With both the wizard and the god-king returned to their company, and with bellies full of ale and bacon, the Company slept easy for the rest of the night (and a good deal into the morning as well). Once midday lazily rolled around, they carried away the pots of gold taken from the Troll hoard and buried them very secretly not far from the track by the river, putting a great many spells over them, just in case they ever had the chance to come back and recover them. This immediately caught Michael's interest, who was immensely curious about Dwarven magic.
Magic, true magic such as throwing around fireballs and the like and which really only Michael and Gandalf and his order were capable of, was rare in Middle Earth so late in the Third Age, and rarer still amongst the Dwarves.
Their magic was wrought in jewellery and in metal and in stone and was more akin to enchantment than shooting out fireballs from the end of a staff (though shooting out fireballs from the end of an axe, now there was something every Dwarf could get behind).
Between the rarity of magic and the natural secrecy inherent in all Dwarves, the Company wasn't very keen on showing off their enchantments to Michael, even after his deeds last night. They only relented when Michael promised to add his own, incredibly powerful magic to the protections the Dwarves had placed on their gold.
Bilbo privately though Michael needn't have done that, considering he likely could read the knowledge straight from the Dwarves' minds, even protected by their thick helmets and even thicker skulls as said minds may be. Michael merely winked at him with a smile and the Hobbit realized that it likely was no skin off the god's back to make a simple deal with the Dwarves instead of trying to cheat them.
When that was done, they all mounted once more, and jogged along again on the path towards the East. Thorin spurred on his pony, setting it into a trot as he caught up to Gandalf's horse at the head of their column, the wizard's eyes fixed on the horizon from underneath troubled brows.
"I know that Hyperion stuck nearby in order to save us should the need arise. But, where did you go to, if I may ask?" said Thorin to Gandalf as they rode along.
"To look ahead," said he.
"And what brought you back in the nick of time?"
"Looking behind," said he.
Michael's laugh rang out over the rolling hills as the Company kept up the pace.
"Exactly!" said Thorin, somewhat flustered and thoroughly frustrated with the antics of immortals by now; "but could you be more plain?" he said through gritted teeth, almost pleading.
Bilbo noticed he did that a lot ever since they set out from Bag End, gritting his teeth. He briefly wondered if the Prince of Erebor would need a new set of them by the time they actually reclaimed the Lonely Mountain.
Considering that Michael and Gandalf apparently had set up a little friendly competition, with the Company as the stakes, Bilbo didn't give the prince's dentures a high chance of survival. Knowing Dwarves, Thorin would probably fashion his new teeth out of gold and silver or something.
Judging by the snort at his side, Michael had been following along with the Hobbit's private musings, causing Bilbo to blush and cough into his handkerchief, which at this leg in their journey honestly looked more akin to a rag a goblin would use for the washing up (if goblins did any washing up, that is, which they staunchly and proudly didn't). Much like with Thorin's teeth, Bilbo did not have high hopes of it surviving to see the Lonely Mountain, much less Bag End once more.
In front of them, Gandalf responded to Thorin's exasperated question.
"I went on to spy out our road. It will soon become dangerous and difficult. Also, I was anxious about replenishing our small stock of provisions, though thankfully the generosity of Trolls has taken care of that for now. I had not gone very far, however, when I met a couple of friends of mine from Rivendell."
"Where's that?" asked Bilbo.
"Don't interrupt!" said Gandalf, to the disappointment of the Hobbit.
Said disappointment didn't last long as Hyperion leaned over towards him, whispering at him.
"It's one of the great Elven Realms, home to Elrond Half-Elven, a great man."
"Elves? We're going to see the Elves?" Bilbo asked in amazement.
Hobbits knew of Elves of course, but Bilbo didn't know of a Hobbit alive that had actually ever seen one (though, Hobbits being Hobbits, of course he knew plenty of them that had claimed otherwise). Elves, while known to be beautiful and ethereal and wise beyond measure, were also known to be an illusive bunch, rarely venturing beyond their hidden realms.
"Indeed. You will get there in a few days now, if we're lucky, and find out all about it. As I was saying, I met two of Elrond's people. They were hurrying along for fear of the trolls. It was they who told me that three of them had come down from the mountains and settled in the woods not far from the road; they had frightened everyone away from the district, and they waylaid strangers."
"They did not 'frighten' people away. They murdered them. Killed and ate them. Do not let the disinterest of Elves for the woe of Man blind you to the truth, Gandalf." Michael thundered immediately, his glowing eyes shining fiercely now.
The anger in Michael's voice was enough to silence their entire Company and even the ponies and horses slowed their step at the god's restrained fury. Gandalf half-turned in his saddle to lock eyes with the fuming Hyperion and Bilbo was once again reminded that, at the height of his power, his friend had been the King of all Men (and others besides). Their protector and defender for an entire Age. The young Hobbit's mind turned back to the small, child-sized dress they had found in the Troll's hoard, and he understood the sheer insult it must've been to every fiber of the god-king's very being.
Evidently, the wizard's thoughts went along much the same route, as he dipped his head towards Hyperion, the wide brim of his hat shadowing his eyes for a moment as he responded.
"Indeed. My apologies, Hyperion. The coming of the Trolls meant the doom of the innocent people of these lands and we should not think lightly of this tragedy. But, in the defense of my friends, I do not think they dismissed the situation out of callousness, but through ignorance. Wise as they may be, not even the greatest among the Elven kin can claim to be all-knowing; when Rivendell's scouts came across the hamlets in this region, they found no living soul and merely assumed they had fled before the coming of the Trolls. They meant no disrespect towards the dead." Gandalf tried to reason, and at Bilbo's side, the fury of the god-king slowly faded to a simmer.
