The Shipwright and the Hobbit by daughterofshadows

The Shipwright and the Hobbit

Read The Shipwright and the Hobbit

The words of a cheerful walking song drifted up from the shores, clashing discordantly with the crying of the seagulls.

Intrigued, Círdan hurried down the path leading to the waterfront. That was not an elven voice. And while other visitors were not a rarity in the Falas, as a general rule they did not wander down the shore singing songs (at least no cheery ones).

He found the singer in the surf, splashing happily as the waves licked at the edges of her rolled-up trousers.

She grinned brightly when she spotted him.

“Hello, Master Elf! What brings you to the shore today?”

“The sunshine, Miss Hobbit, and your song! These shores are not often graced with such merry tunes!”

She blushed something fierce, then, and her next words were too warbled for even an elf to discern as her tongue ran faster than her mind to overcome her embarrassment.

“Would you perhaps like to join me for a while?” Círdan asked at last. “You must have many tales to tell, for you have travelled far to come here!”

“I would be delighted!” the hobbit exclaimed, dusting stray sand off her trousers and straightening her waistcoat. She extended her hand to him. “I am Belladonna Took! It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Master Elf!”

“And I am Círdan the shipwright. Come walk with me, Miss Took.”

A look of recognition flashed across her face at his introduction.

“Lord Elrond spoke of you at great length when I informed him of my desire to travel to see the sea. He holds you in high regard”, she informed him, a smile on her face at meeting the elf behind the stories.

 

Círdan led them away from the beach and towards the havens on the winding paths he had come up, concerned that Miss Took’s bare feet would burn on the hot sand.

Belladonna did not correct his assumptions. It continued to mystify her how elves could be both so very wise in many things but still know so little about what she considered common knowledge.

Then again, she supposed, not many hobbits travelled far, so there was little to learn about them.

 Perhaps it was not so strange after all.

“You know, when I was just a fauntling and my father would read as stories about the ocean, I always imagined it to be like the Brandywine, just wider”, Belladonna mused as they walked. “But now that I have seen it, I realise that it is far wilder. The Brandywine is tamed by its bed, but the sea knows no such bounds.”

She fell quiet again, but Círdan nodded in understanding. “It does not. The sea is a harsh master most days, and dangerous to boot, but still there is beauty in it. One I have found nowhere else.”

“There is! And I think I understand now why there are so many tales about the freedom it offers. But in my heart, I also now know that this freedom is not for me. I am only a hobbit, and the ocean is very large. And even though the Shire feels too small, too restricting at times, I see that there is space for me, still. My heart did not call me away because I did not belong, but because there were stories to hear and memories to make, and now I will take the tales I heard on the road, and I will bring them back with me, and Bungo and I will welcome them in our home. There is space for the world in the Shire, just as there is space for the Shire in the world.”

 

Círdan often thought back to this meeting in years to come and wondered whether Miss Took built her house full of stories.

The answer was brought to him a few years later, by a hobbit that wielded a frying pan with as much grace as warriors wielded their swords, and a sense of adventure that matched Miss Took’s.

When Círdan asked him about her, the hobbit replied delightedly, “Oh, yes, that’s my sister! She told me to find you if I ever came to the sea!”

But that is a story for another day.