A/N: This is my first attempt at a Lord of the Rings fanfic. I swore I wouldn't write another fanfic while I'm trying to write my book, but this idea is just not going away and I must write it or go insane. I never knew how much research went into writing a LOTR fic, so please let me know if I get anything wrong and I will change it immediately. By the way, does anyone know what Frodo did with Sing at the end of The Return of the King? I'm assuming he gave it to Sam who then passed it to Elanor…but I honestly don't know. Anyway, please enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters, magical items, and/or plot lines from The Lord of the Rings or The Hobbit. They are the property of J. R. R. Tolkien and sadly not mine.

(xxx)(xxx)(xxx)(xxx)(xxx)(xxx)(xxx)(xxx)(xxx)(xxx)(xxx)(xxx)(xxx)(xxx)(xxx)(xxx)

Prelude

The Red Book, which details the history of the hobbits from Bilbo Baggins' grand adventure through the hobbits' role in the War of the Rings, was given to Elanor the Fair by Master Samwise before he departed for the Gray Havens. Elanor in turn took the book to Westmarch where it would be passed down through the generations of Fairbairns who, over the years, made several copies and later additions.

This is the story of the first and greatest of these additions: the adventures of the first Fairbairn to be Book Keeper. The last of Elanor and Fastred of Greenholm's children, he was named Maxburry after Fastred's great-grandfather. He was not strong of arms as his eldest brother Elfstan was, but was gentle of heart and had a kind nature. Being over twenty years Elfstan's junior, many had begun to doubt Elanor and Fastred would be blessed with a second child by the time of Maxburry's birth in 1475 (Shire Reckoning). Being so inept and disliking of fighting, it was seen as fitting that, upon his fifteenth birthday, he was given the honor of first Keeper of the Red Book of the Fairbairns.

Chapter 1:

The Book Keeper

(Westmarch, Shire. May 5, 1490 S.R.)

Maxburry Fairbairn sat silently on the edge of his bed, staring at the unopened leather-bound book on his desk: his birthday present. He couldn't explain it, but somehow, he was afraid of it. He had seen the Book many times before; held it, smelled its musty pages, been told the stories it contained, and read the stories himself. The Book had entranced him all throughout his childhood. Often, his grandfather Samwise would tell the stories logged in the book from heart (they were partially his stories after all). Samwise would never stop once he had started until he reached the very end. There were times as he told his tales when he laughed, times when he wept, and times when he would pause and take on a peculiar far off look and cease speaking for some time before continuing. Try as he might, Max could never leach those same emotions from the scrawled, near illegible print on the thick pages.

Max knew every word in the Book by heart, excluding a few Elvish songs and sayings that he did not fully understand. As a child he had wanted so badly to immerse himself in the Book, but now that he had been given just that duty the responsibility scared him.

Max was nothing like his praised older brother and he was well aware of it. Elfstan was tall, the tallest hobbit in Westmarch (Merry and Pippin holding the records for being tallest in all the Shire). He was also very talented with a sword and possessed a gracefulness with the blade that Max lacked and doubted he could ever achieve. Where Max was more inclined to lounge in the shade of a large tree and recite songs and stories, Elfstan was off to Gondor every other month and many other places besides. Most likely this was the very reason for Max's choosing as the Book Keeper. Max had always held a deep interest in the Book, but Elfstan had never been satisfied with books and stories. As he said, Elfstan was far more interested in "doing the doing myself than reading about some other bloke doing it."

Max's eyes rested on the Book once more. He had read and reread it many times, yet he always knew that he could never write in it. His own words and thoughts were inadequate and adding them would mar the beauty of it. "But that's just what I have to do now," he said quietly to himself, "there's just no two ways about it." Nodding to himself, he threw back the covers and climbed into his bed, blowing out the candle that lit his room and turning his back on the Book.

(xxx)

Elfstan Fairbairn rode hard towards the setting sun. He had hoped to reach home before nightfall, but that was rapidly becoming an impossibility. He had no fear of the dark and the things that may or may not lurk there, however he knew how his mother would worry. He had already broken his promise to arrive before his brother's birthday; he did not need to add to her anxiety by taking any longer in his homecoming than he could help.