"Very well. They didn't know, but it still stands that they should have. These people may not have been Rivendell's responsibility, but even so, the safekeeping of this region can fall to no other. These villages were completely without defenders." Hyperion said sternly as the Company picked up the pace once more.
At that, Gandalf seemed to age in front of Bilbo's eyes, shoulders slumping as he turned back in his saddle again.
"A sign of our times, Hyperion. Sad as it may be." The wizard spoke softly, before shaking himself and squaring his shoulders.
"After meeting with Rivendell's scouts, they returned to the Last Homely House and I turned back upon the road, spotting the fire of the Troll's camp through the trees from afar. I hurried back, only to see the day had been saved already. So now you know. Please be more careful, next time, or we shall never get anywhere, even with Hyperion's aid!"
"Pah, you just don't want me to save them again!"
That set off a round of good-natured bickering between the former Emperor and the aged wizard and Bilbo was relieved the two powerhouses had calmed themselves. He wasn't sure the surrounding land could survive a clash between the two, not to speak of his poor nerves!
Even though Hyperion had shaken off his fury, they did not sing or tell stories that day, even though the weather improved; nor the next day, nor the day after. As said, it wasn't so much because of the short spat between Hyperion and Gandalf: all of them, even young Bilbo, had begun to feel that danger was not far away on either side.
They camped under the stars, and for a time it would seem that their horses had more to eat than they had; for there was plenty of grass, but there was not much in their bags, even with what they had got from the trolls. Despite being the shortest races on Middle-Earth, Hobbit and Dwarves had some of the biggest stomachs after all, and even bigger appetites. When young Nori had burst into tears upon seeing the bottom of their provision packs (quickly joined by a despairing Bombur) Michael had thankfully provided a miracle for them once again.
He had reached into one of the bags with their remaining foodstuffs and from it drew five loaves and two fish, and with them fed the entire Company several times over, the bread and fish somehow never running out.
Michael had been immensely amused by it, though when Bilbo asked the god about it, the former Emperor merely shrugged wistfully.
"What's a little heresy among friends, eh?" he had tried to joke, but since the young Hobbit didn't get it, Michael elaborated a bit, his eyes distant even as he threw an entire fish in Bombur's direction who, with an agility that surprised the rest of the Company, jumped nearly his entire length in the air, snatching the fish out of mid-air.
Between his fiery red moustache and enormous girth, he would've greatly resembled a walrus, if any in the company other than Michael (and perhaps Gandalf) knew what a walrus even looked like.
"After I had conquered and carved out an Afterlife for my followers, I sort of… accidentally ended up supplanting the other religions of my homeworld. I hadn't set out to do so, it just happened. Unfortunately, that angered quite a few people, so I… replicated a couple of miracles from their holy books and managed to convince plenty of people I was the second coming of a prophesied savior." Michael explained somewhat awkwardly, trailing off with a chuckle.
He paused for a moment, before shrugging and tossing Bombur yet another fish.
"It avoided a new religious war at least, so I got that going for me, which is nice."
Bilbo privately thought that Man sure was weird if they went to war solely for who was and who wasn't allowed to preform miracles, but if it ended up with limitless bread and fish (despite having thrown two to the very pleased looking Bombur, there still remained two lying in front of Michael and Bilbo couldn't quite remember how the new ones got there), then the practical minded Hobbit certainly wasn't going to complain.
A Hobbit, turning down free food? Perish the thought! Talk about heresy…
Even so, with bellies full, they remained wary as their surroundings turned dimmer and gloomier. One morning they forded a river at a wide shallow place full of the noise of stones and foam. The far bank was steep and slippery to the point that Michael offered to toss the Dwarves to the other shore. This almost cause the Company to throw their axes at him in collective outrage, so instead he settled for levitating himself and the ponies and horses over the frothing water instead (with the animals looking very confused by the whole affair) and laying himself to rest on the grassy fields as the rest of the Company slogged through the mud and up the loose rocks.
Which Bilbo thought somewhat unfair: why did he have to struggle as well?! He wouldn't have minded being tossed to the far shore, if it kept him and his nice clothes far removed from the mud and muck. When they all got to the top of it, panting and soggy, they saw behind the snoozing Hyperion that the great mountains had marched down very near to them. Already they seemed only a day's easy journey from the feet of the nearest. Dark and drear it looked, though there were patches of sunlight on its brown sides, and behind its shoulders the tips of snowpeaks gleamed.
"Is that The Mountain?" asked Bilbo in a solemn voice, looking at it with round eyes.
He had never seen a thing that looked so big before. Hyperion had shown him the sights of his homeworld, entire planets and constellations swirling in the palm of the god's hand, his empire stretching across a scale so large it made the Hobbit's mind spin.
But those had been mere models. The approaching mountains were very, very large and very, very real.
"Of course not!" said Balin, having overheard Bilbo's amazed words, a smile setting his snow-white beard twitching.
"That is only the beginning of the Misty Mountains, and we have to get through, or over, or under those somehow, before we can come into Wilderland beyond. And it is a deal of a way even from the other side of them to the Lonely Mountain in the East, where Smaug lies on our treasure."
