Clarity of Vision, Chapter 14
Title: Clarity of Vision, Chapter 14
Relationship: Thorin/Bilbo
Characters: Bilbo Baggins, Fíli, Kíli, Thorin, Dwalin, Balin, Gandalf, Lindir, Elrond, Glorfindel
Fandom: Hobbit
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: G
Word Count: 3400
Story Summary: In a Middle-Earth where Erebor never fell, a shadow remains in the heart of the Lonely Mountain. Bilbo Baggins finds himself drawn reluctantly into a quest that will lead him across the continent--from Bree to Lake Evendim to the icy North and beyond--with a party of five dwarves searching for an artifact that will cure the ailing King Thrór.
Chapter Summary: The party arrives at Rivendell and is welcomed (if not warmly). Counsel is sought and received, and plans are made.
Thorin glanced at the elvish guards to his left and right and tried not to fidget. "{I do not like this,}" Dwalin growled in Khuzdul beside him, and the guards exchanged a quick glance from their sharp eyes that Thorin tried not to notice.
The sound of falling water filled the hidden valley with a constant low susurration, a murmur at the edge of hearing. Golden leaves drifted by them, looping in lazy spirals to the ground. Beside him, Bilbo was silent: when they had entered the valley he had given one gasp of wonder, and since then had been rapt and wordless, his eyes wide as he looked around him.
Rivendell was beautiful indeed, but Thorin couldn't help but worry that he might have been unwise to come here.
A figure in russet robes approached them, his bearing lordly under the circlet on his brow, and Thorin guessed his identity even before Gandalf stepped forward and inclined his head. "My Lord Elrond," he said. "Your hospitality does us honor."
Elrond glanced at the guards, and they bowed and strode off, leaving Thorin feeling slightly more at ease. "Mithrandir," he said. "You and your...guests...are welcome in Imladris."
"I travel with Thorin, son of Thráin, son of King Thrór of Erebor, and his party," said Gandalf.
Thorin met ageless eyes and bowed his head slightly. "Êl síla erin lû e-govaned vîn," he murmured, and had the satisfaction of watching those eyes widen at the Sindarin words.
"A star shines on our meeting indeed," replied Elrond. He looked at Gandalf. "I look forward to hearing how you came to be in the company of a dwarf who can speak our tongue."
"Before you hear his tale," said Gandalf. "I must ask your promise that you will not hinder the passage of Thorin and his party in any way."
Elrond's eyes narrowed. "A bold request to ask of me, wizard."
"I would not ask it if I did not feel that the fate of more than Erebor hinges upon this group," Gandalf said, and Thorin had to fight not to turn and look sharply at him.
Elrond looked at Gandalf's face for a long time. Then he nodded slowly. "I will do what is in my power to aid you," he said to Thorin. "For the sake of Mithrandir and the sake of your kind greeting."
"Not from any love of our people, I'll wager," said Dwalin from behind them.
To Thorin's surprise, Elrond smiled then, a flash of light across a solemn face. "True enough, Master Dwarf. Your honesty cleaves my diplomacy in twain. Yet come and be welcome for now." He clapped his hands. "Food and drink, rooms for our guests," he said to the elves who stepped up and bowed. "And perhaps a bath," he added, turning to escort them across the bridge into Rivendell.
{"Is he saying we smell bad?"} Dwalin grumbled in Khuzdul, and Thorin heard Bilbo giggle helplessly.
Putting on his best regal demeanour, he resisted the urge to sniff his clothing and swept after Elrond.
: : :
Bilbo sank down in water up to his chin and his sigh of rapture sent small, silvery bubbles floating into the air. "Oh, this is heaven," he murmured. "And a real bed! I haven't had a real bed since Bree."
"Hey," said Kíli's voice from the other room, "You can't go in there, that's--"
An elf walked into the bathroom and Bilbo floundered, sending bubbles everywhere. With a polite, aloof nod, the elf picked up Bilbo's bundle of clothing, put a robe down on the chair, and exited again.
"They took all our clothes," Fíli said sheepishly when Bilbo emerged soon after, tying the sash on his robe and glaring about the room. He was wearing a marigold-yellow brocade robe; beside him, Kíli was in a silvery-gray silk.
"Well, I do hope they return them!" Bilbo said indignantly. "That's my second-best waistcoat!"
"At least they got the color of your robe right," said a voice behind him. "It would be a shame if they had given you purple instead of the correct plum-colored."