As he passed the Marking Rock signaling that Westmarch was just three miles ahead, he blinked as a figure on the ground caught his eye. Pulling his horse to a stop he jumped down and slowly approached with one hand ready on the hilt of his sword. As he drew closer, he saw that it was a small white figure that had caught his attention. It was dressed in a long white gown that pooled around its still form, but that wasn't all that was white about this being: long waist-length hair as pure as freshly fallen snow lay fanned out on the ground and the skin too was pale and colorless. Noticing that there were no shoes on the being he took a closer look and immediately recognized the crumpled figure for what it was; a hobbit!

Blinking in shock, his hand immediately left his sword and he sprung forward to aid the fallen hobbit maiden. Couching by her side, he lifted her gently into his arms. He noticed at once that her face was drenched in sweat and her skin was burning to touch. Her breath came in shallow gasps. Deciding he must take her to Westmarch to be healed, he shifted her to carry her to his horse and in doing so moved the fabric of her star-light dress to reveal one pale shoulder. He froze and his face hardened at the sight of the dark mark. He hesitated for a moment, but only for a moment, then he quickly recovered the shoulder and took the maiden to his horse. With nimble fingers he lashed her limp form to his mount and then was off again towards home.

(xxx)

At first, Max stared blankly at his ceiling, wondering why he had woken. Then hushed voices met his ears and he quietly slipped out of bed. Following the voices, he soundlessly left his room and crept down the hall. Though he could not yet make out the words, he immediately recognized the deep voice that spoke them. Elfstan had returned. Max stopped just outside one of the many rooms that was usually designated for guests. Slim tendrils of light glowed under the door.

"You said you just found her?" It was his father's voice. Max furrowed his bow. Found who?

"She was collapsed by the Marking Rock," Elfstan answered. His voice was short and curt. Max wondered why he was so upset.

"I've never seen a girl quite like her before," Max heard his mother admit.

"I have," Elfstan replied, "Not a hobbit, but a man." A hobbit! Max's curiosity was beginning to eat away at him almost painfully. His brother had found an odd looking hobbit girl at the Marking Rock? What was going on? Resolving to find out, he reached out and grasped the door handle. The room fell silent as the door swung opened.

"Did we wake you, Maxie?" Elanor said apologetically. Max winced and felt himself blush.

"Don't call me that, Ma," he muttered, eyes falling on his elder brother. Elfstan returned his gaze but offered no verbal greeting. The staring contest continued for a few tense moments before Max found the strength to tear his gaze away and focus it on the bed behind his brother. There lay a girl who was indeed a hobbit, but unlike any hobbit Max had ever met. She was all in white; that is to say that everything from her skin to her hair to her travel-worn dress was bleached of all color. Her breathing was uneven and he could see beads of sweat dotting her brow. She appeared to be in pain.

"Who is she?" he asked simply, unable to look away from the strange girl. He thought absently that she must be about the same age as him.

"We don't know," Fastred supplied, "Elfstan found her on his way home." Max took a step closer to the bed, brow furrowing in concern.

"Is she going to be all right?" he inquired.

"Yes! Oh my yes," Elanor quickly assured him in a tone that said all too clearly that she really didn't know. An awkward silence fell over the room. Both parents shifted uncomfortably while Max stood unmoving and Elfstan cast a cold look over his shoulder at the girl.

"If there's nothing you need me for," Elfstan broke the silence, "I believe I will go get reacquainted with my bed."

"Of course, dear! Go! Get some sleep," Elanor practically shooed her eldest son out of the room. "Maxie," she said, turning to her other son. Max felt himself blush again but refrained from scolding his mother for using the pet name. "Max, dear, you should go on back to bed too."

"No, Ma," Max shook his head, turning back to his parents. He smiled gently at them. "You two should be the ones in bed. I'm far too awake now to find anymore sleep tonight. You go to bed. I'll watch her for a while." His parents exchanged glances.

"You're sure, dear?" Elanor asked.