"It is a total of 967 miles, or 1556 kilometers if you want to be exact. All in all, a journey of several months still to go before we can even lay eyes upon our destination." Hyperion clarified from his place on his back on the grass, eyes still closed.
"O!" said Bilbo, and just at that moment he felt smaller and more tired than he ever remembered feeling before. He was thinking once again of his comfortable chair before the fire in his favourite sitting-room in his hobbit-hole, and of the kettle singing. Not for the last time!
Now Gandalf led the way.
"We must not miss the road, or we shall be done for: it is very necessary to tackle the Misty Mountains by the proper path, or else you will get lost in them, and have to come back and start at the beginning again (if you ever get back at all)." he said.
"I could just level the entire mountain range into flatland. Then we could just go in a straight line." Michael idly offered to the offended gasps of the collected Dwarves (not surprising, as they made their homes and their riches from mountains) and the exasperated sigh of the wizard.
"Let's… not draw too much attention to ourselves. Smaug would surely notice if the barrier to his West was suddenly no more. Not to mention that it would upset quite a few people across the entirety of Middle Earth as well if mountains just up and disappeared. We've gotten used to mountains usually remaining where they lie. Not very prone to change, mountains are. Usually." Gandalf reasoned, before his gaze returned to fix itself upon the dirt path they had been following.
"Indeed: it is very important to tackle the Mountain by the proper path. The Realms of the Elves are hidden and without the road not even Michael would know where to find them." He said, eyes on the distant mountains, before he stilled and peered over his shoulder to look suspiciously towards the lazing god-king.
"You wouldn't know where to find them, right?" he asked hesitantly, and Bilbo saw an all too familiar (and frustrating) grin languidly stretch across Michael's face.
"Sure. If that makes you feel better, old man."
"Oh Lords of Valinor, help me…" the aged wizard muttered under his breath before alighting his horse again.
As Gandalf rode on, the rest of the Company was quick to follow him, taking his warning to heart. While they trusted Michael to come and fetch them should they find themselves lost in the wild without the wizard, they also suspected he'd lead them into said wilds out of curiosity and that weird sense of humor of his.
Gandalf was cranky at the best of times and infuriating at the worst of times and the times certainly were changing very fast when it came to the wizard, but at least with him you knew what to expect, even if all you could expect was the unexpected. But Michael was both completely unknown and (to be entirely frank) very, very strange.
Having taken their chances with the wizard and following strictly behind him as he rode along the barely visible path, it was Balin who asked him where he was making for, and he answered: "You have come to the very edge of the Wild, as some of you may know. Hidden somewhere ahead of us is the fair valley of Rivendell, where Elrond lives in the Last Homely House. I sent a message by my friends, and we are expected."
That sounded nice and comforting, but they had not got there yet, and it was not so easy as it sounds to find the Last Homely House west of the Mountains. There seemed to be no trees and no valleys and no hills to break the ground in front of them, only one vast slope going slowly up and up to meet the feet of the nearest mountain, a wide land the colour of heather and crumbling rock, with patches and slashes of grass-green and moss-green showing where water might be. Morning passed, afternoon came; but in all the silent waste there was no sign of any dwelling.
The Dwarves (and one stray Hobbit) were growing anxious, for they now saw that the house might be hidden almost anywhere between them and the mountains. They came on unexpected valleys, narrow with deep sides, that opened suddenly at their feet, and they looked down surprised to see trees below them and running water at the bottom. There were gullies that they could almost leap over (and they shot Michael a dirty look should he once again offer to toss them to the other side); but very deep with waterfalls in them. There were dark ravines that one could neither jump nor climb into. There were bogs, some of them green, pleasant places to look at with flowers growing bright and tall; but a pony that walked there with a pack on its back would never have come out again. It was indeed a much wider land from the ford to the mountains than ever you would have guessed. Bilbo was astonished. The only path was marked with white stones some of which were small, and others were half covered with moss or heather.
Altogether it was a very slow business following the track, even guided by Gandalf, who seemed to know his way about pretty well. His head and beard wagged this way and that as he looked for the stones, and they followed his head, but they seemed no nearer to the end of the search when the day began to fail. Tea-time had long gone by, and it seemed suppertime would soon do the same. There were moths fluttering about, and the light became very dim, for the moon had not risen. When Bilbo's pony began to stumble over roots and stones, Michael realized that only he, Gandalf and the Dwarves could see in the dimness of the early night and taking pity on the Hobbit and the horses, he called a small sun into being, which floated above the middle of their small column.
Even so, despite the new light making it seem as midday around them for several feet, none in the company could tell how far along the road they were, or where in their surroundings the illusive home of Elrond Half-Elven might be hidden. They privately began to wonder if they should ever find it tonight, or even tomorrow, when they came to the edge of a steep fall in the ground so suddenly that Gandalf's horse nearly slipped down the slope had Michael not grabbed it by the tail with one hand and physically hoisted both steed and rider back onto more solid ground.
Even after having known him for several months now, Bilbo was still astonished at these amazing feats of strength his friend so casually displayed. It was just surprising; such strength usually comes from big creatures such as trolls and the like, beings large and brutish.
Then again, compared to a Hobbit, near every being on Middle-Earth was large and brutish, so Bilbo supposed he shouldn't be too surprised.
"Here it is at last!" the wizard called, and the others gathered round him and looked over the edge.
They couldn't see at first what had made Gandalf finally call out, as all they saw was a valley far below. A very pleasant valley they supposed, certainly more inviting looking than similar valleys that they had come across before, but there was no dwelling of any sort that they could see and certainly no House that looked Homely.