Bilbo whirled to snap at Thorin and found himself staring instead. The elves had given him a robe of midnight-blue raw silk edged with silver, and where Bilbo, Fíli and Kíli looked like they were wearing--well, bathrobes, Thorin managed to hold himself as though he were in kingly vestments. That he managed to look dignified despite the fair amount of curling chest hair revealed by the neckline of the robe was an impressive feat, and almost certainly the reason Bilbo had a hard time finding his voice for a moment.
"I suppose it's...probably not my second-best any more, not after two months on the road, I mean," he stammered. "But it's my only waistcoat out here, and so I'd really hate to lose it, I'm not sure the elves would understand how important it is to have a good waistcoat, they don't look like the waistcoat-loving type, do they?" He became dimly aware that he was babbling and Thorin was looking at him with one eyebrow raised quizzically, but before he could launch into an earnest discussion of single-breasted versus double-breasted waistcoats the door banged open and Dwalin and Balin stomped into the room in their own robes (sage green and maroon, respectively).
"Thorin, tell those...elves to unhand our clothing!" demanded Dwalin.
"I do hope you didn't assault them," Thorin said, crossing his arms and tilting his head in mock-severity.
"It was a near thing," grumbled Balin. "I don't like it here, Thorin, I don't like it at all."
"It will not hurt us to rest a night, get some answers, and move on," Thorin said.
"Besides, the bath was wonderful," sighed Bilbo, and Thorin gave him a narrow-eyed look that made him blink.
There was a discreet tap at the door, and more elves arrived, bearing flagons and platters. At their head was a dark-haired elf who bowed deeply to them. "I am Lindir. Master Elrond bids you eat and drink and rest this eve, and he will speak with you tomorrow."
"Le fael," Thorin murmured, and then, perhaps hearing Dwalin grumbling behind him, added, "And when will our clothing be returned to us?"
"Ah," said Lindir. "We are working to clean and patch and...fumigate your raiment, and should have it back to you by morning before your audience with Master Elrond."
Thorin's smile went rather stiff, but he nodded politely and kept smiling. "Could you tell us where Gandalf is?"
"Master Gandalf is meeting with Master Elrond and--" He broke off. "That is to say, with Master Elrond this evening in private," Lindir said. The expression on his face forbid further prying into the affairs of wizards, and Thorin snapped his mouth shut.
"Arrogant beings, aren't they?" he muttered once the doors were closed once more.
"Their wine is acceptable, though," Dwalin said with a satisfied belch.
: : :
"I have heard of this dragon-sickness," Elrond said. "Though only rumors. I am saddened to hear that King Thrór bears its burden."
"We are in haste to return to Erebor, in the hopes that this artifact will heal his mind." Thorin lifted the glass from his pack and gave it to Elrond, although Bilbo could see reluctance in his movements.
Elrond held the glass to the morning sunlight coming in through the windows; it cast wavering reflections around the ornate walls. "Unless I miss my mark, this is the work of my great-great-uncle Fingon. But I have never seen it before this day." He set it down, frowning. "My brother and I were taken in as children and sheltered by Maedhros, the lord of Himring and oft the companion of Fingon. But he was forced to abandon that fortress long before our time with him." He put the little slip of gold under the glass and gazed at it. "A pretty poem. I wonder if Fingon composed it as well."
He looked at the tall, golden-haired elf standing next to him and raised a questioning eyebrow. "Glorfindel? You are older than I."
Glorfindel shook his head. "I dwelt in Gondolin and never came to Himring," he murmured. "I have never seen this glass." He frowned slightly. "I doubt its primary purpose was to heal dwarves, but...it could have been made to counter the effects of dragons' foul enchantments in general." He touched the glass, long fingers brushing the curve of light. "The lady Galadriel, in Lothlórien, would perhaps be better able to tell you. Maedhros and Fingon were her cousins, after all."
"We do not have time to venture so far south," Thorin said impatiently, "and wait on the caprice of a being nearly as old as the world itself."
"I would remind you that the Lady of Lórien is the grandmother of my children," Elrond said, his voice cool, "And ask you to show her more respect."
Bilbo found himself stepping backward a little further into his corner, hoping no one would notice him and wondering why in the world he was here in Elrond's library at all. Time seemed unutterably vast when Elrond spoke of it, and the world larger than Bilbo had ever imagined. Against his will, he heard again Gandalf's voice in his memory, saying that Thorin's quest would never succeed without him. Bilbo didn't put much stock in that--he had come along mainly because, well, he wasn't sure why, exactly. But not because of some hunch on an old wizard's part. Yet seeing Elrond bow to him, seeing the Master of Imladris take seriously his words that the fate of Middle Earth might rest upon this party--and wait, did that mean the fate of Middle Earth might rest on Bilbo?
