[Child of the 7th Age]

The hobbits sat encamped on the tallest peak of the Dorthonion highlands. They were totally by themselves. The guards had climbed down to a lower range to test out their hunting skills.

Maura looked over at Child and asked "What now?"

"I'm not certain," she said, "but I do know we should not move from this place. We should just sit and wait."

So as the Valar sped northward and Earendil's ship raised its mast to prepare for the onslaught of Ancaligon, hobbit children played games on the top of mountain peaks, and Maura related tales of the hobbits' history and lore.

Child looked over at the man, painting a portrait of him in her mind. She tried to paint with such precision and depth that it would endure even after she had left this place. He was tall and slender with a grey mop of curls and piercing grey eyes. He did not look extraordinary in any way. No one passing by on the street would have turned around a second time, or tried to speak with him. But, when he sat within that circle, and began to tell his people who they were and where they had come from, it was a different matter. His face gleemed with light, and his hands moved as he captured unseen stories seemingly out of air.

Child felt a stab of pain, and it was not simply for personal loss. For this wondrous leader of her people, whose name should have been counted with those of Bilbo or Frodo, would be lost in the depths of time. There would be none to speak of his wisdom or endurance. For even if she should return to her own age one day, Child knew there could be no writing down of this story. It was simply too dangerous. The less said about hobbit history, the better off they would all be. For all his wisdom and strength, Maura Took would be a name unknown even to his own people.

Child looked with yearning to the West, and, in her mind, offered a plea to whatever Valar might be listening, or perhaps even to Eru who lay in some mysterious realm beyond. "If his name must remain a secret from Elves and Men, if Maura can not be remembered even by his own people, then cradle his fea with tenderness. Give him life long and gentle. Let him miss me, but not too much. Not enough that his heart would despair at my absence. And, at the end of days, if something lies beyond memory, show him the wonders of a place where no Orc or Morgoth may dwell."

As the hobbits sat and waited, the sky turned from blue to pink, then to red, and finally black. On far off peaks and valleys, the rumblings of some distant conflict were clearly to be heard. The children came and buried their heads in the laps of their mothers. And Lindo sang a lullabye to quiet and calm their fears.

[ August 19, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]