Not Quite a Maia

"My Lady, it is extremely dangerous. I cannot allow it."

Augusta frowned. Can't allow it? What did the fellow mean?

Her six companions were all staring at her in disbelief. Well, five of them were. The splendidly-mannered blond chap - Floor-kindle was it? - was grinning in admiration.

Squaring her shoulders in determination, she gave her host the full benefit of her piercing blue gaze.

"I appreciate your concern, my good fellow. But I am a grown woman - as well as a competent witch - and there really isn't much that you can do to stop me. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

"But Gondor? What can you hope to achieve by travelling there?"

What a perfectly silly question (especially as she'd answered it a thousand times already)! Wasn't it obvious what she hoped to achieve?

"From what you've told me, Gondor is on the edge of this Mordor place that my grandson and the Fellowship are so desperate to reach. I think it very likely that he will have to go there at some point, whether before or after this Frodo fellow melts that bothersome Ring in the fires of Mount Gloom, don't you?"

"Mount Doom, my Lady," offered Glorfindel with a grin.

Mount Doom, Mount Gloom - what was the difference? It didn't exactly sound like a holiday hot-spot either way. And she sincerely doubted that the New Zealand Tourist Information Board recommended it on their 'Must Visit' list of attractions.

Then again, who knew? These New Zealanders seemed like a hardy lot (apart from her arthritic host). They might be attracted by the danger. In which case, she would be happy to give them a list of all the ghastly places she had seen or heard of since she had been there. Perhaps a letter to the appropriate authorities was in order? It was certainly something to think about. Shrugging off the random thought (for the moment), Augusta returned her attention to her host who was still addressing (ranting away at) her.

"And as I have already explained, none can guarantee that they will make for Minas Tirith. Aragorn is aware that the Steward of Gondor is under extreme duress. His City has been plagued by attacks from the evil forces of Sauron for months and - with the Dark Lord growing in strength each day - it is certain to be on the cusp of an all out assault from Mordor! If Denethor discovers that the One Ring is under his very nose, he will not rest until he has possession of it."

"Well then, it seems likely they will probably go there after they've accomplished their mission, don't you think? Especially if your foster son is to be their king. So I might as well go and wait for them there."

"And what if the City is attacked? You will not be safe there."

"My good man, if the city is attacked, nobody will be safe there. However, unlike the good citizens of Gondor, I will be in a better position to protect myself - and them, if I have to."

She patted the coat pocket where her wand was safely hidden.

"You cannot mean to take on the might of Mordor single-handedly!" gasped Erestor. "You are but one Witch. The minions of Sauron will be in their tens of thousands at least!"

"Erestor speaks wisely, Lady Augusta," said one of the excessively handsome sons of (Glamour-ridden) Elrond. "As powerful as you may be, the task is too great for a single Istar."

Oh, this was ridiculous!

"I shall hardly be fighting alone if I'm in a city full of people, shall I? Or do you imagine the citizens of Gondor will hide under their beds and leave me to get on with it, hmm? Is your brother to be king of a city full of spineless wretches?"

"Nay, of course not..."

"Well, there you have it! I understand your concern, young man, and I do appreciate it, but I have made up mind. I am going to Gondor!"

The youth leaned back in his chair, defeated. But his father was not finished yet...

"You are not as familiar with the front lines of war as we are, my Lady. Its brutality and horror may linger in memory for years untold, long after its final battles have been fought. Would you risk such torments to your mind? For even the hardiest of Elves and Men that I have known are not immune to them."

Then what a jolly good thing that she was neither a house-elf nor a man.

"In case you have forgotten, front lines or not, I am more than familiar with the horror of war. I have lived through three of them, if you include the Muggle one. Nevertheless, I would risk anything to see my boy again. And let's not forget; it's not even certain that there will be a war in Gondor. Why, young Frodo might have completed his unhappy task before I even get there! If that's the case, I'll be just in time to meet Neville coming back to your son's castle for a nice cup of tea and a hot bath!"

She would wait until after he'd washed himself before she read him the riot act. It would be the decent thing to do after all his (deluded) exertions...

Elrond was clutching his fists in frustration. "You could be killed."

"It's not a pleasant thought, I admit. But if I found out that something had happened to my grandson while I was busy enjoying all the excellent hospitality your home has to offer, that would kill me just as effectively."

He frowned at her. "As admirable as your loyalty to your kin is, I must object. Forgive me for being indelicate, but you are not exactly in the first flush of your youth and it may very well be that the arduous journey to Gondor alone will affect you adversely - especially given the dangers such a journey entails in these uncertain times."

Not in the first flush of her youth? Why, the outrageous hypocrite! At least she wasn't relying on the magic of her own kitchen staff to hold back the steady encroach of old age!

Not that old age was encroaching on her either, of course (it had already arrived). No! she was as sprightly and feisty now as she had been twenty years ago! And if this middle-aged, stiff-jointed, pointy-eared, poor influence on house-elves (who were probably rolling on the kitchen floor in an alcoholic stupor while that evening's roast beef scorched into a carbon lump in the oven) had the gall to stand in front of her and claim she didn't have the fortitude to travel, then she would show him!

"I'm not exactly knocking at death's door, either!" she declared, irritated beyond belief. "For your information, witches - and wizards - can live for a very long time! Why, Albus Dumbledore himself wasn't a day less than one hundred and fifty when he popped his clogs, which would make me barely middle-aged!"

Having no idea what 'popped his clogs' meant, the dark-haired man could only frown in confusion.

"And what's more, I've never been sick a day in my life, so I hardly think a short trip to Gondor will be enough to finish me off!"

She could see Floor-kindle still grinning at her from the corner of her eye.

"'Tis no short journey, my Lady," offered her host's advisor gently. "It will be many weeks of strenuous travel on horseback. You would have to scale the Misty Mountains to Lothlórien, ride across the Field of Celebrant, through the Wold of Rohan then onwards to Minas Tirith. That is a journey of almost two weeks at best."

The long list of (oddly named) places she had never heard of made her spirits flag temporarily. Her companions - noting her crestfallen look - believed she may finally have regained her senses and it was with some relief that Elrond laid a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Do not despair, Lady Augusta. If the quest is victorious, then we may all travel together to Minas Tirith at our leisure and there you will be reunited with young Neville. Until then, I would be honoured if you would consider my home your own."

But Augusta Longbottom was not finished yet.

"Surely there must be an easier way to Gondor, young man?" she demanded of Erestor. "Don't you have the Floo Network? Or broomsticks?"

Six blank stares was all the answer she needed to that question. Oh, what she wouldn't give for a good Cleansweep right about now! Or even Gwaihir. What a pity the giant bird had flown off so quickly! Still, perhaps Elrond would lend her a horse? Although, admittedly, she hadn't ridden in decades (having only taken a few lessons in her teenage years to impress the local Muggle farmer's lad - who'd had excellent teeth. Always a winner in her books).

"The only other option to provide as quick a passage," offered Erestor again (earning him a glare from her ageing host), "is to journey past Isengard - an unwise decision given your previous experiences there. Even were you to slip undetected through the Gap of Rohan and reach the Great West Road, if Saruman is indeed gathering an army of Orcs, then they shall most certainly soon strike at the very land you seek to traverse. You may be caught in the hostilities before you so much as pass the Fords of Isen."

Augusta brightened immediately. "Past Isengard, you say? And how long would it take to reach this Minas Tirith after that?"

Bemused at her sudden restoration to good spirits, Erestor spoke without thinking. "Five or six days at good speed, but..."

The formidable woman gave him a rare, beaming smile. "Five or six days? Well, why didn't you say so in the first place! That's less than half the time. Why, I could be there by this time next week!"

"My Lady, I fail to see how that is possible," said her host, whose eyebrows had shot up his forehead in alarm at her enthusiasm. "Even with the swiftest of my horses, it will take more than one day to travel from here to Isengard."

That's what he thought.

"Of course it won't, my good fellow! It'll take no longer than the blink of an eye!"

"That is not possible," insisted her deeply concerned host. "Even Gandalf the Grey could not magic himself over such great distances."

Well, that was his bad luck for not passing his Apparition test, wasn't it?

"And even if you have such an ability, why did you not use it to free yourself from Orthanc sooner? Or magic your way to Gondor this very second? Nay, it cannot be done."

"It can be done, my good man. And the reason I didn't 'magic' my way away from that ghastly place earlier was because that cad of a wizard had my wand. Not to mention the fact that the only other place I'd seen in the area was a cave full of dead orcs - dead at the end of my wand, I might add. I'd never heard of Imladris or Gondor before Gwaihir brought me here, and one can hardly Apparate to places they've never visited or seen in a decent photograph. Now, however, I am fully capable of Apparating between here and Isengard and have every intention of doing so. After that, I'll just have to find my own way to Minas Tirith. Perhaps if I stop off at Helm's Deep on the way, some nice Rohirrim will lend me a horse and a guide - unless one of you would be willing to accompany me?"

The blond chap sprang out of his chair. "My Lady, it would be my very great honour to act as your guide!"

Oh, what a marvellously super fellow he was!

"Well, thank you very much, young man. That's very decent of you! And I suppose I could always turn a harness or two into Portkeys and have a couple of horses transported with us. Of course, you're not really supposed to use that spell without informing the relevant authorities first, but I don't imagine there's much of a Ministry of Magic in this country, what with only five wizards left, so I shan't worry about that. I might have to Stun the poor beasts first, though. Wouldn't want them whinnying in fright all the way from here to the Wizard's Vale!"

"But, my Lady! You have still not explained how you will get there!" exclaimed her horrified host.

"Did I not just say that I would Apparate?" she asked, irked that he hadn't been paying attention.

"And what is this ... Apparate?" he demanded as the rest of their companions looked on in deep confusion.

It would be easier to show him.

Grabbing her wand from her pocket and thrusting her elbow in his direction, Augusta said: "Come on then; hold on tight."

"To your arm?" asked Elrond, in a rare moment of stupidity.

"Of course to my arm! Or do you see me waving my leg in your face?"

There was a burst of tinkling laughter and the graceful man turned to scowl at his sons.

Augusta threw a glance at Glorfindel. "Well, you'd better come along too if you're going to be my guide, young fellow. The first Apparition may be a bit uncomfortable, and I'd rather you knew what to expect before we set off for good."

Elrond frowned when she mentioned 'uncomfortable', but didn't remove his hand, which pleased her greatly. How very comforting to know that the decrepit fellow was still up for a little adventure despite his bothersome arthritis! Floor-kindle, on the other hand (she was pleased to note) was absolutely delighted at the prospect of an unexpected magical journey.

"Now, don't worry gentlemen. I won't take us straight to that idiot wizard's front door, or anything so foolish. We will be somewhere he'll never see us!"