Bilbo shook his head vigorously to get rid of the unwelcome thought. Impossible! He was just Bilbo Baggins of Bag End, nothing special at all. He brushed his hand across the brocade of his waistcoat--now cleaned and carefully mended--and remembered how self-important he had been back in Bree, an eternity ago. How small the world had been then! How comfortable and cozy! Why had he ever left it, and why wasn't he going back?
"I would differ with you on your translation of the second verse, Master Thorin," Elrond was saying.
Thorin looked up at the elf, his changeable blue-green eyes narrowed.
Elrond frowned at the notebook and recited:
"To save the soul from dragon's dreadful bane
Requires idle love in sweet repose;
A heart that's eased from anguish and from pain
Is like a blossom that unblighted grows."
He tapped the paper lightly. "You have the heart as the subject of the third line--the heart that's eased from anguish and from pain--but 'heart' actually modifies the true subject of the line, the ease. It's more the ease of the heart that is like a blossom."
Thorin looked like he wanted to argue with Elrond, then patently swallowed his irritation. "I shall keep that in mind," he muttered.
Elrond started expounding on the different nuances of the phrase Thorin had translated as "gentle darkness" from the Sindarin, and soon Fíli and Kíli were shifting their feet and looking at each other as if resisting the temptation to bolt from the room. Thorin cast them a stern glance and they subsided. Then his gaze went to Bilbo, standing in his corner, and there was a hint of a smile on his bearded lips. Yet I don't really blame them, that smile said, and Bilbo had to stifle an unseemly giggle.
Thorin's eyes--deep as the sea, eyes that could call you like a song--crinkled at the corners before he looked away, and for a vertiginous moment Bilbo knew perfectly well why he wasn't returning to the Shire.
"If you will forgive me, Prince Thorin," said Glorfindel as Elrond finished up his discussion of how "darkness" could also mean "shadow" or "clouds." "There is also a shift in language in the last verse that your translation does not capture. The meter in Sindarin shifts subtly, a traditional method of indicating an addition or continuation on a theme. I believe that hints at there being two different methods of cure: one based on an item or artifact, and one more...spiritual in nature."
"Spiritual," Thorin echoed, sounding unconvinced.
"Is that the verse about sacrifice and love filling the soul?" Kíli asked.
"How nice," said Thorin. "All we need to do is set up a parade of comely dwarf-women and hope my aged grandfather falls in love with one of them."
"That sounds rather more...carnal than spiritual," Glorfindel said, frowning as though he weren't sure if Thorin were jesting with him.
"Both are equally impractical," said Thorin. "I shall rely on what I can hold in my hands, thank you. Dragons have never struck me as likely to be impressed by either love or sacrifice."
At his words, Lindir spoke up from the corner where he had been watching quietly: "Perhaps this evening we could recite the Lay of the Children of Hurin. It is a long and sorrowful tale," he said, "Of the fell power of a dragon over the mind of mortals, and the heavy weight of fate. Few indeed are the non-elves who have heard the Lay, but we are fortunate to have a bard who can recite all three hundred and seventy-two stanzas."
Bilbo had to clap a hand over his mouth at Balin and Dwalin's expressions, and Thorin shot Gandalf an eloquent look.
"It would be an honor indeed to hear such an epic tale from an elvish bard," Gandalf said. "But as Thorin has told you, haste is of the essence for our party. It would be best if we were on the road once more this very evening."
"So you'll be travelling with us a while longer?" Bilbo asked. "I thought perhaps you'd be staying here." The idea of having the wizard remain in their party was not an unwelcome one, although Thorin's expression was more ambivalent.
Gandalf met Elrond's eyes for an instant. "I have...business on the other side of the Misty Mountains," Gandalf said.
"Business?" said Balin. "What kind of business?"
"My own business, Master Dwarf," Gandalf retorted. And that was all they could get out of the wizard.
: : :
The golden leaves fell around Bilbo in an endless cascade as he walked the paths of the gardens of Imladris. It was still a few hours until they planned to leave, and he had taken Lindir up on his invitation to explore the gardens. They were unlike hobbit gardens--more beautiful, and more sad, and Bilbo missed the riotous colors of the Shire gardens even as the austere shimmering hues of Rivendell soothed his soul. Stopping under a beech tree, he leaned against its smooth, silvery trunk and sighed.
"Hello," said a small voice, and Bilbo looked up to see a boy's face framed by golden leaves above him.
