Not Quite a Maia

Elrond of Imladris was sitting in his private study poring over maps and discussing the possible location and progress of the Fellowship with his faithful counsellor, Erestor. Over two weeks ago, a messenger from Lórien had brought them news of Gandalf the Grey's battle with the Balrog of Khazad-dûm and the wizard's subsequent death. It had stunned them all. How would his loss impact on the success of the quest? Would Aragorn now commit himself to his true path as Isildur's heir and fulfil his destiny? Would the mission to destroy the One Ring - and with it the Dark Lord Sauron - be successful without the guidance of the Grey Pilgrim?

Often was the elven ruler to be found secluded in his study with his closest advisors speculating on these issues, and it was as he was discussing the fate of the West once more with his friend, that a frenzied rapping on the door interrupted their weighty conversation. Glancing at his solemn companion in some surprise (for no one ever rapped on his door frenziedly - not even when a four year old Estel swallowed an entire pot of ink after mistaking it for blackberry juice), he called:

"Enter."

A rather harried servant appeared through the doorway, his fine features flushed with excitement. Elrond briefly closed his eyes and sighed heavily, thinking his rambunctious sons had perhaps returned early from their scouting mission to the borders of Imladris and had been causing chaos among the recently arrived Dúnedain again (they usually spent hours imbibing on his finest Dorwinion wine in a friendly attempt to prove their elven superiority against the hardy Numenoreans - Halbarad had predictably lost the last encounter and spent the next three days emptying the never-ending contents of his stomach when he should have been making his way back to guard the borders of the Shire).

"My Lord!" declared the servant breathlessly. "The most astonishing thing has occurred!"

Elrond's eyelids flew open. Astonishing? Perhaps, unlikely as it seemed, Halbarad had been victorious this time? Which could only mean his two eldest children had succumbed to the mortal blood flowing through their half-elven veins and were stumbling through the corridors of Imladris in a very un-elflike manner declaring how much they 'loved' everyone; or were lying sprawled unconscious in the Hall of Fire while the victorious ranger toasted his win with what remained of his host's fine wine.

He would kill them!

And possibly Halbarad too.

"What have they done now?" he asked tiredly.

Erestor, he noted, was watching the messenger with a look of great interest on his face.

Still, at least he was not smirking in the annoying fashion favoured by Glorfindel. There were times when, close friend or not, he could cheerfully strangle the ebullient Balrog slayer (but of course he refrained: Glorfindel would no doubt come back from the dead again merely to pester him - it was rather an irritating habit of his).

"They?" echoed the messenger, thrown by the query.

"Yes, Finthwael; they. My sons."

A horrible thought occurred to Elrond as he said this: had Glorfindel been with them? Egging them on? For it was not unknown for the mighty elven warrior to encourage their mischief if he felt the day required a little excitement.

He frowned. So be it! Future resurrection notwithstanding, Glorfindel's days were numbered, too.

Either that, or he would send him to Lothlórien (he saw no reason why his mother-in-love should while away her years in peaceful harmony while he juggled two rowdy elflings and a deranged elf lord whose sole purpose in life was to corrupt his offspring - thank goodness Arwen, at least, was not prone to food fights, tree-scaling, drinking contests...).

"Nay, my Lord. 'Tis the Eagle! The Eagle has landed!"

The eagle has landed?

"Finthwael, oft lands the eagle in Imladris," said Elrond patiently. "And the robin, and the sparrow. And, if you recall, mellon nin, this last week a flock of black swans graced us with their beauteous presence, also."

Finthwael shook his head furiously. "Nay, Lord. The Eagle! Gwaihir the Windlord."

Elrond and Erestor both rose from their chairs. Gwaihir! This was news indeed! Never before had the mighty Lord of Eagles bestowed his presence on Imladris Fair and they exchanged a look of trepidation. What ill news did this herald? Had the Ring been discovered by the enemy? The Fellowship slain?

His mortal son perished?

A stab of fear shot through him at the thought. It could not be! What would he tell his daughter? He would know, surely, if the worst had happened?

His gaze fixated on the elf at the door and he addressed him with a note of urgency. "Did he say why he came?"

Let it not be thus...

"Nay, my Lord. But he brought with him a passenger."

A passenger? The Lord of the Eagles was not a horse! He did not carry passengers. What could this mean?

"A passenger?"

Finthwael nodded, and Elrond could swear he was trying to smother a grin.

Hmm. Aragorn must be well, thank the Valar, for the ellon would not be so merry were he not. Relieved that his youngest child would know the joy of another dawn, the graceful being moved across the room with Erestor in tow, speaking as he walked.

"This passenger: who is he? Did he give his name or inform you what his purpose was?"

"He? Oh...nay, my Lord. But Gwaihir asks for an audience with you, that he may explain their purpose."

"I see." He turned to his counsellor with raised brows. "What say you, Erestor? Shall we grant the noble Eagle and his...passenger...an audience?"

His friend bowed his head in consent. "'Twould be an honour indeed to welcome the Windlord and his guest to our halls, my Lord."

"And so the matter is settled. Lead the way, mellon nin," he directed Finthwael, and the three elves left the study.

As they walked through the corridor towards the courtyard stairwell, the Lord of Imladris reflected on who the 'passenger' may be. One of Thranduil's people, perhaps? Nay. Mirkwood's king had not the power to summon the mighty eagles (regardless of what the supremely confident monarch may believe). A messenger from Lothlórien, then? Unlikely. Despite the troubled times, the Galadhrim would still prefer to travel the roads and mountain passes on the backs of their swift elven steeds, than ride the feathered one of a soaring bird.

No sooner had he dismissed the idea of a flying elf, than a shrill, high pitched voice resounded through the air shattering the tranquillity of the renowned haven.

