Honeysuckle

Idril was having a grand time.

After journeying for days and surviving the daring, perilous journey through the Grey Mountains―all the while continuously ignoring Death's endless suggestive proposals about obliterating the dark, treacherous land beyond Mount Gundabad and having a short-lived predicament of taking a quick peek on what exactly lies on and beyond the mountain―Idril finally found her Hobbits.

She didn't even have to go too far West this time.

The Hobbits were friendly and pleasant, though Idril could feel the hint of fear and wariness in them when they tentatively conversed with her, which to her was understandable considering she did just come down from the high slopes of the Misty Mountains.

They were indeed shorter than her, something that Death had informed her, but Idril didn't dare judge when she was a tiny thing herself. However, Idril imagined them to be bulkier, much stouter, but this particular group weren't―aside from a select few who were clearly a bit dissimilar from the usual lot―so Death must've spoken about another type of Hobbit, a thought that made her feel determined to see if there were several others.

She would learn later on that no, there weren't and that there were only three well-known tribes of them.

Her lodging for the entirety of her stay came into discussion immediately right after and in the middle of a long debate, one that very nearly tempted her to speak out that she'd brought her own tent (not that she actually had one with her), a kind-looking couple extended an invitation to foster her into their home.

Idril haven't a clue how that could work, seeing as she was marginally towering amongst them but nevertheless, she expressed her heartfelt gratitude, offering her assistance for manual labor in whatever she can do as her compensation.

The couple of days after that found Idril acclimating to her new environment but it wasn't really that big and heavy of a change. The Hobbits were an overly curious lot, to the point of being too nosy, and most of the time had been on her case about a couple specific information about herself but Idril had long been educated on how to divert conversations and amuse people without the use of her magic and Hobbits, she amusedly realized, were quite easy to distract to more interesting topics.

Especially when it came to glorious food. And afternoon teas. Merlin, she hadn't felt a single speck of regret for stopping over on this noteworthy race.

It was one of the few things she'd learned about them when the days continued to stretch into weeks and Idril was, to her surprise, still with the lovely Hobbits. There were a scant few differences of course, like how one group favored hunting rather than growing all sorts of vegetation and how another preferred living along the banks of the river rather than building their quaint homes under the ground, but those distinctions didn't really matter to Idril because they all have one or two things in common―could've been five but she'd stopped counting―and it was about their magnificent enthusiasm about food.

They might not have seven meals everyday―Death had been relatively right once again, the smug bastard―but the inflexible number wasn't doing anything to stop the little ones from seizing whatever available food they have no matter what time of the day it was.

There was no such thing as ruining one's appetite for this specific lot, Idril pondered one afternoon, eternally amused, when she and couple other Hobbits took an eventful tea break from ploughing a portion of fertile soil for growing vegetables. A Hobbit's… substantial pantry was one of the important parts of the house, she discovered. It was brimming with all kinds of food, fruits and vegetables, preferably preserved but even those didn't last longer than a few days.

Eating hadn't been essential for her ever since she became immortal but it was an activity she'd chosen to willingly partake whenever she wanted and honestly, refusing an offered meal from a Hobbit was close to committing a grave and heartbreaking offense. She wasn't complaining however, because she's finally found kindred spirits who had a great appreciation for what she'd been looking for.

The weeks became months and the months prolonged into years―five if she had to be exact―and Idril had cultivated a couple of unforeseen hobbies she didn't think she'd do.

Didn't think she'd become an expert in anything related to crop raising either.

Death had ribbed her about the mundane and predictable chores she'd been doing but Idril hadn't paid him any mind. It's true that the humdrum she'd been doing was something she didn't miss but she valued the humble kind of serenity of doing such routines, something that Death didn't exactly comprehend and to which she'd taken to pestering him about when she had the chance.

Still, her five years with the Hobbits was a contentment she experienced and it was once again time for her to go back into travelling.

She informed the Hobbits of her plan and even though most of them got teary-eyed of her decision for leaving, the wonderful bunch gave her a bag full of stuff to help her survive on the road.

Not that she'd need anything but for Godric's sake, Death! It was all about sentiment.