"Why, hello," he said back, realizing as he did this was a human boy. What was a human child doing in Rivendell?
With a quick movement, the boy dropped from his branch to land in front of Bilbo. His gaze went to Bilbo's feet, and his eyebrows lifted. "You're not a man," he said. His voice sounded disappointed. "I had hoped you were a boy like me. But you're not a dwarf either, right?"
"No, I'm a hobbit," Bilbo said.
"A hobbit," echoed the boy. His long, unkempt hair was tangled around a face that featured intelligent eyes and a stubborn chin. "I've never met a hobbit before." He smiled, a quick glimmer that reminded Bilbo somehow of Elrond's brief smile. "As long as you're not a dwarf--Master Elrond made me promise not to talk to the dwarves. But he didn't say anything about hobbits."
"Well, we are easy to overlook," Bilbo said comfortably.
"Where are you from? How did you get here?" The boy asked as if he were used to having his demands answered--not arrogantly, just with the confidence that people would pay attention to him.
"I'm from the Shire, west of here. But how we got here--oh, that's a longer story."
The boy threw himself down on the grass, propping his chin in his hands. "Would you tell me?"
"I'll trade," said Bilbo. "I'll tell you about my travels if you tell me who you are and why you're in Rivendell."
"Oh, did I not mention my name?" The boy smiled again. "I am called Estel. As to why I am here..." He shrugged. "My father died and my mother came here with me."
"How did your family know Elrond?"
Estel's clear face wrinkled in an annoyed frown. "No one will tell me," he said. "And I ask and ask."
Bilbo couldn't help chuckling. "I'm sure you do," he said.
"Master Elrond says he'll tell me when I'm old enough." Estel rolled over onto his back, glaring at the sky. "He's a gazillion years old, what does he mean by 'old enough'? For all I know he won't tell me until I'm ancient. Maybe not until I'm thirty."
"That's not so ancient. I'm fifty."
"Really?" The boy stared at him. "Everyone is so much older than they look," he complained. Then he rolled over onto his stomach again, all puppyish restless energy. "Your turn. Tell me everything about where you've been."
So Bilbo started to tell the tale of their travels--leaving out anything private to Thorin and focusing on the funny and scary parts. Estel's eyes snapped with excitement when Bilbo described the barrow-wight, and he sighed at the description of Annúminas. "It sounds beautiful," he said. "I want to see it someday." He leapt to his feet. "And I want to slay skeletons with a shining sword, like Thorin," he announced, slicing wildly at the air with an invisible sword.
"Hey now, be careful with that!" Bilbo said, raising his hands. "No puncturing the hobbit, hobbits are very allergic to swords."
The boy collapsed in giggles, rolling on the grass. When he sat up, there were leaves and flowers in his hair. "And I want to see the Shire," he said. "I want to see all of Middle Earth." His eyes shone, and for a brief instant he looked less like a boy and more like a young prince, the flowers like a crown in his tangled hair.
Then Thorin's voice broke the hushed moment: "Bilbo! Where are you, hobbit?"
"Oh! I'm over here!" called Bilbo, and a moment later Thorin came around a hedge. "I was just talking with--" He turned, but Estel was gone. "With...myself, I guess," he finished lamely.
Thorin crossed his arms across his broad chest. "Debating with yourself whether to stay or not?"
"Stay? Stay where? Oh, you mean here in Rivendell? I thought I said I wasn't going to," Bilbo said.
"I thought, now that you've seen it..." Thorin let the sentence trail off.
"Oh, you mean you thought a nice hot bath and a good meal would overcome my resolve?" Bilbo snapped.
"They are very nice baths," Thorin said.
"Aren't they though?" Bilbo sighed at the memory. "Such hot water, and so much wonderful lathery soap, and such delightful soft fluffy towels--did you notice they were heated somehow? I wonder how--" He broke off and glared at Thorin. "Don't distract me!"
"I'm not the one nattering on about soap and towels," Thorin growled. "I'm just saying that I--that none of us would blame you for wishing to stay here."
"So would you be rid of me?"
He braced himself for another dismissive statement, but instead Thorin took a deep breath and said simply: "No. I would not be rid of you, Bilbo."
"Oh." Bilbo blinked at him, and the birdsong of Rivendell seemed very loud in the silence between them. "Well then, I think I would like to see this Erebor place."
Thorin didn't smile, but some almost-invisible tension went out of his face. "Then shall we start our journey together anew?"
"I like the sound of that," Bilbo said, and they walked together toward the Last Homely House. The air was like crystal and full of hope, and Bilbo found himself thinking that perhaps what he liked best was the sound of together when Thorin said it.