And before the astonished eyes of her host's children and advisor, she turned on the spot and ...

... landed all three of them on the very same pinnacle which Gwaihir rescued her from not so very long ago.

"Ai, Elbereth!" cried Elrond (who was staggering across the platform and grasping at his head as if he was trying to pull his ears back out of his skull).

"Ai, Elbereth!" cried Glorfindel (who had recovered a little faster than his friend and, though not staggering, was checking to make sure his eyes were still in their sockets).

Augusta, however, was as fresh as a daisy. Which was just as well - she had to make a grab for Elrond's sleeve before he staggered off the edge of the pinnacle and plunged to his death onto the little balcony several hundred feet below.

Something that would, no doubt, stun her former captor into eternal speechlessness (which would not necessarily be a bad thing in her book, if it didn't come at the expense of her kind host's life).

In order to preserve said life, she Conjured an armchair and gently pushed the dark-haired man into it.

"There you go. I don't want to stay here too long, but you'll need a few minutes to recover yourself before we go back, by the looks of things."

"That was undoubtedly the most ... unusual ... form of transport I have ever experienced," gasped Elrond after he had recovered somewhat.

"It's not so very bad once you get used to it," Augusta replied, Conjuring him a glass and filling it with water. He accepted it gratefully.

Her future travelling companion, however, was well enough to stare over the platform and give a cry of disgust.

"See what he has done to the gardens of Isengard! What foul madness has gripped the once-proud leader of the White Council?"

"The lust for power, mellon nin," replied Elrond gravely between sips, making Augusta frown.

Why on earth he was calling his friend a melon? Perhaps he was still a little stunned from the Apparition? That must be it. With a shake of her head, she called for their attention and pointed through the thick clouds of black smoke rising up from the Ring of Isengard.

"Over there between the mountains is a pass that must be the Gap of Rohan. I saw it briefly when Gwaihir circled the tower before flying north, but I didn't get a close enough look to be able to Apparate to it, I'm afraid."

"Indeed you are correct, Lady. It is the Gap of Rohan," confirmed Elrond. "Yet, even though I am now aware of your impressive ability to magic yourself and others across great distances, it may still prove difficult to slip through the pass unnoticed."

A flock of noisy black crows to the east caught their attention.

"Crebain!" announced Glorfindel, a little concerned. "We must leave before they see us or the White Wizard will know we spy upon him. He must not become aware of our intentions!"

"Don't panic, young fellow," said Augusta primly, Vanishing the seat Elrond had vacated and sticking out her elbows. "Grab on now, chaps. Time to go, I think."

And as quick as a flash, the two men grabbed her coat sleeves and allowed her to whisk them back to the comfort of Imladris.

"Adar!" cried the exceptionally pretty Arwen and her brothers in unison, dashing to their father as he (once again) staggered after releasing her arm.

"Glorfindel!" cried Erestor, leaping from his chair and grabbing the towering blond as he checked for the presence of his eyes a second time.

Augusta huffed in irritation. "Yes, I'm quite well, too, thank you very much! Don't worry, they were perfectly safe. I wouldn't allow any harm to come to them."

"Forgive us, Lady Augusta," said one of the twins contritely. "We meant not to dismiss you. It is just that we have not seen our father vanish so swiftly since ..."

He seemed at a loss for words.

"Since our younger brother, in his tenth year, asked him to explain why the ladies had separate bathing arrangements," finished the other dashing twin, earning himself a hot glare from his (miraculously recovered) father.

Ah. The birds and the bees. Mr Longbottom had had a similar reaction when first their son, then their grandson, had approached that thorny subject. She'd been left to explain it to each of them in her own no-nonsense way (Men have bits. Ladies don't. Babies are born. Any questions? No? Smashing!).

Satisfied with the answer, she nodded at them in approval and took her seat.

"Adar, where did you go?" queried Arwen as she retook her own seat next to Augusta.

But it was Glorfindel who answered. "Lady Augusta took us to the Tower of Orthanc itself!"

Ah, Floor-kindle was still deeply impressed with her ability to Apparate (though, if she was honest, his reaction might not have been quite so enthusiastic if he had returned with two gaping holes where his eyes used to be).

"The Tower of Orthanc!" cried Erestor, leaping from his chair (yet again).

"Peace, Erestor," said her host, holding a hand up to calm the advisor. "We arrived on the pinnacle of the Tower only and were not discovered. However, as I was saying before we left, Lady ..."

He turned his gaze to the elderly witch.

"... I still do not see how you will both be able to slip through the Gap of Rohan without evading capture."

"I must admit to curiosity on that matter myself," said Elladan. Or possibly Elrohir.

Stifling a sigh of impatience, Augusta answered.

"Don't worry, gentlemen. A simple Disillusionment charm will take care of that. We will be perfectly safe."

Floor-kindle looked delighted (again).

Elrond, however, was not satisfied with her answer. "You have already admitted that your presence was detected once before under this ... Disillusionment ... and that you were forced to reveal yourself. You cannot guarantee that it will not happen again."

Oh, yes, she jolly well could! Because this time, she'd not be locked in the great hall of Orthanc and falling for the cheap seduction of a ghastly wizard, would she? In fact, she'd be nowhere near the blighter's miserable tower! Suppressing a shiver at the memory (and a flush of embarrassment as she remembered how willing she had been to abandon Neville to his fate while she took a 'long, cool sip' of the silly man's 'lemony goodness'), the elderly witch replied:

"That was only because I gave myself away with a rather foolish burst of accidental magic ..."

Which was partly true, but she'd swallow her own hat (with vulture attached) before she admitted to everyone present that she had revealed herself just because she'd liked the sound of Saruman's voice.

"... I can assure you, that will not happen again ..."

Not in a million years.

"... because we won't be going anywhere near Orthanc, will we? So we don't have to worry about bumping into him. And his orcs will never notice us either because I've already managed to follow a full hundred of them, under the very same charm, all the way to Isengard without being detected. All I have to do is Apparate us a few miles away from the tower itself, then we wait for the horses. Then I'll Disillusion the lot of us - and off we go!"

"So we shall be almost invisible?" Glorfindel remarked, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "A fascinating thought. More so because I saw several battalions of Orcs marching through the filth of Isengard from our vantage point. If we do run into any of Saruman's forces, they may never know we are there ..."

The man looked positively ecstatic at the damage he could do to an army of orcs who would not be able to see him.

"Exactly!" declared the witch, hugely satisfied.

"You cannot hope to attack the armies of Isengard between you!" exclaimed Arwen, whose eyes had rounded in shock.

"Of course not, young lady! However, if there's the chance to cause a little ... tension ... in their ranks, that will have the added benefit of assisting the poor people of Rohan, then who are we not to take it? I won't be able to simply pass the orcs by and let them get on with it, knowing what they'll probably get up to - not after the way that smelly fellow talked about humans in the cave. Why, the people of Rohan wouldn't stand a chance! And I know a few handy spells that ought to decrease the orcs' numbers by a few dozen - more if we're lucky."

Some of which were of her own invention (and therefore bound to devastate the unfortunate target). Of course, any decent wizard worth his salt could probably counter them (which ruled out Saruman) but those stinking orcs weren't wizards. So things were looking up!

Very pleased with herself, she sat back and gave a little sigh of satisfaction.

Her companion-to-be was beaming happily. "I think it a most excellent plan, Lady Augusta. Indeed, I cannot recall the last time I looked forward to travelling with such fervent anticipation."

Elrond rolled his eyes. "And when do you plan to depart, my Lady?"

A good question. The sooner the better was her initial thought, but that would be foolish without some preparation. She would have to study maps and learn a little about Gondor and its most recent history (Neville would probably be made a peer of the realm when he returned to it in victory, which would be a good topic of conversation back home - the ladies at the Knitting Bee would be vastly impressed and want to know all about the little kingdom in New Zealand).

She looked briefly at the (still grinning) Floor-kindle.

Hmm.

He was excessively handsome.

Which could be a problem. After all, what would the locals think if she turned up dishevelled and travel-worn, and with a dashing young man bringing up the rear? It would be most inconvenient to be hunted out of the city she desperately needed to get into just because the decent people of Gondor thought she was some sort of cradle-robbing hussy.

She'd just have to pass him off as her son. Or nephew.

What a topping idea!

And perhaps give him a new name? After all, if they bumped into the Steward of the lands, she could hardly introduce him as 'Floor-kindle' - he'd never be taken seriously. But what name? It had better be one that would spring easily to mind. She thought instantly of the splendidly-dentured Muggle farmer's lad.

"Would you mind terribly if I called you 'Archibald'?" she enquired of 'Floor-kindle'. "Just for as long as we're in Minas Tirith, of course."

It wiped the smile off the man's face. "Archibald? Why, erm, certainly. If you think it wise ..."

"I think it's probably for the best to remain incognito in the city - at least until Neville and your friends arrive. So while we're waiting for them, you can be my nephew. Archibald Longbottom!"

"Your nephew, my Lady?"

He said it with such disbelief that she narrowed her eyes at him.

"Yes, my nephew. Is there something wrong with that, young man? Because let me assure you, I am most certainly not passing you off as another grandson! Or do you imagine I look ancient enough to have a grandchild of your age?"

"Nay, indeed that would never be possible ..."

"Well then," she said, cutting him off before he could elaborate. "Nephew it is. Wouldn't want King Aragorn's subjects getting the wrong idea about a close family friend, after all. Think of the scandal it would cause!"

The twins and Erestor burst into gales of laughter, joined by Arwen's delightfully merry tinkling. Elrond was (uselessly) trying to control his mirth, but his shaking shoulders gave him away and Archibald glared at him in betrayal.

Oh, really; what was the fellow so upset about? It was a perfectly respectable name. Had she not just made him a Longbottom? There could be no higher honour than that!

Hoping he would get used to it before they left (and mentally debating whether to add another day's delay to their departure time, just in case) Augusta addressed her host.

"I think perhaps if we leave the day after tomorrow, that would be plenty of time to make some arrangements and gather supplies. That is, if you don't mind me raiding your stores a little. I promise not to take very much, but I may have to borrow a horse or two for my nephew and I."

She shot Floor-kindle a look, daring him to argue her claim to blood-ties. He didn't (of course).

"Lady Augusta, allow me to make available to you whatever you may require for your journey. You may of course use one of our steeds and it will gladden your heart to know that Archibald will be able to provide his own."

Another round of sniggers from all the men (except Glorfindel/Floor-kindle/Archibald) swept the circle.

"Oh, splendid. Well, now that we have a plan, my good fellow, I'd say it's about time to start putting the wheels into motion, wouldn't you?"

"Indeed, my Lady," agreed her ageing host as he rose elegantly from his chair and offered her his arm. "Allow me to Apparate you to my study where we may discuss what provisions you require."

