to tell you!"
"Elves? Bless my heart, it been many years since I've seen the fair-folk. Always meant to visit…" Sam said quietly to himself.
"You know the elves, if the stories are true; what does it mean?" Asked another inquisitive hobbit.
"I don't right know. It could be any number of things. Perhaps they make for the harbor on the other side of our borders," Sam replied. He however, wasn't so sure. Many years ago, thirty to be exact, the last ship left Middle-Earth, and his Master, Gandalf, Lord Elrond, and the Lady Galadriel went with it. The memory of their parting brought tears to his eyes.
"A welcoming party is in order, do you think?" Merry suggested.
"Let's show these elves some Shire hospitality," Pippin agreed.
Sam, Pippin, and Merry stood and made their way out the door and under bright midsummer sun. They walked slowly in the direction of Bag-End, where the elves would come into the Shire on a near path.
"If only my armor still fit me, then I would show them that we are no simple folk," Pippin said sadly.
"And my armor too, though I dare say I could still fit in it if the time called," Merry agreed.
Sam's mind wandered to the mithril shirt and Sting, which were bestowed upon him by Frodo before his departure. He didn't say anything, but he secretly wished he had them on him, though why he could not say.
They had passed several Hobbits, who the whole time were wondering what the three were up to.
"What's goin' on there?" One shouted as they passed.
They just shrugged their shoulders and continued on their way.
Soon they came to Bag-End, and they could see not too far way on the path, a small company of elves quickly making their way towards them.
The elves stopped momentarily, and one pointed in their direction before continuing on.
Only after a couple minutes walking, they two groups same face-to-face. These elves were not in good health. Several of them were bruised and bloodied, and hosted cuts on their bodies, and one they could not see, for he was shrouded in a white cloak and a hood was thrown over his face.
"Greetings Hobbits," one elf said. "I am afraid we bring no good news this day."
"Well what's happened?" Merry asked impatiently.
"We must be some place quiet before we can explain. Do you have such a place?"
"Do you suppose they'll clear out of the Green Dragon for us?" Merry wondered.
"Well it's worth a shot; it's the only place around that's big enough to hold our numbers." Sam said.
So they began the walk back to their starting place, making better time than they had on the way down. There was no talk other than one of the more beat up elves asking about the Green Dragon.
Luckily for the hobbits and elves, the Green Dragon was empty when they got there, except for the barmaid. She immediately left the pub, sensing the need for privacy.
"I hope this will work for you," Sam said. "It's the best we can do here."
"This will be fine," said one particularly beat up elf, who seemed to be the leader of the elf. "Grave news indeed; the goblins are marching on the Shire. They've burned their way through everything in their path. The Mirkwood kingdom has fallen, and so has Rivendell. You must flee without delay."
"Flee? We can't flee; the Shire is our home! Where would we go?" Sam burst out.
"Anywhere but here. These goblins will stop at nothing!"
"But why here," Pippin asked. "Why the Shire?"
"We do not know," said another elf sadly.
"I will not leave the Shire. I will fight to my dying breath," Sam said stubbornly.
"Then I, Legolas of the Mirkwood realm, shall die with you!" And the hooded elf threw off his hood, and it was indeed Legolas.
The hobbits' eyes filled with wonder and tears at the sight of the old friend. They were sure they were to never lay eyes on his fair face again, and here he was, once again pledging to defend them as he had done before.
"My dear friends! How I've missed you!" Legolas cried. "Unfortunately these dark times will not allow us to catch up; if you mean to fight, we must prepare."