Relationship: Thorin/Bilbo
Characters: Bilbo Baggins, Fíli, Kíli, Thorin, Dwalin, Balin, Gandalf, Lindir, Elrond, Glorfindel
Fandom: Hobbit
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: G
Word Count: 3400
Story Summary: In a Middle-Earth where Erebor never fell, a shadow remains in the heart of the Lonely Mountain. Bilbo Baggins finds himself drawn reluctantly into a quest that will lead him across the continent--from Bree to Lake Evendim to the icy North and beyond--with a party of five dwarves searching for an artifact that will cure the ailing King Thrór.
Chapter Summary: The party arrives at Rivendell and is welcomed (if not warmly). Counsel is sought and received, and plans are made.
Thorin glanced at the elvish guards to his left and right and tried not to fidget. "{I do not like this,}" Dwalin growled in Khuzdul beside him, and the guards exchanged a quick glance from their sharp eyes that Thorin tried not to notice.
The sound of falling water filled the hidden valley with a constant low susurration, a murmur at the edge of hearing. Golden leaves drifted by them, looping in lazy spirals to the ground. Beside him, Bilbo was silent: when they had entered the valley he had given one gasp of wonder, and since then had been rapt and wordless, his eyes wide as he looked around him.
Rivendell was beautiful indeed, but Thorin couldn't help but worry that he might have been unwise to come here.
A figure in russet robes approached them, his bearing lordly under the circlet on his brow, and Thorin guessed his identity even before Gandalf stepped forward and inclined his head. "My Lord Elrond," he said. "Your hospitality does us honor."
Elrond glanced at the guards, and they bowed and strode off, leaving Thorin feeling slightly more at ease. "Mithrandir," he said. "You and your...guests...are welcome in Imladris."
"I travel with Thorin, son of Thráin, son of King Thrór of Erebor, and his party," said Gandalf.
Thorin met ageless eyes and bowed his head slightly. "Êl síla erin lû e-govaned vîn," he murmured, and had the satisfaction of watching those eyes widen at the Sindarin words.
"A star shines on our meeting indeed," replied Elrond. He looked at Gandalf. "I look forward to hearing how you came to be in the company of a dwarf who can speak our tongue."
"Before you hear his tale," said Gandalf. "I must ask your promise that you will not hinder the passage of Thorin and his party in any way."
Elrond's eyes narrowed. "A bold request to ask of me, wizard."
"I would not ask it if I did not feel that the fate of more than Erebor hinges upon this group," Gandalf said, and Thorin had to fight not to turn and look sharply at him.
Elrond looked at Gandalf's face for a long time. Then he nodded slowly. "I will do what is in my power to aid you," he said to Thorin. "For the sake of Mithrandir and the sake of your kind greeting."
"Not from any love of our people, I'll wager," said Dwalin from behind them.
To Thorin's surprise, Elrond smiled then, a flash of light across a solemn face. "True enough, Master Dwarf. Your honesty cleaves my diplomacy in twain. Yet come and be welcome for now." He clapped his hands. "Food and drink, rooms for our guests," he said to the elves who stepped up and bowed. "And perhaps a bath," he added, turning to escort them across the bridge into Rivendell.
{"Is he saying we smell bad?"} Dwalin grumbled in Khuzdul, and Thorin heard Bilbo giggle helplessly.
Putting on his best regal demeanour, he resisted the urge to sniff his clothing and swept after Elrond.
: : :
Bilbo sank down in water up to his chin and his sigh of rapture sent small, silvery bubbles floating into the air. "Oh, this is heaven," he murmured. "And a real bed! I haven't had a real bed since Bree."
"Hey," said Kíli's voice from the other room, "You can't go in there, that's--"
An elf walked into the bathroom and Bilbo floundered, sending bubbles everywhere. With a polite, aloof nod, the elf picked up Bilbo's bundle of clothing, put a robe down on the chair, and exited again.
"They took all our clothes," Fíli said sheepishly when Bilbo emerged soon after, tying the sash on his robe and glaring about the room. He was wearing a marigold-yellow brocade robe; beside him, Kíli was in a silvery-gray silk.
"Well, I do hope they return them!" Bilbo said indignantly. "That's my second-best waistcoat!"
"At least they got the color of your robe right," said a voice behind him. "It would be a shame if they had given you purple instead of the correct plum-colored."
