Chapter 143

A Friends' Reunion

That is how I found the house. Of course I got an earful from Mary later about how I'd gone off as if in a daze without her – the without her bit was definitely the part she was most vocal on – and what did I think that I was doing? I obliged her by telling her about the house and Galadriel's vision and that really shut her up at last. I may have grown used to the way that magic pervaded daily life here, but Mary most certainly had not. I've never seen her so quiet before.

I memorised the route to the house with every intention of coming back there in the near future and having a bit of a look inside. It was as I said to Mary, it wasn't as if going north was going to be a thing of the very near future. If we looked east, we could see quite clearly that all sorts of things were happening in Mordor still. The volcano belched unbelievable amounts of stuff into the air. Mordor was definitely not the place to be. The funny thing was that it seemed contained within the borders of Mordor. We should have experienced more than just a few minor earthquakes and tremors, but we didn't. The elves all said that this was because it was the land of Mordor itself that sought to rid itself of Sauron's influence at long last. Everyone assumed they knew what they were talking about, so no one contradicted them.

Even if I left the mayhem in Mordor and the state of the road out of my considerations, I couldn't just up and leave without a guide. Gimli, Legolas and Thráin all came from the area that I needed to get to and they were all still hors de combat. For the first week they mainly did a lot of sleeping. This worried the still standing members of the Fellowship, but not the healers. They insisted that it was perfectly natural and so long as they woke up every now and again to eat and drink, they weren't worried much.

It was touch and go for a while with Gimli though. He'd hurt his arm pretty badly in Mordor – not a good place to get injured – and it got infected. The Ring might have helped that along. It was certainly vindictive and malicious enough to give that its best go. On day three I heard healers whispering about him possibly losing his arm, but it never actually got that far. On the fifth day his fever broke and the infection receded. This baffled everyone except Legolas, who remarked that dwarves would never conform to expectations and so defied all the odds through sheer force of will before he dropped off for yet another nap.

We used the time we didn't spend with our friends to clean up the city as best we could. Like I said, there was no question of anyone going north for a while. Little did we know that other people were coming south…

Elvaethor

'We ought to stop here for the night,' Nori announced. 'This is a good spot.'

'How would you know?' Kíli demanded.

Elvaethor looked at the land around him and found but little to recommend it, so in his mind Kíli's scepticism was well-founded. The orcs had stripped the land bare on their way to Erebor, as they did everywhere they went. His little company had thus far avoided camping on the grounds the orcs had used for that purpose, for without fail they would sink to their knees into the filth the orcs had left behind. This place had not served that particular purpose, but that was the best that Elvaethor could make of it.

'Been here before, my lad,' Nori replied airily. 'There's a nice little hollow in the land just beyond that copse of trees. Looks like it might rain tonight, so we'll have some shelter.'

'From prying eyes as well,' Lancaeron said appreciatively.

Elvaethor looked around him. 'There are none around.' He'd seen no evidence of orcs or their mannish allies since they set out. They had either died or fled in another direction. In fact, they had seen no other living creatures since they left Erebor at all. Wildlife had fled before the forces of Mordor and had not yet dared to return. Flói had briefly grumbled about the lack of fresh meat.

'We have not seen them so far,' Lancaeron agreed. 'Yet I am sure that not all the orcs have died and we are but a small party.'

And therefore easy pickings. Elvaethor inclined his head. He did not mean to argue about this. This place was as good a place as any to rest for the night. They could not travel much further today at any rate; the light was already fading. So he allowed Nori to lead the way to a secluded area under a few remaining trees the orcs had failed to burn down – small clusters of them remained where they had been in too much of a hurry to act on their basic principle to destroy life wherever they may find it – and pat himself on the back when it did offer more shelter than appeared at first glance.

'Yes, we know, Uncle,' Flói said, shaking his head in exasperation. 'We few benefit greatly from all of your experience. You have travelled far and wide and therefore know all the best places to camp. It is an honour and a privilege to have you for our guide.'

