Gandalf leaned back with a certain amount of satisfaction. In all their long years of acquaintance, he did not believe that he had ever before seen such an expression of open astonishment on the face of his host. The closest was when he had given Elrond the news that Bilbo had outwitted Smaug, seen to the dragon’s destruction (if not personally), and forged an alliance between Men, Elves and Dwarves. And even then it was but a shadow of the amazement that had now briefly rendered his old friend speechless.

Finally Elrond shook his head, and gave a rueful chuckle. “Do you mean to tell me,” he said, “that the mother of the hobbit race is also…” his voice trailed off.

Gandalf took a sip of his wine, and smiled smugly. “Indeed, I suppose you could say that she was the mother of the hobbit race, given the number of her progeny.” He frowned slightly. “Perhaps there might be some few who bear little or none of her blood, but given the number of generations involved, I find it doubtful. But yes, Melian was not the only one of my race to wed with one of the Children, though the only one to wed one of the Eldar. Yet so far as I know, Mirimë was the only one who wed one of the Secondborn.”

“A hobbit.” Elrond sighed. “So much for the pride of the peredhil.” He laughed. “And none knew this until now?”

“My Lady Nienna, my Lady Yavanna, and He who made us all,” said Gandalf, solemn once more. “I was told, yet I remembered it not, until I returned West of the Sea. But there is no reason now to keep it secret.”

“I would meet with her.”

“There is no reason why you should not.”