"Unhand me at once, young man! Do I look like a sack of potatoes? I am perfectly able to dismount by myself!"

Shock at the crisp - and decidedly feminine tone - made Elrond and Erestor pause to throw a questioning glance at Finthwael.

"That would be the Lord Gwaihir's esteemed passenger, my Lords," explained the smiling elf.

A woman? Impossible! He had never heard of any ruler despatching a member of the fairer sex as a messenger - and certainly not in such troubled times.

Or was the lady was the ruler herself - come in desperation to beg aid for her beleaguered people? She must be a woman of note indeed, if she could summon the mighty Gwaihir to bear her hence. Elrond racked his brains, trying to think of lands which may be ruled by a female monarch, but came up blank.

"I, too, am at a loss," whispered Erestor as their guide continued on his way, forcing them to fall into step behind him.

The mysterious visitor's voice floated towards them again as they drew nearer the stairwell.

"Well, this is a vast improvement on Isengard, I must say! Have you seen the dungeons there, young man? No? Very wise of you. They are absolutely disgraceful! One can always tell a lot about a person from the condition in which they keep their home, you know, and that sorry excuse for a wizard is without a doubt the worst housekeeper I have ever had the misfortune of encountering. Not a loo in sight!"

A pause, then:

"You do have loos here, don't you? It would be most disappointing to find that this charming place was little more than a pretty façade!"

Isengard! The trio put more speed in their step, determined to find out what knowledge the lady had of the enemy wizard's abode - and how she came about it.

"What is a 'loo'?" enquired Erestor with a slight frown on his even features.

Elrond was at a loss. "I know not. Perhaps a mirror of sorts? It is of little matter - she speaks of Orthanc as if she has knowledge of it. If that is true, then it may be that either she is a spy sent by Saruman, or she has come to warn us of an attack by his hand. But on whom? Elves? Men?"

They had no further time for speculation, for they were now on the terrace that led to the stairwell. It offered a sweeping view of the wide courtyard which was currently filled with many elves and Dúnedain bowing in greeting to the magnificent bird that graced the paved court. Elrond could not yet see the woman due to the numbers surrounding the visitors, but he almost balked when his eyes caught sight of an ugly, bald-headed bird wobbling amidst a half dozen men.

By now he was burning with curiosity (not that he would allow it to show - elf lords had to present themselves with a certain dignity, after all) and he descended the staircase swiftly. The large company on the courtyard parted in respect as the Lord of Imladris appeared, allowing him to reach his guests in a manner of seconds. He nodded his head in a graceful greeting to the Eagle.

"Gwaihir, Windlord of the Skies. It is an honour indeed to welcome you to my humble abode."

The eagle bowed his head in return. "I bring you greetings from the Valar, Elrond of Imladris, and beg your pardon for the manner of my visit. I would have sent forth word to warn you of my impending arrival, but there was not time."

"You need beg no pardon from me, Windlord. It will always be a joy to welcome one of the Great Eagles to Imladris, whether or not we have prior knowledge of your visit. How may I be of service to you?"

"Manwë himself summoned me two weeks since to request that I seek a Wizard lost amid the lands of Arda. If I found him, he bade me bring him to the safety of your halls until such time as the outcome of the war had been determined."

A wizard? Lost amid the lands of Arda? Perhaps Alatar or Pallando had returned to the lands of the West upon hearing of their brother Istar's fall, having determined to take a more active role in the banishment of Sauron? But who, then, was the woman? For she was most certainly not one of the Blue Wizards.

"A wizard, indeed!" said a disgruntled voice from amidst the mass of men to his left. "Kindly remove yourself from my foot, young man! Do I look like a pavement?"

A mumbled apology and some shuffling followed, but Gwaihir chose to ignore the outburst. "For many days I flew across the lands of the West before venturing farther east, yet I found no sign of such a Wizard."

"That's because he doesn't exist!" said the voice sharply, adding: "My good fellow, is there any particular reason why you are staring at my legs? It's hardly polite!"

Elrond allowed his gaze to flicker to the left, trying to locate the source of the voice, but its owner was still concealed amidst a crowd of (very distracted) Dúnedain. What did this mysterious visitor know of the existence of wizards?

And why were the Dúnedain staring at her legs? Was she improperly robed?

He returned his gaze to the eagle as the voice continued to mutter scornfully about non-existent wizards and wandering eyes. He had the feeling that Gwaihir would have rolled his own, if he had been able to.

"Indeed," the eagle said, confirming the lady's statement with a ruffle of feathers and a nod of his head. "No Wizard was it that I found. Instead, almost as hope had faded from my heart of locating my prize, I found a Witch. Allow me to present to you the Lady Augusta, Lord."

No sooner had Gwaihir said 'Witch' than gasps of surprise emitted from the assembled company and the men surrounding the mysterious being (finally) parted to reveal...

...a little old lady in green with the most bizarre headdress that Elrond had seen in his several thousand years of life. Wisps of iron-grey hair were jutting from beneath a small, pointed hat and the ugliest bird he had ever had the misfortune of laying his eyes on stared across at him with glassy eyes. It wobbled precariously on its perch, looking for all the world as if it, too, had been imbibing on his best Dorwinion wine. Beneath the hideous hat, thin eyebrows arched above intelligent blue orbs which assessed him thoroughly. Elrond barely resisted the impulse to straighten his robes under her intense scrutiny. By the Valar! He had not felt this self-conscious since his dearly missed wife first introduced him to her imposing parents (which had been a harrowing affair to say the least; especially when a very bad case of nerves caused him to tread on Galadriel's gown as they were walking to the feast prepared in his honour - and it ripped all the way up to her shapely shin. To this day, Celeborn still refused to believe it was an accident). The woman wore a short green gown which barely covered her calves (explaining the Dúnedain's fascination) and a green woollen coat. Both her face and clothes were streaked with dirt, but it did little to tamper her brimming confidence. She marched forward briskly and proffered a wrinkled hand with tapering, bony fingers.

