His haversack was packed, his clothes were dry, and Elrond Peredhel was surprised to find himself sad that he was about to depart from Iarwain and Goldberry's company. Sitting at the table where his hosts took their meals, Elrond stirred his porridge idly with one long fair hand. Two days seemed too short, now that he thought about it. But he had his duties, and was bound to leave Iarwain's realm.

A sharp pang struck Elrond's knee, and without missing a second the Half-Elf had caught Goldberry's wrist before she could dart away. Please refrain from doing that, he said pleasantly before resuming his reverie. Iarwain's wife shook her head childishly, then skipped off to the kitchen.

There was a scraping of a chair against the floor, and the gentle thud of a tankard being set down on the table. I expect that you shall be wanting to leave today, Master Peredhello, said Iarwain, glancing at Elrond out of the corner of his eye as he took a drink.

Elrond turned to look at his host with one fluid movement. Yes, I must be taking my leave. When last I left Glorfindel, his host was merely four days behind me. I must reach Celebrimbor soon to tell him that help is coming. If I linger any longer, Glorfindel is likely to overtake me, he added with a small smile. Glorfindel would love to throw that back in his face someday.

Iarwain nodded and sipped some more of his drink. If that is your course, you will be traveling over the Downs. I will see you off past the end of the forest, but from there you must go east. Some Men have begun building a small village there; you may find shelter in their town if you wish it.

What is it called? asked Elrond. Few Men now remained in Eriador, and those who did were most often under the sway of Sauron. Still, that did not mean that all were of malevolent nature. Perhaps there were Numenoreans still loyal to the Eldar among them.

Bree', if I remember rightly, said Iarwain, chuckling.

Elrond nodded, and both men seemed to wait as an awkward silence engulfed them. Elrond finished his porridge, and rose carefully, minding the candle brackets hanging from the ceiling. A thought struck him, and with a soft Elrond dug his hands into the bag around his waist.

It had been given to him in Lothlorien, upon his last visit there. Golden lilies in a chain... he had forgotten about it. I think... I think that Goldberry might find this to her liking.

Iarwain smiled softly. I am sure that she will, Peredhello. The funny little man got to his feet and took the belt of flag-lilies into the kitchen. As he left, Elrond heard him singing. I wandered in summer, by fair golden springs, looking for flowers to garland in rings, for fair Goldberry, my heart truly sings! And by the deep water I met her again, alas that the lilies should call her away, and I almost wandered lonely to the end of my days...

The Elf-lord grabbed his pack and walked out the back door. The trees were thin here, and far to the east he caught sight of a great field of green rolling on into the distance. Elrond shouldered his bow, then glanced back into the house. The sun was nearly risen, and he was leaving.

Somehow he had a hard time grasping that thought. After all that he had learned, felt, tried, tasted, experienced... Could he really leave? Elrond pondered this for a minute. No, he could not leave. He would never leave this feeling of peace. It would stay with him forever, until all was said and done.

Ho! Merry Elf-man, going are you? Down through the trees and through the field too? Away from Iarwain's house, leaving him and the lovely spouse? Away from the forest and the Withywindle blue, sang Iarwain, coming to stand beside him. Even now when he was standing still Iarwain seemed to be dancing. It was as if the man was quivering with the vibrancy of life. Or perhaps he had crickets in his pants -one could never tell with Iarwain.

Yes, that I am, began Elrond, looking down at the red-bearded man. It would be ill fortune for the company to overtake the vanguard, Aldandil.

Iarwain thought for a moment, sucking on a blade of grass. Yes, I suppose it would, he said plainly.

Almost at once a song drifted out from the cottage. Elrond turned as Goldberry's voice reached his ears, singing a song of parting.

Fare thee well, Peredhel, fare thee well!
If we meet again only He can tell;
Of our home you take your leave,
Past will pass by and time will weave.

Lilies have grown at Goldberry's feet,
And until again we come to meet;
As a girdle-cord they shall bind,
Her dress until the end of Time.

A bright blonde head appeared in the window, and Goldberry waved one white arm in his direction, smiling in the manner of Yavemalda. The Half-Elf bowed, then Goldberry disappeared back into the cottage. Iarwain laughed, and started out toward the forest.

