A Final Adventure by Erulisse (one L)
Mar. 10th, 2014 07:55 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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b2memTitle: A Final Adventure
Author Name: Erulisse (one L)
Prompt: "'For our spring and our summer are gone by, and they will never be seen on earth again save in memory.'" (Galadriel, The Fellowship of the Ring, "Farewell to Lórien") Write about a character who has reached old age.
Summary: After the War of the Rings, the ringbearers have received permission to sail to the Undying West. Bilbo, feeling his age since the destruction of Sauron's ring begins his journey to the Grey Havens and attempts to understand the differences between his own aging and that of his hosts, the elves.
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Beta: None - All errors are solely my own.
Author's Notes: My interpretation of how elves age is solely my own but has kernels of probability.
A knock sounded and a dove, disturbed, took wing. The door opened and a tall, slender being with long dark hair strode in, escorting five others who carried steaming water toward a copper tub screened from general view in a corner. While the five filled the tub, the first elf, for elves these beings were, walked to the bed.
A small body slept there snoring gently, a down-filled covering pulled closely around him. A red-tinged nose, which had once been more aquiline, was prominent beneath an array of white curls barely confined by a knitted bed cap. The elf gently placed his hand on the sleeper's shoulder.
The room was in disarray filled with a writing desk, a wall of books on shelves with bound and rolled items stuffed into every opening, and an array of chests, some open and others closed. The hobbit, for that is who was sleeping in the middle of that bed, was well suited to his room. It was not too messy, nor too clean, not too open and yet not too crowded. In other words, for a hobbit who had been long away from proper hobbit lands, it was the perfect hole in the perfect home.
“It is time for you to awaken, Master Baggins. Your bath awaits. Would you prefer to break your fast in your room this morning?”
The hobbit sat up snuffling, trying to capture the edges of an escaping dream. “Wha'? Who? Oh, it's you. Yes, porridge and tea at my hearth, please.” He reached up and pulled off his cap, running his fingers through his hair and scratching his head. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and scratched his belly. Taking hold of the outstretched hand of the elf, he pulled himself to the edge of the bedstead, reaching his furry feet down toward an oval floor rug.
“How much time have I got, my friend? Oh! These old bones just don't move as well as they used to. I doubt I'll be up to walking all the way to the gateway of the Hidden Valley, let alone to the Grey Havens. Riding a pony for any distance is pretty doubtful too.”
“Master Elrond wants to leave as soon as the sun sets this evening, but you needn't worry about either walking or riding. A small wagon has been outfitted for you so that you may travel through the lands of Middle Earth in comfort with pillows to cushion you. I'll send your breakfast up for you and return in a candle mark to help you pack the two chests you may bring with you.” He turned away from the hobbit and looked at the piles of materials that Bilbo had been trying to sort. He silently sighed as he analyzed the work ahead of them.
Forcing cheer into his voice, he turned back to the hobbit. “Do you need any assistance to bathe today, Master? I can arrange...”
Bilbo abruptly interrupted his words as he walked toward the privacy screen. “NO. That will NOT be necessary.” The hobbit stopped walking and turned around. “Please forgive an old hobbit's sharp tongue, my old friend, this journey has me a bit on edge. Tell me again, why am I traveling to the Havens with Elrond?”
“You are an honored guest and Elf-friend, Master Baggins. It is our pleasure to allow you to travel with Master Elrond and pass through your country once more. The Valar themselves approved his request that you accompany him to sail to the Blessed Lands.”
“Yes, Valinor,” the hobbit said from behind the corner screen. The sound of splashing water filled the room as he settled down for his bath. “That's an Adventure worth the taking, don't you think? I almost feel as if I was a mere fifty years old once again, ready to set off with Thorin's company on my Great Adventure.”
The elf chuckled to hear the excitement barely hidden in the hobbit's voice. “An Adventure indeed, Master Baggins. Now before I leave to get your porridge I will set out your clothing. What do you think?” he queried. “The beige trousers with a red waistcoat, dark red shirt and an overcoat of nut brown?”
“No, I have in mind to wear some gold today. I'd rather the gold waistcoat with a deep green shirt, the nut brown trousers and my tan jacket. Oh, and don't forget my bracers now, mind you!” he called out from the bath.
“No indeed, I wouldn't dare forget those, Master Baggins,” the elf replied, smiling.
By the time the hobbit was out of the tub, dried off and properly dressed, his porridge and tea had arrived. He hissed in pain as he lowered himself into his favorite wing chair. The elf moved a table within his reach.
“Is there anything else I can get for you, Master Baggins?” The hobbit shook his head, concentrating on his breakfast. “Well then. I shall return in an hour's time. Enjoy your repast.” The elf cast a careful look around the room, cataloging what would need to be complete for the hobbit to be ready to leave in the evening, then bowed and left.
Well, here I go again, Bilbo thought as he scattered raisins and honey over the top of his porridge. He looked around the room shaking his head as the enormity of his task began to overwhelm him. How will I ever choose what to bring with me? I've lived here with Elrond for more than twenty years and my shelves are overflowing.
Two hours later the elf and the hobbit were deeply involved in packing items for Bilbo's voyage. “Please make sure that these books of poetry are packed," Bilbo said, handing a small stack of bound books to the elf. "I want to leave them with Frodo as we pass through the Shire.”
“But Frodo will be joining you on your journey, Master Baggins,” the elf reminded the elderly hobbit.
“Oh yes. Of course, he will. I'd forgotten. How very silly of me. Tch, my memory just isn't what it used to be." Bilbo shook his head and glared at his hands. "I've become so wrinkled over the past few years,” he mused. Looking up, he focused on his elven companion again. “Tell me, my friend, do elves really live forever? Among my people I'm considered very old. Every day I have more aches and pains and limbs that used to be spry are now slow and stiff. Do elves age?”
“Of course we age,” the elf said as he packed the books against the bottom of one trunk. “However, after we have reached maturity, our aging is very slow, almost imperceptible. We are the first-born and tied to this world. While Arda lives, we live and when Arda dies, we will die alongside her.”
“That may be a very long time indeed,” the hobbit replied. “I don't think I've ever met an elf who appeared elderly, yet I know that several of my elven friends are thousands of years old. It quite boggles my mind.” He moved a neatly folded stack of clothing from the bed to an open chest, pushing them into place with a firm hand.
“Elves mature fairly rapidly when they are born and are considered mature before they have reached five hundred years of age. In fact, I've heard that in some communities the young are counted as adults after they have reached one hundred years old!" Bilbo's companion said. "Here in Imladris the young are counted as adults when they are one hundred and fifty years old, but we don't truly consider them mature until they are at least two hundred and fifty years old.”
“Do young elves try to help with adult chores and responsibilities before they are mature? I've seen many young hobbits follow their father's footsteps, copying every action he makes.”
“Of course, Master Baggins. I think it is the nature of all children to follow the examples of their parents and also to push their boundaries and see how far they will stretch. I suspect Master Elrond himself probably had times as a young elf that strained the patience of his …. Well, perhaps I should not go there. I have no business speaking about the Master's unusual childhood.”
Bilbo nodded agreement and groaned once more as his muscles complained. “Do elves experience aches and pains when they grow older? I think I'd be fine with my years if they weren't accompanied by physically falling apart at the same time.”