"Good day to you, young man. The name's Longbottom. Augusta Longbottom. As you see, I am most decidedly not a wizard," she said as she pumped his hand furiously up and down in her firm grip. "I must apologise for my rather dishevelled appearance. Normally, I would never dream of introducing myself in anything less than pristine condition, but it is rather difficult to perform even the most basic of ablutions when one is flying several hundred feet above the ground. I do hope you understand."

Then, to his (and everyone else's) astonishment, she produced a very short stick and waved it across her form. The dirt vanished from her peculiar garments and wizened face instantly.

"There! Not as satisfactory as a good old-fashioned scrub, mind you, but much better nonetheless. Of course, if your friends over there..."

She pointed an imperious finger at the rather guilty-looking Dúnedain.

"...hadn't insisted on dragging me off this fine young eagle's back and pawing at me in the most uncivilised manner, I would have been able to render myself a little more presentable before your arrival."

Pawing at her?

Elrond, completely at a loss for words, could only stare blankly at Halbarad.

"Forgive us, Lady," said the ranger sincerely. "Your appearance startled us and we thought not that you had the energy to dismount. We wished only to offer our arms in support."

One thin eyebrow raised itself. "Did you now? Well, I don't suppose I can blame you for trying to be gallant - it's certainly one of the first instances of it I've come across in the last fortnight - but I would like to point out, for future reference, of course, that it is not advisable to haul a lady from her steed in such a manner unless one intends to propose marriage..."

Halbarad flushed.

"...and I don't imagine a fine looking fellow like you is quite desperate enough for a bride that he has to stalk the streets ready to pounce on the first unsuspecting old woman he meets."

A wave of laughter from his fellow men and several tinkling chuckles greeted Elrond's ears at her rebuke.

"Lady Augusta, I am Elrond, Lord of Imladris, and I bid you welcome. It is a great honour to receive you in these halls, for never before have we welcomed a Witch."

The elderly woman gave a very unladylike snort. "Yes, well, I'm beginning to realise that a witch is something of a novelty in this corner of the world. Most irregular. Still, I shouldn't be surprised, what with the appalling lack of personal hygiene and good manners I've encountered. Don't worry, my good man, I mean no slight on your excellent abode. It all seems very clean and pretty here so far - although those shifty fellows who dragged me off my feathered friend here smell rather like a group of rancid orcs. You, however, smell rather nice. So things are looking up, as they say."

Another snort, this time behind the extraordinary being, and Elrond saw at least six grown men taking furtive sniffs at their armpits. Well, they only had themselves to blame at her slight: he had offered them all the opportunity of a hot bath two days ago, but instead, they had indulged in pointless drinking contests with his sons (and no doubt Glorfindel too).

Which reminded him - where were the troublesome trio? They should have returned from their scouting mission by now.

Giving himself a mental shake, he took a moment to collect his thoughts before replying. "I am delighted that Imladris offers a more favourable impression of the West than what you have encountered so far, my Lady. Pray, allow me to offer you the hospitality of my home." He nodded discreetly at a pair of elves in the curious crowd and they obediently left to carry out his unspoken order.

"A chamber is being readied for you as we speak," he continued, offering the old woman his arm.

"That's very kind of you, young man..."

Erestor swallowed a grin at her form of address.

"...I must say, I was beginning to doubt you Australians had any manners at all, and were it not for my feathered friend here and those very nice chaps at the edge of the forest, I would have been writing a very unfavourable letter to your Tourist Information Board the minute I got back to England. However, you are beginning to restore my faith in the colonies."

Tourist Information? Colonies? He exchanged a mystified glance with Erestor, who merely shrugged elegantly.

"It might interest you to know," the lady said in her clipped tones, breaking through his momentary confusion, "that we ran into a spot of bother at the river back there."

She motioned behind her with a nod of her head.

"A group of orcs, it seems, were attempting to cross the water and some of your people were having trouble keeping them at bay."

Orcs! So near to Imladris? Another cloud of fear passed over his heart at her words. His sons and Glorfindel had been patrolling the borders of the forest that day! They were more than capable of defending themselves in a skirmish, but the very fact the enemy's forces were growing bold enough to make an attempt on his land was cause for concern. Elrond's eyes widened as the warriors in the crowd grabbed their weapons and made ready to dash for the stables.

"Wait! Let us hear how this tale ends before we all rush into conflict. And do not forget that the borders of this land are well protected against unwanted intrusion."

Men and elves alike stopped in their tracks at his authoritative tone and all eyes rested expectantly on the old woman as they awaited further information.

"How close to the river are they?" the dark-haired lord demanded with an unmistakable note of urgency in his voice.

But their guest was unperturbed at his concern. "Not close enough for a good wash, unfortunately," she replied, sniffing disdainfully. "At least, not any more. Some of them are scattered across several hundred yards of land - there's nothing like a good Blasting charm to get rid of unwanted pests, you know: most effective. And I believe a few of those hairy brutes they were riding are still caught in the trees on the other side of the riverbank. You may want to send some of these fine fellows over to put them out of their misery."

Hairy brutes in trees? His look of astonishment was clearly written across his face, for it provoked further elaboration from Gwaihir.

"'Tis the first time I have seen a flying Warg, my Lord. A most interesting spectacle, though I need not fear competition from them in the air. They lack the appropriate appendages."

He ruffled his great wings proudly as the witch smiled in approval.