Though that could also be because a Dwarves' idea of 'Homely' was located far below ground, with roaring fires and the scent of mead and metal.
And yet, even the surliest Dwarves among their company had to admit that there was an easy pleasantness about this particular valley that set it apart from the others they had seen today. They could hear the voice of hurrying water in a rocky bed at the bottom; the scent of trees was in the air; and there was a light on the valleyside across the water. Bilbo never forgot the way they slithered and slipped in the dusk down the steep zig-zag path into the secret valley of Rivendell, their sight only aided by the flickering light of Hyperion's dancing little sun. The air grew warmer as they got lower, and the smell of the pine-trees made him drowsy, so that every now and again he nodded and nearly fell off, or bumped his nose on the pony's neck. After the third time he did that, he felt Michael lean over and tap him at the base of his neck and it seemed like lightning had been poured down his spine. He remained alert after that and looked towards his friend with wide questioning eyes.
"One of the defenses of Rivendell. Their barriers are many, but few take the form of simple walls. The one we are dealing with right now is a sense of contentment and peaceful drowsiness laid over our surroundings. A powerful weapon against an enemy which knows nothing of contentment or peace." The godking explained and the Dwarves who heard him tried (and mostly failed) to remain more alert after that.
Even with the godking's explanation, their spirits rose as they went down and down. The trees changed to beech and oak, and there was a comfortable feeling in the twilight. The last green had almost faded out of the grass, when they came at length to an open glade not far above the banks of the stream.
"Hrnmm! it smells like Elves!" thought Bilbo, and he looked up at the stars. They were burning bright and blue. Just then there came a burst of song like laughter in the trees:
"O! What are you doing,
And where are you going?
Your ponies need shoeing!
The river is flowing!
O! tra-la-la-lally
here down in the valley!
O! What are you seeking,
And where are you making?
The god who was King,
On vacation in Spring!
O! tril-lil-lil-lolly
the valley is jolly,
ha! ha!
O! Where are you going
With beards all a-wagging?
No knowing, no knowing
What brings Mister Baggins,
And Balin and Dwalin
down into the valley
in June
ha! ha!
O! Will you be staying,
Or will you be flying?
Your ponies are straying!
The daylight is dying!
To fly would be folly,
To stay would be jolly
And listen and hark
Till the end of the dark
to our tune
ha! Ha!"
So they laughed and sang in the trees and Thorin was not amused by any of it.
"A pretty fair nonsense, I dare say!" he proclaimed sternly, though that was partly because of his general dislike of Elves and partly because said Elves had seen fit to name Hyperion and Balin and Dwalin, but not him.
They had even named Bilbo by Durin's beard!
"I doubt they really care, Thorin. They would only laugh all the more if you told them so. They are Elves, after all." Michael said with a knowing grin, causing the proud prince to huff once again.
Soon Bilbo caught glimpses of them as the darkness deepened. He loved Elves, though as said he didn't know of any Hobbit who had even met them; but he was a little frightened of them too. Dwarves don't get on well with them after all. Even decent enough Dwarves like Thorin and his friends think them foolish (which is a very foolish thing to think) or get annoyed with them. For some Elves tease them and laugh at them, and most of all at their beards, which is something every Dwarf has, even the children and women among their kin and many of them are quite proud of them as well.
"Well, well!" said a voice. "Just look! Bilbo the hobbit on a pony, my dear! Isn't it delicious!"
"Most astonishingly wonderful!" a second voice responded in glee.
Then off they went into another song as ridiculous as the one above. At last, after several of such remarks and nonsense songs, one of their hidden onlookers, a tall young fellow, came out from the trees and bowed to Gandalf and to Thorin.
"Welcome to the valley!" he said.
"Thank you!" said Thorin a bit gruffly; but Gandalf was already off his horse and among the Elves, talking merrily with them.
Michael rode up so he was next to the dour prince, his voice comforting.
"Pay them no mind, young Thorin. These are dark times and you are strange visitors accompanying a trusted and valued friend: they are merely taking their enjoyment where they can find it." The protector of Man explained, though Dwarves are willful and stubborn, about as willful and stubborn as Elves in fact.
"Strange sort of enjoyment if you ask me." Dwalin said with a glower, though his brother was stroking his white beard and giving the Elves surrounding Gandalf a calculating look.
"I wonder if they know how to play poker?"
Dwalin gained a dark gleam in his eyes at that, a dangerous grin forming on his face, but any further musings about the gambling habits of Elves were put to a halt as their greeter moved forwards to address their group once more.
To the Elf's credit, his eyes barely even lingered on Hyperion's little sunlet for more than a few seconds before he spoke up.
"You are a little out of your way," said he: "that is, if you are making for the only path across the water and to the house beyond. We will set you right, but you had best get on foot, until you are over the bridge. Are you going to stay a bit and sing with us, or will you go straight on? Supper is preparing over there; I can smell the Wood-fires for the cooking." he continued.
Tired as he was, Bilbo would have liked to stay awhile. Elvish singing is not a thing to miss, in June under the stars, not if you care for such things. Also he would have liked to have a few private words with these people that seemed to know his name and all about him, although he had never seen them before. He thought their opinion of his adventure might be interesting. Elves know a lot and are wondrous folk for news, and know what is going on among the peoples of the land, as quick as water flows, or quicker.