Come hop-along, merry Elf, time is swiftly calling! Through the trees and to the road Iarwain won't be stalling! The sun rises high to sky, night lingers no longer; come with Aldandillo now, his songs are ever stronger!

And turning from the homely cottage, Elrond never again set eyes upon the home of Iarwain Aldandil and his wife, Goldberry. He leapt forward, walking with long strides to keep up with Iarwain's dancing feet. They passed Goldberry's vegetable garden and entered into the thin coppice of trees that formed a loose barrier between Iarwain's home and the Downs.

Elrond squinted slightly as they left the stand of trees; the rising sun seemed overly bright since his eyes were so accustomed to the dark of the woods. Iarwain raised his blue-sleeved arm and pointed to a strip of brown that cleaved the grassy field in two halves.

There is the road to Bree, Peredhello. Whither do you wander from there? asked Iarwain, managing to sound concerned, yet not the least bit curious about where Elrond was going.

Southeast, Aldandil. I -and Glorfindel's host- shall be going to Eregion. Though I expect that Glorfindel will try to avoid your forest, responded Elrond, looking northward.

Iarwain shrugged, and started to walk towards the road, Elrond following him. It really was quite remarkable how little the man cared for the world outside the Old Forest. Elrond suspected that Sauron himself could have surrounded the forest with all of his forces without Iarwain minding. Just as long as nothing actually went into the forest, that is.

They moved onward for a couple of hours before coming to a hill overlooking the road. Wind buffeted Elrond's hair, and Iarwain had to tuck his hat a little more snugly over his head. They must have looked a very awkward standing there, a tall Elf-lord arrayed for war and a short Mannish creature with red hair and brightly colored rainment. Elrond paused, looking into the east silently.

Good-bye, Iarwain Aldandil.

Iarwain said nothing. And then he turned slowly to the Elf-lord. Farewell, Elrond. I do not think we will meet again.

An aura of peace swirled around the two, and a shade of mutual understanding descended onto Elrond and Iarwain. In the west a blond Elf marched the host of Lindon Elves to war. In the east the Gwaith-i-Mirdain fought to save their home from servants of the Dark Lord. Middle-earth brimmed with strife, death, and bloodshed.

But for less than a second Elrond was removed from that struggle.

And for less than a second he was at peace.

Taking up his bow, Elrond nodded to Iarwain, and ran eastward. The sun shone brightly upon his path, drying the damp grass under his feet. He was leaving the haven that Iarwain had created, and would soon face another storm of war. Elrond was not unfamiliar with battle, to say the least, but this time it seemed different. For the first time, it seemed as if there was something to fight for, something that had to be preserved.

The simple life... That was what had to be saved. For Iarwain, Goldberry, Fimbrethil and the Entwives, and the race of Men... More precious than jewels or mithril, the joy of life had to be kept. For them.

It was for that that Elrond ran. He went into the East, not knowing what would be found there.

And behind him, Iarwain watched from the crest of the green hill, the sun glinting off his blue jacket, the wind blowing grass stems around his yellow boots.

***

The bucket clanked repeatedly against the pony's leg, and Olo Stockburrow hurried to refasten it securely. Troublesome news had been coming out of the east, most troublesome. Bree had seemed like a good place to settle, much better indeed than the Vales of the Anduin, but that had been before the refugees, and much before the bands of goblins had taken to roaming the outskirts of town.

Olo! Come up here, we're nearing the forest! called Goody.

Eh? What's that? answered the old hobbit, cupping a hand around his ear. Much to Olo's dismay, his hearing was not quite as good as it had been in his younger days.

You're not that deaf, Olo, shouted Goody exasperatedly. Come here, I want you to see the forest!

Olo patted the pony's head and hastened to his wife, who was pointing the a smudge of green on the western horizon. He leaned forward, trying to extend his vision. There's the Old Forest, right indeed. The Brandywine bridge won't be far now, so don't you fret.

