Summer 1433 SR

Thranduil leaned back against the mallorn, eyes half-closed in contentment. He could hear the laughter of a group of hobbit children who were playing wickets further down the Party Field; not harsh but soft and full of innocence and joy, merry as birdsong, bubbling as a flowing stream. Why had he not thought to visit the Shire before, he wondered.

       The bark of the mallorn was soft, smooth and cool to the touch but the warmth and strength of the life force within the trunk could be detected with ease by a Wood-elf. Thranduil could hear the thrumming of the tree and smiled. Legolas was right - it had a distinctly hobbity nature.

       Some of the hobbit youngsters were asking Glorfindel for a story. Thranduil hated to admit it because he loathed most of the Noldor, but he could not help liking Glorfindel. The leader of Rivendell's forces was not a typical Noldo and was certainly nothing like Feanor and his idiot offspring. The fact that he had remained with Turgon in Gondolin all those years, away from them, proved something. Rumour had it that the golden-haired balrog-slayer was part Vanyar - logical with hair that colour - and close kin to Fingolfin and Finarfin. Indeed it was said that his love for the sons of Fingolfin led Glorfindel to travel to Middle-earth, although he swore no oath and took no part in the kinslaying. Turgon had always been somewhat hot-headed and it seemed that Glorfindel tried to dissuade him from the enterprise, fearing that nothing good would come of it.

       The Elven King chuckled as he heard Glorfindel telling an exciting story. He was pretending to sound like a dragon, making fierce growling noises which reduced the little hobbits to helpless giggles. A weight on his legs caused Thranduil to look down, to find Rufus sprawled across his thighs, purring loudly and with great contentment. The Elf idly wondered if it was tea-time yet, and grinned. He was definitely discovering his inner hobbit, he thought. Having lived for several Ages of the world without thinking of food at all he was now becoming preoccupied with mealtimes and the delights which the Shire afforded.

       "Hobbits!" he mttered to himself. Their lives were so short by the reckoning of Elves and yet they delighted in the simple joys - home, family, food, ale, pipeweed, riddles, songs and friendship. They seemed determined to enjoy every minute of their time and that joyful innocence was infectious. Perhaps that was the secret to life - innocent simple pleasures and seven meals a day.

       "Hungry?" Glorfindel enquired, seeming to read the thoughts of others. "Can you believe that Haldir has been helping Mistress Rose to make ginger cake and malted fruit loaf? If only Galadriel could see this!"

       "Haldir? In a kitchen? This I have to see!"

       With apologies to Rufus, Thranduil arose and they made their way up the Hill, where Frodo was waiting on the steps of Bag End.