But the dwarves were all for supper as soon as possible just then, and would not stay. Bilbo was a little disheartened and seeing this Michael comforted him with a grin and a pat on his shoulder.
"It's alright Bilbo, I'll be sure to take you to see the Elves' singing and merry-making later. We'll stay at Rivendell for a little while yet before moving on, after all."
With his spirit lifted, he joined the rest of the Company and on they all went, leading their ponies, till they were brought to a good path and so at last to the very brink of the river. It was flowing fast and noisily, as mountain-streams do of a summer evening, when sun has been all day on the snow far up above. There was only a narrow bridge of stone without a parapet, as narrow as a pony could well walk on; and over that they had to go, slow and careful, one by one, each leading his pony by the bridle. The elves had brought bright lanterns to the shore, and they sang a merry song as the party went across.
"Don't dip your beard in the foam, father!" they cried to Thorin, who was bent almost onto his hands and knees. "It is long enough without watering it!"
"Mind Bilbo doesn't eat all the cakes!" they called. "He is too fat to get through key-holes yet!"
Both Dwarves and Hobbit were red in the face now and not just from the perilous crossing. Seeing this, and seeing Hyperion's eyes come alive with a mischievous glow, Gandalf tried to intervene, hurriedly addressing the watching Elves.
"Hush, hush! Good People! and good night!" he tried, "Valleys have ears, and some elves have over merry tongues. Good night!"
But it was all for naught, as Hyperion lifted a leg, and with tremendous might stomped down his foot upon the smooth stone of the narrow bridge. Bilbo honestly thought for a second the godking had smashed the entire walkway in twain in his anger, but something far more grand happened instead.
A kaleidoscope of colours lit up from underneath Hyperion's shoe, shooting out and lancing out across the entire valley, setting it alight with a dozen times a dozen colors, far beyond what Bilbo could even comprehend was possible. Then that source of light exploded and rushed out like the dawning rays of a sun that just peeked beyond the ridge of a mountain range and light and power crashed into and over the Company and the onlooking Elves. There was the rushing of wind and the sound of the world shifting but Bilbo didn't see anything of it, on hands and knees as he was, eyes screwed shut against the impossible light dancing and rushing around them as it kept on growing and lashing outwards.
And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the bright spectacle ended and Bilbo dared to slowly open his eyes again. What he saw made him gasp in shocked awe. Underneath his palms was what seemed like glass or crystal, and within its faceted, seemingly endless depths, there was what seemed like every color ever imagined racing and shooting around in incredible rays, crashing and swirling around each other in great waves of impossible light.
Slowly working himself back to his hairy feet again, he saw the rest of the Company rise as well, now no longer standing on the simple stone bridge of before. Instead, what had once been narrow and unadorned was now a walkway broad enough a hundred Dwarves could've stood belly to belly from one side to the other. The new crystal bridge was wide enough it almost covered the entire river from view and it sparkled with an inner light, as if Hyperion had placed a sun at its core.
"Careful now, my dear Elves! You don't pick up your jaws off the floor and squirrels will think to make a home in them!" Bilbo's friend called out to the shocked and silent onlookers with a booming laugh, while besides him Gandalf had hidden his face behind his hands, slumped over with a weight that Bilbo had come to know all too well.
"How am I ever going to explain this to Elrond?" the wizard muttered to himself in a very small voice.
From somewhere off to their side, a crash could be heard as a young elf, too baffled by the amazing spectacle to remember his balance, fell out of his tree onto the grassy floor below, and the aged wizard sunk a little further in on himself.
One the one hand, Bilbo felt pity for the old man, but on the other, he mostly just felt relieved and vindicated that someone else finally understood his burden now.
Besides, the remarks of the Elves had not been nice at all! Some of them were utterly nonsense to boot; he could still eat plenty of cakes! Who ever heard of Hobbits crawling through keyholes anyways?
The meeting with Elrond was a surprisingly mundane affair, considering Hyperion's little stunt at the crossing (which he demanded everyone to address as the 'Rainbow Bridge', though only Bilbo caught the brief moment of melancholy in the ancient god's gaze as he looked towards the bridge of colored crystal). The Company trooped into a large welcoming Hall where the Lord of the House already stood awaiting them.
His face was ageless, neither old nor young, though in it was written the memory of many things both glad and sorrowful. His hair was dark as the shadows of twilight, and upon it was set a circlet of silver; his eyes were grey as a clear evening, and in them was a light like the light of stars. Venerable he seemed as a king crowned with many winters, and yet hale as a tried warrior in the fulness of his strength. He was the Lord of Rivendell and mighty among both Elves and Men.
"Gandalf. Long have I awaited your return to my Home, old friend, though you bring… unusual guests with you." the Elven Lord intoned, clasping arms with the aged wizard, his grey eyes slowly studying each and every member of Thorin's company.
Grey met slowly glowing golden-white and remained locked for a few seconds or more.
"King Hyperion of Olympos, New Titan of the West… you are quite a long way from home indeed."
If Michael was surprised by Elrond's knowledge of his full title, he didn't show it, merely shrugging his shoulders and smiling good-naturedly.
"I'm on holidays." The former Emperor of Man stated simply, as if that was explanation enough.
"Indeed." Elrond merely repeated, before glancing past Michael and the rest of the Company to where behind them, a large number of Elves were running up and down the length of their new Rainbow Bridge, jumping on the glass-like, multi-coloured crystal and generally working themselves up in a tizzy as they tried to figure out how it worked.