His grey eyes twinkled at her merrily and she almost laughed. Apparate her to his study, indeed! He'd be lucky if he could negate the stairs to the house without cracking a hip. Still, at least he was willing to risk it to escort her himself (for a change). And who would have thought the regal chap had a sense of humour?

Offering a tight-lipped smile, she took his arm and they left the garden with their companions (and a glum-faced Archibald) in tow, thereby ending the Second Council of Elrond.

The very next day, Augusta exited her chamber into the bright, late morning sunshine with the intention of taking a post-breakfast stroll. She walked briskly across the terrace to the stairs, grasping onto the smoothly carved handrail as she descended. There were a few people wandering the gardens already and many stopped to greet her or smile in acknowledgement as they made their way to the stables or wherever their quick feet carried them.

Garathor was walking towards the steps just as she left them and he gave her a cautious look as he approached (probably wondering where her bosom-inducing wand was). Seeing it nowhere in sight, the young ranger gave a visible sigh of relief (which almost made her laugh) and smiled at her warmly.

"Lady Augusta. A blessed morn to you."

"Good morning, young man. I hope you're well?"

"How considerate of you to ask!" he said, looking thrilled that she cared enough to enquire after his health.

Poor fellow. He probably hadn't been asked that by someone old enough to be his mother (or in her case, grandmother) in the last two years (if his ale-swilling boss was to be believed).

"I am in excellent health! Indeed, the sight of your good self and the sound of your kind words is enough to make my heart take flight!"

Gracious. He was certainly keen. In fact, he was bouncing with enthusiasm right before her eyes. If the happy chappy wasn't careful, he'd soon be following that heart of his wherever it flew off to. Deciding it was probably a good idea to introduce a little sobriety (before he threw his arms around her and started calling her 'Mummy'), she gave him one of her (now infamous) assessing stares.

"I missed you at breakfast this morning, young man. You haven't been avoiding me and my Earl Grey by any chance?"

It worked. Garathor suddenly looked like he'd rather be having his toenails yanked by a starving orc than standing at the foot of the stairs and discussing the horrific ritual she put the Rangers of the North (and everyone else) through at breakfast each morning.

"Ah, yes. Erm, forgive me, my Lady. I was otherwise occupied. Yes, that is exactly it. My Captain charged me with the care of the steeds this morning and I have been grooming them for the last hour."

Care of the steeds? What was the boy talking about?

Frowning, she searched his youthful face for the tell-tale signs of deception, but either he was being completely honest with her, or he was the world's best liar.

"I thought there were stable-hands to deal with that?" she asked doubtfully.

"Indeed, Lady. But the stables are full to capacity with so many Rangers in Imladris. Therefore, we often lend the Elves our aid."

So, they kept the house-elves in the stables too, did they? Well, that was certainly unusual.

"And while we are there, we assist with the grooming of the Elven steeds, also. It is a small gesture of our gratitude towards our gracious hosts."

That piece of information was enough to stop the elderly witch from interrogating her companion further.

Good heavens! Elven steeds? Did he mean that house-elves had horses? Whatever for? They were able to Apparate, surely? Then again, perhaps it was some sort of very odd house-elf entertainment? Yes, that must be it! It must be their equivalent of sport - like Quidditch, without the broomsticks. Well, that sounded very fascinating! Perhaps they wouldn't mind if she popped over for a gander? She'd never seen house-elves at play before and it might be quite interesting to watch. She could pass off her curiosity as a need to select her own mount for the upcoming trip. Elrond wouldn't mind.

Just as she was about to ask Garathor the direction of the stables, the young ranger (who was taking full advantage of her distraction) sidled around her, mumbling his apologies for not being able to stay longer and chat and made a dash for the breakfast hall - no doubt relieved that he'd be able to partake of his 'blackberry juice' without her glowering at him (he was unaware that she'd charmed all the jugs to produce only Earl Grey).

Oh, well. Her trip to the local sporting arena would have to wait until later. Which wasn't a bad idea, really. Elrond might be offended if she didn't allow him the opportunity to select a suitable mount for her himself (something he had insisted on the day before). Plus, she would have to test out her Portus charm on the horses. It was terribly bothersome that they couldn't grip on to her themselves, but then they didn't have hands did they? And she couldn't exactly ask them to cling on to her coat-tails with their teeth while she hurtled all four of them towards the Wizard's Vale, could she? No, a Stunning spell and a time-delayed Portkey would have to suffice. But she would need the afternoon to practice.

Still, at least she had finally had the opportunity to ask Lindir to give her a song that evening! It was with much chagrin that she learned he had never heard of Celestina Warbeck, but he had been delighted at the chance to sing an 'elven' song for her - something which had almost made her eyes pop out her head in astonishment. She had no idea the industrious little creatures composed songs too! But heavens! They must be very good if the locals had picked them up and rattled them off at the drop of a hat. Augusta strolled across the courtyard, wondering idly what sort of musical masterpieces the much-admired (but oddly elusive), towel-wearing beings (and now equestrians) would compose. Perhaps a song about kitchens? Or housework? What would such a song sound like?

Spotting a bench overlooking the numerous artistic displays of gardenias, hyacinths and several other blooms (some she didn't recognise but bet her grandson would - a thought that made her clench her teeth in annoyance), Augusta took a seat and amused herself for half an hour with possible lyrics for house-elf songs, humming a merry tune as she composed her own version of one:

Augusta frowned. Somehow, she couldn't picture an elegant chap like Lindir belting that out to the likes of Elrond, Arwen, Erestor and the twin pin-ups of Imladris. Still, no doubt the furry-faced, alcoholic rangers would appreciate it.

A fresh wind blew the scent of the blooms towards her and the elderly witch inhaled it appreciatively. Might as well enjoy it while she could, given where she and Floor-kindle would be going the following day.

She sighed at the thought. It wasn't that she wasn't looking forward to taking some definitive action in the hunt for Neville, but she was still rather peeved at the necessity of it all. After all, she could be sitting comfortably in her own kitchen at that very moment, eating her porridge while he filled out the Auror application form she had collected for him. Why had he felt it necessary to pick himself up and take himself off to the other side of the world to fight in another war? It wasn't as if he had to prove himself, for heaven's sake! Quest or not, when she got her hands on that boy, he had some serious explaining to do ...

Just as she was debating what punishments she would devise for her wayward grandson, she heard a call.

"Oh, good morning!" cried an aged voice, startling her so much she clutched at her chest.

Where the deuce had that come from? She scanned the gardens with keen blue eyes. There was nobody there. Believing she had imagined it, Augusta lost herself for another few seconds in thought until:

"Good morning, Green Witch!"

Green Witch? Well, that was her (whether she liked it or not), wasn't it?

Augusta pulled herself up from the bench and took a more thorough look around until she spotted the owner of the mysterious voice.

Good heavens! It must be one of the house-elves!

Thrilled at the opportunity of finally seeing one of the eccentric beings that Elrond and her new friends seemed to admire so much, she made her way back to the main building and climbed the staircase to meet him. The little chap was still waving as she approached.

But he was most definitely not a house-elf.

He was, in fact, the oddest little man she had ever seen. Not an inch over three and a half feet, he had snowy white hair and large brown eyes which twinkled up at her merrily. His ears were slightly pointed with - good grief! - stray hairs protruding from them (which made her thankful for the very good fortune she had had in being born female). He wore a smart yellow waistcoat over a cream-coloured shirt and his trousers tapered off just below the knees, drawing her attention to surely the most enormous, hairiest feet she had ever clapped eyes on. Another wizard's curse, perhaps (something which seemed to be doing the rounds in this corner of the world)?

Well, be that as it may, it was not polite to stare (and certainly beyond the bounds of civility to question the poor fellow's physical misfortune), so she smiled pleasantly and extended her hand.

"Good morning to you, my good fellow. And you are?"

The funny little man dropped his tiny walking stick, clasped her proffered hand warmly between his own two smaller ones and executed a shaky bow.

"Bilbo Baggins at your service and your family's! Oh, but I must say this is a very exciting moment for me! A Witch! A real, live Witch! Never in all my years did I ever dream I would have such a privilege!"

Yes, she was getting that a lot these days.

"I am Augusta Longbottom, my good fellow," she replied.

How strange to meet someone older than herself in Imladris - the urge to address him as 'young fellow' or 'young chap' was almost overpowering, though it would be grossly inappropriate. But why on earth hadn't Elrond offered the ancient little man a decent Glamour charm from one of the house-elves? He was happy enough to spread them around just about every other inhabitant in his household ...

Bilbo didn't seem to care - he was practically bouncing with glee on his knobbly legs as a torrent of words leapt from his smiling lips. "Yes, so I've heard. The famous Green Witch who defended the borders of Imladris on the back of an Eagle! How exciting! Oh, how I wish I had been witness to that! However, I mustn't grumble. I've seen a lot of very exciting things in my life - much more than your average Hobbit, you know, what with dragons and trolls and Elvenkings and Dwarves! And now a Witch! Who would have thought it? A simple Hobbit from the Shire meeting a Witch! And isn't it just like Gandalf to have kept such a delicious secret! But never mind all that - won't you join me for elevenses? I have tea, you know - Lindir told me you enjoy it just as much as I do. A tea-drinking Witch! What glory days these are ..."

It was very rare for anyone to two-foot the formidable Longbottom matriarch, but in the space of thirty seconds, this merry little fellow had done just that. Why, she hadn't been able to get a word in edge-ways! Still, he was incredibly endearing, with his smart little clothes and bright, shining eyes. It was always pleasant to meet someone who took such pride in their appearance (but who didn't overdo it like that useless fop Gilderoy Lockhart. Every time she passed his bed on the way to Frank's and Alice's during her monthly trips to St Mungo's, she had to fight the urge to blast his teeth out. As if she wanted his autograph!).

She accepted Bilbo's kind invitation gratefully, vastly relieved to meet a New Zealander who had heard of elevenses, and picked up his walking stick to save him the bother of bending down to retrieve it himself (he didn't look very much like he'd be able to get back up again). Her new companion chatted happily away as he hobbled in the direction of his quarters, with her matching his pace beside him (it was only polite). After a few minutes of walking and much ear-bending (on his part), they came to a door on the other side of the building.

"Now, Lady Augusta, if you would care to follow me to the balcony? It overlooks the gardens on this side, you know - I do love my gardens. And there's a nice little table and chairs set up with tea and scones - you don't object to my presumptuousness, do you? Only, I took the chance of ordering for two from the kitchens in case I should be lucky enough to spot you. Lindir said you mentioned that you might take a stroll outside this morning. How delightful that you did!"

"Thank you, my good fellow, for the invitation to tea. You are most kind. If I may ask a small favour of you, though?"

Surprised, the elderly hobbit looked up at her in concern. "Why of course, dear lady ... anything!"