“I can't answer that, Master Baggins, I am still considered young. I have no aching muscles unless I spend too long in the saddle or allow Commander Glorfindel to take me on for a round of two of sword fighting in the salle.” He walked over and collected another armful of books to bring to Bilbo. After dropping them before the hobbit, he settled on the floor and began folding a new stack of clothing to pack. “You may wish to ask Master Elrond about any aches and pains while you are traveling. It will take many days to get to the Grey Havens and I am sure the Master will spend some of that time with you. Now that I think of it, I believe you will also be traveling with Lady Galadriel of Lothlórien. She came to Middle Earth from Valinor, walking across the Helcaraxë. To the best of my knowledge, she is one of the oldest elves currently living this side of the Sundering Sea.”
“Oh, I couldn't possibly ask her about her experiences as she ages," Bilbo said, his face flushing red. “One just doesn't go asking a lady about such things, you see. It isn't seemly - no, not at all.”
The elf and hobbit worked together throughout the afternoon. When the bell rang for afternoon tea, they stood and looked around the room. Two filled chests were ready for loading and several piles of goods that Bilbo was leaving behind were lined up along the walls.
“I have no idea if anything I am leaving behind will be of any use to anyone. Oh well, I can't take everything, and it would be silly to even try. Anyone is welcome to help themselves to anything I leave here.” The elderly hobbit shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. “Was that the bell for tea?”
The elf cast a fond look down at the white-haired hobbit standing next to him. “Yes it was, Master Baggins. Would you like tea here in your room? Or would you prefer to join the household in the Hall of Fire.”
“I think I'll go to the Hall of Fire. It will give me a chance to say a last good-bye to some of my friends before I leave tonight. Oh my, I will be taking such memories with me but leaving so many good friends behind.” He sniffed and pulling out his handkerchief, dabbed at his eyes.
“Do not weep yet, Master. Many of your friends will be coming on the journey to the Havens in honor of Master Elrond. Some will even sail along with you. However, you are correct because several of your friends will be staying behind. Come, I'll walk down with you.”
Bilbo spent a pleasant afternoon, first sharing some time with several elves who had become friends over the years he had lived in Elrond's house, and then eating a small meal seated in his armchair near his hearth while his baggage was taken to the pack wagon. The setting sun found him comfortably settled on a pile of cushions in a small covered wagon pulled by two ponies. The wagon had a cunningly designed cover that retracted easily so that he could enjoy days of sunshine or clear nights. It also pulled back over the wagon bed to protect him from rain or give him privacy.
As the group set out on the road leading to the hidden cliff top entrance to Imladris, the elves began a farewell song for the home they had known for so long. The bittersweet melody rose, blending with the soft swish of the autumn leaves. He felt no shame in the tears that ran down his cheeks because they matched those on many other faces. He realized that even though the elves anticipated their welcome in the Undying Lands with joy, they were still leaving a memory-filled home behind them and moving on to an unknown future.
That first night Bilbo fell asleep in his wagon, the tarp opened so that he slept under the stars. The treetops swayed in a mild breeze and soft elven voices sang him into peaceful dreams.
Although the journey to the Havens would take several weeks, life on the road settled in a routine within a few days. Bilbo often slept. While he was awake, he looked at the surrounding landscape with great interest. He spoke with the elves guiding his ponies and sometimes other elves came by his wagon to point out items they thought would be interesting to him. He even remembered passing by a landmark or two from his earlier journeys.
One late afternoon, an hour or so before sunset, Elrond dismounted next to Bilbo's wagon. He handed his horse over to another elf and climbed onto the wagon seat next to the hobbit.
“Has the journey been comfortable for you thus far, Master Baggins?” Elrond asked, smiling as he looked at the beaming hobbit.
“Oh yes, Elrond. It's been simply marvelous. I'd forgotten how wonderful it is to travel through Middle-earth, and the food and companionship have been beyond reproach.” He chuckled and whispered, “To be quite honest, I've never traveled in such luxury. I almost feel as though I should have a swarm of stinging flies or perhaps some weevils in the grain to make my travel more of a hardship.”
Elrond laughed aloud hearing the elderly hobbit's words. “I'm glad to hear that the trip has been enjoyable for you, my friend.” The two companions discussed small things – the weather, clothing, care of horses, etc. for a while.
The Master looked at Bilbo out of the corner of his eye and forged into a new topic. “It has come to my attention that you were enquiring about elvish aging. I thought I might address that before we join with Lady Galadriel on the morrow. Although she is far older than I, in the way of the fairer sex, she may not appreciate being reminded of that fact.”
Bilbo smiled. “I will admit to curiosity. You have walked this earth for many long years, Elrond and seen cities rise and fall. Yet your outward appearance seems less than fifty of our years. So, because hobbits are curious (or at least I am curious), I must ask. Do elves age in body after they reach maturity?”
“Oh yes, we age, Master Baggins. But so slowly as to be almost imperceptible. It is our memories that age more than our bodies." Glancing at the hobbit, Elrond noticed Bilbo's quizzical look and expanded his explanation. "Over time our memories grow heavy and crowded and they begin to weigh us down. This, more than anything, is what causes elves to seek the emptiness of Lord Námo's dark realm. When elves are unwilling or unable to accept more memories, or when those we have accumulated cause us so much pain that the good no longer outweighs the bad, then we fade. An elf who fades goes into a decline that shuts down the mind and the physical body. After a certain point, the journey to Lord Námo's realm becomes unstoppable. The physical body dies and the fea goes to Mandos, there to remain until a time determined by the Valar.”
“But elves are the first-born, immortals tied to Arda. Doesn't that mean that you cannot die?” asked the elderly hobbit. “I must admit I'm confused.”
“Our physical bodies can and do die, yet our fea, our spirits are never destroyed. The only thing that will truly end all elves is the destruction of Arda. At that time all who were created by Eru to walk these lands will cease to exist in full.”
Bilbo nodded. “I see … I think. So elves age without visible signs until their memories or other circumstances cause them to lose their physical form, but their essence still survives until Arda itself is destroyed. Is that right?”
“It's a bit oversimplified, but not inaccurate,” Elrond responded. “I am one of the oldest of my people, yet Lady Galadriel, her mate, Lord Celeborn and Thranduil, the elven king of Mirkwood, are older than I am. Elves don't suffer the aches and pains of the body that men, hobbits, and even dwarves suffer as they age, but we can easily fall into melancholia if we allow ourselves to give in to despair.”
“Oh, I wish I didn't have aches and pains in my old age, Elrond. It's no fun waking up in the morning and then spending long minutes talking myself into movement. When I'm actually up and interacting with others through the day, exhaustion strikes often. Now I sleep as much during the day as at night. My back hurts, my stomach doesn't tolerate food the way it used to, and my eyes and ears are turning into traitors. My dependable body has become my enemy and it's very disconcerting.”
Elrond chuckled as he took the reins of the ponies, helping to guide them into the protected glen where they would rest for the night and await the elves from Lothlórien. “Your body is a traitor? I can well imagine it might seem that way sometimes. However, it has given you good and loyal service through these many years. Perhaps it also is tired.”
“I suppose that is the case, my friend. Yet I can't celebrate the fact that I don't hear the voices of your people with the clarity I used to, nor look upon their beauty without seeming to view through a dulled glass.”