Kíli nodded. 'It makes a body wonder about all the places you've been.' He eyed Nori with a deep frown in his forehead.

'Many places,' replied Nori. He knew where this conversation was headed, because he grinned and once again didn't meet anyone's eyes. 'We'd be here till the remaking of Arda if you wanted to hear about them all and I'm eager for dinner.' He paused. 'Such as it is.' The complete lack of wildlife had rendered his diet more elvish than he liked.

Flói dismounted. 'Need a hand, Elvaethor?'

He shook his head. 'I shall manage quite well on my own.' By choice and contract he was counted among the dwarves, but his body remained elvish. He had healed quickly. His right leg was almost healed and if his left gave him some trouble yet, his companions would not hear it from his lips.

Kíli meanwhile was not to be distracted from his chosen course. 'It's not all the places we want to know about,' he persisted. 'Just some of the more noticeable.'

He waited for an answer, but Nori made a good show of being unable to hear him on account of fishing his things out of his pack.

'Like Mordor, for example,' Kíli continued, because he was not one to be dissuaded.

Nori simply failed to respond, as he had during all of his companions' previous attempts. Elvaethor suspected that this counted as innocent entertainment for him. It was certainly driving Flói and Kíli to distraction. Elvaethor himself had wondered about this not-quite revelation that Nori had delivered in such an off-handed manner on their first day of travel. He hoped that Nori had not gone to Mordor, but he did not know it for certain.

Lancaeron came to stand beside him. 'Surely he cannot have ventured there?' he asked, lowering his voice. 'Surely this is all in jest?'

Hoping did not make it so. 'I cannot tell the truth of the matter.'

This was not the answer that his friend wanted to hear. 'Surely he would not?'

'There is no telling.' Nori would get up to all sorts of things. Rumour had it that it had turned every single one of Dori's hairs grey before his time. Yes, Dori had made fussing into a form of art, but even Elvaethor had to admit that he had some grounds for that.

Again, this was nowhere near the answer that Lancaeron would prefer. Finding Elvaethor singularly unhelpful, he turned to Nori instead. 'Master Nori, we would all be grateful if we could discover the truth of this matter.'

'What matter?' Nori inquired with would-be innocence.

'The matter of you having gone to Mordor or not.'

'Why would I do that?' Nori had many years of evading his brother's queries as to his activities under his belt. In this Lancaeron was a novice. Elvaethor ought to tell him not to waste his breath on this, but he held his tongue for the time being. 'I told you that it's not a wholesome place, didn't I?'

Kíli crossed his arms over his chest. 'Aye, but you've not told us how you know that.'

'Common knowledge, lad,' Nori said, grinning. 'Everyone could tell you.'

'Then you'll say that you've never been there?' Flói joined in with the little fishing expedition.

'Now why would I do that?'

'Ah!' Kíli exclaimed triumphantly. 'So, you have been to Mordor?'

'Didn't say that, did I?'

Kíli had enough. 'Right, that's it!' he declared. 'We are going to get to the bottom of this.' He rolled up his sleeves to indicate that some steps would indeed be undertaken to achieve this aim. 'Flói, go sit on him and then I shall interrogate him until he begs for mercy.'

Nori only narrowly avoided that fate, because Galu, a rare example of quiet in this overly talkative company, spoke up at last: 'Hush,' he said, eyes on the land instead of the bickering companions. 'Look.'

Elvaethor looked. He did not like what he saw.

'What?' Nori demanded. 'My eyes are not as sharp as yours, you know.'

'Orcs.' Lancaeron was the one who answered him. 'They are not many, but I estimate their number to be higher than ours. It seems you were wise to guide us to a place that may yet shield us from their gaze.'

'How many?' Flói wanted to know. His first thought had evidently not been to hide, for he'd his axe already in his hand, even though their foes were still very far away.

Lancaeron set to counting under his breath.

'You're going to have to speak up,' Flói said.

'Your hearing is going,' Kíli observed.

