The sun was just going down, the horses picking their way along a narrow trail when they turned a corner and the valley of Imladris opened up before them. Tivan heard Freya gasp at the sight of the narrow, stream-filled valley, the graceful halls of Rivendell below them, half-hidden in the trees. The place had the same grace as the Elves themselves, ancient and mysterious, and apart, like they had stepped over a threshold into a different reality. It was only a short time later they rode through a tall gate into a wide courtyard. Several Elves were coming down the stairs to greet them, including one who looked almost exactly like Elrohir.
"What have you brought home this time, brother?" The tall Elf asked, regarding the Dwarves with an amused expression.
"This is Freya, daughter of Thorin Oakenshield," Elrohir explained. "And this is Tivan, her bard, who has been entertaining us with his fine voice." He turned to the Dwarves. "This is my brother, Elhadan."
Tivan bowed as Freya curtsied. "It is an honor to meet you, my lord," she said. "Long have I wished to see this home of the Elves, of which so many stories are told. It is more beautiful than I ever imagined."
Elhadan bowed back. "Welcome to Rivendell, your majesty," he said. "I can see you are both weary from your long journey, please come inside and refresh yourselves. When you are ready you may join us for dinner."
They picked up their packs and followed another Elf up the stairs. As they walked through the halls both Freya and Tivan looked around curiously at the fine stone, the delicate arches of the ceilings, the beautiful tapestries and sculptures, all bathed in silver light. There were the sounds of music and singing floating through the halls. The Elf showed Tivan to some rooms that were nearly as grand as the halls, he was surprised to find a hot bath already waiting, clean clothes laid on the bed. He immediately took advantage of them both, and found a fine clear liquor on the sideboard that made him feel immediately refreshed. The clothes were made of some fabric he had never seen before, soft as silk, warm as fine wool, and fitted him perfectly. Now that he was bathed and clean, he realized how hungry he was. He had nothing but water and the jerky in his pockets since they left the Anduin. Elves apparently not only did not sleep, but also had little need for food. He left his room, wondering where the Queen was, and wandered back the way he came until he found a grand hall, furnished with long tables. Seated there were both Elrohir and Elhadan and a number of Elves. Elrohir saw him and waved for him to join them. Tivan left the seat at Elrohir's left hand empty for the Queen, who was not yet there, and immediately began to serve himself from the many plates of food crowding the table. He felt rather out of place, seated amongst so many fair and noble Elves, but they welcomed him warmly and the food was excellent.
"I apologize for not stopping to feed you along the way, Master Dwarf." Elrohir said. "We tend to forget that not all can go days without eating as we do."
"You will hear no complaints from me, my lord," Tivan told him. "It was well worth a bit of discomfort to hear your songs. I think I shall remember that ride as long as I live."
Elrohir was about to reply when he looked up past Tivan. "Ah, there she is! Please come and join us, your majesty."
Tivan turned to see Freya come into the hall. She was wearing a soft silver dress in the Elvish style, unadorned but of some shimmering fabric. She had transformed herself back into the Queen of the Iron Hills, her beard shaved, her hair elaborately braided, jeweled beads framing her face. In the soft light of the grand hall she looked fifty years younger. Tivan watched her approach, struck dumb by her beauty, he only just remembered to get up and pull out her chair as she came to the table. He noticed Elrohir was regarding him with an amused smile.
Tivan never forgot his first meal in Rivendell, the ageless faces of the Elves, the sparkling candlelight and sound of laughter and conversation around him. Elrohir and Freya talked politics, the doings in the kingdoms of the Dwarves, of which the Elf lord seemed very well informed. They used the common speech, so as not to leave Tivan out, though the rest of the guests talked in their own tongue. He waited for a pause in the conversation to ask Elrohir a question that had been bothering him all day.
"My lord, if you do not mind my asking, how did you know we are journeying to the Shire? We had only days before decided on that destination."
Elrohir smiled at him. "Because Nain, son of Borin, has been quietly living there for almost three years."