"It would be vastly pleasant to have someone address me as simply 'Augusta' for a change. Would you mind awfully?"

"Would I mind ... why, no! I would be delighted!" declared Bilbo, almost hopping with happiness (and reminding her strangely of a cheerful Trevor - not that she had ever seen the stupid toad smile). "And I insist you return the favour and call me Bilbo! None of this 'Master Baggins' nonsense for you, dear lady. Oh, no! For I believe we shall get along famously and therefore ought to speak as friends do. Yes. 'Augusta' and 'Bilbo' will do very nicely!"

Hmm. She hadn't actually called him 'Master Baggins' in the first place. Still, the exuberant little man (or hobbit, as he insisted on calling himself - which she assumed to be some sort of mini-Muggle) had voiced a desire for her to address him in a particular manner and it would be impolite of her not to heed his wishes (regardless of how much it killed her).

"Excellent. Now, my good fel ... ehm Bilbo, I believe there's a decent cup of Earl Grey awaiting us on that balcony. Shall we?"

At least she hoped it was Earl Grey.

But from the puzzled frown on her host's face, she suspected not. Oh, well. Better grit her teeth and swallow whatever it was - after all, she was a stranger in this land, and the little man had been gracious enough to share the (apparently rare in these parts) beverage with her in the first place.

"I mean, I am very much looking forward to a refreshing cup of your excellent tea, Bilbo," she amended and her host nodded in understanding.

"Ah, I see. Wonderful, wonderful." He proffered his arm, like a proper little gentleman, and she took it gratefully (a feat in itself considering the fact that he was almost two feet shorter than her). Bilbo led her through his homely little room and she surveyed his domain with interest. It was a little untidy, to say the least, but pleasantly so. Scrolls and inkpots were spread across an adorable little Bilbo-sized table; a little yellow settee was angled by the fire, its cushions scattered across the floor and replaced by books. At the far end of the room, the edge of a small bed could be seen peeking behind a tall, painted screen. Several colourful tapestries adorned the walls.

All in all, a very charming little abode.

They exited the main chamber and stood upon a little balcony overlooking the beautiful gardens of Imladris and facing south across the ravine of the River Bruinen. Despite the chill weather outside its borders, Elrond's land seemed to be flourishing, and the heady scent of gardenias and roses drifted upwards to create a very delightful perfume.

"Wonderful, isn't it?" said Bilbo eagerly, watching her face as she stopped to inhale deeply.

"Quite delightful."

He smiled widely. "Well then, shall we take a seat?"

Ah yes - a seat. She paused, afraid to discover how small her seat might actually be. Everything else in the hobbit's room appeared to have been made to measure his particular dimensions, and she had the sudden horrible thought that she may be forced to squat in a chair meant for a four-year-old.

Very inelegant. How on earth could she carry on a civil conversation with the little fellow if her posterior was crammed into a chair meant for someone two feet shorter? And her knees would be practically shoved into her face (which meant her host would have a rather excellent view of her underwear - she was wearing a dress, after all).

The thought of baring her bloomers at her age was enough to make her blush. Not to mention the fact that the shock of such intimate exposure might finish the elderly chap off. It would be most unfortunate to have rescued the Lord of the Land's children with her impressive wand, only to kill his guests with a flash of her frilly safety knickers.

Oh for goodness sake! Was she a witch, or not? She could always make the stupid chair larger. Annoyed at her own foolishness, she allowed herself to be led the short distance to the table - and saw that she need not have worried in the first place. Her host, it seemed, had made provision for his taller guest. A normal-sized table and chairs graced the edge of the veranda. In fact, as she gratefully took her seat, it appeared that her ancient companion was the one who might struggle to fit into his chair: a collection of books had been progressively stacked one upon the other for him to reach the man-sized chair, and the chair itself was housed with several fat cushions to raise his height to the table.

Well, that wouldn't do! What if the poor chap stumbled on one of those makeshift 'steps' and fell over? He'd break his leg for certain!

She watched in horror as he gamely placed one leg on a precarious pile of books and began to climb.

No - it simply wouldn't do!

"Excuse me, Bilbo - if I may make a suggestion?"

The hobbit paused in his climb, slightly breathless with the effort.

"Eh? What? Of course," he replied, clearly confused.

"Perhaps it would be easier for me to offer you a more comfortable seat?"

His brow crinkled further until she withdrew her wand. The sight of it chased the clouds of confusion from his face and he eagerly stepped away from the shaky pile of books.

"You're going to use magic?" he enquired, flushed with excitement.

"Of course. I simply cannot in all good conscience watch you navigate that pile of books while I sit back in comfort. If I may?"

She indicated the chair with a nod of her head and he gave permission in kind, his brown eyes sparkling with curiosity as she approached it. With a quick flick of her wrist, she sent the books flying back to the bedroom and smiled as they landed on the yellow settee. Bilbo was thrilled when they floated merrily past him and out of sight. Then, a few quick taps of her wand, and the hobbit's rather inaccessible chair was transfigured into a more appropriate one - with little steps leading up to the raised seat itself and a handrail to steady himself with. It was identical in pattern to the carved mahogany masterpiece he had offered her, but she added a little extra padding around the edges for his comfort.

Essentially, it was little more than a glorified high-chair (without the fold-down table to match) but Bilbo need never know.

Satisfied with her work, she stepped back. "There, now. Is that better? It's the same height as mine, but I raised the seat on yours ever so slightly to accommodate your stature. You should be able to mount it comfortably and sit at a level with any of your taller guests. What do you think?"

Augusta glanced at her host for his opinion, but he was gaping in speechless wonder at the pretty chair.

Excellent! A seal of approval then.

"Do you require assistance to climb it?" she enquired politely, waving her hand in front of his eyes to snap him out of his fugue.

"What? Assistance? Climb?" He seemed startled. "Oh, the chair! No, my dear, I think I shall manage very well indeed with steps and rail."

She watched as he walked towards the waiting chair and slowly pulled himself up it, before settling down comfortably on the seat. Then, to her surprise, he stood up and clambered back down it, hand sliding over the rail with each small step.

"Is there something wrong?" she asked as he reached the bottom and grinned up at her.

"No, no. Not at all - quite the contrary."

To her great amusement, he turned around and climbed back up the steps again. Up and down, up and down another twice before finally sinking in to the seat and beaming at her.

"Everything is absolutely perfect," sighed the elderly hobbit blissfully. "My very own magical chair - how Frodo would laugh!"

He was having a good old laugh himself, she observed wryly. Hmm. Wasn't Frodo the poor fellow Elrond had referred to during their talk yesterday? And hadn't he called him Baggins at one point, too? That would mean her current host was the one who'd originally found that blasted Ring. But did he know about the quest to destroy it? Probably. Still, it was best not to talk about it just in case. She had given her word as a Longbottom not to discuss their meeting and she would sooner adopt a Malfoy than break such a sacred vow.

She let him enjoy the 'magic' of his chair in peace a little longer and moved to the table. A silver tray was set with cups, saucers, and an astonishing amount of sandwiches, cakes and fruit.

Good heavens! There were only two of them. Who on earth was all this food for?

"Oh, don't trouble yourself, Augusta. You are my guest, after all!" declared Bilbo, recovering enough from his delighted chuckles to watch in dismay as she placed the strainer over a cup and began to pour.

"Don't be silly now Bilbo - you've had quite the adventure climbing that chair and I'll not have you getting off it again. It's my pleasure to pour for you. Now, do sit back and enjoy your tea."

And before he could object any further, she placed the small cup and saucer in front of him and offered him milk, which he declined.

Taking her seat, the Longbottom matriarch poured herself a cuppa and stirred before sipping at the brew. Mm, quite delicious.

Bilbo smiled, carefully sipping at his own tea. "You approve?"

"Quite. It may not be Earl Grey, but it's a welcome relief to the water and wine that everybody else seems keen to pour down my throat these days."

Not to mention the ale.

He laughed. "I know what you mean. Oh, water and wine - and even ale - are very refreshing in their own way, but nothing gets the juices flowing quite like a bracing cup of tea. I'm very fond of it, but so few people here drink it - another reason to be grateful for your presence. Tea tastes so much better with company!"

Ah, a man after her own heart! Or should that be mini-Muggle? Regardless; he seemed a very fine, respectable (if slightly eccentric) sort of person and she was very much enjoying his company.

"So," Bilbo began, setting a plate heaped with food in front of himself before taking a quick sip of tea, "tell me, Augusta; where do you come from and are you staying long - if I may be so bold as to ask a Witch's business?"

"Of course you may ask, my good fel ... Bilbo. I come from Yorkshire in England - you have heard of England? It's in the extreme north?"

She wasn't entirely surprised when he shook his head - no one in Imladris had heard of her green and pleasant land (which was outrageous, of course). Still, the little man was absolutely ancient, so it was possible he had heard of it - and had then completely forgotten that he knew. Convinced of his encroaching senility, she decided it was best not to dwell on the matter and answered the rest of his question.

"As for how long I'll be staying, I leave tomorrow morning."

A clatter of porcelain on porcelain. "So soon? Oh, that is a dreadful shame. And I was so looking forward to enjoying your company for a good while longer!"

What a delightfully pleasant little mini-Muggle! Er, hobbit. Really, he had only met her five minutes ago and already he was lamenting her absence! A proper little gentleman, if ever she'd met one!

"Confusticate and bebother! Oh, I beg your pardon, dear lady, but I was rather looking forward to making your acquaintance at leisure. Now, I suppose I shall have to be content with an afternoon only, which is a dreadful pity."

He looked very disappointed, but then rallied bravely.

"Still, there's no point in refusing one mushroom just because it hasn't brought its brothers and sisters with it to keep it company in the omelette! So let us make the best of it, shall we? You must tell me all about yourself! How did you meet Gandalf? Have you known him for very long? But of course you must have! You are a Witch after all! And how very like him not to have mentioned you - he's like that, as you know. Never reveals more than he thinks is necessary to confound one poor Hobbit at any one time!"

Did the little chap just liken her to a mushroom? What a very odd thing to do.

"I'm afraid I've never had the pleasure of meeting this Gandalf fellow ..." Augusta began, but she was interrupted before she could get any further.

"Never met Gandalf? Good gracious me! What a strange thing! But then, you've probably been very much occupied in this land of Eng on important Wizardly bus ... I mean Witchly business, haven't you? How fascinating! And what is it you do there? Commune with Nature, like Radagast? Or coax the local Hobbits into becoming burglars and taking very long walks with thirteen Dwarves in order to steal their gold back from dragons, like old Gandalf did?"

