A Gift from an Elf

DRONGO, a Hobbit of middling years, stocky of frame and cheerful of countenance:  “Well.  I say.  This is something, something indeed!  It’s very …well, it’s quite a hat!”

ORTHIR, a Turbine-created Elf who I shamelessly steal:  “You have been a gracious host in our passing for many years, Drongo Fairfoot.  Gifts are meant for fine friends, and so a lady of our number, one who guides those traveling seaward, sewed this robe and shaped this hat just for you.”

DRONGO, while running a finger along the uneven band of his brand new violet hat:  “Well, it’s a stunner all right, and I don’t mind saying so.  Bit grand for running around the farm, you know, but …there’s festivals and such.  Special days.  It’s right nice.”

ORTHIR, smiling kindly.  “Eluwen thought it might suit the cloak you always wear, with its violets and fine, bright details.  May I tell her that you are pleased?  If you are, of course.”

DRONGO:  “It’s a lot of hat!”

ORTHIR, sounding bemused by this point:  “And  you are a Hobbit of stature, my friend.  How many days have you wandered up to this sheltered space to see us in our passing?  How warmly have you greeted us, and how bright were your words to those who have already left these shores in their hearts?  You have been a balm, small and strong.”

DRONGO, with a bright flush on his apple cheeks:  “I wouldn’t be a Fairfoot of Woodhall if I wasn’t a hospitable sort!  My old Gammer — and she’s the one who made the cloak, you see — ”

ORTHIR, laughing now:  “You may have said, my friend.  More than once.  Will you be well, now that our passage has almost ended?  There will not be Elf-song in your trees for many months longer.”

DRONGO, frowning a bit:  “Almost gone?  All of you gone to the Sea?”

ORTHIR, setting a hand on his smaller companion’s shoulder.  “But we live on in tales and song, do we not?  And in the memories of the valiant Hobbits who saw us through their sweet, green land.”

DRONGO, with a grin that replaces the tiny frown:  “And you’ll remember that joke about the bee-keeper, won’t you?  All your long days?  Sting in the air, HA.”

ORTHIR, laughing again:  “Always.  And may your days be filled with wonder, Drongo Fairfoot, even if it is of Arda’s own devising, and not that of its elder race.”

DRONGO:  “Come again?”

ORTHIR, shaking his head in the dappled sunlight:  “It does not matter, my friend.  Only be well, and be happy, and think on us some evenings when the moon shines and birdsong fills the clearing.”

DRONGO, with a quick embrace that clearly takes the Elf by surprise:  “Sail well, Orthir!  Don’t let your food get wet!  Remember me!”

ORTHIR fades into the trees.

DRONGO, in his hat, as Orthir steps away with his fellows:  “Remember me!”


  • Head:  Loafer’s Hat, dyed violet
  • Cloak:  Cloak of Might, dyed violet
  • Chest:  Robe of Viisaus, dyed white

3 thoughts on “A Gift from an Elf

    • THE HAT! I know you are a fan!

      And yeah, the robe sadly doesn’t appeal to me when dyed; I think it has to do with just how heavily dye takes to it. Undifferentiated masses of color are less interesting to me, I suppose!

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