Freya looked astonished, then quickly laughed. "I do not know why it should surprise me that you know where my son is! It is said nothing is hidden from the Elves."
"That is quite wrong; there are a great many things hidden from us," Elhadan answered. "But we know much of the events beyond our borders."
"He is well then? What is it that keeps him in the Shire?"
"That you must ask him yourself," the Elf lord answered. "But he is in good health and happy there, you may rest assured."
The Queen turned to Tivan. "So, you were right!" She told him.
Tivan smiled at her. "Let's just hope he stays put until we can reach him."
Elrohir laughed. "He will keep for a time! You must stay a few days, you have many songs to teach us, Master Bard."
After the meal was ended the Elves moved through to a long hall lined with soft couches and roaring fires. This was the hall of storytelling and singing, Tivan listened entranced but found the effects of the refreshing elixir were starting to wear off. Relaxing with a full belly he realized how tired he was, having nearly no sleep in more than a day. He looked around for Freya and saw her sitting near Elrohir, listening to the singing intently. Now that they were once again in grand halls it seemed the space between them was growing, the closeness he had felt to her on the trail was vanishing. Feeling a great sadness begin to overtake him, Tivan quietly left the firelit hall and returned to his rooms.
Freya was fascinated by everything around her, the tall and regal Elves, the graceful halls, the light and singing. The evening had such a dreamlike quality, she worried she might wake and find herself in her bed back in the Iron Hills. At some point she looked around for Tivan and saw that he was no longer in the hall. She wondered if he had just stepped out for a moment; he had been on her mind all evening, though they had not had a chance to talk. She kept going back to their conversation before the Elves arrived, and her mind was still divided. Perhaps it was better for her to speak with him after she had come to a decision.
"You seem to have the weight of the world on your shoulders, your majesty," Elrohir said.
Freya looked up to see the Elf lord smiling kindly at her. "I feel as if I am stuck between two impossibilities," she told him.
Elrohir nodded gravely. "Then you must choose wisely. I will only say it is never wrong to follow your heart. I sense you have set your own feelings aside for too long. You do not want to spend your life wondering what might have been."
Freya looked up at him, wondering if he had somehow been reading her mind. It was said the Elves could do such things. "Thank you, my lord. I admit, your words have hit close to the mark," she replied. "But now I must take my leave, it has been many hours since I had any sleep."
She left the Elves to their singing and started back towards her quarters. She had taken careful notice of where they were, but somehow got a bit turned around. After taking a couple of wrong turns she finally found the right door. As Freya turned the latch she heard strains of violin music from the room across the hall. She hesitated, hearing Elrohir's voice in her head 'You do not want to spend the rest of your life wondering what might have been.' She took a deep breath. For so many years she had thought only of her responsibilities and reputation, so long denying what she wanted for herself. In that moment she decided she was done pretending. Straightening up, she turned around went through Tivan's door instead, backing up against it to close it behind her. Tivan was sitting on the bed with his violin, making notes on a piece of parchment. He looked up in surprise, Freya was immediately struck by how handsome he looked in the lamplight, his shirt unbuttoned and bare feet, his tawny braids gathered in a ponytail. He regarded her silently for a moment, then put down his instrument and crossed the room to her. Without a word he took her in his arms, kissing her passionately, his hands running up her body. Freya kissed him back with an intensity that surprised her, she felt like she was melting into his arms, her whole body alive. Tivan's hands explored the curves of her body, pulling her tight against him, his touch like little sparks on her skin.
Tivan took her hand and led her over to the bed, then turned to undo the buttons on the back of her dress. Freya reached for the lamp, but Tivan caught her hand.
"I want to see you," he whispered. Freya felt a thrill down her back at the touch of his lips on her neck, at the same time feeling a little pang of apprehension. She realized suddenly the only other man who had seen her naked was her husband. What if he was disappointed? Tivan lifted her dress off her shoulders and let it drop to the floor, then her undergarments. She turned around to face him, saw his eyes sweep down her body. "You are so beautiful," he said, and kissed her again. "Why do you want to hide?"