'Well, I've only got the one ear,' Flói retorted quite sensibly.

So he had. Of their little group he was the only one who had left a part of himself on a battlefield, but not one of them had come through this war without scars, on both their bodies and their souls. Flói was flippant about his physical scars. In the days before Jack died he'd often been heard claiming that the sudden lack of an ear gave him a rakish and dashing air that was sure to stand him in good stead with unattached ladies.

He hadn't made the joke once in the past two weeks.

'Around fifty,' Lancaeron replied.

Kíli arched an eyebrow. 'It's a miracle they haven't turned on each other yet.' Without Sauron or the wraiths to keep them in line, orcs quickly resorted to fighting among themselves.

Lancaeron shook his head before the last word had left his mouth. 'They are exposed in hostile lands, Master Kíli. There is no safety to be had for them now. It is better for them to stick to their own than to risk their luck with their numbers depleted even further.'

'They have nothing left to lose except their lives.' Orcs had been impervious to despair prior to Sauron's demise, but they knew it well now. 'They shall not have any mercy if they find us here.' Fifty against six were not odds that he liked the look of.

'They know no mercy anyway.' Flói grasped his axe a little tighter. 'Was it not you who often told us that it was the duty of every sentient being to battle the threat of orcs wherever they may find it? I find it right where I am.'

Elvaethor understood the sense of anger and loss Flói felt. Grief was not a stranger to him, nor was the urge for revenge. Had he nothing else to consider, he would already have his sword in his hand. 'We might triumph or we might die in this fight,' he told his cousin. 'But on this mission our lives are not our own to gamble with. We have a task to perform. If we perish here, no one will go to Thráin and none will return to Thoren to tell him of our deaths.' He looked Flói in the eyes. 'I do not wish to see him come to more grief on our account.' There had been too much death. 'If that makes me a coward in your eyes, then so be it.' His sword remained in its sheath.

For a moment it appeared that Flói made ready to tear into him with a fervour an orc could never hope to match, but then he thought better of it. He put his axe back and nodded once, terse. 'I don't like it,' he said in case anyone was mistaken in that. 'But we have our orders.'

He said no more.

Though none had spoken the words to make it so, it was nevertheless understood that Elvaethor was the one in charge of their little venture. Perhaps it was because they knew that he had been told something that they had not, perhaps because he actually outranked them. His newfound status still felt uncomfortable. It was never meant to go along with being taken in by the dwarves, but it had. And now Flói deferred to his orders without questioning him once.

'I shall endeavour to hide the horses among the trees,' Lancaeron announced. There weren't many leaves on them yet, though the air was less chilly. Winter was beginning to make tentative way for spring. 'It may not do us much good if they come too near us, so let us hope that they do not.'

Flói did not speak, but his hand strayed towards his axe again. He did crouch down and drew his cloak around himself as the others did, but his stance was wary. He gave the impression that he for one would not mind if the orcs saw them and forced their hands in this. It was the same kind of anger Elvaethor had so often seen in Jack, a hopeless rage against the world that wronged him, that robbed him of his peace of mind and made him look at the world with distaste. Elvaethor could not fault him, but he could harbour his concerns.

There was no fire to douse; they'd not been here long enough to make a start. The dwarves still saw nothing, but the three elves had been blessed with clearer sight. The orcs approached, although they did so slowly. It did not appear as though they had a clear course before them. They veered this way, then that, but on the whole their course was south. If they stayed on it, then perhaps this company would have luck on their side and remain undetected.

'Anything yet?' Nori demanded.

'They are without a leader,' Galu replied. 'They have no aim.'

And yet it was to the south they turned, but perhaps that should be attributed to habit rather than to conscious choice. This world was unsafe for them now. The only place where they had ever thrived was Mordor.

'Dol Guldur, perhaps,' Kíli speculated. 'They might not have been told it has been destroyed. It is the nearest stronghold for their ilk.'