"Quite, my good fellow. There's nothing as graceless as an airborne wolf - unless it's an airborne orc," she said, before almost making her host's heart stop with her next words.

"One of your guards suffered an injury before I could intervene, though. Took an arrow to the left arm. But it can't have dampened his spirits much because he refused to take my place and allow my friend here to carry him back while I accompanied his friends in his stead. A very hardy fellow, I must say! Pity I didn't catch his name before we took off, for I'd very much like to shake him by the hand."

Her voice rang with admiration and all the elves and Dúnedain present straightened, puffing out their chests in pride at her resounding approval.

Elrond refrained from sagging in relief. He did not know if it was his sons, his friend or one of the other border guards who had sustained the injury, but at least it was not fatal. "No doubt you will have the opportunity to do so upon his return, my Lady, for it is less than a day's journey from the Ford of Bruinen to Imladris. And allow me to express my gratitude to you both for your swift actions in preventing further injury."

He executed a graceful bow to the eagle and the witch and they nodded in return.

"No need for thanks, young man. Any decent person would do the same and I must admit to having rather enjoyed myself. Now, if you don't mind, the evening air is getting a little chilly and I would be terribly obliged if I could take a seat next to a roaring fireplace. Do you happen to have one?"

The extraordinary woman, fresh from defending an unknown realm against hostile attack, took a firm hold of his arm before turning to her travelling companion.

"Well, thank you very much for your timely arrival, young ma...I mean, my good fel...oh, well, thank you anyway Gwaihir. Very decent of you to rescue an old woman in need. Is there anything I can do to repay your kindness? Perhaps trim those talons of yours? They are looking a bit ragged, you know, after getting stuck into all those orcs and I know the most convenient charm to clip them."

Elrond nearly collapsed in mortification. Merciful Valar! Had she just offered to clip Gwaihir the Windlord's ragged toenails?

But Gwaihir merely gave a regal nod of his head. "Lady, you are most...gracious...but I find the present condition of my talons to be perfectly satisfactory."

Relief flooded the ancient elf. For a moment there, he had thought the old woman was about to be carried of like a giant worm: fodder for an offended eagle's offspring.

"Well, if you're quite sure. Please be so kind as to pass my gratitude on to your friends, the Valar. If it weren't for their happy intercession and your willing aid, I'd still be stuck on that ghastly tower listening to the inane prattling of a ageing delinquent."

Her words reminded him that the Tower of Orthanc was familiar territory to her, but any suspicions he may have harboured about her spying for Saruman had vanished upon meeting her. He sensed immediately that the lady's aura was strong and noble, her heart true. The Valar would not have sent Gwaihir to rescue her otherwise.

Elves and men began to move backwards as the eagle prepared to spread its wings in flight. "Will you not remain a little longer, Gwaihir?" he asked solicitously. "We would be honoured to offer you a place to rest and fresh provisions before you return home."

"I thank you for your generous offer, Lord, but I have been too long from my eyrie and wish to delay my return no further, even though it would be in such an enchanted realm. Farewell, Lord of Imladris! Farewell Green Witch!"

"May the Wind's currents be warm and buoyant and carry you safely home, mellon nin," declared the elf as the great bird took to the air and circled the courtyard a few times, to the delight of the crowd, before flying away. Finally, the eagle was a speck in the sky and all attention transferred itself from the magnificent spectacle of its flight to the no less impressive spectacle of the 'Green Witch'.

"Have a nice flight!" she called at Elrond's side before turning her intelligent blue gaze to his face. She was assessing him again with those keen eyes, making him feel like a naughty elfling. Time to distract her...

"My Lady, we have much to discuss. Shall we?" he said indicating the stairwell.

"Lead the way, young man. Lead the way!" she ordered.

And with a smirking Erestor behind them, they started up the stairs towards Elrond's private study, with the hideous bird on her hat wobbling all the way.

Augusta allowed herself to be led down the long corridor where her host turned right and ushered her into a rather large study. Tapestries lined the walls all around and a raised dais to the left contained an impressive assortment of books and parchments on tall, elegantly carved wooden bookcases. A table and several chairs stood before the little library, eager to house learned beings while they lost themselves in the lore of the realm.

"My Lady," said her host, leading her to the far right of the room where a large desk covered in scrolls of parchment and writing implements awaited. "Allow me to offer you a seat. And perhaps some refreshments before we commence?"

"That would be most agreeable, young man," she replied cautiously, shoving a hand in her pocket and gripping her wand. Not that she distrusted the fine fellow - but the last man who'd offered her 'refreshments' had tried to seduce her (albeit with the sole intent of pinching her wand). She eyed the dark-haired man warily, trying to decipher his own intentions.

But Elrond merely offered her one of the comfortable cushioned chairs that sat before his desk, before walking around it and opening a small cabinet at the wall. He removed three delicate glass flutes and filled them with what appeared to be red wine (she was beginning to think these Australians were a bunch of raging alcoholics - not once in the last fortnight had she been offered a nice cup of tea), before returning with two, which he offered to both her and the other chap who'd followed them up the stairs. What was the fellow's name again?

When Elrond was seated without having made any sudden moves towards her wand (or her virtue), she relaxed her grip on it and withdrew her hand from her pocket.

"To your very good health, gentlemen," Augusta said as she raised her glass and took a delicate sip of the surprisingly light and wonderfully refreshing liquid.

"How very delicious," she commented, very impressed.

"Thank you, my Lady. It is a wine of our own making, and a personal favourite of my daughter, Arwen."

The witch took another sip. "Well, it may not be a bracing cup of Earl Grey, but there's no denying your daughter's excellent taste."