Goody laughed and clapped her husband on the shoulder. Since when have I gone worrying myself silly with all of these troubles of moving house? The pot shouldn't advise the kettle if he can't whiten himself, you know.

Olo shook his head resignedly, and looked around the moving party at the rest of his family. He had a lot of hope for this new land, the Shire. It would be a place for him to raise his family in peace, without the bother of goblins and wolves hassling the borders. Olo's two sons, Lanto and Nolo, ran ahead of the party, and the older hobbit smiled fondly.

Now don't be straying too far, boys, he called ahead to them.

We won't, Papa! cried Nolo, running over to a great hill that rose the the left of the road. The morning sunlight angled over the horizon, creating a great shadow over the road ahead.

Olo shook his head fondly and looked back to check on the ponies. They were meandering along at a steady pace, and with any luck they would reach the Brandywine before sunset. Olo dropped back to the end of the line once again. The speck at the edge of the horizon that was Bree was growing steadily smaller. He raised one hand to say good-bye.

And then he stopped, petrified. A figure was standing atop the hill that his family had just passed under. Olo scurried to his right, flattening himself against the grass. A twinge of fear gripped his heart, and he looked back at his family. But they had rounded a bend in the road, and were shielded from view. Olo released his breath in relief. Whoever was there would not find his children.

Crawling forward silently, Olo raised his head to look at the person on the hill. It was a short man, only slightly bigger than himself, wearing a hat of some sort. Another hobbit, from the Shire, perhaps?

And then another person came into view, striding out of the mist that clung to the Barrow-downs. The sun was behind his head, darkening his face. It was a Big Person, very tall and clad in the garb of war. A longbow larger than Olo was strapped across his back, and what the Hobbit could see of his face was grim and terrible.

Olo pressed himself to the hill, hiding in the shade of the overhang that leaned over the road. His heart beating faster than the wings of a hummingbird, Olo fought to keep quiet, lest he be noticed. The elderly hobbit could now hear them speaking in a strange, echoing voice, as if he were hearing something from the deep recesses of the past. Olo strained to make out the words.

...aye, Haim Baldandil...

Olo picked up his head from the grass so that he could hear with his other ear. There was a great pause, in which he was sure that the two would discover him. But nothing happened. Olo looked up, then saw the shorter man open his mouth to speak.

I do not think we will...

Olo ducked back to the ground. For a short instance he was sure that the smaller man, the Haim Baldandil had seen him. There had been a spark in his eye, and then...

Olo felt the slightest of rumbles in the ground. When he looked back up, the fierce warrior had departed, melting back into the mist. The other man waited, completely still, watching him go. Olo lay there for what seemed like forever, waiting for the warrior's friend, the Taim Boldmandil to leave. Thoughts raced through Olo's mind; would his family be able to settle into the Shire if he were to be lost on the road? Who would take care of Lanto and Nolo until they became of age?

And then the smaller man turned around, and started back southward over the field. Olo crawled to the top of the hill, and caught sight of Tom Bolbmadil. He did not look threatening, or dangerous. He was dancing merrily, skipping away through he tall grass. Olo regarded the strange man with the blue jacket and yellow boots, and whispered quietly to himself as one who has just seen a vision and knows not whether it is true.

Tom Bombadil...

The bearded figure spun around in his dance, and if Olo had been sure that his eyesight was not failing him as well he would have sworn that this person, this vision, this Tom Bombadil had winked at him. And then the stranger began to sing. The wind rose up, and carried the merry, echoing voice back over the Barrow-downs until it reached Olo's ears.

Tom Bombadil is a merry fellow,
Bright blue his jacket is and his boots are yellow;
Never mistake old Tom, the oldest without father,
His ways are ancient ways, and he's known them longer...

*********

Author's Notes: Here ends the tale of Iarwain Aldandil and Elrond Peredhel, I hope that you have enjoyed it. Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to review and critique this story, it means a lot to me (been working on it for four months, trying to get it just right).

I would like to give great big thank you to my wonderful beta-reader, Thalia Weaver, who is not only a fantastic author but a terrific editor as well; and to Hellga, who proofed the names in this story for linguistic clarity.

Namárië, for now,
Meir Brin