He chuckled in amusement at his own wit, but Augusta's eyes were as round as saucers. Did the little fellow just say he had burgled from a dragon - with thirteen dwarves in tow? And Gandalf had been the driving force behind this? What on earth was the silly wizard about, involving mini-Muggles in such a dangerous scheme. It was very fortunate for him that he was dead, otherwise she would have given him a piece of her mind!

"Well, I certainly don't go around encouraging law-abiding citizens into a life of crime, nor would I allow them to place themselves in the path of such a vicious dumb animal!"

"Oh, no. The dragon was quite articulate," stated Bilbo matter-of-factly. "Bit too sure of himself and easily flattered, though, but he's long gone from his clockless hole and very much deader than the Bullroarer himself."

Augusta narrowed her eyes. Her host was a splendid fellow indeed, but if he thought for one second that he'd convinced her there was such a thing as an articulate dragon (conceited or otherwise), then he was very much mistaken. The little fellow was obviously a bit of a lunatic (though with more periods of lucidity than, say, Gilderoy Lockhart).

"If you say so," she said primly, refusing to be drawn into a pointless debate about talking dragons or wizards who, in her opinion, should really be on the 'Most Wanted' list of New Zealand's most hardened criminals - of which Saruman was undoubtedly at the top (she couldn't be so certain of Sauron, never having met him herself, although he was probably sitting pretty at number two - a mere one place above Gandalf the Grim).

Instead, she gave an account of her life in Yorkshire and of the Wizarding war that had just ended in Britain, putting particular emphasis on her grandson's role at the Battle of Hogwart's (as any good grandmother would). By the time she had finished, Bilbo had consumed two egg and ham sandwiches, three pork pies, an apple tart and was on his fourth cup of tea.

"A land full of Wizards, you say? And all at war with each other? How marvellous!"

What?

Seeing her puzzlement, he quickly amended. "Oh, not that they're at war with each other, of course. But I never dreamed there could be so many Wizards - and Witches - all going about their business and sending their children off to establishments of education. Splendid! And stairs that move and pictures that talk!"

The ancient hobbit was almost apoplectic with happiness at the thought.

"I really must have Erestor bring me over some maps. I would very much like to see this land of Eng. It puts me quite in the right mood for another adventure! What a pity I found out about it so late when I could have helped you on your quest to find this Dark Lord's magic treasures - I'm a very good burglar, you know. Ask Gandalf - oh, well, perhaps not. He is dead, after all. But never mind. At least I've had the pleasure of meeting an Eng-ish Witch!"

There was no doubt about it: the mini-Muggle was completely and utterly barking.

"So, now that the troubles in your own land are over, you decided on a bit of a holiday, eh? I'm sorry that you picked such a bad time to visit us all the way down here. Still, Middle Earth could use a Witch of your talents at the moment. And are enjoying your stay in Rivendell, Augusta?" enquired her new friend, helping himself to a (massive) cheese and tomato sandwich. She watched in fascination as took a huge bite before letting his eyes drop to the plate to see what he could attack after he polished it off.

"It's a very pretty place, I have to say. Very ethereal, but nevertheless comfortable," she remarked honestly, picking up a buttered scone and taking a (dainty) bite.

"Oh, that's the work of the Elves you know! They go out of their way to make you feel at home."

Yes, well, the 'elves' certainly went out of their way, there was no two ways about that. She hadn't seen one of the little creatures since she arrived.

"And what do you make of our generous host?" said Bilbo inquisitively, reaching for a hard-boiled egg and sprinkling it with salt before shoving it (whole) into his mouth and smiling at her. He looked like a snowy hamster with bulging cheeks.

Heavens! The little fellow could certainly fit a lot in, couldn't he? Dragging her captivated gaze from his cheeks and concentrating on his twinkling eyes instead, she replied: "He's a very pleasant fellow, I must say. Very hospitable. Refuses to take so much as a Knut in payment for the accommodation ..."

This, she knew, because she'd found one languishing in the depths of her dress pocket and tried to discreetly press it into his hand when they arrived back at his study after their meeting in the garden yesterday (he had politely declined it). Granted, it was only a Knut - but it would have been shockingly rude not to try and offer him some sort of remuneration for all his kindness. Horses, after all, did not come cheap.

"... saying that the pleasure of my company is payment enough. If only there were more people in the world like him!" she added wistfully.

If there were, she'd be doing the rounds of every holiday resort New Zealand had to offer - regardless of how many orcs she had to kill to get there.

Bilbo's hand paused in its path to claim a jam tart from the pile of cakes (as he wondered what Elrond would do with a single nut). But he shrugged the moment off and helped himself to the treat while his guest sipped at her tea.

"I do wonder though," Augusta said conversationally, "where the lady of the house is. I haven't been introduced to her since I arrived and I was wondering if she is quite alright? One doesn't like to come straight out and ask such things, you know, when one isn't aware of the circumstances surrounding her absence, and I would hate to upset the poor fellow if she has passed away."

The hobbit swallowed his tart and looked at her sadly. "Yes, I can see how that would be awkward. But you needn't worry, dear lady. His wife isn't dead, she has simply sailed into the West."

Sailed into the west? What was that supposed to mean ...

Merlin's beard! His wife had left him! Fled to Tasmania with some handsome devil who had seduced her away from her well-preserved husband and three fine children! How shocking!

Augusta was outraged on Elrond's behalf. Such a fine fellow too - despite his little vanities with house-elf magic. Trying not to betray her disapproval, she asked:

"His wife left him?"

"Left him? Good gracious me, my dear lady! Nothing like that. No, she left to find healing in Valinor after being captured by Orcs."

Heavens! Captured by orcs?

The hobbit easily read her dismay.

"Yes, quite. She was on her way to visit her parents in Lothlórien when her party was ambushed at the Redhorn Gate. They abducted her, poisoned her and tormented her. It was many days before her sons were able to rescue her. They killed her captors, of course, and Elrond was able to heal her physical wounds. But Celebrian's experience must have been very dreadful, for the poor lady was never quite the same afterwards, apparently. She was troubled by memories and fear, and could no longer find any joy in Middle Earth. After a decade, she could take it no longer and sailed to Valinor to find healing."

Ah. So that was what Valinor was: a hospital (on a tropical island somewhere - possibly Tasmania). It probably had a long-term care unit for the psychologically compromised. And these Valar that that Erestor chap had mentioned when she first arrived must be the establishment's Healers. Poor Elrond. He was probably devastated not to have been able to care for her himself. And those poor boys - finding their mother like that! Why, it was astonishing that they had adjusted themselves as well as they had! Admirable fellows, the pair of them. Then again, ridding the world of those ghastly orcs had probably done much to cheer them up. And if the elderly witch did meet Saruman's very smelly army when she was travelling through Rohan, she would rid the world of a good few more of them for poor Kelly-brain's sake, too!

What extraordinary names these New Zealanders had!

But, wait a minute - if Valinor was a hospital with a long-term care unit and Elrond's counsellor had originally thought she came from there, that meant he thought she was ...

... barking mad!

Of all the nerve! Why, she had a good mind to hunt the deuced fellow down and hex his tongue out! And if her gracious host hadn't been through quite enough already, she jolly well would have!

"Pardon me, Augusta, but are you well?"

The elderly witch had been scowling so fiercely at the thought of (poor, innocent) Erestor, that the (even) older hobbit had become quite alarmed (to the extent his tea was dribbling unnoticed from the edge of his dangerously tipped cup down onto the beautifully polished wood of his brand new high-chair).

"What?" she barked, unintentionally making the poor fellow jump. "Oh, do forgive me Bilbo! I was just erm ... thinking about how I'd very much like to hex those horrid orcs."

Erestor. Orc. Same thing.

Taking a deep breath to control her ire, she flicked her wand in his direction and the spilled tea vanished.

"Now, why don't you tell me a little about yourself?" the witch suggested as she poured him a fresh cuppa. "I believe you said that you came from the Shire. Which one would that be?"

He looked slightly bemused. "The Shire. In Eriador."

Eriadorshire? She'd never heard of it. Yorkshire, certainly - who hadn't heard of that? Warwickshire (famous for being the birthplace of Wilhelmina Stillrod, a sixteenth century Pureblood witch who, fed-up with having her romantic articles tossed out by the chauvinistic editor of Ye Olde Daily Prophete simply because she was a woman, grew a moustache and moved to Muggle London to print her works under the pseudonym William Shakespeare), Cheshire (famous for its smiling kneazles) and, of course, Nottinghamshire (famous for the Muggle men in tight trousers and feathered caps who ran riot through Sherwood Forest demanding money from rich ladies in return for the privilege of 'pulling on their bowstrings' - not that she had seen any when she was there).

Still, it was obviously a shire in New Zealand he was talking about, so Augusta said "Oh" and let him get on with it. He chatted happily about the sleepy county of Eriadorshire, making it sound all quite delightful with its simple, hard-working folk (with outrageous appetites, if the little man himself was anything to go by) who lived under hills and smoked liked chimneys (this she disapproved of, but was too polite to say) and had an entire field devoted to partying. Hobbits, as a whole, sounded exceedingly charming, apart from his cousins - the horrible Sackville-Bagginses (a million times removed on his father's side and forty times on his mother's, or something like that). But then, every family had an embarrassing relative somewhere. Her own Great Uncle Herbert (once removed on her mother's side) had spent twenty years trying to convince the Department of Magical Transport that broomsticks could run on natural gas until, finally, one unfortunate woman took him at his word and ate five whole pounds of baked beans in an attempt to fly from Dover to Calais. She spontaneously combusted five minutes into her doomed flight across the English Channel, and Great Uncle Herbert spent the rest of his natural life in Azkaban for being a bothersome old windbag.

Bilbo talked at length of his adopted heir, Frodo, who came to live with him a few years after his parents died and, from what he said, the boy sounded extremely well-mannered and amiable. He had left his nephew all his worldly goods when he departed the Shire, much to the Sackville-Baggins's (or S-B's, as he called them) chagrin - an act of which she highly approved.

And so it was that he came to Imladris and had spent almost the last eighteen years there enjoying his retirement.

After that, his conversation digressed into the absurd as he waffled on about 'immortals' and how the house-elves of Imladris had lived for thousands of years in Rivendell - the very same house-elves that lived there today (not that she had seen one yet). Well, it was quite obvious that he was a bristle short of a broomstick, wasn't it? Immortals? In New Zealand? How utterly ridiculous! There was no such thing as an immortal - if there was, the Daily Prophet and every other newspaper in the world - Wizarding and Muggle - would have reported on it years ago. And no doubt Voldemort would have taken a little trip Down Under to capture a few and experiment on them, so he could have discovered their little secret and used it for his own wicked ends!

She smiled politely and 'hmm-ed' and 'oh, you don't say-ed?' in all the right places. It wouldn't hurt to humour the little chap. He was very old after all, and the very old were often prone to fantastical digressions. As it was, his were very entertaining (absurd though they were) and therefore she was prone to forgive his little eccentricities and stretchings of reality.