"Yes Ma, go!" Max nodded fiercely. "Don't you worry, I'll keep her alive. And if anything at all comes up I'll come get you fast as I can, all right?" Elanor still appeared hesitant but Fastred returned his son's smile.

"All right then. I'm sure the Book Keeper can handle a little extra responsibility here and there. Good luck with that one," Fastred nodded towards the girl and then took his wife's arm and steered her out of the room.

"Good night, Maxburry," Elanor bade her son farewell.

"G'night, Ma," Max returned. The door shut and his smile faded. His father's words rung in his ears. The Book Keeper... Like it or not, that was indeed what Max was now, though the idea still bothered him. With a sigh he turned back to the girl. Pulling a chair from the desk he sat himself down by her bed and, finding a bowl of cool water that his mother had no doubt brought in earlier, he bathed her burning skin with a wet rag. When that was done his attention turned to staring at her once more.

Looking at the girl's face he felt certain that his earlier assumption was correct and she was in fact his own age. Her features were soft and, like his, in that awkward stage that was too sharp to be childlike and yet too gentle to be grown-up. As he continued to stare at the oddly colorless girl, he noticed something on her shoulder. The wide neck of her dress, stretched and torn in places, revealed an odd dark marking that starkly contrasted with her pale skin. Curiosity getting the better of him, he reached out and moved the fabric of her dress to uncover her shoulder.

"Um…please excuse this, miss," he apologized, though she couldn't hear it. He stared down at the Mark he had revealed. It was black and consisted of many swirling lines that crossed each other in strange patterns. Runes he had never seen before were scattered around the lines. He blinked in wonderment. As he stared he felt…well…he wasn't quite sure what he felt. It was an odd sensation, like a tingling in the very core of his being. It was ticklish and both hot and cold at the same time. He wasn't sure how, but he knew that the feeling was coming from the Mark on the girl's shoulder. Hesitantly, and without knowing why, he reached out and gently pressed his fingertips to the Mark.

Immediately the girl gasped and shot upright in the bed. Max uttered a startled cry and stumbled back, landing hard on his rear. The girl took several deep breaths, eyes wide and slightly panicked. She looked all around the room, fully taking in her surroundings, before finally focusing her attention on Max.

Max almost gasped when their eyes met. The girl's eyes were blood red. He suddenly thought of a rabbit he had seen once, white with red eyes. He had never imagined that a person could look like that.

"What did you do?" the girl demanded after a moment. Max suddenly blushed furiously, noticing that her shoulder was still uncovered.

"I…I'm sorry!" he stammered. "I meant no disrespect! I just…I saw that thing on your shoulder, you see, and I guess I let my curiosity get the better of me. I…I know I should have gotten your consent and all first, but…"

"What did you do?" she repeated more gently, pulling her dress up to cover her shoulder once more. Her hand lingered there for some time before she lowered it again.

"I only barely touched it. That's all! I swear!" he answered breathlessly. She looked at him and he wasn't sure of her expression.

"That's all?" she repeated.

"Yes! Yes, I swear it!" he gasped. Her gaze took on a look of astonishment.

"Who are you?" she asked, and then added, "Where am I?"

"My name is Max," he introduced himself as he stood up. He offered her a respectful bow. "Maxburry Fairbairn, at your service, and don't you worry miss, you're safe as can be now in Westmarch."

"Westmarch?" she questioned, looking confused.

"In the Shire," he replied, furrowing his brow slightly in confusion. Where was this girl from that she had never heard of Westmarch?

"The Shire!" she exclaimed. "Have I really come that far west?"

"Begging your pardon, miss," Max cut in, "but what is your name?"

"Oh, of course, how rude of me," she amended. "I'm Elabelle, at your service."

"Elabelle," he repeated, testing the name on his tongue. "Did you come all this way all by yourself?"

"I…" she halted and quickly looked at the ground, "Yes." Max blinked at her troubled tone. Was she in some sort of trouble?

"Would…" he began slowly, choosing his words carefully, "would you like to tell me about it, Miss Elabelle?" Elabelle's head shot up and the blush that rose to her face as impossible to miss with her pale complexion.