"I believe that you have yet to be formally introduced to my counsellor, Erestor," her host said, indicating the silent man to her left who had his eyes glued to her hat.

Hmm, the gaping man wasn't saying very much. Perhaps she ought to remove Spot - its magnificence was quite robbing the fellow of the power of speech. She plucked it from her head and placed it on the polished oak desk, tucking it neatly behind a stack of books so that it was hidden from sight. Without the distraction of her excellent millinery, Erestor was now able to verbalise his thoughts.

"My Lady, it is my pleasure to meet you."

She pulled her thin lips into a pleasant smile. "Ah, good day, young man. I wasn't sure if you had mentioned your name earlier or if I had forgotten it in all the excitement of my arrival. I must say, it is a great relief to be away from that odious wizard's home. He suffers from the most appalling lack of good manners, you know."

Her host jumped on the opening. "You were a guest in Isengard?"

"Guest? Heavens, no! I was a prisoner! That ridiculous fellow stole my wand and threw me in his dungeons! And when I protested my treatment, he had me hauled up to his miserable tower and abandoned me to the mercy of the elements! Disgraceful!"

Elrond's counsellor looked troubled. "My Lady, why did he imprison you? Were you captured by his forces after being sent from Valinor to aid the People of the West in their fight against Sauron?"

Captured by his forces? It would take more than a few idiot orcs to capture this Longbottom!

"I am sorry to disappoint you, young fellow, but I'm afraid I don't know your Valar and have never been to this Valinor place. I came here only to find my grandson, Neville."

"Your grandson?" enquired her host incredulously. "I confess I am astonished. Do you mean you have borne a child - and they, in turn, have borne their own?"

Wasn't that how one usually became a grandparent?

"What an odd question. But yes, I am both a mother and a grandmother."

Erestor emitted a soft gasp and she glared at him in disapproval. "What is so shocking about that, young man?"

"Forgive me, my Lady, I mean no disrespect. It is most unusual to find an Istar, be it Wizard or Witch, who has committed themselves to a familial existence."

Yes, well, that would certainly explain why there were only five wizards left in Australia. And if they were all as odious as the idiot she had trounced two days ago, then the sooner they died off, the better!

Although, she had to admit, when she imagined this conversation last night as she and Gwaihir flew over the (never-ending) Misty Mountains, the topic of reproduction had not featured in it at all...

But the bizarre questions did not stop at her long-gone fertility. Her host was eyeing her in a very strange manner, and she was about to demand that he explain himself when he spoke:

"Lady Augusta, forgive the inquiry, but...are you mortal?"

Oh for goodness' sake!

"Of course I'm mortal. What else would I be?"

Once more, Elrond's brows shot into his forehead. "Then you have not come from Valinor, for no mortals are permitted entry there."

Augusta frowned. What was so special about this Valinor anyway, that it wouldn't allow a fine, upstanding citizen like herself entry? What a terribly fussy lot the Valar must be!

"Yet, it makes your presence here all the more mystifying," her host said, his brow now furrowed thoughtfully. "A mortal Witch with a grandchild. Truly, you are an enigma, my Lady. But, tell me: have you no idea at all how you came to be in Middle Earth? And how is it that you found yourself a prisoner of Saruman the White if you were searching for this grandson? Was he a captive, also?"

She sighed tiredly. "I don't know how I came here, do I? I come from Yorkshire in England, which was where I was until two weeks ago: in the comfort of my own home. My bothersome grandson - who, until the day before had been a very reasonable, sensible sort of boy - decided to take a midnight jaunt to the southern hemisphere with a very valuable artefact from his school. When I attempted to rouse him from his bed to confront him about it...poof! I found myself lying in a bush in a very chilly valley and the slippery boy was nowhere in sight!"

Which was fortunate for him!

"And you can imagine, I'm sure, how very irritated I was at being dragged into some foreign land by the silly boy only to have him slip from my grasp..."

And so she informed them of the whole gory tale from the strange tingling when she touched Neville's forehead to the flight from the Tower of Orthanc (with the obvious exception of how Grodek and Fragat had caught her in flagrante on her magnificent loo - and she may have glazed over the matter of how, exactly, that frightful wizard had captured her wand). Her host and his counsellor listened intently throughout, emitting only gasps of horror at her treatment at Saruman's hands. She reached the end of her tale with a quick summation of the short battle in his great hall, where they finally stopped her.

"That the White Wizard could be so cruel to anyone is unsurprising," her host declared with a frown. "And I would like to inspect both your arm and ankle to reassure myself that they are healing properly. But, I must ask you: do you mean to tell us that Saruman of 'Many Colours' is now, in reality, Saruman of...many colours?"

"Certainly. I never lie, young man. Very bad for the soul, you know."

Well, perhaps she lied a very little - and only on special occasions...

"And you have endowed him with...womanly curves?" gasped Erestor in shock.

"Of course," she replied, slightly annoyed at having to repeat herself. "Did I not just say that? What better way to teach the disgraceful man a lesson after he called me a 'weak-minded woman'? He'll not be so quick to criticise now, I should think."

Their laughter filled the room at her vehement declaration and Elrond smiled at her warmly.

"Lady Augusta, as much as your trials sorrow my heart, the manner of your vengeance on the traitor Saruman lightens my weary spirit. A toast to the Green Witch: scourge of faithless Istari everywhere!"

She wasn't familiar with the word 'Istari', but it was obvious he was referring to Saruman, so she nodded graciously at the compliment. Was jolly nice chaps these men were! All smiles and civility (and excellent teeth). It was enough to make her forgive their overflowing locks...

"So you are a mortal Witch, come from strange lands to seek your missing kin and have been held captive for over a week at the mercy of the traitor Saruman. But, whether you are of the order of the Maiar or not..."

