Many of the Noldor would perish in the impending battle, their last vision of the life they once had would have been that of the Last Homely House as they marched east, onwards to the wide plain on the east side of the mountains later known as the Dagorlad; Rivendell would never again see as many of its kindred.

For the Kings and Princes of the Eldar are great and powerful in wrath, none may withstand them save the greatest of evils. Though seekers of peace, when needed they may be roused to great victories for the free peoples of Middle Earth, skill in arms learned over the many ages since they awoke.

At the fall of Sauron it became a memory of the elves past glory, its numbers dwindled, yet still it would have a part to play in the fate of Middle Earth, for it soon became the refuge of others, the line of Isildur and the shards of Narsil, the blade that sundered the One Ring from Sauron’s hand.

Such a task it held for more than three thousand years, continuing even in its fading days to be a place of lore and wise council. For all those who come across the House of Elrond and whom are an enemy of the Dark Shadow that even now is growing will be welcomed. Wounds should you bear them are a mere distraction, for here you will find the most skilled healers in all of Middle Earth. Unhappiness is merely a word, for the remaining Noldor still know how to please the ears with light music, poetry and song, and how to quench the thirst and satisfy the hunger of even the most demanding stomachs.

Having eaten and rested, there is time to wander the glades, and feel the cool dappled shade upon your skin, the gentle sighing of the breeze through the branches of the trees that seem to have bowed in reverence to the nearby splendour of the elves, so that at times their branches and foliage drape the paths, and at all times there is the sound of the Loudwater sustaining the wild flowers, that fill the air with their scent, summer seems to always be thriving in the gardens of Elrond.

The house of Elrond and few remaining kindred peer through the trees, places of rest and comfort, and for scrolls upon scrolls of lore; for while here resides the best healers so too does the lore of the Eldar, the elves are wise in all things. It is ‘`a perfect house, whether you like food or sleep, or story-telling or singing, or just sitting and thinking best, or a pleasant mixture of them all'. Merely to be there was a cure for weariness, fear, and sadness.’

It is hard to believe that this place lies between the tranquil land of the west and the war torn east.

Yet the White City was ever in the shadow of her sister city, Minas Ithil, built upon the shoulder of the Mountains of Shadow and that of Gondor’s chief city, Citadel of Stars. For a time Gondor’s splendour grew and the winged crown of the Kings of Men was held in awe by many folk 

Until the Great Plague in 1636 of the Third Age swept through the lands of Gondor even groping into the far North, Osgiliath became deserted, and Tarondor the twenty seventh King removed the throne to Minas Anor as the city was then named, a name that was lost at the fall of Minas Ithil, and became the last great city of Men. Despite the grave times it endured, the Ruling Stewards growing in power as the royal line faded like shadows in the dark.

Denethor II the twenty seventh Ruling Steward now foretells of a growing shadow in the east, rumours have spread that he looks into the palantír and he has grown ever grim and serious. Yet Minas Tirith does not stand alone, its other fiefs would bring aid if called.

Folk of the green forests of Ithilien and from the hills of Emyn Arnen on the east banks of the Anduin, from the central region of Lamedon or the southern fiefs of Lebennin and Belfalas whose chief city is Dol Amroth ruled by Prince Imrahil, or from the other shoreland fief, Langstrand. Gondor is a country geared for war; its history is littered with many battles.

Yet its people tire of war, peace is on the mind on every man and woman and while the White City orchestrates the defense, its people continue with their business. Hunters and farmers in Lamedon, blacksmiths and armories to service the soldiers, markets that fill the streets of Minas Tirith selling many wares, for being the last main city it has become centre for all administrative and economic affairs, trading via the Anduin from the port of Harlond.

Inn’s, many Inn’s to service travelers and soldiers after a long guard shift, for while the people of Minas Tirith and Gondor are hardened by war, they do not forget their ancestry and their longing for peace means they are all too willing to sing, tell stories and recite poetry about their glorious past. Glorious it once was, resilient it has become.

The Shire is a place of plenty, with many a good roadside Inn to rest the weary feet of travellers, perhaps most noticeably the Golden Dragon on the Bywater road down which Bilbo Baggins had scampered without hat or kerchief and heaven’s forbid, pipe, to meet with Thorin and his companions. The disappearance and sudden reappearance is still spoke of to this day, this day being 1417 by the Shire reckoning. Or indeed for those arriving from the East road which reaches out in an encompassing grasp across the entirety of the Shire, the Golden Perch is the most famous, nestled against a hill at the intersection of the Stock Road and The Causeway, boasting the finest ale in the Eastfarthing.

Yet no traveller whatever his business dare leave the Shire’s borders without sampling possibly the most exquisite Leaf in the entire of Middle Earth, or so those of the Southfarthing like to boast. ‘Old Toby’ was the legacy of Tobald Hornblower whose family the Hornblowers resided in the chief town of Longbottom, the Southfarthing a place of many fields and warmer climes, promotes the abundant growth of the renowned Longbottom leaf introduced to the Shire around 1070 Shire reckoning.

If all this were not enough continue reading, there is more, for we have yet to visit the Westfarthing, where the town of Michel Delving, the Shire capital, is sited  in the lee of the eerie and imposing chalk White Downs. Yet it is here that one of the most important Hobbits reside, the Mayor of Michel Delving whose responsibilities have grown to include governance of all the Shire. A position only the most capable of Hobbits could hold, and in this case the most ample of proportioned Hobbits, for Will Whitfoot is the largest of Hobbits, affectionately known as Old Flourdumpling he has become one of the most respected, that is, apart from the other office, that of the Thain, which had become more honorary.

For while you may think that the Hobbits are an entirely peaceful folk then you would be wrong, for when roused they can be stout defends of their homes and “ways”, for the Thain is the military leader, and a title that has been tested in the distant past, for Bandobras Took led an armed Hobbit force to victory over the Goblins at the Battle of Greenfields.

However the average Hobbits dislike of anything other than the norm has meant that in this pleasant corner of the world they have plied their trade and busied with daily chores, heeding less and less, the world outside their borders where dark things move, until they came to think that peace and plenty was the rule in Middle-Earth and the right of sensible folk.

However change is in the air, whether you be a, Took, Baggins, Banks, Goodbody, Chub, Cotton, Fairbairn, Gammidge, Grubb, Hornblower, Marchbuck, Proudfoot, Sackville, or Underhill live now your life in full, revelling in family, feasting and friends for some of you at least, the more adventurous, the outside world may soon become very much the inside…