Three months had passed since her arrival in Rivendell and Niamh had had time to digest what she had discovered - who would have thought little old Niamh could be a half-elven princess? In addition, half Hobbit to boot! A Hobbit, she had found out, was a small being, very alike to man, only half the size and much more able to go about unnoticed. They had curly hair, hairy feet and for them, it was perfectly normal to have a large appetite. Niamh could easily see how she might be part-hobbit; she had the height, the ability to avoid drawing attention to herself, the curly hair, everything… Well, everything except the hairy feet. There was no visible evidence of her Elf-blood, from what she could tell. What she had gathered of Elves was that they were all exquisitely tall with long, smooth, flowing hair and, of course, perfectly pointed ears, not to mention they all possessed heart-breaking beauty. I simply cannot be an Elf, Niamh thought to herself. Not that she was not pretty, but she hardly had the ethereal Elven beauty and her ears were tiny, delicate and rounded, not even a hint of those fascinating points.
She had yet to be granted an audience with her mother, seemingly the Queen thought her own daughter a waste of space, not that that was anything new for Niamh, though it had caused her upset at first. What actually bothered her was that she could not even leave the house comfortably. Lord Elrond had gifted her a small dwelling close by to his own chateau. Every time she did venture outside there was no escape from the stares, the whispers, and the pointing. She had had enough; she refused to even try to find her bearings in this marvellous city out of annoyance of the hissing glances of distrust that followed her. Despite Elrond's assurances, it was obvious that the people of Rivendell were still against the thought of a half-breed royal; apparently it was against Elvish belief to mix the blood of races, which made her some sort of abomination.
Gandalf and Aragorn had long since left, off on some other mission that they would not spill a single word. That said, it was not as though she had not seen anyone in that time; Arwen, Lord Elrond's daughter often stopped by, teaching the girl all she could about the ways of the city and its people. Arwen was always attentive and bright, the only friendly Elf Niamh had come across.
Today the she-elf came running to the waiting, open door of Niamh's abode, beaming from pointed ear to pointed ear. Niamh, sat on her living room by an open fire, cast aside her book and went to embrace her only friend in their usual greeting. "I have news, my Lady," Arwen breathed, hardly able to contain herself. "Come with haste," She directed, lightly pulling her friend's arm. "You are needed at the council."
Niamh had no idea what Arwen was talking about, but went along with it anyway, allowing herself to be dragged through the gardens that separated her house from the House of Elrond. As the woman and youngster hurried, Niamh noticed there seemed to be many newcomers to the city, all heading to the same destination. There were groups of men on horseback; incredibly short, bearded creatures that, as Arwen had informed her, were Dwarves; and Elves she had never before seen in the city, all with strange outfits of green and brown. The new Elves were all surrounded by the folk of Rivendell, exchanging news and laughing, occasionally some would glance over at the pair, whispering with dark, disapproving expressions. Great, more pointy-eared haters, lovely.
They seemed to be heading for Lord Elrond's usual meeting place; an outside, circular flagstone area, with great pillars covered in jade vines that twisted into intricate patterns. Around one half were two rows of stone benches, curving around a stone table, behind that table lay a lone stone bench that would obviously be the seat of Lord Elrond. There were four people there already; Gandalf, Aragorn, Elrond, and another man she did not recognise. He appeared to be sat alone on a bench whilst the other men were lost in conversation.
As soon as Aragorn laid eyes on Arwen they all but ran to meet each other, Niamh had guessed that the two were an item ever since, Arwen had opened the door to Elrond's study, though Arwen neither confirmed nor denied it whenever Niamh questioned her about it.
Wanting to give the pair a moment alone, Niamh slowed her pace and stopped a while to admire one of Elrond's many fenced-off gardens.
"You must be the one they speak of, the Lost Princess." Niamh swirled around to find herself face to chest with an Elf more beautiful and strange than she had ever met before. She tilted her head upwards to observe perfect features, framed by a waterfall of golden hair, straight and smooth, not a single tangle. His cobalt eyes glanced down with a smirking arrogance. "You have no idea of the discontent your avoidance of your own people has caused." He scolded playfully. "They think you should do more to earn your place. Forgive me; they say you have reacted in a way most unbefitting, my Lady." He leaned upon the fence, eyes challenging her wickedly. Needless to say, she did not forgive him.
"And you would react to being hated for your blood better than me?" She snapped, clearly giving him the rise he wanted, but not caring. Just because he was gorgeous did not give him the right to taunt her.
"Better than I." He corrected. Guess he thought differently.
Niamh seethed. "Are you seriously correcting my grammar?"
"I would never dare," He smiled sneeringly, sarcasm spilling from his lips. "Princess."
If she had not been wound-up before, he had definitely annoyed her now. "Go to hell." She spat childishly.
"Ladies first." He countered. Gesturing dramatically with a leather-covered arm.
"Then by all means you go ahead, I'll follow." She exclaimed in the most overly polite voice she could muster, bowing and gesturing for him to proceed her with a dazzling smile.
The Elf opened his mouth for what Niamh hoped would be an angry retort, but was somewhat disappointed when he was cut-off by a masculine chuckle. "Legolas, leave this maiden be, for this is one opponent that I fear would out-match even you." Interrupted a still laughing Aragorn, who had left Arwen with her father. "My Lady," He said addressing Niamh, inclining his head in a subtle bow. "Would you allow me to escort you to the council?" Niamh nodded thanks and followed the man whose hair, she noted, could still use a good comb. She dare not look back at the Legolas who she had surely offended; said Elf was now blushing an angry shade of red at having been implied to be a girl. It saddened Niamh to see that even in such a state of anger, he was still far more perfect looking than she could ever hope to be.
