This story takes place after the one Ring is destroyed and the characters are returning to Rivendell together. These characters are based on those from the book, but when I imagine them, I see the way they look from the movie, hence the Scottish accent for Pippin. It just fit. The rest of the story then changes.

Chap 1

"Shit," Miranda whispered as she stumbled over her own shoes. She sent a frantic look over at the lump in the center of the bed, but it didn't move. Carrying her shoes and bag in one hand and her bra and coat in the other, she slipped out of her ex-husband's apartment and ran towards the subway, swearing as her feet encountered sharp objects and nasty sticky stuff that didn't bear contemplating.

**Dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit, DAMMIT!!** she thought, as she sat nursing her bruised feet on the tube. She'd promised herself the late night booty-calls were a thing of the past. But again he had called, and again she had answered. So much for dignity and self-respect.

Three months into the relationship, she had known it was doomed. After all, who could live with a man who thought he was Intelligent (with a capital 'I') because he differentiated between 'films', 'movies', and 'flicks?' The pretensions didn't stop there. However, a girl has to bite the bullet and marry at some point, right? And she hadn't been getting any younger.... The marriage lasted nearly a year before Miranda realized her husband's late night meetings included cheap hotel rooms and cheap booze and expensive women. The divorce was final six months ago, but she had yet to even think about dating again.

And it had been a rough day. Her Visa bill arrived, she had to deal with several VERY annoying French couriers who thought only the Four Seasons was a good enough hotel, and had found Maggie, her 8 year old yellow lab, chewing on her favorite (and only) pair of Manolo Blahniks. All in all, it seemed like a great night to sit in her recliner, drinking expensive, imported beer and watching insanely bad TV. And then the phone rang. And Dave started in on how he missed her and how he'd been wrong, how he still loved her and wouldn't she please come over so that they might talk things through? Four hours and two condoms later, she had something to hate herself for.

At 28, Miranda knew she still had plenty of time to find 'the One'. She knew she should be happy having an affordable rent-controlled apartment in London, a job she loved that allowed her money to travel and big tits. Of course, London seemed to be filled with gay men, she had virtually no time to travel, but did have big hips and a big ass to go with the big breasts.

Turning the key and letting herself into her apartment, she passed by the hall mirror and stopped, staring at herself thoughtfully as the usual inventory ran through her head.

**Long blond hair: good; tendency of hair to turn into huge frizz-ball: bad. Big green eyes:good!; beginnings of a line across her forehead: bad. Tiny waist: good; cellulite on thighs; bad. Height of 5'6: good; weight of well, never mind.** Sighing, she turned away and headed into the kitchen to drink mass quantities of coffee and read yesterday's mail. Bill. Bill. Red bill. Letter from Dad (why don't you ever come for a visit?). Letter from Rachel-Wait! Tearing open the airmail letter, she scanned the message looking for two words: 'wedding' and 'maid-of-honor' (ok, 4 words, but close enough). Sure enough, there they were, right near 'June 8th' and 'extraordinarily ugly frock'. Rachel had filled the role of best friend admirably during the divorce, always offering a 'bloody, sodding bastard!' or tub of ice cream at appropriate moments, so when she requested that Miranda drop everything and rush up to northen Scotland for the wedding (her fourth, actually), Miranda knew she'd better start pricing tickets.

*******

"But Sam, what will ye say? It's no as if ye can jus waltz up to th' lass an say 'Lassie, marry me!' " Pippin exclaimed. "Ye hafta woo her an, do.....other....things...." he trailed off and looked towards the other Hobbits for help.

Merry nodded and added hastily, "Bring her flowers. Lasses like that. And er, wash your feet before you go in the house!" The two cousins were advising Sam on the courting processes of asking a lady, Rosie, in this case, to be his wife. But Sam had turned bright red the moment 'Marry' was said and sat miserably on the log, his shoulders hunched to his ears.

"But what if she says no? What if she's already married? I mean, its not as though we were bound before I left or anything. I didn't even really say good-bye. What if she-" he stopped, his eyes filling with tears, "what if she hates me?"

"I'm sure she doesn't hate you, " Legolas added from his perch on top of a large boulder. He carefully sharpened his blade on an elven whetstone and added, "You are a courageous, honorable hobbit. What more could the lady ask?"