Aside from the bag full of stuff, the Hobbits similarly threw her a grand farewell party as if she was never coming back, which was unpleasantly true to a great extent, but Idril knew better, knowing that they were only using her departure as an intentional excuse to swiftly organize some semblance of celebration.

They sent her off the next day and Idril cheerily waved her goodbyes before hiking up the Misty Mountains once more.

-o-

Death was absolutely persistent so Idril eventually yielded and decided to visit the dispersing communities of Men in the vast land of Eriador and was marginally displeased of what she found.

The primordial nuisance had told her of a particular race of Men. The Númenóreans, he'd called them. They'd been blessed with an island in the far West to at least alleviate the misfortunes they had experienced, had been given the chance to be able to grow roots and start again. It did work for a while. The Númenóreans impressively established themselves in Númenor, increasingly prospered and became exceptionally skilled with almost everything.

Until their insolence flourished like tiny flower buds blooming on the first lights of spring. The great fear of their mortality slithered up to them and with it came their embittered hate for the Valar for forbidding them from sailing anywhere near the Undying Lands and their immense jealousy for the Elves for their immortality.

She'd rolled her eyes at that and had thought about how some folks simply can't have an abundance of nice things. They either destroy it because they didn't know what to do with it or they were simply going to ask for more, the feeling of pride and entitlement growing strong each passing day.

The Númenóreans had become egotistical conquerors and had decided to take out their infuriation on Middle-Earth under the guise of aiding the initial settlers, taking over large regions of land and eventually demanding payments and forcefully procuring resources.

The meek and lesser villages predictably didn't stand a chance and could only capitulate to the formidable, more cultured group and Idril abhorred it, causing her to obscurely recollect memories of comparable tyranny from distant worlds before.

Matters like these never failed to whip something good and noble in her and Idril did what she does best: meddle and incite a little bit of perplexing disorder.

She went around village after village, enthusiastically and subtly fiddling with the untamed magic from the lush earth and the pure air. Middle-Earth, after all, was a land abundant of it; uncultivated and raw magic she could twist and use to her will.

Idril never stayed more than a couple of months in every hamlet though, wordlessly departing when she deemed her assistance enough. Eriador was a massive terrain and there were countless of people she desired to help―the people in this land predominantly lived through farming and for that reason, she did her part by giving the best of the crops and an astonishing plethora of harvest―currently engrossing herself as a good Samaritan, encouraging tales about her in so many accounts, spreading like scorching flames eager to burn everything within its reach.

It never failed to bring out a laugh from her and Death whenever another interesting rumor came up.

Her good deeds continued for a few years―she spent most of her time in the Southern part of the land rather than the North where bustling constructions were being made into a firm nation―before Idril impulsively decided not to avoid the Elves anymore and to finally visit Mithlond.

She travelled across clustered hills, extensive plains and tranquil rivers before she reached the Elven settlement, her entry to the fine city earning her a couple curious looks as she continued to walk through the pavement, enthralled by the company of fine-looking, tall Elves and the sophisticated structures lining the embankments of the significant lake that she almost failed to notice the pulsating thrum of power encompassing the harbour.

She halted mid-step, slightly taken off guard as she absentmindedly stepped aside to avoid disturbing the palliative flow of promenading Elves doing their own business.

Intriguingly rotating her head around, Idril tried to find the source of such powerful magic and was pleased to find it coming from a rising tower, startling herself when an Elf caught her wandering gaze with his own grey orbs, knowing and beckoning.

"My, my… What an astounding turn of events," Death spoke up, his voice preposterously back to its masculine form, low and alluringly mellifluous, unlike the delicate-sounding, feminine voice he'd used a couple of weeks before.

"Is this the part where you tell me that my time in Middle-Earth is regrettably coming to a close end?" she mumbled under her breath, her lips barely moving, completely mindful of the place where she was at and the residents' sensitive hearing.

Death rolled his shoulders as if gearing up for a fight, "Of course not but if there's going to be some sort of discord when you meet up with the Elf, you know what to do."

Idril grumbled with knitted eyebrows, "How do you know I'll take the invitation?"

He rolled his eyes this time, a teasing lilt on his voice, "Because I know you, my lovely Idril. Hundreds of years with you and you're still remarkably the same, eternally looking for trouble instead of Disapparating to the other side of the hills."