“I hold hope, my dear hobbit, that your afflictions may be minimized when you set foot upon the soil of Tol Eressëa. The air of the West has curative properties. Just breathing it will help you to gain more comfort in your late years. I pray that Frodo will also finally recover. He was near death at the end of his quest. Even though we laud him for his great courage and fortitude, he is broken. I pray he will recover in body and fea in Valinor.”
“Yes," Bilbo nodded. "My dear boy gave everything he had and left nothing for himself. I scarce know whether to praise him for his great deed or scold him for having undertaken it. I share your hope, Elrond. If the West offers health, I pray he receives the larger portion of it. I am old and will die soon. Let whatever healing can be done be focused on him. He is still young in years, if not in mind or body.”
Elrond stopped the horses and a younger elf arrived to begin unharnessing them from the wagon's traces. Elrond jumped to the ground and offered a hand to the hobbit. “Dinner should be served soon, Bilbo. Would you care to stretch your legs for a bit?"
Elrond assisted the elderly hobbit to the ground, then bowed and left to look after other details. Bilbo began making his way toward one of the smaller fire pits. He joined Lindir, his friend from the Hall of Fire. He was with a small group of musicians who were tuning their instruments. Soon the hobbit had the elves singing a rollicking tavern song of the Shire. The call for supper caught them completely by surprise in the middle of a verse. They stopped short and Bilbo looked to his companions for guidance.
“I will fetch some food for us, Master Bilbo,” Lindir said, unfolding his long legs from around his harp and standing. He pulled a trencher and wineskin from his nearby pack and left, walking toward the cook fire, whistling a merry tune as he went. Several others of their small group followed him.
A short time later Bilbo and his musical friends were gathered around several filled trenchers, pulling waybread into pieces to scoop up the thick stew and passing the wine skin between them. After dinner and clean up, they gathered again to sing, but this time the songs were quieter, more melancholy in tone. Bilbo had almost dozed off listening to the music when he began hearing soft bells approaching from a distance.
“She comes,” several voices exclaimed.
“She? Who … who is it who comes?” Bilbo asked.
As the elves stood and faced the entrance to the glen, Lindir said, “The White Lady, Galadriel from Lothlórien and her consort, Celeborn the Wise.”
A small group of elves rode and walked into the midst of the encampment, coming to a halt in front of Elrond. He stood immobile for a moment, and then bowed deeply. His voice rang out, “Lady Galadriel, Lord Celeborn and others from the fair land of Lothlórien. I welcome you and invite you to join our company as we journey to the Grey Havens.”
Lord Celeborn assisted his Lady from her horse and Rivendell elves approached the visitors to assist with the care of their beasts. A late supper was distributed among the new arrivals and as the night moved on, a guard was set and small groups split off to dark corners for sleep.
Bilbo returned to his wagon for the night. The blankets and pillows had been fluffed and rearranged for his sleeping comfort. As he squirmed into the pillows, he saw a small cluster of five elves sitting in a circle. Firelight flashed in their eyes and it appeared that a discussion was underway, yet he heard no sound. Galadriel raised her head for a moment, catching his eye. She nodded slightly in acknowledgement and smiled a soft smile before lowering her head and rejoining the conversation. He fell asleep listening to the soft voices of several elves sing praises to the star-filled sky of Elbereth.
His dreams faded from his memory quickly after he awakened the next morning, yet one vision remained - a soft light striking a sheltered harbor, and beyond, a land with green foliage so intense he had never seen its like before. He tried to hold on to the vision, but by mid-day, only a broken shell of the beauty remained.
The caravan had resumed moving west as soon as the sun had crested the edge of the horizon, even while he was still wiping the sleep from his eyes. Lindir had brought a steaming cup of tea to him in the early morning along with some waybread drizzled with honey wrapped in parchment paper. Bilbo ate eagerly, licking the last remnants of the sticky sweetness from his fingers before dipping them into the tea to cleanse the last bits of honey from them. After looking around at the scenery for a little while, he clambered up to the wagon seat and sat surveying the landscape.
A young, golden-haired elf who had arrived from Lothlórien the previous night was leading his ponies.
“Hullo,” he said, waving in a friendly manner to the guide. “Have I met you before?”
“No, Master Hobbit, I arrived last night with my Lady and Lord.”
“And why did you get the poor job of seeing my ponies straight on the narrow pathway?”
Light laughter bubbled from the elf. “Oh, this is no poor job, Master. I had to win at draughts to gain the honor.”
“Honor? To walk next to my ponies and eat the dust from the others ahead of us in the column?”
“It is a rare privilege to be named 'Elf Friend' Master Hobbit. I am honored to fill the position of guide for your wagon on this day's journey.”
Bilbo laughed and began asking the elf about his homeland of Lothlórien, the differences between the land of the mallorn trees and the valley of Imladris, and the history of the Sindarin and Sylvan elves. Their talk, passing animatedly between the two new-made friends, passed the time quickly. Late that afternoon, shortly before the convoy would enter the eastern borders of the Shire, the soft sound of bells sounded from behind the wagon. Bilbo turned in his seat to behold Lady Galadriel approaching him.
The young drover immediately bowed deeply, almost causing the two ponies to stop abruptly. “Take my horse," Galadriel laughed. "I wish to converse with your friend, Master Baggins.” He immediately halted the ponies and assisted his Lady to dismount from her horse. As he led her horse away, she climbed onto the wagon's bench seat, taking the reins of the ponies into her white hands. With an expert flick of her hands, the ponies began pulling the wagon once more and they merged back into the column.
“Lady Galadriel,” Bilbo sputtered, “Please forgive me. I am unable to properly bow to you while sitting atop this moving board.”
A peal of laughter came from the elven lady. “I need no obeisance paid to me, Master Baggins. I am merely an elvish female.” She looked at his questioning look as she directed the ponies to take a specific pathway when two options presented themselves. “I have been handling horses and ponies for many long Ages of this world. I daresay I can direct you safely while we take this opportunity to talk.”
“I am honored to share my bench and wagon with you, Lady,” the old hobbit replied. He shifted on the bench and couldn't hold back a groan as his back complained about the movement.
“Are you in pain, Master Baggins?” Galadriel asked
“Oh, growing old among my people carries its own pains. I would hazard a guess that you know nothing of the pains of old age, milady Galadriel.”
“No. I know not the pains of the body related to old age. However, the pains of the mind and memories, those I know all too well. Elrond mentioned you had been asking about aging in our people and, since I am one of the oldest here on Middle-earth, I will allow you to ask several questions of me. I promise to give thoughtful and honest responses.”
“My Lady,” he gasped, attempting to stand and bow to her. He overcompensated for the motion of the wagon swaying through the rutted road and only the fast and iron grasp of her hand kept him from falling from the bench into the dust roadway below.
Bilbo took a nervous swig from his water skin, then turned slightly to look at the lady now driving his small wagon more directly. “My Lady,” he began.
“Why don't we dispense with the 'My Lady' and the 'Master Baggins', and you just go ahead and ask your questions. Otherwise we might be here all day and all night and never get past the social niceties.” She smiled at the small, proper hobbit seated next to her and clucked her tongue at one of the ponies.
“Yes, all right, m'la … ummmm … Lord Elrond said that although elves don't age physically after a certain age, they age mentally because of all the memories they become burdened with. So I ask you Lady, how far back in your life can you remember, and do you indeed find yourself burdened by your memories?”
“To answer you I must ask you a question in return. How much of the history of Arda and the elves do you know? How far back in time have you studied? Elrond has told me that you are both a scholar and a poet.”
