The Book of East-march
Of the Hobbits, it is said that the Bagginses of Bag End, in particular, possess a certain respectability, and are blessed with a prodigious quantity of good sense.
They are, if historicity holds true, all possessed of a curious industriousness when it comes to a task they have on their minds, but can be as lethargic as a fallen leaf when freed of all thoughts of comings and goings.
And so did Bilbo Baggins, latest heir to this illustrious line (in Hobbits' terms) allow himself to let his mind wander one fine morning, as he had no work that needed doing in immediate order.
The Shire was a truly wonderful place, was it not, with all its rolling rivers and green hills? And an apt home for dignified, respectable folk such as the Bagginses, or so his father Bungo had amply impressed upon him.
Very lovely, was it not, that he should seek to while away his morning while blowing artful smoke-rings from his pipe stuffed copiously with Longbottom Leaf; lost utterly in the marvels of hearth and home?
And yet the Bagginses were ever of an intellectual propensity (quite unlike the Bracegirdles of Hardbottle), if not quite adventurous in their avenues of though, and so he found himself drawn to consider whether or not the Big Folk would hold such an appreciation of the Shire as he did.
As soon as he thought it, Bilbo felt tempted to scoff; for it was surely an absurd question. To truly know the Shire, to understand it for its gifts- why, that meant being a hobbit in the first place.
Unless you were, of course, Melyanna. Now she alone was singular and worth note among the Big Folk, not in the least of the matter that Bilbo was sure she was an Elf, though she had indicated little of the sort. It largely drew down to the pointed ears- and how, in all his fifty years, she had never seemed to age.
A dear friend to his mother, and to him. How lovely would it be to have her around for tea, he thought- if only she came around more often in these days. It seemed she came by less and less. In fact, he found her company delightful enough that he was prepared to tolerate the deluge of questions about all matters Elvish that flowed to him from his many friends that threatened to drown him whenever she did visit.
A shake of the head was well-warranted, and a sigh. His fellows, respectable as they may be, could not quite claim to the same degree of respectability as he, for they were given to distrust Melyanna, labelling her 'A disturber of the Peace.'
Utter Hogwash- Bilbo had never seen as kind a soul as her in his time, although the way she held herself, the distinct air of command that seemed well-nigh queenly and that she hid it so well were rather unsettling.
Now his mother- the famous Belladonna Took, that was- as one of the remarkable daughters of the Old Took, had insisted on having her around oft enough that she was a sort of Aunt to him, and he was proud of that matter, though even now he hardly knew anything about her.
Truly, Melyanna had the saddest smile, as if something truly terrible had befallen her in the past. He never could bring himself (as a respectable Baggins, of course) to ask of it.
Now, what was he doing, whiling away the morning in thoughts of old, mysterious friends? The Shire, he thought rather firmly.
Ah, yes, why would anyone wish to embark on matters so whimsical and uncertain as adventures when they-
"Ah, there's Bilbo. I was beginning to consider the chance that I might have forgotten- but such ill-fortune does not befall us this day, as I had foretold. We have arrived."
By Bandobras.
Bilbo would have suspected telepathy had he not been such a grounded, rational fellow as any Baggins worth their salt must be.
A voice rather melodic, somewhat akin to a Nightingale's song- why, he would employ those words for but one voice he knew.
"Are you quite certain, Melian? A Halfling? Why, he hardly seems the sort to muster the will to march forth from his door, whether or not it strikes his fancy."
Now this- this was a voice far less a pleasure to listen to. It had a beauty of its own, Bilbo was prepared to concede- something of a grandeur that proclaimed the speaker as surely a master of oratory. It was, however, sharp and cutting in all the wrong ways, and of an archaic lilt that betrayed the voice's owner as having an exceedingly high opinion of himself.
He looked forward and beheld two figures who were nearing Bag End, engaged in a sort of polite argument, as if neither could quite ever agree with the other. One was his friend of old, it was certain, with her cascades of dark hair, emerald robes and cloak of soft grey. The other was a figure quite unfamiliar, and garbed in so pretentious a manner as Bilbo had never seen before.
He appeared to wear a breastplate of black armour- and exceedingly sinister-seeming black armour at that- over thoroughly intricate robes of amber with swirling patterns of gold upon it, a number of assorted rings adorning his fingers. He too was equally dark-haired, a circlet of gold adorning his brow, and a voluminous amber cloak followed in his wake.
And most of all, his face. Now that face housed the most irascible expression Bilbo had ever beheld in his life, and that included anything he had witnessed upon the visage of all the Sackville-Bagginses. Were he not possessed of greater sense, he would have called it nearly murderous. Melyanna, by contrast, was calm and collected as ever.
"You wished my aid in finding a fourteenth member for your quest and I have found one. If, perchance, you disagree with my choice, you may rest assured that I shall not join either, as you are apparently so caught up in defying the Corruptor in the east. I have always preferred the company of hobbits to dwarves to begin with." she said confidently, not caring for all the world that Bilbo was listening.
As for the other, he seemed to have noticed Bilbo, only to cast him aside as if he never existed to begin with. As such, he was pleased by Melyanna's defence of him, though he felt an odd weight of expectation.