And then he said something that would have made her collapse in shock if she hadn't already been sitting down.

"... and that's why he's known as Elrond Half-Elven."

What?? Half-elven? Thinking she had misheard her jolly little friend, she interrupted him.

"Bilbo, do forgive me, but did you just say 'Elrond half-elven'?"

"Yes, dear lady. I did indeed. It was actually his father, Eärendil, who was the true half-Elf, what with his father being a Man and his mother a full Elf. But the title 'Half-Elven' has been carried down to him and his children in turn and they bear it with pride."

Augusta almost choked on her fairy cake. A MAN and a HOUSE-ELF??? No! That was impossible, surely?

The elderly witch dropped her cake on the tray and eyed her smiling companion. "Are you quite serious, my good fellow?" she gasped, too traumatised at the disturbing image flashing through her mind to realise she had reverted to type while addressing him.

"But, of course!" Bilbo declared knowledgeably, pleased to have so intrigued his guest. "If you want, you can ask Elrond yourself. He loves to chat about his ancestors."

Well, then. It must be true. As undisputedly barking as the old fellow appeared, he wouldn't have suggested she confirm it with the man himself if it wasn't.

But a human and a house-elf? Gracious! She'd had no idea they were ... physically compatible. Then again, why shouldn't they be? After all, if a man and a giantess could manage to produce Rubeus Hagrid, then a man and a house-elf would probably have a much easier time of it creating Elrond's father. Fortunately, her quarter-house-elf host seemed to have the looks from his human side. But it certainly explained why he and his people were so fond of the little creatures - they were family. But why did he insist on keeping them stashed away like a dirty little secret? Was he ashamed of his heritage? What a pity! And he seemed like such a sensible fellow too. Why, his (possibly) oddly-aligned father was probably in the kitchen right this very minute making him a nice ham sandwich and lamenting to his numerous house-elf relations that his own son was ashamed of him!

However, Bilbo, always delighted to have a captive audience, took another sip of his tea and related to her the exact whereabouts of the sandwich-making house-elf with his next words.

"He hasn't seen his parents since he was very young, unfortunately. Eärendil lives on his boat in the sky and his mother, Elwing, lives in Valinor. Though sometimes she transform into a white bird and flies out to visit her husband, or so Elrond says. But then, as a Witch, you probably already knew that."

No, she most certainly did not. She thought his father had been confined to a life of drudgery in the kitchens and, as for his mother - well, she hadn't given the woman much thought. But transforming into a white bird? Well, it was obvious the woman was an Animagus.

But that would make her a witch.

Augusta frowned. What the deuce was going on in New Zealand? Hadn't every last person she'd met so far been astonished at the fact that she herself was one - including her host? Yet this little fellow here was implying that Elrond's own mother was an Animagus; an ability exclusive to witches and wizards (and not many of them at that). Had the Lord of Imladris been so traumatised at seeing his mother losing her arms and sprouting wings instead, that he had buried all recollection of her magical powers before she had been carted off to Valinor Hospital (where she was no doubt sharing a ward with her poor daughter-in-law)?

"So you're saying that this Elwing is a witch?" she enquired of the hobbit-man, who broke into a wave of (mad) chuckles.

"A Witch? Gracious me, no!" he gasped in amusement. "The Lady Elwing is an Elf, of course!"

Of course. Why wouldn't she be? So, Elrond was not one-quarter house-elf: he was three-quarters.

Which, at least, would explain his fondness for Glamour charms. But heavens! She'd had no idea that house-elves could be Animagi as well. Why had nobody said anything about this before? And why would Bilbo say that Elrond's father was confined to a row-boat in the sky? Not that she believed that, of course, but still. Her new friend was walking a very fine line between reality and utter madness - that much was crystal clear.

"But let's talk more about you, dear lady," said Bilbo, pulling her from her ruminations of his sanity. "What are your plans after leaving Rivendell?"

He picked up a lonely apple from his plate and took a crunchy bite.

Hmm. How to reply? She didn't want to go into great detail because it couldn't be done without talking indirectly of the quest her grandson and his nephew were on. And - whether he was one stitch short of a new jumper or not - she didn't want to upset the little man by reminding him of the danger Frodo was in.

"Oh, I just stopped off here on the way to a friend's house ..."

Which was true enough. Although she hadn't actually met this Aragorn chap that Neville was travelling with, and Gondor was not 'his' quite yet. She hoped he wouldn't think her impertinent for presuming a friendship when they weren't even acquainted.

"... to help with a little redecorating ..."

Well, he would need to repaint the walls after the Steward moved out. People rarely shared the same taste in décor.

"... and rearranging of the furniture."

His ancestors' throne would have to be taken out of storage and put back in the Royal Court (if for no other reason than to make a bigger impact when he bestowed a title on Neville after the no doubt successful completion of the quest. Sir Neville Longbottom. The thought made her giddy).

"Well it sounds as if you're going to be very busy. I rarely redecorated myself, I have to admit," said Bilbo, gazing longingly at her untouched apple tart. She discreetly pushed it in his direction and he smiled broadly. "Bag End always seemed perfect to me just the way it was and Frodo never complained. Did I tell you he's off on a little adventure with his friends? Cousins to be precise. And Sam, of course. You wouldn't catch Frodo anywhere without his Sam!"

"Yes, I believe you mentioned it," Augusta answered vaguely, in an attempt to gloss over the subject before her companion could think any more on where his heir's 'adventures' were probably leading him. "But I don't imagine I shall meet them on my travels."

Not for a few days at least.

"What a pity. You'd like Frodo very much, I think. He would have been so delighted to meet you! Still, what's done is done. And where is it your friend lives?"

"South of Imladris," she replied, thinking herself very clever. That covered just about everywhere and let him draw his own (no doubt very inventive) conclusions without forcing her to be too deceptive.

Bilbo swallowed the rest of his tart and furrowed his brow in thought for a few seconds. "Ah, Rohan! I've never been there myself, but I hear it's very nice. Lots of horses, or so I'm told."

Stinking horses, according to Grodek. Fortunately, not according to Augusta, who was vastly relieved that the hobbit had limited the necessity to lie by selecting a location that she would indeed be travelling through.

"Yes, the Rohirrim are a magnificent bunch of equestrians, aren't they? So unusual to find Muggles who prefer to travel on horseback these days instead of using those horrid, smelly motor cars that pollute their streets. I have to cast a Bubble-Head charm every time I go to London just so I can make it to the Leaky Cauldron without being gassed. Most uncomfortable. Still, I've not seen anything in the way of those odd contraptions here in New Zealand. Although, it is magical New Zealand I suppose, even if there are an astonishing number of Muggles who mix freely with wizards, house-elves and dwarves. I wonder that the Ministry of Magic hasn't stepped in to put a stop to it, though. It's not allowed in Britain. Then again, the world doesn't revolve around my fair island. Well, not all the time, anyway. Still, your Ministry of Magic probably doesn't have the staff to do much about, it what with there only being five wizards left in this country - and most of them colossal idiots. Apart from them, you all seem to mix very well! How very enlightened you all are! Except that idiot Saruman. He's a raving lunatic."

Bilbo had stopped sipping his tea to stare at her oddly and Augusta hoped she hadn't offended the little man with her remark about 'horrid, smelly motor cars'. After all, he might have driven one from Eriadorshire to Imladris for all she knew - and here she was criticising them! It was probably parked behind the stables, where it had been rusting away for the past eighteen years since he arrived. Or perhaps it had been the spiel about Muggles mixing with the general Wizarding population that had caused his astonishment? He may not have thought that so very unusual before she had opened her enormous mouth and pointed it out to him.

Mortified to think that she may have inadvertently insulted the gracious little fellow after he had shown her such hospitality, she smiled weakly. "I do beg your pardon, Bilbo. I'm sure it's perfectly normal for Muggles and wizards to mix in your country. And I'm sure your little motor car is perfectly pleasant, too. Do forgive an old woman her ramblings?"

Surprised by the apology (and completely mystified as to what she had been talking about in the first place), Bilbo dismissed it with a wave of his hand. "My dear lady, no apology is necessary! I daresay there are a great many customs here that differ from yours in the land of Eng ..."

To put it mildly.

"... and though some of the things you say are a little strange, they are not in the least offensive! And I am more than used to the riddling ways of Wizards, what with having spent so much time in the company of Gandalf. So don't trouble yourself on that account."

His aged face crinkled into such a warm smile that the witch was reassured. What a magnificent mini-Muggle he was! Such a jolly, sincere, well-spoken (if completely barking) fellow! She really must thank Lindir for mentioning her presence in Imladris to him. She hadn't enjoyed elevenses so much since a five-year-old Neville - nauseated from his trip through the Floo Network - was sick all over Gwendolyn Farragut (a woman from the Knitting Bee they'd overheard gossiping about her after arriving late for tea. The odious witch had had the temerity to call Spot 'the ugliest dead bird I've ever seen', and had then compounded the insult by adding 'sitting on the head of the ugliest living bird I've ever seen'. She'd not been so quick to criticise when, after finally noticing them and strolling casually over to bend down and plant a kiss on Neville's chubby cheek, the youngest Longbottom had projectile vomited all over her face).

Still, all good things must come to an end and the formidable matriarch had a busy afternoon ahead of her. There was no more time to sit and chat, so she placed her empty cup on the table and rose.

"You are most kind to be so understanding and so hospitable, Bilbo. Well, now. I have had the most delightful morning chatting with you, but I really must go and see a man about a horse. Would you like me to clear the tray and crockery? I could take it to the kitchens for you, if you give me directions."

Which would also give her the opportunity to see the elusive house-elves (and possible relations of Elrond) first-hand.

"Oh, must you leave already? And just when we were getting cosy, too!" the mini-Muggle declared in disappointment. "Are you sure you won't stay? It's almost lunchtime and I could have some roast pork and mushrooms sent up? Of course, my appetite isn't what it used to be - old age you know. But I'd be happy to fill in the corners until I burst if you agreed to stay a bit longer. You could tell me all about this Ministry of Magic and Albus Bumbledoor!"

His appetite wasn't what it used to be? Good heavens! He'd scoffed every last scrap of food on the table (except her buttered scone and fairy cake)!

"As much as it would please me, I'm afraid I can't," she replied, waiting politely as he descended the steps of his chair and grabbed his walking stick. Bilbo hobbled towards her and offered his arm, which she once again accepted. "However, I'll be in the Hall of Fire this evening. Lindir promised me a song before I leave, so you must join us."

"That would be wonderful, Augusta. I shall very much look forward to it. There's nothing quite as beautiful as an Elvish song, you know. No, don't bother about the tray. Someone will be along to collect it shortly. Allow me to escort you outside, dear lady."