She pulled on a sour face, feeling slighted, and opened her mouth to say something in defense for that precise information when Death beat her to it, monotonously drawling, "And yes, I absolutely know what you're going to say but it doesn't change the fact that your proclivity for such a mess is beyond astounding I'm just about certain I don't have anything to do with it. This is why you didn't quite make the cut to be in Slytherin. You have no sense of self-preservation whatsoever."

"I'd been very insistent not to be put in Slytherin."

"Only because the silly thing knew exactly what you'd be up to. Survival instinct had been a decisive factor after all, which you didn't have. At that time," he argued.

"At that time…" Idril echoed, rolling her eyes as she crossed her arms, nonchalantly drifting her eyes on the scenic edifices around her, "I still don't have it."

"Obviously," he intoned, fascinatingly sounding like one of her professors from Hogwarts.

"Nevertheless, you might not have anything to do with it but we both know that Fate simply adores messing with me. It's a good thing I'm not a paranoid chit or I'd be doubting every single thing I do," she quietly groused, her acerbic expression never going away even with her eyes trained back to the elegant Elf on the overlooking tower, his grey eyes equally focused at her in a wondrous amount of intensity.

She subsequently whispered, "And he's still staring at me. Which I'm starting to find a tad unsettling. Oh, no… Death, do you think he knows?"

Death let out a disbelieving snort, "What a ridiculous thing to say!" A stretch of silence before, "Though I'd certainly say that's one possible assumption, what with the Elves' remarkable gift of prescience."

"That's… not reassuring at all. Should I just… you know, wait it out for a bit?"

He made a curious sound of bewilderment before answering, "Then it'll become a contest of determination. Or endurance. The Elves aren't a novice at it, especially that one." He peered at her, as if appraising her, before he asserted in his no-nonsense voice, "And you're not exactly the patient kind."

"I am very patient, how dare you. And are you implying I'm going to lose?" she expressed mutinously, her eyes narrowing.

Death shrugged his haori-clad shoulders, his preferred style of clothing these past few months mainly anything Asian, "Only on the things that matter."

Idril sent him an incredulous look, "This does matter."

"And yes, you're going to lose," he continued as if she hadn't spoken, gesturing his chin towards the scrutinizing Elf, "That one's incredibly old and he's had eons of practice. You won't stand a chance."

Idril stuck her nose up in the air before maintaining, still firmly defiant, "We'll see about that."

He asked drily, "You'll be staying here for a long time then? Much longer than the time when you were with the Hobbits?"

She grimaced and muttered, sounding uncertain, "That sounds… not good. Whatever will I do in here?" she let out a soft yet audible gasp, a few of the dawdling Elves turning to her at the sound she made, "Merlin, Death! I'll most definitely grow bored!"

Death huffed and remarked, trying to sound a little bit supportive but was awfully failing at it when all she could hear was him being thoroughly amused, "Don't sound so horrified, darling. You managed to survive years with the Hobbits and all you ever did was either farming and gardening… for the most part. Surely, you can find something to occupy your time."

"Like what?"

"Why don't you try the library for once, hmm? Lindon is an ancient kingdom, the Elves even older. This place will undoubtedly offer you a wealth of knowledge, though you can always go farther West and visit Forlindon or you can go under Ered Luin for the Dwarves."

Idril's grimace made more emphasis when she protested, "I honestly do not want to dwell under the mountains. Or anywhere under the ground." Death sent her a dull, perceptive look and Idril defensively declared, "Being in a Hobbit's smial is simply very different, alright? The smials are… well, they're like expansive mounds protruding under a thin layer of dirt. Possibly. And smials are extremely cozy."

"I'm certain Dwarven Halls aren't lacking in comfort," he droned.

"Of course, they aren't," she swiftly replied, "But Dwarven kingdoms are so… so greatly entrenched down into the earth and it'll probably take a dreadfully long flight of stairs for me to see daylight again, which is making me a bit claustrophobic just thinking about it."

Death dubiously reminded her, "You've spent a few hundred years in the Underworld without resurfacing even once, Idril."

She nodded a few times before resolutely saying, "That's precisely the reason why I don't want to stay underground for an extended period of time."