“Well, I know of the history of the Third Age, of course, and some of the Second. I know parts of the First Age – the major battles, the various settlements of Nargothrond, Doriath, Gondolin and the fortresses. Actually, I think I know a fair amount about the First Age.”
“Well, Bilbo, I was a young girl in the time of the Two Trees in Valinor. I walked over the shattered ice of the Helcaraxë and I knew Elu Thingol, Melian and Lúthien in Doriath. My memories stretch long."
She fell silent for a short time, just guiding the ponies. “Memory is a strange thing,” she said almost to herself. “It sparkles and then dims. It gains texture and resembles a topography as varied as the mountains themselves. Over time, memory acquires mass. My memories are long and heavy - almost beyond my ability to bear them. I am returning to the Uttermost West because I can no longer bear my memories alone. I must share my life with others who also have lived through the Ages as I have. These elves only exist in Valinor.”
"So if I understand you, m'La - argh, I'll never get over the niceties, I'm sorry, my Lady. And there I go again!" Bilbo sighed with frustration. Taking a deep breath, he continued. "Elves, after reaching physical maturity, don't age physically, only through mental accretion. Is that right?"
"Almost," she responded. Clicking to the ponies to step up their p ace a bit, she looked around at the surrounding landscape, turning back to the hobbit with a distant look in her eyes. "We still age physically, but very, very slowly. We have the ability to tread the waters of time, so to speak. For instance, I am happy with my age set at an indeterminate level of what a human would call youthful middle age. My husband enjoys appearing a few years older than I do, although he is a bit younger in true years. Círdan, the shipbuilder and Master of the Grey Havens has a long white beard and looks quite venerable. He is one of the oldest elves on this shore, a brother of Olwë and Elu Thingol, but his brothers both looked younger than he does. Outward appearance is a matter of choice for elves. When we are at an age where we feel comfortable we resolve to stay there."
"I can see some real advantage to that, Lady. For one thing, it would eliminate the aches and pains I have been experiencing lately. Do you think that going to the West will make me young once more?"
"No, Master hobbit. That is not possible; there is no turning back time. Once you have been painted by its brush, you are tinted forever more. However, I do think that the very air itself will give you more energy and that those who care for the ills of body and mind will be able to lighten your burdens. I believe that both you and your nephew will receive true healing on the Western shores."
Galadriel rode a short time more with him and they passed the time in mild discussion of the plants and animals surrounding them. After she left, Bilbo moved back into the wagon bed and slept until dinner, returning once again to his bed directly after the meal. The next day the column met up with Frodo, who joined them, along with Samwise. The hobbits rode together either next to or in the small wagon, talking about the dealings of the Shire in the manner of hobbits. It was only a short journey more before they began to smell the sea as they passed tall watchtowers looking west.
One more day's journey brought them to the protected bay where a white ship of sleek lines awaited its passengers. Bilbo was thrilled to meet Círdan, the first elf he had ever met who looked aged. The Master bowed low before the three hobbits and sat near them at the evening meal. Late that night he came to their room and shared a glass of wine while being peppered with questions about the history of his realm by Frodo. Samwise sat quietly in a corner near the hearth, his eyes fixed on Frodo. As the Master of the Havens rose to leave, Bilbo caught at his sleeve.
“Master Círdan, might I have a small word with you in private?” he asked, his eyes darting nervously between Frodo and Sam.
“Of course. Let's walk along the shore, shall we? It's a lovely night and the stars are shining brightly.” He led the way down stairways and over a wooden walkway until after a few minutes, the two elders were walking together atop of the hardened water-packed sand at the ocean's edge.
Taking a deep breath, Bilbo began. “Master Círdan, I am hoping that you can give me advice and reassurance.” The tall elf waited attentively as Bilbo's eyes moved up and down, examining him. “I don't want to be rude, and if you take offense, please know that I spoke from ignorance not from spite.” A small nod was all the response the hobbit got, but it was enough.
“Tomorrow I am expected to board that beautiful ship bobbing in the waves and sail west to the Undying Lands. Yet I know I will die; I am mortal, it is inevitable. So I must ask, is there any real reason for me to board and go to Valinor? Is there any rationale for my dying alone, so far away from my own people in a land I have never seen? Should I take this journey?”
Bilbo turned away and walked a few steps farther along the shore, his head bowed in thought. He turned and faced Círdan once more. “I truly do not know what to do. You and I are the eldest of our races here on these shores. If I cannot get firm advice from you, I will be at a loss when tomorrow dawns. I know elves dislike giving direct guidance, but I beg you. Please tell me your opinion. Should I pass to the West?”
“You are feeling your age, are you not, Master Baggins? Your body has started to betray you, bones and muscles complain when they never have before, your eyesight has dimmed and your hearing has becoming less acute. These things are true, yes?”
Bilbo nodded assent, remaining silent, his eyes fixed on the bearded elf.
Círdan breathed out a deep sigh and turning, sat on the sand above the tide line. Bilbo walked up to him, coming to a halt in front of him. They were eye to eye.
“I have never been over the sea, Master Baggins. Ulmo himself asked me to take on the task of making sure that those wishing to return to Valinor had the means of passage. I have spent the Ages building and sending ships to the West. In all that time, only six beings have returned from the West back to Middle-earth. You have met two of them – the one you call Gandalf and the warrior, Glorfindel.
“Although Gandalf may be better able to advise you, here are my words, for better or worse. My heart feels that you will benefit from this trip to the West, and that those traveling with you and those who will meet you on those far distant shores will be enriched by whatever time they will spend with you.
“Your aches and pains may lessen, although I fear they will still be with you. Your eyes may clear and your ears may hear with more accuracy. However, more than your physical improvement, you will have the opportunity to see sights and meet elves and beings never seen by hobbits before. Your very presence will be a boon to your nephew who was gravely hurt in his almost hopeless quest. But more than that, your very presence on Tol Eressëa will be an awakening to those elves who have become all too complacent with their own place in Eru's thoughts.”
Círdan reached out and took Bilbo's hands into his own, encasing them gently. “Go West with your family, Bilbo. Valinor needs you to remind it of the greater world. They need to remember that decisions made in the great halls and in the Máhanaxar impact more than just the elves of Tirion and Alqualondë. Even as Eärendil himself is a nightly reminder of those who are separated from Valinor by the ocean, so you will remind them that the smallest decisions can have the largest impacts.”
The elf stood up and the two companions, tall and short, walked slowly back to the low house. Bilbo bowed his thanks as they separated, continuing on to his rooms where Frodo and Sam were already sleeping in their beds. As he climbed into bed, the light from Eärendil's ship came through the window to shine upon his pillow.
The next day dawned bright and clear and before long all farewells were ended and the gangplank drawn up. As the ship turned gracefully, catching the morning breeze in its sails, Frodo stood at the back rail with Gandalf, waving farewell to Sam, Pippin and Merry. Others stood with them, bidding good-bye to friends and lovers staying behind on Middle-earth. Those crowded at the rail included Elrond and Galadriel. Bilbo, however, stood at the other end of the ship. Standing alone in the bow, he looked out at the open sea stretching infinitely ahead of him and smiled. “I'm going on An Adventure,” he said softly. As Frodo stepped next to him, he began humming one of his traveling songs. “Well, my dear boy,” he said, his eyes never leaving the seas ahead, “This may be the start of the greatest adventure of our lives.”