Elvaethor had not considered that yet, but he considered it now, because such a course would leave the orcs nearer their own road. For now they kept the treeline of the woods in their sight, though they knew better than to walk beneath those trees for fear of what may lurk there. Once they came upon the Anduin, they would follow that south, to maintain their direction and keep a ready supply of water to hand. If these orcs had the destination in mind that Kíli suggested, their paths would cross sooner rather than later.

They lay in the dark for hours while the orcs ambled past at great distance. It appeared that while Kíli's suggestion could not be decisively discarded, that at least they would not confront them today. The orcs passed by slightly southeast of them, still on a generally southbound course, but they did veer to the west as well at times.

'They cannot see us now,' Galu announced just moments before Elvaethor could do so. 'The danger has passed.'

'Any more of them sneaking around where they shouldn't?' Nori demanded. 'I would mind having my throat slit in my sleep, you know.'

'Rest assured that they could never come so close while one of us still keeps watch.' No doubt Lancaeron intended this as a comfort of sorts, but Nori only frowned, inviting Galu to speak more plainly. And so Galu did. 'There are none of their vile breed in the vicinity.' Ander under the given circumstances that was as good as they were likely to get.

The company rose to their feet. There was no true signal given for this, but the tension drained from the air. Kíli gave perhaps the best example of this. 'I had no notion that their presence alarmed you so. Did you not see very many of them on your journey to Mordor?' he asked slyly.

It was not sly enough for someone of Nori's many questionable talents. 'Every orc is one too many. Would you pass me my pack, Master Elf? I'd be much obliged.' He carefully avoided having to look at anyone whilst he spoke.

'Which makes me wonder why you went so near their heartland.'

'Who says I did?'

'You did.' Arms were crossed over more than one chest.

'Did I?' Nori asked innocently. 'All I recall is passing on some little nugget of wisdom for you to heed or discard as you please. Where you got these other notions from I'll never know.' He did of course know.

'So you'll deny it then, that you've been to Mordor?'

It would be easier to pin down fog than to get a straight answer out of Nori. His face suggested that this was a very enjoyable pastime for him indeed. He was by no means ready to abandon it. Elvaethor would not mind wagering that he could – and would – keep it up all the way to Gondor if he wanted to stretch it that far.

'Why should I?' he asked, smiling smugly.

The little game continued as though it had never been interrupted in the first place. Elvaethor leaned back against a stone, inhaled contentedly and prepared to enjoy himself.

Thráin

'Well, you look halfway presentable,' Thráin judged.

Apparently this was not the ringing endorsement the recipient of these words was after. 'I am afraid that our definitions of presentable differ. Please clarify yourself further.'

Gimli beat Thráin to it. 'Less pauper, more prince,' was his verdict.

'A prince who hasn't eaten a decent meal in several months,' Thráin added. 'I told you that nourishing oneself solely on lembas isn't wholesome. Here's the proof of it at the last.'

It was evident on all five of them. It was only yesterday that he chanced to look into a mirror and was somewhat taken aback by his own appearance. He barely recognised himself and in this light, Beth's exclamation about where the rest of him was made more sense. He was thin, far too thin. That would explain why most of his clothes were now too big to fit him.

Most of the grey had washed off, but some strands of hair stubbornly maintained that colour. Rubbing at it and washing it again had not restored the black, so reluctantly he'd had to conclude that it was here to stay. He looked old. He was not given to vanity, but this vexed him some, more so because he felt old to the depths of his bones. His strength had not yet fully returned, he had slept through most of the past week and even the simplest of actions made him exhausted. He ought to take comfort in the fact that none of the others were in any way better off than he was.

Legolas had come through their ordeal least affected, but that surprised no one. A lot of sleep, a few decent meals and a bath or two had restored him to his normal self. Aye, he was too skinny by far still, but other than that there was nothing much wrong with him anymore. This morning he had dressed himself without any visible struggle. Even now he was up and about, almost bouncing with newly re-found energy.

Thráin was not a little envious.