"Do you make a habit of… redecorating the home of your host?"
"No-" "YES!"
Bilbo had only realized it was him that had shouted when everyone present, including thirteen Dwarves, a Wizard, an Elven Lord and a god turned to look at him in surprise.
"… I see." Elrond eventually said, before turning his gaze back towards Michael.
"I would nonetheless ask you to refrain from making any further changes to my Home, Lord Hyperion."
"That entirely depends."
"On what, exactly?"
"On whether or not your people can refrain from teasing and insulting my friends here."
Elrond glanced from the god to the assembled Dwarves and back again a good few times, before seemingly considering something for several long moments. Eventually, he sighed, closing his eyes as delicate fingers came up to gently massage his furrowed brow.
"Well then, I would ask you to refrain from making any further permanent changes to my Home. Please."
Michael's smile seemed to double in size, but instead of replying, he merely raised his hands and preformed a little gesture with them that left the rest of the people present somewhat baffled.
"I apologize, but I do not know what 'this' means." Elrond said, somewhat hesitantly repeating Michael's odd gesture.
"They're finger guns!"
"… what is a gun?"
With the tension of their arrival taken away, and with Elrond's attention wholly occupied by the god who apparently saw Rivendell as a tourist destination of some kind, the rest of the Company got settled relatively easily. After an informal dinner (Elrond being absent for that night as he and Gandalf apparently had important business to discuss in secret), where the Dwarves stuffed themselves despite their cries about a lack of meats and mead, Bilbo was shown to his guest room, which he apparently shared with Hyperion.
Bilbo excitedly shared all that he had seen or noticed with his friend, who listened with rapt attention, before he revealed all that he had talked about with Elrond, which had gone along similar lines as his first discussion with Gandalf back in Bag End.
Mostly questions along the vain of "What even are you?" and "What are your plans for Middle-Earth?" and "Okay, that is indeed a neat trick, but can you please return gravity again? My wine is drifting out my window".
Bilbo raised an eyebrow at that, but Michael merely chuckled and shrugged.
"Oh, I hope you don't get us thrown out of here because you made all the rooms bigger on the inside than the outside again. I really like it here, it would be a shame to leave so soon again." Bilbo despaired quietly, but Michael waved his worries away.
"Relax, Elrond was pretty cool about it all. Chill dude, once you get to know him a bit. He's a pretty awesome host, honestly."
To Bilbo, Elrond wasn't merely 'pretty cool' or a 'chill dude'. He seemed as a wise and stately ruler and in essence the Lord of the Last Homely House was everything that the Hobbit thought Hyperion should've been as a god and emperor of Man. Then again, he likely was just like Lord Elrond back in his homeworld; he was merely on vacation here after all, as he so often kept insisting. Once in their assigned rooms, Michael laughed at Bilbo's presumption, but admitted the Hobbit had it by the right of it. Bilbo was surprised to see that, despite humbling the Elves with his display of incredible magic, Hyperion actually respected Elrond a great deal, which he explained to Bilbo as they were resting in their rooms, looking up at the star-filled sky through a nearby window.
"In his veins flows the blood of bygone heroes and great kings, Bilbo, a strength and lineage rarely seen in this Age. His father was the great Eärendil the Mariner, who crossed the great Sea to Valinor, the realm of the gods, to ask for their aid in the war against a terrible evil, whose name I will spare you. Eärendil in turn was the son of Tuor, son of Huor, whose brother Húrin Thalion was the greatest warrior of Men in the First Age, who fathered Túrin Turambar, destined for tragedy. After fleeing the destruction of Gondolin, where his father, and Elrond's grandfather, Tuor drove back the fire-drake Urulókë and threw down the betrayer Maeglin from Gondolin's walls to his death, Eärendil found a new home with his people in the Havens of Sirion, where he married the daughter of King Dior the Fair, the first Half-Elf in Middle-Earth; for he was the son of the hero Beren Erchamion and the princess Lúthien Tinúviel, daughter to Melian, a Maia unsurpassed in wisdom, beauty and singing, gifts she passed onto Lúthien and through her onto all her lineage."
Michael smiled somewhat wistfully at that.
"The love between Beren and Lúthien has been retold amongst the Elves in every Age of Middle-Earth, so great was their romance and their tragedy. A tragedy that Elrond knows all too keenly and which shall return to his House before too long. For it is in his blood that the strength of Man and the grace of Elves are united, and it is that union which shall give shape to the Fourth Age of this world."
Bilbo's head was spinning from all these important names and romances and tragedies and Elven kings and princesses and heroes of Man and destroyed cities and fire-breathing dragons, so Michael chuckled and bid his friend a good night, though no sleep came to the introspective godking that night.
Indeed, of the figures that make up the world and history of Middle-Earth, Elrond stands as a giant amongst his equals. He comes into many tales, but his part in the story of Bilbo's great adventure is only a small one, though important, the same of which can be said of the Hobbit himself. Bilbo himself did not yet know of his role in the tale of Middle-Earth of course and simply enjoyed their comfortable stay after their trek through the Wilds. And truth be told, he could not have picked a better place for it than the Realm of Elrond Half-Elven.
His house was perfect, whether you liked food, or sleep, or work, or story-telling, or singing, or just sitting and thinking best, or a pleasant mixture of them all. Evil things did not come into that valley. All of them, the ponies as well, grew refreshed and strong in a few days there. Their clothes were mended as well as their bruises, their tempers and their hopes. Their bags were filled with food and provisions light to carry but strong to bring them over the mountain passes. Their plans were improved with the best advice.