"No 'Miss'!" she insisted forcefully, shaking her head. "Just Elabelle, just call me Elabelle." Her gaze dropped again and her hand rose to rest on her shoulder, over the Mark. "Someone…" she whispered after a moment, "someone very dear to me is in trouble and…and I'm not sure how…but I have to help him." It seemed to Max that she suddenly looked very lost and vulnerable.

"What's wrong with him, this person you have to help?" he asked quietly. She looked up at him and he was surprised to see tears in her wide, fearful crimson eyes.

"He…that is…it's bigger than just him…it is a problem that very soon might threaten everyone," she stumbled over her words. Max stared at her in confusion.

"I'm not sure I follow," he confessed.

"What I mean is—" she broke off with a sudden cry and jumped up in the bed, pressing herself back against the wall. Startled, Max turned to see what had frightened her so, expecting to find a mouse or spider to be the culprit. What he saw instead made his blood run cold as ice. A puddle of quicksilver was slowly seeping under the door and into the room. But what truly terrified him wasn't the sight, but the feel of it. As he had with the strange Mark on Elabelle's shoulder, Max felt an odd feeling deep inside him that he was sure was coming from the living puddle creeping towards them. The feeling was dark and all together unpleasant; really the only word for it was Evil.

"What…what is that?" he managed to gasp, stumbling backwards. His legs hit the side of the bed and he fell backwards onto it, never taking his eyes off the quicksilver puddle that was now fully in the room and moving ever closer.

"A Flash," Elabelle breathed. He glanced at her. "It must have followed me."

"Followed you from where!" he cried, unable to imagine the unspeakable conditions that would yield a creature such as the one they currently faced.

"Nevermind," she suddenly said, turning to him. Something akin to hope shone in her bloody eyes. "When you touched my Mark…" she began hesitantly, "Did you….feel anything?" Max stared at her for a moment before nodding slightly. "And do you feel anything from the Flash now?" Max's eyes widened for a moment, wondering how she knew, but he nodded again.

"Why?" he managed to ask, finding it difficult to speak as his throat and mouth had gone completely dry. A sense of foreboding filled him with sudden unexplainable dread.

"I…I think you can kill it," Elabelle proposed quietly.

"What!" he shouted. "I…No! I can't! How could I kill it? I don't even know what it is!"

"Just listen!" Elabelle yelled back. He looked at her incredulously, but waiting silently for her to explain. "All you have to do is say its true name and…and picture it dying in your head." He blinked at her stupidly. "It's easy," she assured him.

"Then you do it!" he suggested.

"I can't!" she replied. She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths to calm herself. "I can't do it, but I think you can. Say its true name, say Gelzorn, and imagine it breaking into a hundred tiny fragments of light." Max wanted to protest again but looked down and found that the Flash was nearly to the bed. He took a deep breath and then slowly let it out.

"All I gotta do," he said slowly, "is say 'Gelzorn,' right?"

"That's right," Elabelle nodded.

"And…and think about it…going off like a firework. And that's it?"

"That's it," Elabelle repeated. Max heaved a great sigh and focused his eyes on the quicksilver Flash. He tried to imagine it breaking into pieces and disappearing. He concentrated on the image. He felt something building inside of him, something warm and ticklish that smothered the Evil feel of the Flash. All doubt left him as the warmth spread through him and he was filled with sudden confidence. He felt as though he was detached from his body, and then his mouth opened beyond his control and he heard his voice utter one word: "Gelzorn!"

The puddle began to bubble and shrink in on itself. Then it burst outward and broke apart in an explosion of light and dissipated. Max was left feeling exhausted and breathing heavily, staring wide eyed at the spot where the Flash had just been. Turning, he saw Elabelle now sitting on the bed beside him, smiling warmly at him.

"I knew you could do it," she praised him. He stared at her for a moment, his face having gone every bit as pale as hers, then his eyes rolled up into his head and he collapsed onto the bed and knew no more. His last thought before he blacked out completely was of how just a few hours ago the idea of being Book Keeper had seemed the most frightening responsibility of his life, and that now it would be a welcomed trade.