Frodo and Sam still struggled to leave their beds. Sam had progressed to sitting up and taking part in the conversations around him, but Frodo lagged behind. He still slept through sizeable chunks of the day and could just drop off in the middle of a sentence, something that worried the Fellowship more than the healers. It was perfectly expectable, they claimed. The only thing that truly astounded them was that the other four weren't still doing the same.

Gimli had made a remarkable recovery. For five days he'd fought for his life and he won to the sheer relief of everyone around. He'd recovered both his wits and his appetite and was even now making considerable inroads into a large meal. His left arm was bandaged almost from shoulder to wrist and had been suspended in a sling so that he would not be tempted to use it. Gimli had not yet tried to do so. Thráin suspected that it pained him still, although he never said.

'I shall take this poor attempt at a compliment and count myself lucky,' Legolas remarked wryly.

'There was nothing poor about it,' Gimli protested with all due indignation. 'Trust an elf to take it the wrong way.'

'And trust the dwarf to deliver it in such a strange manner that no other race can possibly comprehend their true meaning,' Legolas retorted. 'Though I shall humour you and take it in the spirit in which it was intended.'

Gimli grumbled a little about elves always wanting to get in the last word, but the grumbling was done in a mild manner, just as Legolas's comments were meant in a gentle teasing way. They were long past true enmity, but could still find joy in teasing and getting a rise out of the others.

We have gone through too much to be enemies now. Thráin called all of them friends without any hesitation.

Sam was more energetic today. 'How long do you reckon we'll have to wait, Mr Thráin?'

'Not long now, I should think.' It had been some time since Patrick had departed to fetch their visitors. 'We shall see them shortly.'

True to expectations, the door opened to let in said visitors. Thráin had seen most of them during the past week, but never had they all been together since their journey through Khazad-dûm. Here was the other part of the Fellowship, all still standing.

Merry and Pippin were first into the room. Fiona had denied them entrance before on account of her patients needing rest they were unlikely to receive if she let these two specific hobbits into the sickroom. Pippin took a leap and landed on Frodo's bed. He did not stop to verify if Frodo was prepared; he just threw his arms around his friend. Merry did the same to Sam with slightly more care. Fiona stood at the door telling them to be considerate of the state of the patients, but she might as well have addressed thin air for all the heed the hobbits in question took of that order.

There was laughter and there were embraces. It was good to all be here, all of them. Aye, Gandalf had changed almost beyond recognition, but not quite. He was just a little whiter than he had been before his encounter with the Balrog. Beth was thinner than she had been when they still travelled together – they all were – but she had grown in confidence. She held herself differently. She moved with ease, as though she was not second-guessing herself every moment any longer. A weight had lifted from Boromir's shoulders and this showed. His gaze was no longer troubled, his laugh came easily and frequently. Aragorn too seemed to have fewer burdens, despite having taken on perhaps the greatest burden of all.

'You look well, my friend,' Thráin commented when he at last had leisure to speak with him. 'It gladdens me to see you have come through it almost unscathed.'

Aragorn gave him a once-over. 'Would that the same could be said of you.'

Thráin scoffed. 'I have my life. All else can wait.' He meant that. As displeased as he was with his own limitations at the moment, he still had his life. Many souls had not been as fortunate. 'That'll do me.' He regarded his friend. 'And what of you? It seems to me that you have been given more than just your life since last we met.'

Despite the fact that he had spent much of his time asleep, he had heard rumours of what the as of yet uncrowned King had done. Folk reported that he had brought the army of the dead to Minas Tirith to relieve the city. Beth hadn't mentioned that in her report – though honesty forced him to confess that she had simply not reached the end of her tale when she took her leave of him on that first night after.

'It seems you have acquired yet another name,' he added when this did not immediately evoke a response. 'Should I address you as Elessar from this day on?' He arched an eyebrow. 'I must admit that it is mightily confusing, all these names you appear to be picking up.'