Freya laid back on the bed watching him take off his shirt and trousers, finally getting to see what she had imagined in her mind's eye for so long. His body was lean, his skin smooth over his wiry muscles. He lay on the bed beside her and kissed her deeply, his hand caressing her body, he kissed her neck, then her breasts, her stomach, working his way down. Freya felt like her body was being awakened after a long slumber, like stepping into daylight after long years in the dark. She gasped in pleasure and disbelief when she felt Tivan's lips touch her there, something her husband had never done. She could feel his tongue, his fingers, she felt waves of pleasure flowing through her body, the sensation so intense she cried out. In all her years she had never felt anything like it, and immediately felt hungry for more. Tivan moved up beside her, reaching for the glass of wine on the sideboard. He smiled at her, then kissed her shoulder.
"Did I surprise you?" He asked, offering her the glass.
"Where did you ever learn to do that?" Freya took a sip and set it down, she felt a little light-headed.
"That would be telling," Tivan said softly. He kissed her neck as he pushed into her slowly. He didn't move at first, letting her anticipation build. He started, slowly, almost gently, then faster as he felt her respond. This time when her climax peaked he was right with her, gasping at the intensity. They held each other for a long moment before Tivan moved to the side and drew an arm around her shoulders, Freya lay her head on his chest, snuggling against him. Tivan reached to turn the lamp down and they drifted off to sleep, pale moonlight streaming through the tall windows.
Freya was later to remember her time in Imladris as one of the happiest of her life. The days were warm and the nights cool, there was food when she wanted it, music and storytelling when she wanted to listen, quiet places when she wanted time to herself. She and Tivan knew each other so well, becoming to lovers felt easy and natural. As a young girl she remembered her maids gossiping about the state of her father's bedroom after he had been with Kaylea. When she was married she sometimes found herself wondering if she was missing something; on the nights her husband visited her bedroom always looked entirely presentable. Now Tivan was introducing her to a realm of physical pleasure she never knew existed. She felt like a virgin, exploring her body for the first time. As the days passed, she and the bard were rarely apart, they rose late, went for walks together on the grounds, ate and laughed together. Evenings were spent in the long hall where Tivan taught his songs to the Elves and he learned theirs, he was quickly picking up the basics of their language. Freya felt all the cares and worries of the last years fading away, she felt alive and young again and Tivan marveled at the change in her, wishing they could just spend the winter in Rivendell. Time seemed to pass very differently in the hidden valley, neither of them could say how long they stayed, only that it seemed longer than a week but shorter than a month.
One morning Freya stepped out onto the stone patio where she and Tivan usually took in the sunset to find a raven perched on the low wall. As soon as it saw her the bird hopped down on the stone before her and tucked its beak to its breast in a sort of bow.
"Your majesty, I have news," the bird said.
Freya listened in astonishment as the raven told her of the army marching from Angmar to join her forces in the Iron Hills. It seemed Vidar was still readying his forces, but would soon set out from the Grey Mountains. Tivan came up with two cups of tea as the bird was speaking. He did not understand the speech of ravens, but could tell by Freya's expression the news was serious.
The queen gave the bird messages for her chief counselor and her brothers that she knew where Nain was and would return to the Iron Hills as soon as possible. Sipping at her tea she watched the raven fly into the distance. She and Tivan would have to move quickly, and she found herself dreading it. She wanted to just stay in Rivendell with him forever.
"What news, my queen?" Tivan asked. His face was grave as he listened, he nodded in agreement when she told him they must make plans to leave. "I will ask Elrohir if there is somewhere nearby to procure some ponies. We will make much better time if we ride."
Early the next morning they packed their bags and made ready to depart. It was hard to leave, but they had already stayed much longer than they had intended. As they descended the stairs to the courtyard they were astonished to find Elrohir waiting for them with two small horses.
"These are from my own stable," he said. "May they serve you well. We have packed provisions for six days, including some of our waybread, if your supplies run low. When you are no longer in need of the horses simply turn them loose, they will find their way back here."