Maiar? What the deuce were they? Did he mean Maori? She frowned. The only Maori she'd ever heard of was Piripi the Hippie, a very odd wizard from Auckland with a fondness for headbands and (really, far too many) necklaces. He'd left his native tribe to join a Muggle commune based near Stonehenge, and spent each Midsummer's morning offering spliffs (whatever they were) and nose rubs (self-explanatory, she supposed) to the local Muggle constabulary, and throwing sticks at visiting officials.

"...the Valar themselves ordered your rescue and now you find yourself here, safe in Imladris, but without your missing grandson." His dark eyebrows were pulled down in concentration. "Tell me, Lady Augusta: you say you came to these lands almost two weeks ago?"

"That is correct." she said, relieved to be making some progress at last.

"A strange coincidence that you and your grandson came so soon from lands unknown after the death of our great ally Gandalf, is it not?"

Her host's grey gaze rested on her, and she knew immediately what he was thinking.

"Exactly!" the elderly witch declared. "I see you have put two and two together at last!"

The two men glanced at each other in confusion, but she was too relieved to pay it much heed.

"You see, in Britain, we've just fought and won a war of our own against the infamous Dark Lord Voldemort. No doubt you've heard of him? No? Gracious! Well, he was a particularly nasty individual obsessed with ruling the world and spent years planning his complete domination over wizards and Muggles alike. He and his followers killed hundreds - if not thousands - of innocent people over the last few decades and we only managed to defeat him three weeks ago. Neville proved himself to be of invaluable assistance when he destroyed Voldemort's last link to immortality, which allowed young Harry Potter to finish off the dreadful nuisance once and for all."

Her companions listened in wide-eyed silence.

"Unfortunately, it appears my overconfident grandson has now got a taste for ridding the world of lunatics. Somehow, he must have discovered you are fighting your own Dark Lord..."

"And you believe he has come to aid in our fight against Sauron." finished Elrond decisively.

"Exactly! Now, don't misunderstand me: I am very proud of my young man. He acquitted himself admirably and stood up to Voldemort even when everyone else thought that Harry Potter was dead. But, although I sympathise with the fact that your country is fighting its own Dark Lord, Neville has had little time to recover from the trauma of our own war and spent the entire week before we came here burying his school friends. I think it highly possible that his need for retribution is what tipped him over the edge and had him dashing head first into danger again."

And it was all too irritating for words!

"It grieves me to hear that your grandson has endured so much," said Elrond sadly. "War affects us all in different ways. Some fight, and if they live to enjoy victory, may find solace among those loved ones who remain to share it with them. Others cannot endure the pain of loss and may soon fade with the grief they carry in their hearts. But rare is it indeed that one so young was not only victorious in his battle, but seeks to aid others in foreign lands that they need not endure the struggle he has. Truly, your grandson must be a remarkable young Man."

What? That wasn't exactly the reply she'd been hoping for. As much as the elderly witch appreciated her host's sentiment, she would much rather have heard something along the lines of 'Dash it all! That simply won't do! Let's floo to the Australian Ministry this very minute and see if we can't get a few Aurors to track the scallywag down and drag him back here this very instant!'

Although, truth be told, she was beginning to suspect that her location may not be what it seemed. It could no longer be denied that the lands were not as flat as they ought to be if she were indeed stranded in the Outback. And there was also the odd layout of this astonishing village, so remote from any other towns or cities - not to mention the lack of modern conveniences such as radio (which even Muggles possessed). It could all mean only one thing, really. Augusta was not in Australia at all...

...she was in New Zealand!

Of course! It all made perfect sense: the mountains, the valleys, the abundant vegetation. The complete lack of kangaroos.

Very pleased that she had at least finally solved the mystery of her location (if not Neville's), Augusta took another sip of Arwen's favourite wine before getting back to the point.

Locating her errant grandson.

"So, my good fellows, now that you know who I am and what I'm about, perhaps you would be good enough to tell me if you've heard any mention of Neville? I realise that Gwaihir told you I would remain here until the end of your war, but who knows how long that will take? I can't possibly stay here and enjoy all the comforts that civilisation offers when he is more than likely in the thick of the action against this bothersome Sauron chap. Do you have any idea where the front line is?"

The men's faces sobered up at her request and Elrond placed his glass on the table as he studied her with his keen grey eyes.

"My Lady, I do not think it would be wise for you to leave the safety of Imladris. These are troubled times for Middle Earth, and many more dangers lie outside these borders than what you have experienced so far. The Dark Lord Sauron is an evil greater than that which even Saruman presented you with. His armies encroach on the lands of several realms in a bid to spread his dominion. It would be wise if you remained within the shelter of the Last Homely House until the outcome of the war is determined, for I cannot guarantee your safety otherwise."

Guarantee her safety? Remain in shelter while Neville gallivanted around Merlin knew where, placing himself in danger to save New Zealand? Certainly not! She set her jaw and favoured the well-meaning man with a keen gaze of her own.

"I am more than aware of the dangers of war and despotic Dark Lords, young man," she said firmly. "It's only been three or four weeks since our own met his death at the end of a wand - a battle at which my grandson was present and almost lost his life. So - and I say this with all due respect - if you imagine for one instant that I will cower away in a comfortable house while he foolishly places his life in danger for a battle that isn't his own, then I am afraid you are very much mistaken. Neville is the last of the Longbottoms and I absolutely will not stand by and wait while my family loses its final hope for the future."

He didn't look too pleased by that, but Augusta didn't have time to debate the issue.