And once more, he led her through his pleasantly disarrayed room until they came to the door, which he opened for her. Dropping his stick, he grasped her hand in his smaller ones and executed a gentlemanly bow. "I have so enjoyed your visit, Augusta. I admit to having felt quite despondent at watching my brave lad go off on his little adventure, but you have done much to cheer up this silly old Hobbit."

Augusta was touched. It was only natural that he would worry about his nephew's safety and the thought that she had managed to temporarily divert him from those worries made her very happy indeed.

"Wherever your young man is at the moment, I'm sure he and all his friends are in the very safest of hands," she said, smiling down at him kindly.

Bilbo looked at her hopefully. "Do you really think so?"

Not wanting to go in to too much detail, she simply squeezed his hands gently. "You have the word of the Green Witch on it, my good fellow. I have the greatest confidence that Frodo will be returned to you as whole as the day he left."

Unless Neville (accidentally) lobbed the poor chap's head off with the Sword of Gryffindor. He was rather good at that sort of thing.

"Well, I feel strangely comforted by that, I must say. If the Green Witch says he will return to me whole, then I defy even the Dark Lord Sauron to prove otherwise! Farewell, my dear lady. Until this evening!"

"Good day, Bilbo."

She levitated his walking stick with a quick flick of her wand before she left and he snatched it happily from the air, waving her goodbye with his free hand.

As she rounded the corner of the hall and lost the hobbit from sight, Augusta reflected on the very pleasant hour or two she had spent in his company. She had learned more about Imladris and its inhabitants from one endearing (if barking) mini-Muggle than she had from anyone else since she arrived. Flying row-boats and outrageous claims to immortality notwithstanding, Elrond and his family were more alluring to her now than the Muggle house of Windsor.

And unless the Queen Mother was some sort of Animagus house-elf, it would likely remain that way too.

Very satisfied with herself and (most of) the world in general, the elderly witch marched briskly towards her three-quarter-house-elven host's study to continue her preparations for the next day's departure.

As it turned out, Augusta and Glorfindel were not able to leave until much later the next day. Their trip had to be postponed for several hours to allow her to perfect her rusty Portus spell (the first attempt had sent their chosen steeds whizzing through the air from the stables until they landed on the roof of her host's house - and not on the other side of the courtyard as she had intended). Relieved that she'd had the foresight to Stun them beforehand, it had nevertheless taken twenty men and a good Floatation charm to get them safely back on the ground.

Still, at least it had given the ale-swilling rangers something to do other than ... swill ale (or Earl Grey, as the case now was). Not that she saw much of them after mealtimes. They were strangely elusive for the rest of the day ...

However, now that her Portus was perfect, she charmed the chosen objects (the horses' reins) to wait ten minutes before they activated and turned to her host. Elrond and his entire household had turned out to see her and Glorfindel on their way and the courtyard was full to capacity. Even Bilbo had dared the steps leading down to it to say farewell to his new friend. The hobbit tottered across to the Stunned steeds and stood before them, fascinated.

"They look like statues!" he cried in delight, prodding at her own mount lightly with his little walking stick. Her Stupefy had caught the mare mid-whinny and it looked like it was having a very good laugh at everyone.

"Yes, they do don't they? But they'll soon come to rights when we get where we're going."

"But aren't you going to ride them to Rohan? And I had no idea Glorfindel was accompanying you on your trip to your friend's house."

Ah. How to divert the shrewd fellow? She didn't want her aged friend to start worrying about her safety as well as his nephew's.

"We'll ride them the last few miles or so, but I know of a very convenient method to get the longest part of the journey over with. After that, my knowledge of the area is scant at best, so my young friend here has volunteered to show me the rest of the way to Rohan. Isn't that right, Archibald?" Spot wobbled precariously as she swung her head to face her travelling companion.

"Archi-who?" queried Lindir as he gently guided the ancient hobbit away from her horse (before Bilbo beat the living daylights out of it with his micro-stick). Many in the crowd were muttering in confusion and all eyes followed hers as she cocked an imperious eyebrow at Floor-kindle.

The stunning blond, who had been beaming in anticipation of the adventure to come, promptly lost his grin as the elderly witch and the entire population of Imladris swivelled to face him. His secret, it seemed, was out. He glowered silently at Elladan and Elrohir as they stifled their chuckles.

"Archibald?!" declared Lindir in disbelief - loud enough that the stragglers at the back of the crowd could hear it. There was a wave of laughter and Augusta's new family member flushed in embarrassment.

Lindir grinned. "That is a most delightful name, my Lady," he said (lying outrageously) "Does it hail from your own lands?"

"Yes. It is a fine name, isn't it?" she said, very pleased that the artiste in the group had spotted its potential. "As a matter of fact, I've always thought it would sound rather nice in a song."

Glorfindel paled visibly.

"You know, something along the lines of: O, Archibald with the gleaming teeth, your name is fair beyond belief, I watch you as you tend and keep, the farm where you have all your sheep."

Oh. Perhaps she oughtn't to have let her imagination run away with her in front of so many people? But the name did conjure up the smiling face of the Muggle farmer's lad and she hadn't been able to help herself. Still, at least she hadn't put it to music, and her little poem did seem to have gone down a treat - everyone was clapping and smiling (except Floor-kindle, she was disappointed to note. Really, hadn't the fellow gotten used to it by now?).

"Bravo, Augusta!" exclaimed Bilbo, clapping in earnest.

"It appears you have competition, Lindir," said Elrond, smiling widely at his eccentric guest. "A pity we did not have the honour of hearing this poetic masterpiece in the Hall of Fire yester-eve. Perhaps you will entertain us with it when you return, my Lady?"

"That's very flattering, my good fellow, but I could never measure up to the exceptional talents of young Lindir. And who would have known that house-elves wrote such beautiful songs? No, I think I'll leave the real creativity to the professionals."

There were a few puzzled frowns when she mentioned house-elves, but Arwen, her host's outrageously pretty daughter, smiled enigmatically.

"You do yourself an injustice, Lady Augusta. I thought it most creative," declared Lindir, bowing at her elegantly and grinning cheekily at his fuming friend.

Elrond, deciding it was best to distract the Balrog slayer before he took a butter knife to the resident minstrel, turned to face the two travellers and spoke quietly enough that only they, and those that had been present at the Council, could hear.

"And so now you depart Imladris to seek reunion with your grandson, my Lady. I beg that you go with caution, for I would be most distressed if aught should happen to you."

"Don't worry on my account, my good man. I shall be perfectly safe. It'll take more than an army of orcs to stop this Longbottom in her tracks."

"Be that as it may, I would rest easier knowing that you are doing all within your considerable power to see to your own safety."

"That's very kind of you to say. I shall certainly do all I can to keep both myself and this fine young fellow here in one piece, you may rest assured on that."

Her companion perked up a bit at the compliment.

"Now, let me thank you very much for the hospitality you have shown me. I can honestly say this is the prettiest holiday resort I have ever been to, and you are the finest proprietor. When I get home, I shall be recommending it to all my friends, so it may very well be that you have an influx of ladies from the Knitting Bee popping down to visit ..."

Elrond looked completely flummoxed.

"... but I would advise you to keep an eye on Gwendolyn Farragut. Ghastly woman. If she gives you any trouble, just tell her that you have a five-year-old grandson who wants to say hello to her - that should keep her in line. And thank you, too, for the loan of the horse. I'm sure she and I shall get along famously. I'll return her to you, of course, just as soon as that scallywag of a boy is finished with his ... erm ... little job, and has come back to me."

"Any friend of the Green Witch shall be counted a friend of Imladris, my Lady, and therefore be welcome in my home," said Elrond, deciding it was probably better just to humour the formidable granny's extraordinary warning about ghastly women and knitting bees. "And Celebrithil is one of our gentlest mares. She will carry you safely to your journey's end, and both she and Asfaloth carry enough provisions to keep you sustained for its duration. I await your own safe return to the Last Homely House in anticipation and will be most delighted to make the acquaintance of your brave grandson, Neville Longbottom."

Yes, well he might look forward to it, but whether or not Neville would be alive long enough to meet her fine host would depend very much on whether or not she killed the boy after he got back to Gondor from Mount Gloom.

Suppressing the desire to voice that thought aloud (in case the man had her arrested and thrown into the New Zealand equivalent of Azkaban), Augusta smiled thinly and gave a brisk nod of her head.

"Quite. Now, are you ready, my good man?" she asked the tall blond who stood beside her patiently.

"I am more than ready, Lady Augusta," replied Glorfindel grinning widely.

"Well then, let's get you Disillusioned."

She rapped him smartly with her wand and his features began to fade from the crown of his head to the tips of his toes as he took on the exact colour and texture of the oak tree behind him. A gasp of amazement rose up from the watching crowd.

"Elbereth Gilthoniel!" cried one of the pin-up twins. "A most effective method of camouflage! What does it feel like, Glorfindel?"

The answer appeared as if from nowhere. "Most unusual indeed. It felt at first as if Halbarad had dropped his mug of ale upon my head, as he did yester-eve ..."

What? Where the deuce did the furry ranger get ale from? Had she not charmed all the jugs to produce only tea? Augusta threw an accusing glare at the guilty man (who was trying to shove Garathor in front of himself in a bid to escape her notice). Well, he'd not be getting any more of it - she had taken care of that this morning with one of her own little spells!

"... though now that sensation has passed. I cannot see myself, yet I feel the beat of my heart and the brush of fabric on my skin. It is most intriguing."

"You'll get used to it!" piped Bilbo in delight. "I know I did ..."

Augusta stared at her little friend, perplexed. What on earth was he talking about? Did he have an invisibility cloak stashed somewhere - a gift, perhaps, from Gandalf the Grim that he'd used to slip into the dragon's cave and commit his acts of burglary?

"... but why do you have to be invisible to go to Rohan? Although, I suppose it's not a very bad idea - you might run in to some troublesome trolls. If you do, I suggest that you try and keep them entertained with a story or a riddle until the morning comes. Trolls tend to turn to stone in daylight!"

Bilbo looked exceptionally pleased at having had the opportunity to share his (dubious) wisdom and once again, he managed to throw the elderly witch off balance. Turn to stone? How ridiculous! What was the little fellow talking about now? She spared him a concerned glance, convinced that he had finally succumbed to the full ravages of senility, and hoped that she could still convince him of their mutual acquaintance when she returned with Neville.

"Yes, well, that's exactly it. We're trying to avoid trolls, Bilbo. Now, let me just Disillusion myself too ..."

Which she promptly did.

"... and have Archibald hold on tight. Follow my voice, young man. No! Take your hand off there! That is not my arm ..."

A round of laughter.

