The Fellowship
by Uplifted
"This fate belongs to all the races of Middle Earth." So spoke Elrond, Master and Lord of the elven abode Rivendell, or Imladris, as its denizens said. With him in a balconey of elvish make and beauty was Gandalf the Grey Wizard, bearer of many names. The two aged individuals stood speaking of the gathering darkness that had veiled the lands of Middle Earth. Sauron, evil reborn, was massing in the East, and his minions were already extending their reach.
The Council of Elrond had been called, elvish emissaries to each of the fair races. Dwarves had sent their prince, Men their's, and the wood elves had sent a son of their King. It was more than Elrond had hoped for, but less than he expected. The uncovering of the One Ring of Sauron would begin on the morrow, and Elrond held little hope of reaching a decision among those who would gather.
As the two discussed the fate of the world, four curious individuals had gathered below, in a courtyard of simple, yet elegant design. Hobbits of the Shire, halflings, they have been named, known for their prodigious appetite, trickster-like outlook, and their dimunitive stature. Of the four, a tweenager named Peregrin Took was entertaining his friends with a lively reinaction of his daily visit to the kitchen. Samwise Gamgee, a sandy-haired, stock hobbit, stayed at the elbow of a slim young hobbit, who appeared the age of his young cousin Pippin. This hobbit was stiff from bandages, and his elvishly proportioned face was pale in the bright afternoon sunlight. But his bright morning glory eyes were alert and happy, tracking the movements of his two cousins, and his friend. Meriadoc Brandybuck was munching an apple he had plucked from the same kitchen that Pippen had ransacked, and brushing twigs from his fine, reddish hair. He and Pippin were favorites of the cook, and never turned down the offered sweetmeats and candies the cooking staff seemed filled with.
"Frodo, you should have seen it! The cook is right fond of us, cousin. I wouldn't be surprised if he came out of those hot kitchens just to present us with his food personally." Finished the tweenager happily.
"You lot had better stay out of their way in them fancy kitchens. They cook for the whole of Rivendell in there." Spoke Sam, his rustic accent betraying his simple origins. His face bore a hint of a scowl at the infamous Brandybuck/Took partners being in the kitchen's that made his food. But moreso was his scowl frustration. His master simply would not listen to reason.
"Mr. Frodo, it's about time for tea. Won't you come back to your room?"
"Whatever for, Sam? We could have a lovely tea here in the open air." The dark-haired hobbit replied, gesturing to the courtyard in emphasis. When Sam began to stumble along his words, trying to persuade him, Frodo laid a gentle hand on Sam's arm. "I'd just rather not be inside now, Sam."
Nodding unhappily, the hobbit raised himself.
"I think I'll just get to the kitchens for that tea now," Sam said, with a warning look at Frodo's relations. "If you think of leavin' him, then you'd best leave the thinkin' to Mr. Frodo. I'll be back right quick with proper food, so you'd best wait for it."
Pippin unabashedly grinned at the elder hobbit, his manner charming. Merry rolled his eyes at the two, before tossing the core of his now devored apple over the railing of the courtyard. Turning to leave, not even Sam could miss the shout of;
"'Ware! Is there a lack of manner about, or have yon thrown your refuse on me?'
Wide-eyed, Merry inched to the edge to peer over, and called down, an apology.
The rest of the hobbits had gathered, as they will do, drawn by curiosity, to the stairway that led down to the lower level.
A laughing man ascended these stairs, his hair and beard a bit disheaveled, after a long travel. His tunic was emblemed with the White Tree of Gondor, and kindness made his eyes light. Yet when he beheld the halflings, his laughter vanished, and astonishment swept him into a bow.
"My mother used to speak of your race, from the legends of our city." He rose, and kneeled to be eye level with the closest hobbit, who happened to be Pippen. "Halflings have not been seen by the Men of Gondor for centuries."
"Well that's all well and good," piped up Pippin, "But now you've seen us, and there's none to be done about it. We've ruined his perception of legends, Merry. You've spoilt the good hobbit name with a simple apple core. Mum wouldn't be very proud." Merry shoved his younger cousin, who indignantly shoved him back, while Frodo walked towards the stranger, and swept a courteous bow. Only the hobbits noticed the slight tremor to his form, but, led by example, they too swept a bow.
"I am Frodo Baggins of the Shire," spoke the blue-eyed hobbit, and motioned to each of the hobbits as he introduced them. "These are my younger cousins Meriadoc and Peregrin, and my friend and gardner Samwise. We are honored to meet a man of the west. May we inquire your name and reason for being in Rivendell?"
The man smiled, and inclined his head to each hobbit.
"My purpose for this visit to the realm of the elves is to represent the free peoples of Gondor. My name, master halflings, is Faramir, son of Denethor."
To Be Continued
I know this isn't in my normal genre, but I was inspired after reading through a wonderful writer, name of Budgielover. I'm dedicating this to her, and hoping that I won't make a fool of myself. This is my first time in the Lord of the Rings category, and I hope the plot is exciting for you. If I have any errors, please let me know?
the Lord of the Rings, characters, places, all belong to Tolkien. This is only being used as a means to get me back into writing.