Bilbo pressed himself into an empty doorway with a silent sigh. I feel like a burglar who can't get away, but must keep on miserably burglaring the same house day after day! he thought dejectedly as three more Elves went by. There were some Quenya words that he could pick out, but most of it was in Sindarin. They didn't speak Sindarin in Rivendell.
Ah, Rivendell. For a few blissful moments, Bilbo was wrapped in the pleasant dream of the city of the Elves ... where no one interrupted him ... where the singing was as good as the food ...
The euphoria evaporated like a drop of water under the desert sun as another Elf came from the other direction, heading straight for the doorway in which he huddled. Bilbo looked frantically for an escape, scrambling away from the door. Stepping on a board, it squealed loudly, snapping the Elf's head in his direction. Bilbo took another running step, but was tackled before he could do anymore.
Bilbo struggled under the surprisingly heavy body. "Daro, Morainu!" the Elf hissed. "Daro moving, Morainu!"
The air was being pushed from the Hobbit's lungs. He pulled for breath, then squeaked, "Get ... off!"
The pressure let up a little. Air and life re-entered as Bilbo inhaled deeply.
"What are you? Not a Morainu, I think."
"What's a mor-ayenoo, and I'll tell you," the Hobbit replied, irritated.
"If you were a Morainu, you would not breathe," mused the Elf. "Yet you are not seen." Bilbo remained silent.
"You have some form that can be felt," the Elf continued. His dark hair swirled around his shoulders. He grabbed a piece of the person he could not see and rolled off. Bilbo stood slowly, his right shoulder in the now-kneeling Elf's hand. "This is your shoulder, yes?" the Elf said, feeling what he held with both hands, trying to fathom the smallness of the invisible person. His Common was heavily accented, his grey eyes cautious yet curious.
"Yes," said Bilbo unwillingly.
The Elf heard very well where the voice came from, grabbing next a handful of the Hobbit's curly hair, making him yelp.
"That's my hair!" he cried, standing on tiptoe to alleviate the tension.
"Apologies," murmured the Elf. He loosened his grip, judging the Hobbit's height to be about three feet. "What are you?" he asked. "What is four spans in height? You have no voice of a Dwarf."
"I am a Hobbit," said Bilbo proudly.
"Hob-bit," repeated the Elf. "Is a hob-bit an Ainu?"
"What's an aye-noo? Or a mor-aye-noo, for that matter."
"An Ainu is a powerful being. A Morainu is evil powerful being." The Elf was silent a moment, content to keep his hands firmly on the Hobbit's shoulder while he thought, puzzled and mused. "How are you unseen?" he asked finally. "Is this magic? I do not feel magic, but I do not know."
"I don't use magic," Bilbo replied, stalling. How could he tell him about the ring? What would happen if they found it? What would happen to the Dwarves? How he wished to be home!
"Strong feeling is in you," murmured the Elf, startling the Hobbit. "It stirs, and stirs, and stirs. What stirs it?"
"Nothing!" cried Bilbo quickly.
"I think not," said the Elf, almost to himself. "Come. I will take you to the King." He stood.
Bilbo didn't know what would happen if the ring was found, but he had a very strong suspicion that it wouldn't be anything good. "No!" Bilbo pulled his shoulder with all his might, but could not wrench it from the Elf's iron grasp.
"Come," repeated the Elf, more firmly than before. When Bilbo continued to struggle, he uttered a few words in the mix of Quenya and Sindarin that he spoke and Bilbo slid to the floor, senseless.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.