Author Name: Erulisse (one L)
Prompt: "'For our spring and our summer are gone by, and they will never be seen on earth again save in memory.'" (Galadriel, The Fellowship of the Ring, "Farewell to Lórien") Write about a character who has reached old age.
Summary: After the War of the Rings, the ringbearers have received permission to sail to the Undying West. Bilbo, feeling his age since the destruction of Sauron's ring begins his journey to the Grey Havens and attempts to understand the differences between his own aging and that of his hosts, the elves.
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Beta: None - All errors are solely my own.
Author's Notes: My interpretation of how elves age is solely my own but has kernels of probability.
A knock sounded and a dove, disturbed, took wing. The door opened and a tall, slender being with long dark hair strode in, escorting five others who carried steaming water toward a copper tub screened from general view in a corner. While the five filled the tub, the first elf, for elves these beings were, walked to the bed.
A small body slept there snoring gently, a down-filled covering pulled closely around him. A red-tinged nose, which had once been more aquiline, was prominent beneath an array of white curls barely confined by a knitted bed cap. The elf gently placed his hand on the sleeper's shoulder.
The room was in disarray filled with a writing desk, a wall of books on shelves with bound and rolled items stuffed into every opening, and an array of chests, some open and others closed. The hobbit, for that is who was sleeping in the middle of that bed, was well suited to his room. It was not too messy, nor too clean, not too open and yet not too crowded. In other words, for a hobbit who had been long away from proper hobbit lands, it was the perfect hole in the perfect home.
“It is time for you to awaken, Master Baggins. Your bath awaits. Would you prefer to break your fast in your room this morning?”
The hobbit sat up snuffling, trying to capture the edges of an escaping dream. “Wha'? Who? Oh, it's you. Yes, porridge and tea at my hearth, please.” He reached up and pulled off his cap, running his fingers through his hair and scratching his head. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and scratched his belly. Taking hold of the outstretched hand of the elf, he pulled himself to the edge of the bedstead, reaching his furry feet down toward an oval floor rug.
“How much time have I got, my friend? Oh! These old bones just don't move as well as they used to. I doubt I'll be up to walking all the way to the gateway of the Hidden Valley, let alone to the Grey Havens. Riding a pony for any distance is pretty doubtful too.”
“Master Elrond wants to leave as soon as the sun sets this evening, but you needn't worry about either walking or riding. A small wagon has been outfitted for you so that you may travel through the lands of Middle Earth in comfort with pillows to cushion you. I'll send your breakfast up for you and return in a candle mark to help you pack the two chests you may bring with you.” He turned away from the hobbit and looked at the piles of materials that Bilbo had been trying to sort. He silently sighed as he analyzed the work ahead of them.
Forcing cheer into his voice, he turned back to the hobbit. “Do you need any assistance to bathe today, Master? I can arrange...”
Bilbo abruptly interrupted his words as he walked toward the privacy screen. “NO. That will NOT be necessary.” The hobbit stopped walking and turned around. “Please forgive an old hobbit's sharp tongue, my old friend, this journey has me a bit on edge. Tell me again, why am I traveling to the Havens with Elrond?”
“You are an honored guest and Elf-friend, Master Baggins. It is our pleasure to allow you to travel with Master Elrond and pass through your country once more. The Valar themselves approved his request that you accompany him to sail to the Blessed Lands.”
“Yes, Valinor,” the hobbit said from behind the corner screen. The sound of splashing water filled the room as he settled down for his bath. “That's an Adventure worth the taking, don't you think? I almost feel as if I was a mere fifty years old once again, ready to set off with Thorin's company on my Great Adventure.”
The elf chuckled to hear the excitement barely hidden in the hobbit's voice. “An Adventure indeed, Master Baggins. Now before I leave to get your porridge I will set out your clothing. What do you think?” he queried. “The beige trousers with a red waistcoat, dark red shirt and an overcoat of nut brown?”
“No, I have in mind to wear some gold today. I'd rather the gold waistcoat with a deep green shirt, the nut brown trousers and my tan jacket. Oh, and don't forget my bracers now, mind you!” he called out from the bath.
“No indeed, I wouldn't dare forget those, Master Baggins,” the elf replied, smiling.
By the time the hobbit was out of the tub, dried off and properly dressed, his porridge and tea had arrived. He hissed in pain as he lowered himself into his favorite wing chair. The elf moved a table within his reach.
“Is there anything else I can get for you, Master Baggins?” The hobbit shook his head, concentrating on his breakfast. “Well then. I shall return in an hour's time. Enjoy your repast.” The elf cast a careful look around the room, cataloging what would need to be complete for the hobbit to be ready to leave in the evening, then bowed and left.
Well, here I go again, Bilbo thought as he scattered raisins and honey over the top of his porridge. He looked around the room shaking his head as the enormity of his task began to overwhelm him. How will I ever choose what to bring with me? I've lived here with Elrond for more than twenty years and my shelves are overflowing.
Two hours later the elf and the hobbit were deeply involved in packing items for Bilbo's voyage. “Please make sure that these books of poetry are packed," Bilbo said, handing a small stack of bound books to the elf. "I want to leave them with Frodo as we pass through the Shire.”
“But Frodo will be joining you on your journey, Master Baggins,” the elf reminded the elderly hobbit.
“Oh yes. Of course, he will. I'd forgotten. How very silly of me. Tch, my memory just isn't what it used to be." Bilbo shook his head and glared at his hands. "I've become so wrinkled over the past few years,” he mused. Looking up, he focused on his elven companion again. “Tell me, my friend, do elves really live forever? Among my people I'm considered very old. Every day I have more aches and pains and limbs that used to be spry are now slow and stiff. Do elves age?”
“Of course we age,” the elf said as he packed the books against the bottom of one trunk. “However, after we have reached maturity, our aging is very slow, almost imperceptible. We are the first-born and tied to this world. While Arda lives, we live and when Arda dies, we will die alongside her.”
“That may be a very long time indeed,” the hobbit replied. “I don't think I've ever met an elf who appeared elderly, yet I know that several of my elven friends are thousands of years old. It quite boggles my mind.” He moved a neatly folded stack of clothing from the bed to an open chest, pushing them into place with a firm hand.
“Elves mature fairly rapidly when they are born and are considered mature before they have reached five hundred years of age. In fact, I've heard that in some communities the young are counted as adults after they have reached one hundred years old!" Bilbo's companion said. "Here in Imladris the young are counted as adults when they are one hundred and fifty years old, but we don't truly consider them mature until they are at least two hundred and fifty years old.”
“Do young elves try to help with adult chores and responsibilities before they are mature? I've seen many young hobbits follow their father's footsteps, copying every action he makes.”
“Of course, Master Baggins. I think it is the nature of all children to follow the examples of their parents and also to push their boundaries and see how far they will stretch. I suspect Master Elrond himself probably had times as a young elf that strained the patience of his …. Well, perhaps I should not go there. I have no business speaking about the Master's unusual childhood.”
Bilbo nodded agreement and groaned once more as his muscles complained. “Do elves experience aches and pains when they grow older? I think I'd be fine with my years if they weren't accompanied by physically falling apart at the same time.”