"I regret that your grandson has known the trials of war, my Lady. Indeed, we all wish that our children need never know the evils of such times. But although I have never heard of your own Dark Lord, nor of your struggles against him; if young Neville is determined to be of aid to the People of the West - and in reaching this decision, has journeyed here by whatever means at his disposal - I do not see what you hope to achieve by following him. There are many front lines of battle in Middle Earth at present: Gondor, Rohan - even the Elven realm of Mirkwood must battle against Mordor's forces. How will you know where to begin your search? For I cannot say where he may be found at this time."

Botheration! Three different places where he could be? How irritating!

"What I hope to achieve is to find him and drag him back to England with all possible haste," she replied. "As far as the alarming selection of potential trouble spots goes; I suppose I shall just have to eliminate all the possibilities, one at a time, until I find the silly boy," she mused, crossing her arms in consternation.

"But, Lady Augusta," said Erestor, very alarmed, "think of the danger. What would your grandson say if he thought you were here: searching for him amidst the most troubled lands of the West and placing yourself in mortal peril for his sake?"

"I have no doubt that, when he finds out I'm here, he will more than likely die of fright," she drawled. "Because when I get my hands on him, he's going to wish he'd never been born. Galloping off to magical New Zealand in a moment of utter madness - without so much as a 'by your leave' - and taking the Sword of Gryffindor with him! What does the silly boy think he's about? Obviously, he's suffering from some sort of delusions of grandeur and has made it his mission in life to scare his grandmother into an early grave. Well, I won't be having it! He needs to be found immediately and dragged back to England, where I will see to it that he spends the next few months recuperating from his deluded state on the same ward as his parents!"

The bemused elves shared a brief look which spoke eloquently of their pity for the young wizard, but Augusta was not to be swayed. Neville had earned himself a right royal telling off for his uncharacteristic actions and she had every intention of delivering it - even if it meant she had to blast her way through the armies of Mordor to do so!

There was a gentle rap on the door and the topic of Augusta's journey to dangerous lands was interrupted when a very pretty girl entered to say her chambers were now ready.

Elrond and Erestor rose as one and the grey-eyed counsellor held out his hand to assist her to her feet.

"You are undoubtedly fatigued from your journey, my Lady, and I believe your rest is more important at present than lengthy discussions on future travels," stated the Lord of Imladris. "Elariel will show you to your room, which I hope you will find more comfortable than any offered by Saruman."

Well, that wouldn't be too difficult, would it? Anything was an improvement on that pit of despair. Best not to say that aloud though, in case the charming fellow took offence. So she offered a prim smile instead.

"As for the matter of your noble kin, I have my suspicions as to why he is here. All may not be as it seems to you at present. Tomorrow morning after breakfast, I shall call a council with my advisors and request that you be present also, for there are things you must know which may explain his presence in our lands more clearly. Will that be acceptable?"

"Certainly. I must admit to being rather tired and find the idea of a warm bed absolutely heavenly. You are a very decent young man to show such hospitality to a stranger. Now, if you don't mind, I'll be off to the land of nod before the hour is out. Goodnight gentlemen. No doubt I'll see you in the morning!"

She collected Spot from her host's desk, and with a gracious nod of her head, followed the pretty girl out of the room with their best wishes trailing in her wake.

Leaving two rather befuddled elves to wonder where the realm of 'Nod' was, exactly.

It was not long after the Lady Augusta retired and Erestor departed to his own study, that word was brought to Elrond of the arrival of the border scouts. Relieved that they had returned safely, he made his way to the healing room to find his sons and Glorfindel already tending the injured elf. Lindir offered a sheepish smile as Elladan bound his wound with fresh cloths.

"Adar," said Elrohir as he approached his father, who clasped his shoulder and ran his healer's eye over to check for untended hurts.

"Fear not, Adar, we are well," his son said warmly.

"I am glad to hear it," he replied. "When I was apprised of the situation by the Bruinen, I feared the worst."

Glorfindel looked slightly offended. "Have you no faith in your old friend's ability to watch over the elflings, Lord of Imladris?"

Three hot glares bored into blond elf as the twins and Lindir switched their gazes from Elrond to him, and Elrond could not repress his smile.

"I see a brush with danger has done naught to temper your flair for dramatic overstatement, mellon nin," he said.

Lindir rolled his eyes. "There is naught that could temper his flair for dramatic overstatement. Indeed, it is my guess that he did not slay the Balrog as he has so often described. It is more likely he stumbled into the creature with a butter knife after fleeing his breakfast table and it fell over the mountainside by mere chance. How are we to prove otherwise?"

A chorus of laughter greeted Lindir's statement, and Glorfindel slapped his friend heartily on the (injured) arm as he, too, chuckled. The wounded ellon winced sharply. Elladan batted his hand away and rechecked the cloths.

Elrond followed his son to Lindir's bed and watched as Elladan ministered to his patient. "It concerns me greatly that the Enemy's forces were bold enough to launch an assault on Imladris. How is it that they were able to locate our borders?"

"No doubt it is the work of Saruman," replied Glorfindel, sobering at his friend's serious tone. "Oft has the traitor Wizard been to our land, and the Orcs we fought wore helms which bore the white hand that is his mark. Though I do not know what he wished to gain by the assault, for he knows that Imladris' defences are impenetrable."

It was clear to Imladris' ruler what the faithless Istar hoped to gain. "It was a warning from Isengard. Our defences may be impenetrable for the moment, but that would quickly change if the quest failed. Saruman would not sit idly in his dark Tower and allow all the spoils of the North to go to the Dark Lord alone. Fool! Does he not see that Sauron will never share his power?"

A warm hand settled on his shoulder and Elrond looked up to see Elrohir smiling gently down at him. "Do not distress yourself, Adar. Neither Sauron nor Saruman will ever cross the borders of these lands. The quest is safe in the hands of our brother and Frodo; I feel it."