The ancient being strove to persuade her again, "Dwarves have excellent dwellings. I'm sure they aren't merely rocks and long passages of complex tunnels."

"Oh, they'll be undoubtedly magnificent but it'll also still be meters below the soil. Convince me again when I've had enough sunlight," she distractedly stated as she began walking towards their current concern, "But let's see what the ellon wants, shall we? Especially when he holds such power in him."

-o-

"Well met, young one. Welcome to the Grey Havens. I've been expecting you," came the lyrical yet firm greeting in Westron from the Elf when she reached him after a climb of winding stairs.

She stopped just a few paces from him, the both of them the only ones standing on this gaping space at the top of the tower―with Death not physically included―the sight ahead of her almost identical to a gleaming mirror as the streams of light from the glorious sun lit up the tranquil tides of the sea.

Idril has only seen various forms of river in this journey so far, which she'd expected considering she'd been travelling inland and never near the seaboards, so the enchanting sight of the gulf of Lhûn was a pleasant change.

Remembering her current company, who looked entirely amused for her momentary distraction based from the twinkle in his orbs, Idril slanted her head to the side in greeting, answering in their preferred language, "I haven't been young for a long time now, though I suppose I truly am one in the eyes of your immortal race." She swept an idle hand around them and added, "And I am quite certain I haven't made your acquaintance prior to this… fated meeting."

She just knew Fate had something to do with this.

"You could say it was more likely a deed of the Valar," Death mused inside her head.

The Elf's eyes marginally widened in delight, possibly because of her eloquent use of Sindarin, before saying, on the nose with Death's postulation, "Indeed we have not but I've been told of your arrival. It was only a matter of time before you decided to grace Mithlond of your presence but whether you would venture this far West was a decision solely up to you."

Idril continued to stare at him, her gaze calculating, "Yes. It was certainly unplanned and now here I am."

The Elf nodded, a tiny tilt on the corners of his lips, "And here you are. We hardly ever have visitors that is neither Dwarf nor Elf, therefore I would like to apologize in behalf of my people." He made a gesture commonly done among Elves and Elf-friend and said, "I am Círdan, the current Master of the Grey Havens."

"It is no matter. It didn't bother me the slightest," she comfortingly replied, already aware about the lack of diversity of their guests, and gave the peculiar Elf the same courtesy―and also not wanting to be outdone―and greeted back, "Well met, Master Círdan. I am known as Idril, currently on a personal voyage to know everything there is on Middle-Earth."

A sparkle of recognition passed in his eyes and Círdan released a wistful sigh, "Ahh, Idril... Ages have passed since I have last seen her and her son, Eärendil."

Idril grimaced and shifted a bit uneasily as she responded, not knowing that he knew another one by this name, "For the record, I'm only borrowing the name for while I'm here in this world."

Círdan released a low chuckle, sounding so appealing to Idril, and appeased, "Do not fret, young Idril. It is but a single name among a few others she was known to us and the Eldar always have a few to distinguish one's self as our lives go by. You would know about it."

Idril smiled sheepishly, "Of course. I was merely finding an appropriate name that might suit me and I've surprisingly grown fond of it."

Death let out an undignified snicker in her head and Idril stifled for a grimace to show on her face lest she confuse her current company.

It... wasn't entirely the truth. She simply didn't feel like spending the entire boat ride down the river Limlight searching for a name she would obsessively like and it was only an additional benefit for her that the name sounded lovely. There are a thousand possible names out there she was sure, but Idril didn't feel like she wanted to play with a hundred thousand words either, no matter how educated she was with the Elven language.

Círdan good-naturedly replied, a tinge of amusement coloring his voice, "It is indeed a beautiful name, though if you stay long enough you might find yourself earning another one made especially for you."

"Another something to look forward to, don't you think?" Death contemplatively chimed in.

Idril didn't have any clue on how to respond to that.

The Master of the Grey Havens thankfully spared her from giving a reply when he continued, as he motioned a hand to the stairs behind her, still sounding amused, "And despite what Gil-galad thinks, I am not such an unsociable host. You must be weary from your long travel, young Idril. Please allow me to provide you with a place to stay for as long as you want and when you're amply rested, we have much to talk about."