“I can't answer that, Master Baggins, I am still considered young. I have no aching muscles unless I spend too long in the saddle or allow Commander Glorfindel to take me on for a round of two of sword fighting in the salle.” He walked over and collected another armful of books to bring to Bilbo. After dropping them before the hobbit, he settled on the floor and began folding a new stack of clothing to pack. “You may wish to ask Master Elrond about any aches and pains while you are traveling. It will take many days to get to the Grey Havens and I am sure the Master will spend some of that time with you. Now that I think of it, I believe you will also be traveling with Lady Galadriel of Lothlórien. She came to Middle Earth from Valinor, walking across the Helcaraxë. To the best of my knowledge, she is one of the oldest elves currently living this side of the Sundering Sea.”
“Oh, I couldn't possibly ask her about her experiences as she ages," Bilbo said, his face flushing red. “One just doesn't go asking a lady about such things, you see. It isn't seemly - no, not at all.”
The elf and hobbit worked together throughout the afternoon. When the bell rang for afternoon tea, they stood and looked around the room. Two filled chests were ready for loading and several piles of goods that Bilbo was leaving behind were lined up along the walls.
“I have no idea if anything I am leaving behind will be of any use to anyone. Oh well, I can't take everything, and it would be silly to even try. Anyone is welcome to help themselves to anything I leave here.” The elderly hobbit shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. “Was that the bell for tea?”
The elf cast a fond look down at the white-haired hobbit standing next to him. “Yes it was, Master Baggins. Would you like tea here in your room? Or would you prefer to join the household in the Hall of Fire.”
“I think I'll go to the Hall of Fire. It will give me a chance to say a last good-bye to some of my friends before I leave tonight. Oh my, I will be taking such memories with me but leaving so many good friends behind.” He sniffed and pulling out his handkerchief, dabbed at his eyes.
“Do not weep yet, Master. Many of your friends will be coming on the journey to the Havens in honor of Master Elrond. Some will even sail along with you. However, you are correct because several of your friends will be staying behind. Come, I'll walk down with you.”
Bilbo spent a pleasant afternoon, first sharing some time with several elves who had become friends over the years he had lived in Elrond's house, and then eating a small meal seated in his armchair near his hearth while his baggage was taken to the pack wagon. The setting sun found him comfortably settled on a pile of cushions in a small covered wagon pulled by two ponies. The wagon had a cunningly designed cover that retracted easily so that he could enjoy days of sunshine or clear nights. It also pulled back over the wagon bed to protect him from rain or give him privacy.
As the group set out on the road leading to the hidden cliff top entrance to Imladris, the elves began a farewell song for the home they had known for so long. The bittersweet melody rose, blending with the soft swish of the autumn leaves. He felt no shame in the tears that ran down his cheeks because they matched those on many other faces. He realized that even though the elves anticipated their welcome in the Undying Lands with joy, they were still leaving a memory-filled home behind them and moving on to an unknown future.
That first night Bilbo fell asleep in his wagon, the tarp opened so that he slept under the stars. The treetops swayed in a mild breeze and soft elven voices sang him into peaceful dreams.
Although the journey to the Havens would take several weeks, life on the road settled in a routine within a few days. Bilbo often slept. While he was awake, he looked at the surrounding landscape with great interest. He spoke with the elves guiding his ponies and sometimes other elves came by his wagon to point out items they thought would be interesting to him. He even remembered passing by a landmark or two from his earlier journeys.
One late afternoon, an hour or so before sunset, Elrond dismounted next to Bilbo's wagon. He handed his horse over to another elf and climbed onto the wagon seat next to the hobbit.
“Has the journey been comfortable for you thus far, Master Baggins?” Elrond asked, smiling as he looked at the beaming hobbit.
“Oh yes, Elrond. It's been simply marvelous. I'd forgotten how wonderful it is to travel through Middle-earth, and the food and companionship have been beyond reproach.” He chuckled and whispered, “To be quite honest, I've never traveled in such luxury. I almost feel as though I should have a swarm of stinging flies or perhaps some weevils in the grain to make my travel more of a hardship.”
Elrond laughed aloud hearing the elderly hobbit's words. “I'm glad to hear that the trip has been enjoyable for you, my friend.” The two companions discussed small things – the weather, clothing, care of horses, etc. for a while.
The Master looked at Bilbo out of the corner of his eye and forged into a new topic. “It has come to my attention that you were enquiring about elvish aging. I thought I might address that before we join with Lady Galadriel on the morrow. Although she is far older than I, in the way of the fairer sex, she may not appreciate being reminded of that fact.”
Bilbo smiled. “I will admit to curiosity. You have walked this earth for many long years, Elrond and seen cities rise and fall. Yet your outward appearance seems less than fifty of our years. So, because hobbits are curious (or at least I am curious), I must ask. Do elves age in body after they reach maturity?”
“Oh yes, we age, Master Baggins. But so slowly as to be almost imperceptible. It is our memories that age more than our bodies." Glancing at the hobbit, Elrond noticed Bilbo's quizzical look and expanded his explanation. "Over time our memories grow heavy and crowded and they begin to weigh us down. This, more than anything, is what causes elves to seek the emptiness of Lord Námo's dark realm. When elves are unwilling or unable to accept more memories, or when those we have accumulated cause us so much pain that the good no longer outweighs the bad, then we fade. An elf who fades goes into a decline that shuts down the mind and the physical body. After a certain point, the journey to Lord Námo's realm becomes unstoppable. The physical body dies and the fea goes to Mandos, there to remain until a time determined by the Valar.”
“But elves are the first-born, immortals tied to Arda. Doesn't that mean that you cannot die?” asked the elderly hobbit. “I must admit I'm confused.”
“Our physical bodies can and do die, yet our fea, our spirits are never destroyed. The only thing that will truly end all elves is the destruction of Arda. At that time all who were created by Eru to walk these lands will cease to exist in full.”
Bilbo nodded. “I see … I think. So elves age without visible signs until their memories or other circumstances cause them to lose their physical form, but their essence still survives until Arda itself is destroyed. Is that right?”
“It's a bit oversimplified, but not inaccurate,” Elrond responded. “I am one of the oldest of my people, yet Lady Galadriel, her mate, Lord Celeborn and Thranduil, the elven king of Mirkwood, are older than I am. Elves don't suffer the aches and pains of the body that men, hobbits, and even dwarves suffer as they age, but we can easily fall into melancholia if we allow ourselves to give in to despair.”
“Oh, I wish I didn't have aches and pains in my old age, Elrond. It's no fun waking up in the morning and then spending long minutes talking myself into movement. When I'm actually up and interacting with others through the day, exhaustion strikes often. Now I sleep as much during the day as at night. My back hurts, my stomach doesn't tolerate food the way it used to, and my eyes and ears are turning into traitors. My dependable body has become my enemy and it's very disconcerting.”
Elrond chuckled as he took the reins of the ponies, helping to guide them into the protected glen where they would rest for the night and await the elves from Lothlórien. “Your body is a traitor? I can well imagine it might seem that way sometimes. However, it has given you good and loyal service through these many years. Perhaps it also is tired.”
“I suppose that is the case, my friend. Yet I can't celebrate the fact that I don't hear the voices of your people with the clarity I used to, nor look upon their beauty without seeming to view through a dulled glass.”
“I hold hope, my dear hobbit, that your afflictions may be minimized when you set foot upon the soil of Tol Eressëa. The air of the West has curative properties. Just breathing it will help you to gain more comfort in your late years. I pray that Frodo will also finally recover. He was near death at the end of his quest. Even though we laud him for his great courage and fortitude, he is broken. I pray he will recover in body and fea in Valinor.”