Aragorn placed her on the end of the back row, behind himself, Gandalf and another. This other intrigued her more than the unknown reason for this council; for he had looked like a man sat down at first, but now up close she could see he had been standing and was extremely short. Half the size of a man in fact, with tight brown curls, desperately trying not to draw attention to himself and his hairy feet… There was no doubt about it; this was most definitely a Hobbit.
Said Hobbit, sensing her staring, turned and offered his hand out for a polite handshake. "I am Frodo Baggins, son of Drogo, my Lady." He said by way of introduction. "And who might you be?" He asked cheerily. His accent reminded her of the friendly countryside dialects of her old world, happy and bright.
She took the outstretched hand and shook it. "Niamh, daughter of…" How did she answer that?
Luckily everyone else (Men, Dwarves and Elves together) had gathered and were seated. She was saved by Lord Elrond bringing the council into session; the Hobbit was forced to turn back wearing a confused expression. She noticed that Legolas had managed to sit as far from her as possible, despite his kin occupying the back bench with her.
"Strangers from distant lands, friends of old," Began Elrond. "You've been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle-earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it. You will unite, or you will fall. Each race is bound to this fate, this one doom." He paused, his ominous eyes scanning the counsel. "Bring forth the Ring, Frodo."
Frodo stood unsteadily, eyes averted and with quick strides stepped up to the table and placed down a small golden ring, unadorned with patterns nor precious stones, it looked a bit cheap to Niamh in all honesty. The Hobbit retreated as hastily as he could.
"So it is true!" Piped up one of the men, whom proceeded to stand. "It is a gift. A gift to the foes of Mordor. Why not use this Ring? Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, kept the forces of Mordor at bay, by the blood of our people are your lands kept safe!" He paused, clearly enjoying the fact that the entire gathering were hanging on his every word. "Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy. Let us use it against him!"
Aragorn spoke up from where he sat. "You cannot weld it, none of us can. The One Ring answers to Sauron alone, it has no other master." He did not deign to stand, not because it was beneath him, but so that he would not be perceived as threatening.
"And what would a Ranger know of this matter?" The angry man challenged.
"This is no mere Ranger! He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance." That oh-so-familiar voice came from none other than Legolas, now also standing at the other end of the bench.
"Aragorn. This is Isildur's heir?" The angry man questioned.
"And heir to the throne of Gondor" Answered Legolas.
Aragorn spoke in an Elven tongue Niamh vaguely understood, thanks to the tutelage of Arwen, however Legolas seemed to understand perfectly as he sat down as though obeying an order.
Niamh zoned out of the conversation - Aragorn, a king, yet a Steward sat on his throne…
She was brought out of her reprieve by the sound of breaking stone, to see a Dwarf laying spread-eagled on the floor, a shattered axe in hand. Shards of viciously sharp stone were scattered about the Ring and yet it had not moved, nor did it appear to be damaged in any way.
"The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Gloin," Explained Elrond, "By any craft we here possess. The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came." He scanned the crowd. "One of you must do this."
"One does not simply walk into Mordor. Its Black Gates are guarded by more than just Orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep. The Great Eye is ever watchful. It is a barren wasteland riddled with fire and ash and dust. The very air you breather is a poisonous fume. Not with 10,000 men could you do this, it is folly!" Was this person serious? It needed to be done, it was this world's only hope, and this fool was trying to quash it, for his ownership of the Ring no doubt! Idiot.
"Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said? The Ring must be destroyed." Demanded Legolas, somewhat affronted that his word had not been taken for Gospel.
"And I suppose you think you're the one to do it!" Spat Gimli.
Then they all turned into children, arguing and shoving one another. Frodo and Niamh shared a look and rolled their eyes, before Frodo left his seat. He walked up to the table.
"I will take it," Frodo muttered, knowing that no one would notice more shouting. "I will take the Ring to Mordor," This time the whole gathering heard, their heads whipping round so fast that Niamh would not have been surprised if a few had gotten whip-lash. Frodo cleared his throat. "Though I do not know the way." This was it, Niamh knew Frodo would not back out, it damn near broke her heart to see a creature so friendly and adorable offer himself up for a doomed mission.
Gandalf joined his ranks, then Aragorn. An insane idea hit her, if her people did not respect her, why not do something that demanded respect, even if it meant certain death. Why not earn her title? She felt herself rising from her seat and striding towards the young Hobbit, earning many curious looks. "I will follow him to whatever end." Her lips declared, and she looked to Elrond for approval; he bowed his head in respect of her wishes.
The surrounding crowd, all male, eyed her with a mixture of suspicion and admiration, all except Gandalf and Aragorn who looked concerned and Frodo who gave her an encouraging grin, exposing tiny dimples upon his cheeks.
Legolas was next to join the group (this was going to be a fun trip. Not!) and Gimli, the Dwarf, after him and the angry man after him. Out of nowhere, a Hobbit appeared shouting: "Mr Frodo's not going anywhere without me." Following a chuckle from the gathering, two more Hobbits sprang forth out of nowhere, demanding they accompany us. Hobbits really were excellent at going unnoticed.
"Ten companions." Considered Lord Elrond aloud. "So be it. You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring."
Thinking about it, ten people seemed a little daft. A smaller company would arouse far less suspicion, however, she dare not share her views for fear that she would be stricken from the list.