Author’s note: When, if ever I finish this story, I consider doing asequal, the Lord of the Rings. I want to know if you think I should. This story seems to be progressing rather slowly though, so it could be awhile.
Back at the camp Omey’s absence had finally been noticed.
“Where has that dratted elf gotten to now, I wonder?” Thorin wanted to know.
“Probably gone off to be alone again, maybe to watch the sun rise, she likes solitude, I’ve noticed.” Said Bilbo, who was rather interested in the elf, as he had met so few of them in his life.
“Some elves are like that,” Gandalf replied.” But I think it is more likely she went off to find the troll’s larder. We had better go find her, no telling what she may run into in these parts.”
“I didn’t run, I walked, and I didn’t hit anything.” Said a clear elven voice behind them. Standing behind Gandalf was Omey. Gandalf stared at her for several moments, there seemed to be something different about her that he couldn’t quite place, she seemed to stand taller, and yet looked as if she had some heavy matter on her mind. There was something else too…
“I found a cave, the trolls must have used it to hide from the sun, it seems to be locked though.”
Ah well, time for that later.” I believe I can get it open, where is it?”
Omey led them to it, then leaned against a tree and examined the ring Peter had given her. The skill it had taken to make it was incredible, it was about the size and shape of her father’s wedding band. There was a star carved in the sapphire too, like the star of Feanor. She hadn’t noticed that before. One question kept echoing in her head, what was it for?
The dwarves were sleeping, as their night had been disturbed, Omey as usual wasn’t sleeping. She was tired, for once, but she couldn’t sleep. Now instead of just one question, she had hundreds, in fact she had begun to question her entire life up until the past two or three weeks. If her mother was Queen Susan, who was her father? Was he just the ordinary American he seemed to be, or did he have something more to his story too? Why was she an elf? And most of all, would she see Aslan?
Finally the dwarves got up and they broke camp and set out on their way to Rivendell again. Gandalf rode on his great white horse at the head and had Omey ride beside him. He wanted to question the elf about the sword he had suddenly noticed her wearing and several other things.
“You seem rather subdued today, my friend.” Gandalf said looking keenly into her face.
“I have a lot on my mind today.”
“Does it happen to have something to do with the sword your wearing?”
Omey glanced swiftly at the wizard. “Yes, but I’d rather not talk about it. It’s still very confusing and I need to think it through some more.”
Gandalf nodded understandingly, knowing that she would talk to him later.
Omey couldn’t help thinking how fast her life had changed, one day she was just a sixteen year old girl, the next she was an elf, wondering why she had been chosen to aid the dwarves on their quest, now she found that she wasn’t the only one in her family to travel to other worlds.
Funny, her mother referred to Mr. Kirke as,’ that old crazy coot in the big house’ and had scoffed(at least in front of other people) at the mention of other worlds. Maybe, when she got to a certain age she would be like that to. She didn’t think so though. Omey wondered how anyone could forget traveling between worlds. Maybe, in her heart of hearts Susan remembered that Narnia was real, that she was queen. Maybe she should carry on where her mother left off.
‘I may never go to Narnia,’ she thought. ‘But the fact remains, my uncle is High King Peter, and I’m going to act like it, even though that probably means that I’ll have to slay the dragon. Who knows what changes my presence has brought in this story.’
The sun was setting and the stars were coming out when Omey suddenly several voices broke out in a rather nonsensical song…
O! What are you doing,
And where are you going?
Your ponies need shoeing!
The river is flowing!
Here down in the valley!
O! What are are you seeking,
And where are you making?
The faggots are reeking,
The bannocks are baking!
The valley is jolly!
O! Where are you going,
With beards all a-wagging?
No knowing, no knowing
What brings Mister Baggins,
And Balin and Dwalin,
Down into the valley
O! Will you be staying,
Or will you be flying?
Your ponies are straying!
Daylight is dying!
To stay would be jolly,
To fly would be folly!
To listen and hark
Till the end of dark,
To our tune,
They had come to Rivendell.