Bilbo whirled to snap at Thorin and found himself staring instead. The elves had given him a robe of midnight-blue raw silk edged with silver, and where Bilbo, Fíli and Kíli looked like they were wearing--well, bathrobes, Thorin managed to hold himself as though he were in kingly vestments. That he managed to look dignified despite the fair amount of curling chest hair revealed by the neckline of the robe was an impressive feat, and almost certainly the reason Bilbo had a hard time finding his voice for a moment.
"I suppose it's...probably not my second-best any more, not after two months on the road, I mean," he stammered. "But it's my only waistcoat out here, and so I'd really hate to lose it, I'm not sure the elves would understand how important it is to have a good waistcoat, they don't look like the waistcoat-loving type, do they?" He became dimly aware that he was babbling and Thorin was looking at him with one eyebrow raised quizzically, but before he could launch into an earnest discussion of single-breasted versus double-breasted waistcoats the door banged open and Dwalin and Balin stomped into the room in their own robes (sage green and maroon, respectively).
"Thorin, tell those...elves to unhand our clothing!" demanded Dwalin.
"I do hope you didn't assault them," Thorin said, crossing his arms and tilting his head in mock-severity.
"It was a near thing," grumbled Balin. "I don't like it here, Thorin, I don't like it at all."
"It will not hurt us to rest a night, get some answers, and move on," Thorin said.
"Besides, the bath was wonderful," sighed Bilbo, and Thorin gave him a narrow-eyed look that made him blink.
There was a discreet tap at the door, and more elves arrived, bearing flagons and platters. At their head was a dark-haired elf who bowed deeply to them. "I am Lindir. Master Elrond bids you eat and drink and rest this eve, and he will speak with you tomorrow."
"Le fael," Thorin murmured, and then, perhaps hearing Dwalin grumbling behind him, added, "And when will our clothing be returned to us?"
"Ah," said Lindir. "We are working to clean and patch and...fumigate your raiment, and should have it back to you by morning before your audience with Master Elrond."
Thorin's smile went rather stiff, but he nodded politely and kept smiling. "Could you tell us where Gandalf is?"
"Master Gandalf is meeting with Master Elrond and--" He broke off. "That is to say, with Master Elrond this evening in private," Lindir said. The expression on his face forbid further prying into the affairs of wizards, and Thorin snapped his mouth shut.
"Arrogant beings, aren't they?" he muttered once the doors were closed once more.
"Their wine is acceptable, though," Dwalin said with a satisfied belch.
: : :
"I have heard of this dragon-sickness," Elrond said. "Though only rumors. I am saddened to hear that King Thrór bears its burden."
"We are in haste to return to Erebor, in the hopes that this artifact will heal his mind." Thorin lifted the glass from his pack and gave it to Elrond, although Bilbo could see reluctance in his movements.
Elrond held the glass to the morning sunlight coming in through the windows; it cast wavering reflections around the ornate walls. "Unless I miss my mark, this is the work of my great-great-uncle Fingon. But I have never seen it before this day." He set it down, frowning. "My brother and I were taken in as children and sheltered by Maedhros, the lord of Himring and oft the companion of Fingon. But he was forced to abandon that fortress long before our time with him." He put the little slip of gold under the glass and gazed at it. "A pretty poem. I wonder if Fingon composed it as well."
He looked at the tall, golden-haired elf standing next to him and raised a questioning eyebrow. "Glorfindel? You are older than I."
Glorfindel shook his head. "I dwelt in Gondolin and never came to Himring," he murmured. "I have never seen this glass." He frowned slightly. "I doubt its primary purpose was to heal dwarves, but...it could have been made to counter the effects of dragons' foul enchantments in general." He touched the glass, long fingers brushing the curve of light. "The lady Galadriel, in Lothlórien, would perhaps be better able to tell you. Maedhros and Fingon were her cousins, after all."
"We do not have time to venture so far south," Thorin said impatiently, "and wait on the caprice of a being nearly as old as the world itself."
"I would remind you that the Lady of Lórien is the grandmother of my children," Elrond said, his voice cool, "And ask you to show her more respect."
Bilbo found himself stepping backward a little further into his corner, hoping no one would notice him and wondering why in the world he was here in Elrond's library at all. Time seemed unutterably vast when Elrond spoke of it, and the world larger than Bilbo had ever imagined. Against his will, he heard again Gandalf's voice in his memory, saying that Thorin's quest would never succeed without him. Bilbo didn't put much stock in that--he had come along mainly because, well, he wasn't sure why, exactly. But not because of some hunch on an old wizard's part. Yet seeing Elrond bow to him, seeing the Master of Imladris take seriously his words that the fate of Middle Earth might rest upon this party--and wait, did that mean the fate of Middle Earth might rest on Bilbo?
