The Shire, with its endless green hills, winding rivers, and tranquil air, seemed like a distant dream to Maedhros. It was hard to believe that this peaceful place existed in the same world that had birthed his father's tumultuous life. The hobbits, with their simple ways, were a sharp contrast to the grandeur and strife of the realms Maedhros had known. But for the first time in his life, he found himself yearning to understand this quiet corner of Middle-earth—this land where his father had once walked, had once made friends, and, seemingly, had found some fleeting peace.
He was still adjusting to this place, his feelings conflicted by both the beauty of the Shire and the looming questions about his father's past. It was a simple life here, but Maedhros carried the weight of his bloodline, the weight of a father who had been both hero and enigma. He needed to understand, to piece together who Taranis had been here, among the hobbits.
One afternoon, while wandering the green fields that stretched as far as the eye could see, Maedhros encountered four hobbits in a field, playing a game of catch. Their laughter carried on the wind, a sound so foreign to Maedhros, so carefree. For a moment, he was reminded of his childhood, and how, even in the shadow of his heritage, there had been laughter and love.
One of the hobbits—a young, curly-haired one—spotted him first.
"Oi!" he shouted, waving his hands. "Look at that! Who's this tall fellow?"
The other three hobbits paused and turned, their curiosity piqued. Maedhros felt their gaze upon him, but he stood tall, meeting their looks with quiet composure. Despite his imposing height, there was no intimidation in his stance—only a sense of duty and curiosity. These hobbits had once been close to his father, and he had come here for answers, to understand the man his father had been.
The curly-haired hobbit, who introduced himself as Samwise Gamgee, approached with a wide smile. "I'm Samwise, Sam for short. And this here's Merry," he said, pointing to the second hobbit, who was shorter but had a mischievous grin on his face. "Pippin's over there, playing," Sam continued, and then he gestured toward a fourth hobbit, standing with a more serious expression. "And that's Frodo. Frodo Baggins."
Maedhros gave a slight bow, feeling a strange connection to these small people, who seemed so out of place in the world of elves and men, yet somehow more real than most of the folk he'd met. "I'm Maedhros, son of Taranis Storm."
At the mention of his father's name, the hobbits fell silent, and then Sam's face lit up with recognition. "Taranis! The Taranis, the Thunderer? By the Shire, that's a name I haven't heard in a long time!"
Maedhros nodded solemnly, his heart swelling at the mention of his father's legacy. "Yes, that's him."
Merry, who had been quiet, now spoke up. "I remember your father well. He was a great friend to Bilbo, and we spent quite a bit of time with him when we were younger."
Sam's eyes were wide with awe. "He wasn't like any man I'd ever met before. Full of energy, always pulling us into some adventure or another. Your father was always the one to get us into trouble—remember that time he took us up Hobbiton Hill to race? It was all fun and games till we couldn't catch our breath!"
Pippin laughed from a distance. "And who could forget the time he convinced us we could climb trees? He was as mad as a hatter, but we loved him for it."
Maedhros felt a surge of something unfamiliar, a mixture of pride and grief. His father, this larger-than-life figure who had seemed so distant in his mind, had once been a part of their lives—a source of joy and mischief, a protector and a friend. Hearing the stories of Taranis' time with these hobbits, Maedhros couldn't help but feel the emptiness of his own loneliness. He had never known this side of his father, and yet here, in the Shire, it was all alive again, through the eyes of these four hobbits.
"How did you all know my father?" Maedhros asked, his voice steady but filled with quiet curiosity.
Frodo, who had been listening silently, stepped forward, a wistful smile on his face. "We were just children when we met your father. Bilbo and Taranis were both very kind to us, teaching us things, showing us how to see the world in a different light. Your father had a... spark about him, something that made everything feel more exciting, even if we were just walking through the woods."
Merry chuckled. "I'll never forget the time we decided to build a treehouse, and Taranis ended up dangling us from the branches like we were in a contest to see who could fall the hardest."
"And you nearly did," Pippin piped up, still grinning. "You weren't so brave when we had to climb back down, Merry!"
Maedhros smiled at their antics, the warmth in their voices making him feel as if his father had never really gone. "I didn't know he was so... lively."
"Your father was all about adventure, Maedhros," Sam said, looking at him with a deep respect. "Even when we were young, he always wanted to push the limits. Nothing was ever too big for him to take on."
Maedhros felt a lump form in his throat. The stories were so simple, yet so profound. It wasn't just that his father had been a hero in distant battles, fighting for lands and crowns. It was that he had been a hero here, in the Shire, to these hobbits—small folk, who had been as much a part of Taranis' life as the elves or men or dwarves.
The group of hobbits, who had started their afternoon games without him, now gathered around him as the day wore on. It felt like something of a reunion, despite Maedhros having never met any of them before today. It felt as though the past was reaching out to him through their stories, wrapping him in the memories of a man he had never truly known but was bound to in more ways than one.
"Tell me more about him," Maedhros asked quietly, sitting on the soft grass beside Sam. He needed to hear more—needed to understand who his father had been when he wasn't the hero, the warrior, the Thunderer.
"Well," Sam began, scratching his head, "he was always so sure of himself. But, you know, there was a kindness to him, too. Even if he was always up for a challenge, he never left anyone behind. He taught us things—things like never backing down when the odds seemed impossible, and to keep a positive outlook, even when it seemed the world was falling apart."
Maedhros nodded, letting the words sink in. His father had been more than just a soldier. He had been a teacher, a mentor, a friend.
Pippin, sitting cross-legged beside him, added, "He had this way of looking at things, like he could see past all the troubles. He made you believe that anything could be done, even the things you thought were impossible."
"I don't know that I'll ever live up to him," Maedhros admitted, his voice quiet but filled with the weight of his own doubts. "He was... something else entirely. I don't know how I can carry his legacy."
Merry, ever the one to lighten the mood, leaned in with a grin. "You already have, lad. Look at you—tall, strong, and standing here with us. If that isn't living up to Taranis, I don't know what is."
Maedhros smiled, the warmth in the hobbit's words comforting him. He had lost his father, but perhaps, through the stories of these hobbits, through their memories of Taranis, he could find a way to honor him, to carry on the legacy that had been left behind.
As the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky with hues of pink and gold, Maedhros stood up. "Thank you," he said, his voice steady but full of gratitude. "For sharing these memories. I needed to hear them."
Sam, Merry, Pippin, and Frodo all stood as well, their faces sincere. "Anytime, Maedhros," Frodo said, his voice calm. "We're friends, after all. And we'll always remember your father."
As Maedhros walked back to Bilbo's home that evening, the weight of his father's legacy felt a little lighter. He wasn't sure what the future held for him, but for the first time in a long while, he felt like maybe he wasn't walking alone. And that thought brought him more peace than he could have imagined.