"Indeed. Perhaps I ought to reconsider the matter of whether or not you should accompany them yourself- I would have thought you wished to never again witness the sight of a dwarf. But then again, your farsight extends farther than mine, and if this quest for Erebor is to be a matter of significant weight, I shall attempt to facilitate it however best I can."
She turned to behold him fully, and in that moment, Bilbo perceived that even this great being of the pretentious raiment and over-wrought prose was somewhat cowed by her gaze.
"You know very well, Mairon, that I am willing to do anything that I may to rouse Elwë from his slumber. If that is to mean I must myself ensure the end of Olórin, then so be it."
"Very… very well." said, ah- Mairon, if Bilbo caught it correctly. Something in Elvish, no doubt- he would need to consult Melyanna afterwards. "Although you must forgive me if I do have some concerns for your safety. We cannot afford another… incident."
"Well, that is a simple matter, is it not? You'll protect me, of course." she said with a smile, and Bilbo watched with curiosity as this Mairon-fellow's face contorted immediately in an odd snarl and muttered something about "accursed Saruman not doing enough."
"Ah, if I may…"
"Oh, dear Bilbo. How very clumsy of me. Forgive me if I do intend to get caught up these days, but I have dearly missed the sight of you, my young friend." she said, and Bilbo immediately scurried to open his small gate, which she could have easily stepped over only that she chose not to.
"Melyanna! It must have been five years since last we met. Come in, come in! Tea is ready, and perhaps a bit of something more if you would…"
"Just tea, thank you." said Melyanna with a smile. "Pray, allow me to introduce a friend of mine. This is Mairon, and you shall call him that, whatever airs he gives himself wandering about as 'Annatar the Amber'."
Bilbo looked up at the tall figure, and the tall figure rather menacingly glared down at him. Mairon?
Oh, no. Bilbo was certainly far too afraid of him to call him that, and rightfully so. The name sounded somehow- unspoken, as if one could not speak it without his given permission. Annatar the Amber it was, then.
"Good Morning." he said, and he meant it.
Annatar gave an irate huff. "It most certainly is not." he said, and whisked himself in, not waiting for Bilbo's invitation.
Bilbo was beginning to think he did not much like this Annatar- ah, no, no. Such thoughts were not respectable enough for a Baggins.
A guest was a guest, and guests meant tea. And yet, this Annatar did not much seem a guest, for- ah!
The poor, frightened hobbit nearly fell onto the ground in shock, as Annatar had somehow made a sort of curt gesture and his door had swung itself open.
How could such be possible?
A certain ridiculous notion of telekinesis aside, the thought was an impossible conundrum. Bilbo wracked his memory to remember anything he might have read in a book somewhere, or in some map-
"Five are the Wizards, and mighty is their will;
The Brown who lives near wood, water and hill;
The White who in crafts of metal holds skill.
Two were Blue and marched east ere the fall
One is Amber and mightiest, lord of them all."
It was a simple rhyme, 'The Lay of the Wizards', that his mother would sing to him when he was indeed a very small hobbit, and though the scheme and words were hardly worth merit, it was rather effective in putting him to sleep.
Which meant- Egads.
He had never believed that Wizards truly existed, but here was one, and in his home- apparently the mightiest of all their number. Annatar the Amber.
In his haste to fetch his finest wine, Bilbo tripped over himself.
Annatar did not seem to have noticed, though the Hobbit had the sneaking suspicion that he indeed noticed everything that went on in Bag End, if not Under the Hill itself, only that he chose not to acknowledge him. He was bent over the fireplace, eyes shut, and Bilbo would have warned him that he was far too close to the flame if he did not know better-
Ah, fiddlesticks.
He was rather running out of exclamations. Where once there had been the small, comforting fire of his cosy hearth, there now was a terrifying plume of flame that smoked and crackled, threatening to devour them all.
And then Annatar waved a chair over to himself (which was equally a matter of impossibility), setting it down dangerously near the pillar of flame he had conjured, before sitting down upon it with an odd sort of discomfort. Bilbo should not have felt somehow vindicated at the plight of one so tall attempting to seat himself upon his small armchair, and he chided himself for it.
It was then that he realised he was yet lying on the floor, mouth agape. Melyanna, who had been standing over him the entire while, helped him up when he extended his hand with an expression of motherly concern.
"We shall speak of your utterly uncivilised manner later, Mairon. Consider yourself particularly in luck." she said sternly. Blibo felt for the poor soul. To receive such a threat from Melyanna, who he was sure was kindest of all people on Middle-earth- why, that was a shock of the highest order.
"Tea, Bilbo?" she asked him instead, offering him his own brew. She had picked his mother's cup for him, of course, the one she knew he liked best.
"Thank you." he said, all too hastily, and took a great draught of the liquid. Though it surely scalded his throat, he had needed it for the nerves. Melyanna promptly returned to glaring at Annatar between sips of tea, and that invincible wizard seemed somehow daunted.
At length, Melyanna ceased her glare, and Annatar was given wordless permission to look at him. Bilbo at once felt a sort of prickling on his nape, as if he were being watched from all sides, as if the inner workings of his mind were being pried apart- and as he observed, Annatar's pupils were flaming amber, and somehow catlike.
"So, Mister Baggins." he said, in a grave monotone. "Would you care to enumerate your merits in the field of Burglary?"