Bilbo shook his head vigorously to get rid of the unwelcome thought. Impossible! He was just Bilbo Baggins of Bag End, nothing special at all. He brushed his hand across the brocade of his waistcoat--now cleaned and carefully mended--and remembered how self-important he had been back in Bree, an eternity ago. How small the world had been then! How comfortable and cozy! Why had he ever left it, and why wasn't he going back?
"I would differ with you on your translation of the second verse, Master Thorin," Elrond was saying.
Thorin looked up at the elf, his changeable blue-green eyes narrowed.
Elrond frowned at the notebook and recited:
"To save the soul from dragon's dreadful bane
Requires idle love in sweet repose;
A heart that's eased from anguish and from pain
Is like a blossom that unblighted grows."
He tapped the paper lightly. "You have the heart as the subject of the third line--the heart that's eased from anguish and from pain--but 'heart' actually modifies the true subject of the line, the ease. It's more the ease of the heart that is like a blossom."
Thorin looked like he wanted to argue with Elrond, then patently swallowed his irritation. "I shall keep that in mind," he muttered.
Elrond started expounding on the different nuances of the phrase Thorin had translated as "gentle darkness" from the Sindarin, and soon Fíli and Kíli were shifting their feet and looking at each other as if resisting the temptation to bolt from the room. Thorin cast them a stern glance and they subsided. Then his gaze went to Bilbo, standing in his corner, and there was a hint of a smile on his bearded lips. Yet I don't really blame them, that smile said, and Bilbo had to stifle an unseemly giggle.
Thorin's eyes--deep as the sea, eyes that could call you like a song--crinkled at the corners before he looked away, and for a vertiginous moment Bilbo knew perfectly well why he wasn't returning to the Shire.
"If you will forgive me, Prince Thorin," said Glorfindel as Elrond finished up his discussion of how "darkness" could also mean "shadow" or "clouds." "There is also a shift in language in the last verse that your translation does not capture. The meter in Sindarin shifts subtly, a traditional method of indicating an addition or continuation on a theme. I believe that hints at there being two different methods of cure: one based on an item or artifact, and one more...spiritual in nature."
"Spiritual," Thorin echoed, sounding unconvinced.
"Is that the verse about sacrifice and love filling the soul?" Kíli asked.
"How nice," said Thorin. "All we need to do is set up a parade of comely dwarf-women and hope my aged grandfather falls in love with one of them."
"That sounds rather more...carnal than spiritual," Glorfindel said, frowning as though he weren't sure if Thorin were jesting with him.
"Both are equally impractical," said Thorin. "I shall rely on what I can hold in my hands, thank you. Dragons have never struck me as likely to be impressed by either love or sacrifice."
At his words, Lindir spoke up from the corner where he had been watching quietly: "Perhaps this evening we could recite the Lay of the Children of Hurin. It is a long and sorrowful tale," he said, "Of the fell power of a dragon over the mind of mortals, and the heavy weight of fate. Few indeed are the non-elves who have heard the Lay, but we are fortunate to have a bard who can recite all three hundred and seventy-two stanzas."
Bilbo had to clap a hand over his mouth at Balin and Dwalin's expressions, and Thorin shot Gandalf an eloquent look.
"It would be an honor indeed to hear such an epic tale from an elvish bard," Gandalf said. "But as Thorin has told you, haste is of the essence for our party. It would be best if we were on the road once more this very evening."
"So you'll be travelling with us a while longer?" Bilbo asked. "I thought perhaps you'd be staying here." The idea of having the wizard remain in their party was not an unwelcome one, although Thorin's expression was more ambivalent.
Gandalf met Elrond's eyes for an instant. "I have...business on the other side of the Misty Mountains," Gandalf said.
"Business?" said Balin. "What kind of business?"
"My own business, Master Dwarf," Gandalf retorted. And that was all they could get out of the wizard.
: : :
The golden leaves fell around Bilbo in an endless cascade as he walked the paths of the gardens of Imladris. It was still a few hours until they planned to leave, and he had taken Lindir up on his invitation to explore the gardens. They were unlike hobbit gardens--more beautiful, and more sad, and Bilbo missed the riotous colors of the Shire gardens even as the austere shimmering hues of Rivendell soothed his soul. Stopping under a beech tree, he leaned against its smooth, silvery trunk and sighed.
"Hello," said a small voice, and Bilbo looked up to see a boy's face framed by golden leaves above him.
"Why, hello," he said back, realizing as he did this was a human boy. What was a human child doing in Rivendell?