“Yes," Bilbo nodded. "My dear boy gave everything he had and left nothing for himself. I scarce know whether to praise him for his great deed or scold him for having undertaken it. I share your hope, Elrond. If the West offers health, I pray he receives the larger portion of it. I am old and will die soon. Let whatever healing can be done be focused on him. He is still young in years, if not in mind or body.”
Elrond stopped the horses and a younger elf arrived to begin unharnessing them from the wagon's traces. Elrond jumped to the ground and offered a hand to the hobbit. “Dinner should be served soon, Bilbo. Would you care to stretch your legs for a bit?"
Elrond assisted the elderly hobbit to the ground, then bowed and left to look after other details. Bilbo began making his way toward one of the smaller fire pits. He joined Lindir, his friend from the Hall of Fire. He was with a small group of musicians who were tuning their instruments. Soon the hobbit had the elves singing a rollicking tavern song of the Shire. The call for supper caught them completely by surprise in the middle of a verse. They stopped short and Bilbo looked to his companions for guidance.
“I will fetch some food for us, Master Bilbo,” Lindir said, unfolding his long legs from around his harp and standing. He pulled a trencher and wineskin from his nearby pack and left, walking toward the cook fire, whistling a merry tune as he went. Several others of their small group followed him.
A short time later Bilbo and his musical friends were gathered around several filled trenchers, pulling waybread into pieces to scoop up the thick stew and passing the wine skin between them. After dinner and clean up, they gathered again to sing, but this time the songs were quieter, more melancholy in tone. Bilbo had almost dozed off listening to the music when he began hearing soft bells approaching from a distance.
“She comes,” several voices exclaimed.
“She? Who … who is it who comes?” Bilbo asked.
As the elves stood and faced the entrance to the glen, Lindir said, “The White Lady, Galadriel from Lothlórien and her consort, Celeborn the Wise.”
A small group of elves rode and walked into the midst of the encampment, coming to a halt in front of Elrond. He stood immobile for a moment, and then bowed deeply. His voice rang out, “Lady Galadriel, Lord Celeborn and others from the fair land of Lothlórien. I welcome you and invite you to join our company as we journey to the Grey Havens.”
Lord Celeborn assisted his Lady from her horse and Rivendell elves approached the visitors to assist with the care of their beasts. A late supper was distributed among the new arrivals and as the night moved on, a guard was set and small groups split off to dark corners for sleep.
Bilbo returned to his wagon for the night. The blankets and pillows had been fluffed and rearranged for his sleeping comfort. As he squirmed into the pillows, he saw a small cluster of five elves sitting in a circle. Firelight flashed in their eyes and it appeared that a discussion was underway, yet he heard no sound. Galadriel raised her head for a moment, catching his eye. She nodded slightly in acknowledgement and smiled a soft smile before lowering her head and rejoining the conversation. He fell asleep listening to the soft voices of several elves sing praises to the star-filled sky of Elbereth.
His dreams faded from his memory quickly after he awakened the next morning, yet one vision remained - a soft light striking a sheltered harbor, and beyond, a land with green foliage so intense he had never seen its like before. He tried to hold on to the vision, but by mid-day, only a broken shell of the beauty remained.
The caravan had resumed moving west as soon as the sun had crested the edge of the horizon, even while he was still wiping the sleep from his eyes. Lindir had brought a steaming cup of tea to him in the early morning along with some waybread drizzled with honey wrapped in parchment paper. Bilbo ate eagerly, licking the last remnants of the sticky sweetness from his fingers before dipping them into the tea to cleanse the last bits of honey from them. After looking around at the scenery for a little while, he clambered up to the wagon seat and sat surveying the landscape.
A young, golden-haired elf who had arrived from Lothlórien the previous night was leading his ponies.
“Hullo,” he said, waving in a friendly manner to the guide. “Have I met you before?”
“No, Master Hobbit, I arrived last night with my Lady and Lord.”
“And why did you get the poor job of seeing my ponies straight on the narrow pathway?”
Light laughter bubbled from the elf. “Oh, this is no poor job, Master. I had to win at draughts to gain the honor.”
“Honor? To walk next to my ponies and eat the dust from the others ahead of us in the column?”
“It is a rare privilege to be named 'Elf Friend' Master Hobbit. I am honored to fill the position of guide for your wagon on this day's journey.”
Bilbo laughed and began asking the elf about his homeland of Lothlórien, the differences between the land of the mallorn trees and the valley of Imladris, and the history of the Sindarin and Sylvan elves. Their talk, passing animatedly between the two new-made friends, passed the time quickly. Late that afternoon, shortly before the convoy would enter the eastern borders of the Shire, the soft sound of bells sounded from behind the wagon. Bilbo turned in his seat to behold Lady Galadriel approaching him.
The young drover immediately bowed deeply, almost causing the two ponies to stop abruptly. “Take my horse," Galadriel laughed. "I wish to converse with your friend, Master Baggins.” He immediately halted the ponies and assisted his Lady to dismount from her horse. As he led her horse away, she climbed onto the wagon's bench seat, taking the reins of the ponies into her white hands. With an expert flick of her hands, the ponies began pulling the wagon once more and they merged back into the column.
“Lady Galadriel,” Bilbo sputtered, “Please forgive me. I am unable to properly bow to you while sitting atop this moving board.”
A peal of laughter came from the elven lady. “I need no obeisance paid to me, Master Baggins. I am merely an elvish female.” She looked at his questioning look as she directed the ponies to take a specific pathway when two options presented themselves. “I have been handling horses and ponies for many long Ages of this world. I daresay I can direct you safely while we take this opportunity to talk.”
“I am honored to share my bench and wagon with you, Lady,” the old hobbit replied. He shifted on the bench and couldn't hold back a groan as his back complained about the movement.
“Are you in pain, Master Baggins?” Galadriel asked
“Oh, growing old among my people carries its own pains. I would hazard a guess that you know nothing of the pains of old age, milady Galadriel.”
“No. I know not the pains of the body related to old age. However, the pains of the mind and memories, those I know all too well. Elrond mentioned you had been asking about aging in our people and, since I am one of the oldest here on Middle-earth, I will allow you to ask several questions of me. I promise to give thoughtful and honest responses.”
“My Lady,” he gasped, attempting to stand and bow to her. He overcompensated for the motion of the wagon swaying through the rutted road and only the fast and iron grasp of her hand kept him from falling from the bench into the dust roadway below.
Bilbo took a nervous swig from his water skin, then turned slightly to look at the lady now driving his small wagon more directly. “My Lady,” he began.
“Why don't we dispense with the 'My Lady' and the 'Master Baggins', and you just go ahead and ask your questions. Otherwise we might be here all day and all night and never get past the social niceties.” She smiled at the small, proper hobbit seated next to her and clucked her tongue at one of the ponies.
“Yes, all right, m'la … ummmm … Lord Elrond said that although elves don't age physically after a certain age, they age mentally because of all the memories they become burdened with. So I ask you Lady, how far back in your life can you remember, and do you indeed find yourself burdened by your memories?”
“To answer you I must ask you a question in return. How much of the history of Arda and the elves do you know? How far back in time have you studied? Elrond has told me that you are both a scholar and a poet.”