Aragorn laughed. 'After all you have done, you shall have the freedom to call me by whatever name you choose.' Thráin ignored that reference to what he had done and Aragorn apparently found it wiser not to dwell on it too long, for he forged on with purpose: 'Perhaps you too shall be called by another name soon.'

It lay on the tip of his tongue to demand whether he had learned this from Beth or Legolas when he recalled that Aragorn already knew; he had overheard in Lothlórien. With everything that happened, he had very nearly forgotten that.

'I would implore you not to call me by that name.' In his mind it was more a title than a name. It may belong to him, but he would hate for his nearest and dearest to call him by that. 'My name is Thráin.' It was the name his father and mother had given him at his birth. He had answered to it all his life. It had stood him in good stead. It was his own in ways that this other name was not.

At least not yet.

'So it is,' Aragorn agreed pleasantly. 'But what of your destiny? Where will you go?'

'Home.' This answer he could give without hesitation. 'Erebor,' he clarified. Khazad-dûm would no doubt be home in the years to come, but for now his heart called him elsewhere, to his living kin. If living they still were. 'I must know what has become of my homeland.' He would embrace his brothers and hold his sisters and count himself lucky if they were all still there. He'd visit his uncles and cousins and be relieved if he found they were as hale and whole as they were when he saw them last. Then, when this was done, he'd track down Elvaethor and ensure that he too had come through the war with nothing but scratches. It had been too long since he had seen any of them.

'And when that is done?' Aragorn asked, though he must suspect the answer.

'Khazad-dûm,' Thráin replied. He knew where he was headed. Even if he had not seen the vision, he would have felt drawn to it. He still did. For the moment the relief of having performed his task and the longing for seeing his loved ones was stronger than the urge for those halls, but he knew that would not last forever. 'It is time my people regained what they have lost. Orcs have had those halls for their abode for long enough.' He looked at Aragorn. 'It is in our survival and the reclamation of what was once lost that our victory truly lies.' And his work was by no means done.

Aragorn nodded once. 'When the time comes, Gondor will stand with you.'

Thráin's mouth fell open.

'Dwarves are not the only one race blessed with good memory, my friend.' It had definitely pleased him to see such a response. Or rather, the lack of one, because Thráin was still trying to remember how to close his mouth.

'This is not your fight,' he felt compelled to point out when he did eventually regain control over his jaw. 'It was not your homeland that was invaded. And your people have seen enough of war.' True, he had seen very little of Gondor and its people, but he had seen the effects of a long war on Boromir. They had done enough. The time had come for them to rest and recover from the wounds Sauron had dealt them.

Aragorn crossed his arms over his chest; a clear sign of contrariness. Sure enough, contrariness was evident in his words as well: 'We will not forget all that you have done and all that you have risked. Men too will honour their debts.'

Oh, for Mahal's sake! 'You owe me no debt.' This answer he could give without having to think on it. 'I chose to do this because it must be done, not to please anybody or make them owe me something.' He followed Aragorn's good example by also crossing his arms over his chest. 'I did this because it was my duty and it was done for all the world.' And because he'd been more or less forced to when Gandalf took Beth from her own world, but that was neither here nor there.

'And it is a service remembered by all the world.' Aragorn was not giving up without a decent fight. 'Whether you see it this way or not, my friend, we owe a great deal to you.'

If that was the case, then it was owed to all of the Fellowship, and this included Aragorn himself. And if they started off down this road, they would still be trying to figure out who owed what to whom when Arda was remade. So here one of Elvaethor's old wisdoms would serve: 'It was a service performed in friendship and therefore needs no repayment in either gold or favour.' All benefitted from this, not just Aragorn and not just Gondor. 'Let us be content that the world is rid of this evil and let that be the end of all this talk.'

He should be so lucky. 'Then can I not in friendship offer you the aid you may require for this venture you're thinking of undertaking?'

Damn and blast. Talked into a corner with his own reasoning. 'If you have your heart set on this course, then there's nothing I could do to stop you,' he remarked wryly. 'I'll use my sword on more deserving folk.'