With a quick movement, the boy dropped from his branch to land in front of Bilbo. His gaze went to Bilbo's feet, and his eyebrows lifted. "You're not a man," he said. His voice sounded disappointed. "I had hoped you were a boy like me. But you're not a dwarf either, right?"
"No, I'm a hobbit," Bilbo said.
"A hobbit," echoed the boy. His long, unkempt hair was tangled around a face that featured intelligent eyes and a stubborn chin. "I've never met a hobbit before." He smiled, a quick glimmer that reminded Bilbo somehow of Elrond's brief smile. "As long as you're not a dwarf--Master Elrond made me promise not to talk to the dwarves. But he didn't say anything about hobbits."
"Well, we are easy to overlook," Bilbo said comfortably.
"Where are you from? How did you get here?" The boy asked as if he were used to having his demands answered--not arrogantly, just with the confidence that people would pay attention to him.
"I'm from the Shire, west of here. But how we got here--oh, that's a longer story."
The boy threw himself down on the grass, propping his chin in his hands. "Would you tell me?"
"I'll trade," said Bilbo. "I'll tell you about my travels if you tell me who you are and why you're in Rivendell."
"Oh, did I not mention my name?" The boy smiled again. "I am called Estel. As to why I am here..." He shrugged. "My father died and my mother came here with me."
"How did your family know Elrond?"
Estel's clear face wrinkled in an annoyed frown. "No one will tell me," he said. "And I ask and ask."
Bilbo couldn't help chuckling. "I'm sure you do," he said.
"Master Elrond says he'll tell me when I'm old enough." Estel rolled over onto his back, glaring at the sky. "He's a gazillion years old, what does he mean by 'old enough'? For all I know he won't tell me until I'm ancient. Maybe not until I'm thirty."
"That's not so ancient. I'm fifty."
"Really?" The boy stared at him. "Everyone is so much older than they look," he complained. Then he rolled over onto his stomach again, all puppyish restless energy. "Your turn. Tell me everything about where you've been."
So Bilbo started to tell the tale of their travels--leaving out anything private to Thorin and focusing on the funny and scary parts. Estel's eyes snapped with excitement when Bilbo described the barrow-wight, and he sighed at the description of Annúminas. "It sounds beautiful," he said. "I want to see it someday." He leapt to his feet. "And I want to slay skeletons with a shining sword, like Thorin," he announced, slicing wildly at the air with an invisible sword.
"Hey now, be careful with that!" Bilbo said, raising his hands. "No puncturing the hobbit, hobbits are very allergic to swords."
The boy collapsed in giggles, rolling on the grass. When he sat up, there were leaves and flowers in his hair. "And I want to see the Shire," he said. "I want to see all of Middle Earth." His eyes shone, and for a brief instant he looked less like a boy and more like a young prince, the flowers like a crown in his tangled hair.
Then Thorin's voice broke the hushed moment: "Bilbo! Where are you, hobbit?"
"Oh! I'm over here!" called Bilbo, and a moment later Thorin came around a hedge. "I was just talking with--" He turned, but Estel was gone. "With...myself, I guess," he finished lamely.
Thorin crossed his arms across his broad chest. "Debating with yourself whether to stay or not?"
"Stay? Stay where? Oh, you mean here in Rivendell? I thought I said I wasn't going to," Bilbo said.
"I thought, now that you've seen it..." Thorin let the sentence trail off.
"Oh, you mean you thought a nice hot bath and a good meal would overcome my resolve?" Bilbo snapped.
"They are very nice baths," Thorin said.
"Aren't they though?" Bilbo sighed at the memory. "Such hot water, and so much wonderful lathery soap, and such delightful soft fluffy towels--did you notice they were heated somehow? I wonder how--" He broke off and glared at Thorin. "Don't distract me!"
"I'm not the one nattering on about soap and towels," Thorin growled. "I'm just saying that I--that none of us would blame you for wishing to stay here."
"So would you be rid of me?"
He braced himself for another dismissive statement, but instead Thorin took a deep breath and said simply: "No. I would not be rid of you, Bilbo."
"Oh." Bilbo blinked at him, and the birdsong of Rivendell seemed very loud in the silence between them. "Well then, I think I would like to see this Erebor place."
Thorin didn't smile, but some almost-invisible tension went out of his face. "Then shall we start our journey together anew?"
"I like the sound of that," Bilbo said, and they walked together toward the Last Homely House. The air was like crystal and full of hope, and Bilbo found himself thinking that perhaps what he liked best was the sound of together when Thorin said it.