“Well, I know of the history of the Third Age, of course, and some of the Second. I know parts of the First Age – the major battles, the various settlements of Nargothrond, Doriath, Gondolin and the fortresses. Actually, I think I know a fair amount about the First Age.”
“Well, Bilbo, I was a young girl in the time of the Two Trees in Valinor. I walked over the shattered ice of the Helcaraxë and I knew Elu Thingol, Melian and Lúthien in Doriath. My memories stretch long."
She fell silent for a short time, just guiding the ponies. “Memory is a strange thing,” she said almost to herself. “It sparkles and then dims. It gains texture and resembles a topography as varied as the mountains themselves. Over time, memory acquires mass. My memories are long and heavy - almost beyond my ability to bear them. I am returning to the Uttermost West because I can no longer bear my memories alone. I must share my life with others who also have lived through the Ages as I have. These elves only exist in Valinor.”
"So if I understand you, m'La - argh, I'll never get over the niceties, I'm sorry, my Lady. And there I go again!" Bilbo sighed with frustration. Taking a deep breath, he continued. "Elves, after reaching physical maturity, don't age physically, only through mental accretion. Is that right?"
"Almost," she responded. Clicking to the ponies to step up their p ace a bit, she looked around at the surrounding landscape, turning back to the hobbit with a distant look in her eyes. "We still age physically, but very, very slowly. We have the ability to tread the waters of time, so to speak. For instance, I am happy with my age set at an indeterminate level of what a human would call youthful middle age. My husband enjoys appearing a few years older than I do, although he is a bit younger in true years. Círdan, the shipbuilder and Master of the Grey Havens has a long white beard and looks quite venerable. He is one of the oldest elves on this shore, a brother of Olwë and Elu Thingol, but his brothers both looked younger than he does. Outward appearance is a matter of choice for elves. When we are at an age where we feel comfortable we resolve to stay there."
"I can see some real advantage to that, Lady. For one thing, it would eliminate the aches and pains I have been experiencing lately. Do you think that going to the West will make me young once more?"
"No, Master hobbit. That is not possible; there is no turning back time. Once you have been painted by its brush, you are tinted forever more. However, I do think that the very air itself will give you more energy and that those who care for the ills of body and mind will be able to lighten your burdens. I believe that both you and your nephew will receive true healing on the Western shores."
Galadriel rode a short time more with him and they passed the time in mild discussion of the plants and animals surrounding them. After she left, Bilbo moved back into the wagon bed and slept until dinner, returning once again to his bed directly after the meal. The next day the column met up with Frodo, who joined them, along with Samwise. The hobbits rode together either next to or in the small wagon, talking about the dealings of the Shire in the manner of hobbits. It was only a short journey more before they began to smell the sea as they passed tall watchtowers looking west.
One more day's journey brought them to the protected bay where a white ship of sleek lines awaited its passengers. Bilbo was thrilled to meet Círdan, the first elf he had ever met who looked aged. The Master bowed low before the three hobbits and sat near them at the evening meal. Late that night he came to their room and shared a glass of wine while being peppered with questions about the history of his realm by Frodo. Samwise sat quietly in a corner near the hearth, his eyes fixed on Frodo. As the Master of the Havens rose to leave, Bilbo caught at his sleeve.
“Master Círdan, might I have a small word with you in private?” he asked, his eyes darting nervously between Frodo and Sam.
“Of course. Let's walk along the shore, shall we? It's a lovely night and the stars are shining brightly.” He led the way down stairways and over a wooden walkway until after a few minutes, the two elders were walking together atop of the hardened water-packed sand at the ocean's edge.
Taking a deep breath, Bilbo began. “Master Círdan, I am hoping that you can give me advice and reassurance.” The tall elf waited attentively as Bilbo's eyes moved up and down, examining him. “I don't want to be rude, and if you take offense, please know that I spoke from ignorance not from spite.” A small nod was all the response the hobbit got, but it was enough.
“Tomorrow I am expected to board that beautiful ship bobbing in the waves and sail west to the Undying Lands. Yet I know I will die; I am mortal, it is inevitable. So I must ask, is there any real reason for me to board and go to Valinor? Is there any rationale for my dying alone, so far away from my own people in a land I have never seen? Should I take this journey?”
Bilbo turned away and walked a few steps farther along the shore, his head bowed in thought. He turned and faced Círdan once more. “I truly do not know what to do. You and I are the eldest of our races here on these shores. If I cannot get firm advice from you, I will be at a loss when tomorrow dawns. I know elves dislike giving direct guidance, but I beg you. Please tell me your opinion. Should I pass to the West?”
“You are feeling your age, are you not, Master Baggins? Your body has started to betray you, bones and muscles complain when they never have before, your eyesight has dimmed and your hearing has becoming less acute. These things are true, yes?”
Bilbo nodded assent, remaining silent, his eyes fixed on the bearded elf.
Círdan breathed out a deep sigh and turning, sat on the sand above the tide line. Bilbo walked up to him, coming to a halt in front of him. They were eye to eye.
“I have never been over the sea, Master Baggins. Ulmo himself asked me to take on the task of making sure that those wishing to return to Valinor had the means of passage. I have spent the Ages building and sending ships to the West. In all that time, only six beings have returned from the West back to Middle-earth. You have met two of them – the one you call Gandalf and the warrior, Glorfindel.
“Although Gandalf may be better able to advise you, here are my words, for better or worse. My heart feels that you will benefit from this trip to the West, and that those traveling with you and those who will meet you on those far distant shores will be enriched by whatever time they will spend with you.
“Your aches and pains may lessen, although I fear they will still be with you. Your eyes may clear and your ears may hear with more accuracy. However, more than your physical improvement, you will have the opportunity to see sights and meet elves and beings never seen by hobbits before. Your very presence will be a boon to your nephew who was gravely hurt in his almost hopeless quest. But more than that, your very presence on Tol Eressëa will be an awakening to those elves who have become all too complacent with their own place in Eru's thoughts.”
Círdan reached out and took Bilbo's hands into his own, encasing them gently. “Go West with your family, Bilbo. Valinor needs you to remind it of the greater world. They need to remember that decisions made in the great halls and in the Máhanaxar impact more than just the elves of Tirion and Alqualondë. Even as Eärendil himself is a nightly reminder of those who are separated from Valinor by the ocean, so you will remind them that the smallest decisions can have the largest impacts.”
The elf stood up and the two companions, tall and short, walked slowly back to the low house. Bilbo bowed his thanks as they separated, continuing on to his rooms where Frodo and Sam were already sleeping in their beds. As he climbed into bed, the light from Eärendil's ship came through the window to shine upon his pillow.
The next day dawned bright and clear and before long all farewells were ended and the gangplank drawn up. As the ship turned gracefully, catching the morning breeze in its sails, Frodo stood at the back rail with Gandalf, waving farewell to Sam, Pippin and Merry. Others stood with them, bidding good-bye to friends and lovers staying behind on Middle-earth. Those crowded at the rail included Elrond and Galadriel. Bilbo, however, stood at the other end of the ship. Standing alone in the bow, he looked out at the open sea stretching infinitely ahead of him and smiled. “I'm going on An Adventure,” he said softly. As Frodo stepped next to him, he began humming one of his traveling songs. “Well, my dear boy,” he said, his eyes never leaving the seas ahead, “This may be the start of the greatest adventure of our lives.”
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Date: 2014-03-22 12:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-03-22 12:46 pm (UTC)- Erulisse (one L)