"A comfortable home, good beer, a husband who doesn't go off adventuring. Oh. And babies," Sam said.

"Babies?" Pippin repeated in alarm.

"Babies?" Merry squeaked.

"Babies?" Legolas asked, for once uncertain.

"Babies," Sam confirmed woefully, "Tiny little ones, who weep all night and want changing all day." The hobbits squirmed as they thought of this new aspect. Legolas, however, looked a bit wobbly.

"What are they like-the babies?" he asked quietly. The three hobbits looked at one another in surprise. Children were such a natural part of the Shire, they could not comprehend a world in which there was no yelling and crying and little pants hung out to dry. They quickly realized, however, that life in the elven worlds was far different.

"Weeeel....." Pippin began, rubbing his ear, thoughtfully, "they're quite tiny. Ye feel as though ye might break 'em if ye grabbed 'em wrong."

"Grabbed them? You don't 'grab' babies!" Merry exclaimed in outrage. "You sort of hold them delicately and, erm...." he made cradling motions with his arms, "They cry the night through and need to eat more often than Pip! You can't ever leave them alone, for they might roll off the table and erm...." Merry shrugged, unsure of the finer aspects of child-rearing, being a bachelor himself.

"It's a good thing you don't have any little ones!" Sam cried, indignantly. "Babies are soft and sweet. They're always warm and they don't mind if you tell them the same story you might have already told them. When you hold one, its as if nothing else matters. Its just you and the babe and the world drops away..." a far-away look came to Sam's eyes as he imagined his pretty Rosie sitting next to him, their babe in her arms. The others began to feel uncomfortable, and Merry cleared his throat, rather more loudly than was necessary. Sam came back to himself quickly, and colored, thinking of how foolish he must seem. He looked around in embarrassment and latched on to the tranquil elf.

"What's it like for the elves, then? Don't you fall in love and get married and have little ones?" he asked.

Legolas was affronted, and began to refuse to explain the rituals of Elves, by their very nature a private group, but he noticed the fourth Hobbit had sat up and was watching him with interest. Leaning against a trunk, his legs curled up beneath him in true hobbit-fashion, Frodo smoked his pipe and gazed curiously at Legolas. The other hobbits noticed with pleasure, for it had been rare in recent days, that Frodo took part in any conversations or seemed aware of them at all. They knew his ordeal with the ring had taken far more out of him than any of them could imagine, but they missed their friend. Their hearts hurt when they saw his vacant stares and pained countenance.

"We do love," Legolas began haltingly, "And sometimes we marry, but it's different, "he stressed. The taciturn elf, so agile with a bow and sure-footed in a fight, looked dubious about how he might explain elven affairs of the heart to hobbits.

"We live such a......very long time-" his words stumbled and he watched his blade.

"Yeh, we know, elves, immortal. Niver-goin-ta-die. Niver-get sick. Bloody tall. And er...cold-blooded!" Pippin finished with a flourish. Legolas looked up sharply, the usually emotionless blue of his eyes, flashing with seldom seen anger.

"We may not flounce and dramatize every utterance, nor embrace every stranger we meet, but Elves are not as cold and unaffected as you imply," he said, the ire in voice emphasizing his words.

"We have lived far longer than any of you might contemplate and will live even longer. There comes a point when individual feelings cease having such great importance and the good of the many comes first. None of you will ever know the weight nearly 3,000 years carries with it. The memories.....If we were to feel as strongly as you hobbits, how could we bear it?" He dropped his head again, the emotion quickly leaving his voice.

"There was a time when elves bred quickly and easily. But then there were fewer wars. Fewer dying, more living. We rejoiced, and then noticed that with the living came a slowing. When we do not die, how could we expect that others might be born?"

To be continued....

Incorruptible Cat-like Quick

honor Light Swift

dignity Supple fleet

stoic Resilient agile

emotionless Malleable spry

cold Pliant Dynamic

unaffected Speedily

imposing Sure-footed

guileless

unfeigned

solid

sure Still

strong Silent

firm Taciturn

fast Reserved

secure Soundless

stable Calm

staunch Composed

loyal Tranquil

steady Serene

faithful Unruffled

resolute Stationary

steadfast Immobile

sturdy Intense

reliable Fierce

dependable Vehement

trustworthy Deep

Profound

suppressed

quenched

repressed

stifled

strangled

muffled

dampened

deadened