'Talk of fighting already?' Beth asked, incredulity writ all over her face and voice. She'd come in at the tail end of this conversation. For reasons unknown she already leaped to the wrong conclusions. 'We've barely got out of one war!'

'Not yet,' he said, meaning to soothe her. 'But eventually, yes, there are places that ought to be rid of the vermin that inhabits them.'

Khazad-dûm was one of them. Mirkwood, he thought, was another. Thranduil had only ever done the bare minimum to keep the darker creatures in those woods under control, but even Thráin had to admit that he could not have dealt with the power in Dol Guldur whilst Sauron yet lived, no matter how much force he used. Then he thought of the emptiness of Ithilien and the folk that used to dwell there. In time, perhaps, even Mordor could be claimed for the Free Folk. If that once dark and evil place could be a safe dwelling place for good folk, then perhaps their triumph over Sauron would be complete at last.

'Ah,' Beth said, understanding.

'I shall go and speak to Legolas,' Aragorn announced. He inclined his head to both of them and walked to join the small throng around the beds that now contained all of their hobbits.

'Well, that was subtle.' Beth looked at her feet, apparently suddenly lost for things to say.

'You have done well,' Thráin said. He could not recall if he'd said so before, so he resolved to make that right as soon as he could. 'You have brought them here and you have kept them alive.'

'They did most of that on their own.' She still wasn't looking up. 'Without my interference.'

Could she just accept his thanks and get this over with? 'Perhaps,' he allowed. 'But you have performed the task that Gandalf set you. And you looked out for those that I could not protect. I misjudged you and I doubted you. I should not have.' Apologising was not one of his strengths. He did not think that it would ever be. But in this he had wronged her and so he would admit to his own mistake.

She was on the verge of protesting – her mouth was already open to utter her refuting arguments – but at the last moment she thought better of it. She closed her mouth, stared at him intensely for another few moments and then spoke words he did not expect: 'You know, Gandalf was so wrong about you.'

'Beg pardon?'

'He was,' she insisted and after that the words just never stopped coming. 'He thought what the quest needed was someone like me, but in reality he really needed someone like you more. You're like your mother a lot, you know, as in you throw the rulebook by the wayside when it doesn't suit you and you change the game entirely. Gandalf didn't think we needed that. Hell, I did not really think we needed it. But you've made so many changes for the better. You got the elves to come and help. You led the Fellowship and stayed one step ahead of the machinations of the Ring.' She ticked them off on her fingers. 'Then there's the thing with the Mûmakil and the whole thing you did then with the Ring. Not that I think that was a very bright idea, mind, but it did work and that's what counts. I suppose, in some ways, I can even thank you for my marriage, since you were the one to suggest that ploy in the first place.' She looked pensive for a moment. 'I think the best thing that my presence here has achieved is that it got you to come on the quest.'

That brought him up short, because in some ways – not in all, but in some – she was right. He'd never have come if Beth had not been made to join. The praise however sit not easy with him. He'd only done what he felt he had to. It was no great accomplishment on his part.

'Perhaps we can agree that we have both done well.'

He considered the evidence before his eyes; the Fellowship reunited, all of them here and still drawing breath. Boromir ruffled Pippin's hair, whilst trying to answer a question Gimli posed to him. If the book would have had its way, he'd have died. Yet here he was. Frodo, still in the possession of all his fingers, if not all of his strength, watched the display with fondness and amusement both. Only time would tell where his road led from here, but he had hopes that this world may not have lost all its appeal for him. Not even his mother had been able to boast saving all of her company. His words were truer than he knew when he spoke them.

'It is good to see you, you know,' Beth said, smiling.

'And you, cousin,' he replied and to his surprise he found that he meant it.

Next time: Beth and Boromir take a closer look at their future home. Meanwhile Duria is… herself.

Thank you so much for reading. Your reviews would be greatly appreciated.

Until next week.