Now it is a strange thing, but things that are good to have and days that are good to spend are soon told about, and not much to listen to; while things that are uncomfortable, palpitating, and even gruesome, may make a good tale, and take a deal of telling anyway. More than what I have said would be boring to tell you; they stayed long in that good house, fourteen days at least, and they found it hard to leave, even Thorin and his Dwarves. Bilbo would gladly have stopped there for ever and ever-even supposing a wish would have taken him right back to his hobbit-hole without trouble. Yet there is little more to tell about their stay, except that it was one of peace and great merriment (especially for the Dwarves whenever Hyperion saw fit to knock the flighty Elves down a peg or two by a display of his immense Magic, such as turning the hair of every Elf in Rivendell a snow-white for a full day). So the time came to mid- summer eve, and they were to go on again with the early sun on midsummer morning.
It was as they were gearing up in order to prepare for their departure that the subject of their newfound swords was breached with Elrond. They hadn't intended to keep them secret or anything like that, but in the peace and contentment of Rivendell they had simply forgotten all about them. Since their history was known to them already, they had left them in their rooms as they went about their days wandering the many halls and walkways of the Last Homely House and so it was only now that the Elven Lord got a good look at them.
"That is no mere steel of Man that you carry there, nor do they look to be of the make of Dwarven kin." Elrond spoke to Gandalf, though his eyes were on Thorin.
"Indeed! Sharp eyes you have, Lord Elrond. Behold: Glamdring, taken from the hoard of the trolls you sent your scouts to pursue!" Gandalf proclaimed, drawing the long steel from its elegantly decorated scabbard and holding it aloft for a moment, before offering its handle towards the Elven Lord.
Elrond took it gently from Gandalf's gnarled fingers, carefully inspecting the runes carved into the gleaming metal.
"Glamdring, Foe-Hammer, sword of the King of Gondolin in a bygone age." Elrond mused upon reading the ancient runes.
"A weapon long thought lost." He finished, before handing it back to Gandalf and for but a moment, the wizard hesitated.
Briefly, Bilbo wondered why, before he recalled what Michael had revealed of the powerful Elven Lord's history and lineage.
"Oh!" he called out to surprise of the rest of the company, and both Elrond and Gandalf paused to look his way.
Somewhat embarrassed now, Bilbo still forged on.
"Doesn't that mean it belongs to you then? It's an heirloom of your father's grandfather, is it not?" he questioned.
While he may not know much about lost cities and bygone heroes and Elven Kings, Bilbo was nonetheless a Hobbit, and a wealthy Hobbit at that, and as such he knew as no other the rights of inheritance.
He had to, or the Sackville-Bagginses would've claimed Bag End right from under him!
Elrond blinked in surprise, his gaze questioning.
"While I make no secret of my lineage, the time of my ancestors was so long ago, I am surprised to find any still living with knowledge of it. But yes. This blade was made for Turgon, King of Gondolin before its fall. Through his daughter Idril, my grandmother, this blade is part of my family, though much diminished it now is." Elrond mused and Bilbo was struck by the fact that, while to him the tales Michael told were fanciful stories of an Age long passed filled with figures he didn't know, for Elrond it wasn't merely history.
The people that were now only known as heroes and characters in ancient stories to them, were known as family to the Lord of the Last Homely House. Bilbo looked at the Half-Elf then and remembered the far-off, melancholy looks Michael would get when he thought Bilbo wasn't looking and decided that, should immortality ever be offered to him, he resolved to turn it down.
To live forever sounded grand… until you remembered that most people didn't and forever is a very long time to carry their memories with you.
"Hyperion entrusted it to me, but I would return it to you, if you but ask for it. Bilbo has the right of it; the blade belongs to you by right of inheritance." Gandalf said, his gaze serious but his voice soft.
Elrond stood still for a long moment, before smiling softly and shaking his head.
"No. Thank you, old friend, and thank you, young Bilbo. But no. Hyperion was right in gifting this blade to you. We Elves are immortal: we make no deeds or plans for inheritance after all. I am saddened that the blade was lost, but I am glad that it has been found again, and that it has been claimed by a worthy wielder once more. Your adventure shall be perilous indeed; you will have a far greater need of its steel than I. You especially, Gandalf. Your days of wandering Middle-Earth are far from over I feel. You'll need a companion at your side." Elrond stated, returning Glamdring to the wizard, who took it reverently from the Elven Lord's hands with a bow of his head.
"I applaud you for your wisdom, and thank you for your generosity Lord Elrond of Rivendell!" Gandalf spoke as he returned Glamdring to its sheathe.
"It is not only Glamdring that we came across in that troll's hoard; we have reclaimed Orcrist as well!" Thorin spoke strongly, drawing the gleaming blade from its scabbard and holding it aloft for the Elves to see, though unlike Gandalf he did not offer it to Elrond to reclaim.
This did not seem to bother Elrond, who merely studied the Dwarven prince for a long moment, before glancing towards a grinning Michael.
"A prince setting out to reclaim his lost city from a fire-breathing drake? I could think of no better companion for famed Orcrist, Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror. Powerful blades indeed. May they aid you on your travels and bite deep into the scales of Smaug the Terrible!" Elrond called out to the cheers of the assembled Dwarves and the onlooking Elves.
Giving his blade a look-over before returning it to its scabbard as well, Thorin mused aloud.