He clasped his son's hand and squeezed it gratefully. "You are as wise as your Daernaneth, iôn nin. Ever do you bring comfort and hope to this father's heart. And," he continued as he rose from his chair and walked towards the arched window next to the bed, staring down at the now-empty courtyard below, "it seems, that you are not the only one to offer me hope this day."

Glorfindel grinned. "So, you have met the Green Witch?"

"Indeed I have."

"And is she not the most remarkable Istar you have ever encountered?"

Elrond thought of the extraordinary woman who had left for the 'Land of Nod' but a half hour since. Smiling, he turned from the window to face kin and friends. "Ah, but no Istar is she," he declared, watching the astonished faces of the room's occupants with some amusement.

"Adar, I saw with my own eyes as she swooped down upon the back of Gwaihir the Windlord and shot fire from her staff into the Orcs on the other side of the River!" declared Elladan, dropping Lindir's arm in his haste to correct his father. Lindir hissed with pain and Elrond rolled his eyes.

Merciful Valar. Has he not taught his sons to be gentle with fresh wounds?

"And I watched as she sent half a dozen wargs soaring through the air as if they were born to flight!" Elrohir stated vehemently.

Born to flight? Not according to Gwaihir - they lacked the 'appropriate appendages'.

"Indeed, mellon nin," said Glorfindel, eager to make his lordly friend see the error of his statement. "Not two minutes after her fortunate arrival, she had despatched at least nine of Saruman's servants into oblivion with the most alarming magical arts I have ever seen. The arrows they aimed at her simply fell from the sky before they could touch either her or the Eagle! And in retaliation for their folly, she turned them into mountain goats!"

Mountain goats? Impressive. Gwaihir must have been thrilled. He wondered if the eagle had chanced a taste...

"And she tore apart several more with a wave of her staff..."

Elrond was relieved she highly approved of her host and made a mental mote not to annoy her in any way whatsoever.

"...I have never seen an Orc sob in fear before..."

Hmm. Neither had he. He rather wished he had had the opportunity of witnessing it for himself.

"...and let us not forget what the Lady shouted at them in her fury..."

Ah, this should be interesting, given what she said she had been yelling at Saruman from the Tower of Orthanc.

"Mind your manners!" the four elves chorused in unison.

Elrond could not stop himself: he laughed.

And laughed.

Soon, the healing room was filled with the laughter of all five elves, and it was several minutes before they were able to control their mirth.

"Ai, Elrond. I tell you, it was one of the most magnificently absurd sights I have ever witnessed," declared Glorfindel, wiping tears of laughter from his face. "If this wondrous Lady is no Istar, then what is she?"

The elf lord left the courtyard view and retook his seat, folding his hands contentedly across his abdomen. He anticipated that his revelation would stun them into silence.

"She is a mortal Witch."

He was (of course) correct. Four astonished faces gazed at him in disbelief.

Lindir was the first to recover the power of speech. "A mortal Witch? But...that cannot be. There is no such thing as a mortal Witch!"

"Ah, but some would argue that there is no such thing as a Witch at all - yet you have seen her with your own eyes, have you not?"

Imladris' resident minstrel could only nod in reply.

"And what is more," said Elrond (thoroughly enjoying the effect his news was having), "the Lady Augusta is on a quest of her own."

Four pairs of ears were hanging on to his every word, so (naturally) he paused and casually flicked lint from his robe while the tension in the room grew to breaking point.

Predictably, Glorfindel was the first to react. "If you do not reveal to us the reason for her quest in the next few seconds, mellon nin, I will seek out that butter knife that proved so effective against the Balrog and see if I cannot manage to 'stumble' into you also!"

Elrond's brows rose in amused disbelief. He would not dare (not in front of his sons, at least).

"We would make no attempt to stop him, Adar," said Elladan firmly. Elrohir nodded in support.

It would appear that the Glorfindel's influence over his offspring was absolute. Celebrian would kill her husband when next she saw him...

"Very well, impatient ones," he relented with a laugh.

"Your rescuer, the very impressive Augusta Longbottom, is on a quest to find her missing grandson."

"Grandson?" repeated Glorfindel (rather stupidly, Elrond observed). "Do you mean..."

"Yes. The lady is both a mother and a grandmother, who hails from a place where Wizards - and Witches - are plentiful and wed as any normal mortal would do in their youth. What is more, she seeks the son of her son who is lost in the lands of Arda as we speak."

"Lost?"

Ai Elbereth! If the Balrog-slayer did not take hold of his senses soon, the lord of the land would be left with no choice but to commit him to the empty bed next to Lindir's and send him into a healing sleep for the next month.

"Indeed: lost. Though...perhaps not."

It was too much for Glorfindel. " I declare you to be the most confounding Elf of my acquaintance, Eärendillion!" he said, thoroughly vexed by his friend. "Either her kin is lost, or he is not. Which is it?"

The golden-haired scourge of Balrogs (and Imladris) was always vastly amusing when he was irked and Elrond debated whether or not he should tease his friend any further. But the frowns he was receiving from both Lindir and his sons changed his mind.

"He is lost to her, at least for the present. But - if my suspicions are correct - her grandson is very much 'found' to the Fellowship."

Elrohir's eyes widened in surprise. "Adar, are you implying..."

"Yes, iôn nin. It is my guess that the Valar, in their great beneficence, have gifted the hope of all Middle Earth with a new Wizard protector. And, if the young one is as remotely competent as his grandmother, they are in very safe hands."

Four jaws dropped in astonishment, and Elrond relaxed back in his chair, feeling very pleased at the renewed hope their remarkable guest had brought them all.

The Fellowship of the Ring had become Nine, once more!