"You are too generous, my lord," Freya said, bowing her head. "I would refuse if our errand was not so urgent. We will return them to you as soon as we can buy ponies of our own."
"Nonsense," the Elf lord said, with a wave of his hand. "Release them when you are safe at home in the Iron Hills."
Freya wanted to refuse, but she did not want to offend Elrohir and they could travel so much faster on horseback. She curtsied low. "Thank you, my lord. For everything. I hope one day I will have the opportunity to return your hospitality in my own halls."
The Elf lord offered her his hand and drew her to her feet. "I look forward to it." He turned to Tivan. "In parting I would like to give you this," he motioned and one of the Elves behind him stepped forward holding out a violin. "In exchange for the new songs you have taught us. It has been many years since we had new music. Use it well."
Tivan took the instrument reverently. He had been admiring the sound of the Elven violins, so different from his own. "Thank you, my lord. I will take good care of it. And thank you for welcoming me in your house."
Elrohir acknowledged him with a nod, then turned his attention back to Freya. "I wondered what I might give the Queen of the Iron Hills as a parting gift, but I could think of nothing better than what she has discovered here about herself." He smiled at the queen's reddening cheeks. "So, I will say this: if you ever need the help of the Elves, your majesty, you only need to ask and we will answer."
Freya was shocked, and covered it by bowing low. "My lord, you have already been so generous and kind, it is we that are in your debt. For what has already been given we will be hard-pressed to repay." She looked up at him. "But my people may soon be at war, and we may be glad for any aid you can give."
Elrohir gave her a hand up on her horse and she and Tivan started down the path that led back to the river Bruinen and the road that would take them to the Shire. They went slowly at first, lingering along the trail through the enchanted valley. Their time in Imladris had been like a marvelous dream, the kind one did not wish to wake from.
They were four days on the road to the Shire, camping along the way, except for one night at an inn in the town of Bree. The days were sunny and perfect for traveling, the fine Elvish horses tireless, the bells on their saddles jingling as they trotted. After a couple of days Tivan actually started to enjoy riding, though he still felt the ground was too far away. Back in the world of Men, the magic of Rivendell lingered, and the intimacy between them continued to grow. Several times during their days on the road Freya looked at her handsome bard and wondered if she had finally found the love she had always dreamed of, it felt that way now, but would it last? Yet, as much as she tried to set such thoughts aside, every day she spent with Tivan she felt like she loved him more.
When they finally reached Hobbiton they found what appeared to be a community of gardeners and farmers, houses with round doors built into hillsides, a well-appointed inn next to a mill, a dry goods and livery, with paths leading in every direction. As they rode into town Hobbits peeked out their doors and looked up from their gardens to stare at them. Freya knew that there could not be more than one Dwarf living in the town, and any of the inhabitants should be able to point him out. After arranging for their horses they went to the inn and asked a group of the Hobbits drinking at a table outside.
"Oh, yes! I know him well!" The oldest Hobbit said. He pointed at the hill across the lake, which had a number of round doors. "It's the old Sackville-Baggins place, that one, just across the lake with the yellow door." He gave them a knowing look. "A very fine place it is, though the Sackville-Baggins are far too good for it now. They live up at Bag End."
"What number is the house?" Tivan asked. "And the name of the street? What it the best way to get there?"
This got all the Hobbits talking at once, with each giving different directions for how to get there. The streets apparently didn't have names or numbers, and the instructions ran along the lines of 'turn at the Proudfoot's place,' and 'it's just past where the old cheesemaker used to live.' Freya decided they were getting nowhere, so asked for a detailed description of the house; she and Tivan could find the way themselves. It took them a bit of time, the lanes that ran through Hobbiton did not seem to follow any logical pattern, they took several wrong turns before finally coming upon the right one. About halfway down the lane they could see the yellow door and green fence, the flowerboxes, the horseshoes next to the round door.
Freya hesitated for a moment. It had been many years since she had seen her son, and they had not parted on the best of terms. Would he even want to come home? Then Tivan took her hand, smiling at her.
"Shall we see if he is at home, my queen?"