"Whence did the trolls get them, I wonder?"
"I could not say," said Elrond, "but one may guess that your trolls had plundered other plunderers, or come on the remnants of old robberies in some hold in the mountains of the North. I have heard that there are still forgotten treasures of old to be found in the deserted caverns of the mines of Moria, since the dwarf and goblin war."
Thorin pondered these words, the failed attempt of his father to reclaim the fabled splendor of Khazad-Dum still a fresh pain in his mind and heart even after the decades that had passed since then. It was there that he had first clashed with Azog the Defiler and took up the branch that had earned him the name Oakenshield and at the thought of that battle, fire burned in the prince's blood as he girded Orcrist to his side, the blade that had sent a deep fear into the legions of the orcs as it shone in the hands of Ecthelion during the Fall of Gondolin.
Much like it had when wielded by the Lord of the Fountain, in the hands of Thorin Orcrist would once again drink deeply of orc blood and battle against the heat of dragon's fire. The Prince of Erebor felt and knew this in his bones and the veterans among his company saw in him there the same might, the same promise of a true Dwarven King, as that they had seen on that battlefield on the slopes of Moria and found themselves heartened and strengthened by the sight of him.
"I will keep this sword in honour," he vowed once more. "May it soon cleave goblins once again!"
"A wish that is likely to be granted soon enough in the mountains!" said Elrond. "But show me now your map!"
He took it and gazed long at it, and he shook his head; for if he did not altogether approve of Dwarves and their love of gold, he hated dragons and their cruel wickedness, and he grieved to remember the ruin of the town of Dale and its merry bells, and the burned banks of the bright River Running.
The moon was shining in a broad silver crescent. He held up the map and the white light shone through it.
"What is this?" he said. "There are moon-letters here, beside the plain runes which say 'five feet high the door and three may walk abreast.' "
"What are moon-letters?" asked the Hobbit full of excitement. He loved maps and he also liked runes and letters and cunning handwriting, though when he wrote himself it was a bit thin and spidery.
Thankfully, Elrond proved himself a more patient teacher than Gandalf, who usually just reacted annoyed when Bilbo's curiosity got the better of him, and explained what he meant to the young Hobbit.
"Moon-letters are rune-letters, but you cannot see them," said Elrond, "not when you look straight at them. They can only be seen when the moon shines behind them, and what is more, with the more cunning sort it must be a moon of the same shape and season as the day when they were written. The dwarves invented them and wrote them with silver pens, as your friends could tell you. These must have been written on a midsummer's eve in a crescent moon, a long while ago."
"What do they say?" asked Gandalf and Thorin together, a bit vexed perhaps that even Elrond should have found this out first, though really there had not been a chance before, and there would not have been another until goodness knows when.
Later they questioned if Hyperion had known, to which he responded 'yes', to which they of course (angrily) questioned if he couldn't have replicated a midsummer's crescent moon so they might have had this information sooner, to which Michael coughed and blushed and muttered something about having forgotten that they didn't know and that he had just assumed that, once they got to the Lonely Mountain, he'd be able to point out the hidden passage.
Thorin and Gandalf had wanted to argue further, but were cut off when the godking shrugged and said "I could also just level the entire mountain with Smaug inside into a pancake and not worry about any entrance at all, much less the secret ones" and that brought quite an effective end to the argument indeed.
For now, they were still hanging on every word Elrond said as his wise eyes slowly tracked across the slim, silvery letters embossed in the aged parchment.
"Stand by the grey stone when the thrush knocks," read Elrond, "and the setting sun with the last light of Durin's Day will shine upon the key-hole."
"Durin, Durin the Deathless!" said Thorin. "He was the father of the fathers of the eldest race of Dwarves, the Longbeards, and my first ancestor: I am his heir."
"Then what is Durin's Day?" asked Elrond.
"The first day of the dwarves' New Year," said Thorin, "is as all should know the first day of the last moon of Autumn on the threshold of Winter. We still call it Durin's Day when the last moon of Autumn and the sun are in the sky together. But this will not help us much, I fear, for it passes our skill in these days to guess when such a time will come again."
"That remains to be seen," said Gandalf, with a side eye on Michael, who merely shrugged.
"Is there any more writing?" he asked of Elrond, who shook his head in response.
"None to be seen by this moon," said Elrond, and he gave the map back to Thorin; and then they went down to the water to see the elves dance and sing upon the midsummer's eve, just as Michael had promised Bilbo.
The next morning was a midsummer's morning as fair and fresh as could be dreamed: blue sky and never a cloud, and the sun dancing on the water. Now they rode away amid songs of farewell and good speed, with their hearts ready for more adventure, and with a knowledge of the road they must follow over the Misty Mountains to the land beyond.
Fun Fact: Ian McKellen kept the original staff and wizard's hat from his time playing Gandalf.
AN: I had a lot of fun with this one, Elrond is perhaps my favorite character in all of the Tolkien legendarium (his portrayal in Rings of Power, like all of Rings of Power, doesn't count). Let me know your thoughts! We're still sticking close to canon, and I'm beginning to wonder if we're not sticking a bit too close: am considering to have Michael not just take canon off the tracks when they come to the goblins, but take the rails, forge them into a second Angainor and smack Morgoth around the head with them. Anyways, another poll will be up on my Pa Treon if you want to vote on which story will get uploaded next, including two ideas for new fics that you can discuss over there or on my Discord server! Hope to see you there, cheers!