"Gracious! You almost gave me heart failure! What do you mean by grabbing at my ... oh, never mind. I'll take your hand and guide it ... that's better. Now, we'd better be off or the horses will get there before us."

"But should we not render them invisible also?" came the disembodied voice of Glorfindel. "What if they are seen arriving?"

"Well of course they'll be seen arriving - by us. It would hardly do to Disillusion them just now. However would we find them otherwise? They are Stunned, you know. And who is going to be suspicious of a couple of rider-less horses, for all the time they'll be visible, hmm? Now, do remember to speak clearly when we set off. I don't want to lose the sound of your voice while we're under this charm and find myself riding over the edge of a cliff!"

"Navaer, Green Witch! I laiss e-guil gîn ava fired!" declared Elrond, bowing elegantly in what he hoped was her direction.

Having absolutely no idea what he was babbling on about (but liking the musical quality of it nonetheless) she waggled an unseen finger at him. "No need to keep bowing, my good fellow. We don't want you locking yourself at the waist, or you'll have to spend the next week in your pretty little hospital wing trying to straighten yourself out!"

Glorfindel laughed at the look of shocked surprise on Elrond's face, but his merriment was soon spoiled.

"Navaer, Archibald!" chorused Elladan, Elrohir and Lindir in unison, eliciting a giggle from Arwen and a grunt of annoyance from the camouflaged warrior.

"Cheerio, everybody! I look forward to seeing you all again very soon. Say hello to your relations in the kitchens for me, Elrond Three-Quarters-House-Elven!"

And with that, there was a soft pop! and they were gone.

The next morning, Elrond Three-Quarters-House-Elven was sitting on a secluded part of his study balcony which overlooked the river. He was contemplating the many mysteries and eccentricities of his recently departed guest, when there was a swish of fabric behind him.

"Mae govannen, sell nin. You are not occupied with your banner this morn?"

Arwen joined her father on the balcony and sat by him on the red settle as they watched the morning mists slowly dissipate across the Bruinen.

"It is done, Adar. I completed my work only a half hour ago and now find myself quite idle."

"Then I am pleased you sought to spend your free time with me, sell vuin," he replied, bestowing a kiss on her temple.

"I could think of nowhere I would rather be at this moment, Adar. I had contemplated breaking my fast in the dining hall, but it is a sad place this morning now that the Lady Augusta has departed. The Rangers of the North are quite beside themselves with sorrow."

This was news to Elrond. He had thought the Dúnedain would be crowing with happiness at not having to wash themselves every morning before appearing for breakfast (which she had insisted upon), not to mention that they would now be able to forego the curse of Earl Grey.

Earl Grey. His taste buds protested at the thought of the beverage. It was something she had been attempting to foist on most of Imladris. And he had thought Bilbo was bad - at least the aged hobbit had not the energy to stalk the halls of his host's home armed with a cup and saucer and ready to pounce on the first unsuspecting person he saw (and the threat of witchcraft if they refused). The Rangers of the North had taken to smuggling ale into the bathing hall (the only place she never entered as all the ladies bathed in their chambers).

"Indeed? Why is that?"

Arwen smiled. "It appears the lady did not lift the spell on the ale-jugs before departing. Furthermore, when we attempted to replace them this morning, those jugs also filled with her preferred beverage. I do not know how she accomplished this, for none have seen her near the kitchens, but the Rangers are distraught. All our supplies of ale have mysteriously vanished and they have been reduced to begging for blackberry juice."

Elrond laughed heartily.

"Ai, she is the most extraordinary woman I have ever met!" he gasped. "Nay, the most extraordinary of all mortals! She frowns upon the intake of ale, but thinks naught of thrusting herself recklessly into harm's way for the sake of strangers."

"Yet it was not so reckless, Adar. Our kin and friends were glad of her aid on the borders, as will the people of Gondor no doubt be if it is required there also."

"You speak wisely, child." said Elrond after his mirth had been expended. "She is a valiant Witch and a worthy protector. Yet still I am troubled that she may come to harm, for she is not the youngest of women."

"Do not forget that Gandalf himself had a form of great age. He, also, was limited to its confinements, yet it did not limit his strength."

"But Gandalf has fallen, Arwen. His strength could not prevent his death."

"And it did not prevent his victory either. The Balrog was slain, was it not? Lady Augusta may not possess the physical strength of her male counterpart, but her endurance and character are undisputable. She prevailed for almost two weeks under the cruelty of Saruman the White. She achieved an easy victory against the enemy forces at the Bruinen. I do not believe that she will meet her doom in Gondor. Indeed, it may be more accurate to say ..."

The elleth smiled mischievously.

"... that Gondor may meet its doom under her."

"Only if the Steward is as partial to his ale as Halbarad and his Men, which I doubt," returned her smiling father. He stood and walked to the balcony railing, before turning around to face his daughter.

"Did the lady strike you as a little ..."

Hmm. How to put it politely?

"... peculiar?" he finished.

"In what way?"

In what way? Ai, Elbereth, if he had to list all of the Green Witch's oddities, he would be standing on the balcony until he faded.

"Her manner of address, for one thing. Not once did I hear her addressing anyone by their given name - other than Bilbo in the courtyard as she left, and myself once during the Council. I do not count Glorfindel, because - as you know - 'Archibald' is not his real name."

They both laughed as they remembered the blond elf's incredulous expression when Augusta made the initial suggestion.

"I believe she once addressed Halbarad by his name," Arwen said with a smile.

"Ah, but that was more of a reprimand for trying to conceal the truth of his ale-swilling ways from the lady, according to Elrohir. Something that will teach the 'furry-faced' Man not to attempt diversion with a Witch in the future, no doubt."

"You were surely not offended that she barely addressed you by name, were you - my good fellow?"

Elrond narrowed his eyes at his daughter, who was giggling daintily on the settle.

"Nay, 'young lady', I was not. I merely thought it strange."

"Perhaps it is merely her way. Imladris is not her England and she may have difficulty pronouncing some of our names. We must make allowances for that. I, for one, thought it charming."

"That is a reasonable argument. But it is not merely that. It is as if she has no real concept of who we are. Yester-eve during Lindir's performance in the Hall for example: she mentioned to me that the Lay of Lúthien was unusually eloquent for a 'House-Elf' song, and that she had instead been expecting one about the scrubbing of staircases or roasting of chickens."

Arwen exploded into very unladylike gales of laughter.

"Also, when I was selecting her steed for her that afternoon, she related the most unusual tale of a person named Hagrid, who is apparently the progeny of a Man and a Giantess - then spent half an hour explaining to me that, as he did not feel the need to charm his appearance to hide his parentage, at neither should any other borne from such an unusual union. I cannot say for certain, as she did not say it outright, but I do believe she was referring to me. She also conjured a chair for me in the middle of the stables, that I might 'take the weight off my aching hips'."

"Adar! Stop!" cried Arwen who was scarlet with mirth. Her hair had fallen about her face and she shook almost uncontrollably on the settle they shared. Elrond wondered idly if his foster son had ever seen the elegant beauty quite so dishevelled (then clenched his jaw in paternal ire as he thought about what he would do to the future King of Gondor if he had).

"But surely you noticed her peculiar manner yourself?"

"Indeed," gasped the Evenstar, wiping tears from her dark lashes. "From the first moment of my acquaintance with her, I sensed that she did not realise where exactly she was, or who - or what - we really were."

This news astounded him.

"Then why did you not seek to explain it to her?" exclaimed the elf lord.

"Why did you not seek to explain it to her? You knew she hailed from a foreign world before any other."

"Because I ... that is she was ... I mean to say ..."

"Why, Adar! Were you intimidated by her?"

He flushed. "Nay, I was not!"

"You were! Ai, Elbereth, but you were! Oh, that is too delightful. The mighty Lord of Imladris, cowed into submission by a sweet old lady!"

Elrond glared at his offspring. "If you were not my own daughter, I would sell you to the highest bidder."

"You would do no such thing, Adar vuin," she replied, snaking her arm through his and leaning her head on his shoulder. "Because you would still love me as if I were your own daughter."

An excellent point.

"But do not trouble yourself. Your fear ..."

He glowered at the top of her head and, sensing it, Arwen amended her word.

"... I mean your awe of the Lady Augusta shall be our little secret. In answer to your question, though: I did not reveal our true identities or her real location because I think it unwise to do so at this time. She is in a strange world with unfamiliar races on a noble quest to find her missing kin. If the illusion of her own sense of reality aids her to this end, then I would not wish to shatter it. She is more than able to cope with anything Middle Earth has to offer. She bested Saruman in his own Tower, disposed of untold numbers of Orcs, both on her arrival in the Wizard's Vale and on the borders of our lands, and she has won the respect of the Lord of the Eagles and all in Imladris, has she not?"

"That is so," answered her father as he stroked her hair gently.

"And, though she may not realise where she is, there can be no doubt that she is a woman of intelligence who will command respect wherever she goes, without ever actually demanding it."

Elrond frowned. The Rangers of the North might not agree with that last statement. And neither would the dozen or so Orcs whose corpses had littered the grass (and trees) on the opposite side of the Bruinen.

"I suspect that she will be more than able to take care of herself, whether or not she knows the reality of her situation," stated Arwen confidently.

"True. And if - when - she is reunited with her grandson, he will be able to explain the ways of Middle Earth to her in a manner that she will be more likely to accept. Unless Glorfindel does so first. They shall be spending many days in each other's company before they even arrive in Gondor."

"Nay. I bade him not to offer the information unless she made a specific request, for only then would she be more receptive to the possibility of her situation and better able to accept it."

The ancient elf lord grinned. "So, it seems that he will remain 'Archibald' for the duration of the trip - whether he likes it or not. How amusing."

Tinkling laughter drifted up from his daughter.

"Tell me, sell nin - do you also suspect there are Elves in her world?"

He felt her shaking with mirth again.

"Yes. But I do not believe they can be anything akin to us if she refers to them always as 'House-Elves'."

Well, he completely agreed with that. What was more, he would happily sacrifice his right arm if he could get even the merest glimpse of their name-cousins from this 'England' that the Green Witch was so fond of.

"And what do you think they look ..."

Before Elrond could finish his question, the door to the study behind them flew open and his sons raced through. He rose swiftly, with Arwen in tow, and they hurried (elegantly) into the room.

"Adar! We must speak with you urgently!" cried Elrohir.

"What has happened? Has there been another attack?" he demanded in full Elf Lord mode.

"Nay, it is something of far greater import than that!" declared Elladan in wide-eyed earnest.

Of greater import?

"Has someone been injured?" he asked, ready to fly through the door to the healing room.

"Nay, Adar! It is the White Wizard. He is come!"

Saruman!

Elrond's heart leapt angrily in his chest.

But he had not heard the worst ...

"And he seeks the Lady Augusta!"