Fostering

Loss and Shirefolk

       He sat already at table when she entered the dining hall for the morning meal, a small figure lifted up upon cushions, devoting himself to his breakfast with both pleasure and considerable focus.

       Gilraen had not seen him or his companions the previous day on their arrival--she had been nursing Estel, who was suffering from a head cold, and the two of them had eaten in their rooms.  Estel hated being amongst the Elves when he felt sick, was terribly embarrassed at being reduced to coughing and sneezing uncontrollably.  That he exiled himself when ill caused his foster father to sigh, but also to experience a degree of pride that Estel would show such sense.  Elrond had sent appropriate draughts to Estel’s room, and had come to check on him last night after seeing the Dwarves and the Hobbit to their beds before going off to the library for the rest of the night to study on the known history of Smaug ere he came to the Lonely Mountain.

       Gilraen was easier for her son this morning, and found herself curious about the small creature applying itself so single-mindedly to its morning meal.  She filled her own breakfast plate from the dishes that sat on the sideboard, picked up eating implements, and found a place opposite him, looked into his face.

       There was no question of this being a child, once one saw its face, in spite of its beardless condition.  The face was lightly lined, the eyes intelligent, the mouth given to smiles and, she suspected, considerable humor.  There were signs, she saw, that he’d been somewhat discontented, but was not so at the moment, at least.  As he ate, he was looking at her with the same curiosity she felt toward him, although she sensed that he would not exercise it until he’d seen to the filling of his belly.  Considering that he’d been working on that project for some time before she arrived, however, it didn’t take too terrifically long before he wiped his mouth carefully with his napkin and focused his full attention on her.

       “Bilbo Baggins, at your service,” he finally said politely, and she realized that had he been in a position to easily stand and then sit again without the need to deal with so many cushions he would have given her a profound bow.

       “Welcome, Master Bilbo Baggins,” she said in return.  “I am Gilraen.”

       “But you are not an Elf,” he said, his examination obviously well informed.

       “No, although my people bear some Elvish blood.  My people are called the Dúnedain, and we here in the North have ever been welcome to sojourn amongst the Elves of Rivendell.”

       “Dúnedain?” he said with interest.

       “We are descended from the Men of the West.”

       He straightened with even more interest.  “The West?  You mean Númenor?  There was indeed a Númenor?”

       She felt her own interest in him deepen.  “You have heard of Númenor yourself?  I am amazed.”

       He laughed.  “I was an only child and grandson of the Old Took himself, and when visiting in the Great Smial when I was but a small lad I would read as much as I could from his library.  Grandfather Gerontius himself was pleased to see how much curiosity I showed toward the outer world, and gave me a great many books over the years, including some of those he’d received from Gandalf and the Lord Elrond, and would even tell me tales of them when I was younger.  I used to dream of having adventures when I was a child, although as a Baggins had I ever done so I’d have been looked on as a terrible aberration.  Undoubtedly once I return home I shall be shunned horribly for having had the temerity to go off and do something so extraordinarily uncomfortable.  I can barely believe, much of the time, that I’m actually doing this, you know.”

       He appeared to be of early middle years, his grey-green eyes bright and alert as he watched the others in the room with interest.

       “Where are your companions?” she asked.

       “Having a bit of a lie in, I suspect.  The Elves who met us were teasing them unmercifully as we arrived, and spent much of the night singing songs full of ‘Tra-la-la-lally’ and so on outside our windows.  Thorin was most disgruntled, I think.”

       “I suspect that Elladan and Elrohir were in the midst of the singing.  They are not as accepting of our Dwarven visitors as their father is.  Their mother grew up in Lothlorien, and they absorbed the distrust the Elves of that place have of the children of Aüle.  They aren’t as dismissive of Dwarves as are the Elves of Lorien, but do seem to find them apt targets for teasing.”

       “Then Lothlorien is a real place?”

       “Of course,” she answered him.

       “Extraordinary,” he said with a satisfied smile, taking a final forkful of food from his plate as he filed this information away in his mind.  “The Golden Wood is a real place.”

       “Yes--the Lord Elrond’s daughter dwells there now with her grandmother and grandfather.”

       His head rose with interest.  “Lord Elrond has a daughter as well as sons?” he asked.  “I had no idea.”

       “The Lady Arwen is very beautiful, though I’ve not seen her for many years--not since before I married my husband.”

       “Your husband visits here as well as you?”

       “Oh, no--he died many years ago.”

       He appeared to note the grief that still filled her when she thought on her lost lord, and tactfully remained quiet.

       Finally she asked, “Did you leave your wife at home alone when you set off with the Dwarves?”

       “Oh, no, I have no wife.  Once I might have married, but the one lass I favored died as the result of an accident, and I have simply never met her like again.  And the thought I might marry a lass with no interest in books or the outer world has ever given me the shivers.  The closest I’ve seen to one I might have favored since is Primula Brandybuck, and she’s not even of age, after all.  Far too young for the likes of me, I fear.”

       “I’m surprised, for I’d not thought that Hobbits tended to remain unmarried.”

       “Perhaps I was already more of an aberration as a Baggins than I’d realized,” he said with a shrug, “remaining a bachelor as I have.  I assure you it is not considered normal among my people.”  He sipped the last of his juice.  “I will have a great deal to answer for when I return home, I suspect.”  He looked down on his plate, then back up at her.  “Where shall I place my dishes?  Would they wish me to help in the washing up?”

       She pointed out the cart set to receive used dishes and assured him that his short stature would serve him ill in the pantries where dishes were cleaned; and assured he had done as much as he could to earn the hospitality granted him, he nodded with relief, rose, and bowed deeply toward her, then slipped off.

*******

       She saw Bilbo Baggins next in the gardens, examining the plantings of flowers and herbs there.  He smiled up at her.  “Hamfast would love it here,” he said with interest.  She saw that he carried bread wrapped about a slice of roast beef and onions with him, and was nibbling on it as he walked about.  A mug sat nearby on a bench, and he returned to it, sipped from it, set it back down, then walked on to look at more.

       “Who is Hamfast?” she asked.

       “My gardener’s apprentice.  I suspect Hamfast will take over when his uncle Holman gives up gardening completely and retires.  Absolutely devoted to gardening, although he also has a profound love of growing root vegetables as well as flowers.  He’s a fine lad, Hamfast is.”

       “Are you sorry you came away from your home, Master Bilbo?”

       “Sorry?  Oh, I’ve definitely been sorry a time or two, and undoubtedly will be sorry again before I return home to Bag End.  But I’m not the least sorry at the moment.  How could I feel sorry about being here, in this beautiful place, surrounded by Elves, and such a lovely one as yourself, my Lady?”

       Gilraen felt more flattered than she’d felt in years.  “And what is your home like, Master Bilbo?”

       “Ah, Bag End!  It is very comfortable, you know.  My father dug it into the Hill when he contemplated marrying my mum.  She was the Old Took’s daughter, and grew up in the Great Smial.  My dad wanted her to live in the most beautiful hole in the whole of the Shire, so he planned it all for her and the family they hoped to have.  But in the end they had only me, although for a time some of my cousins lived with us as well after Fosco and Ruby died.”

       Gilraen found that Hobbits could wax quite lyrical when they described their homes, although she sensed Bilbo was not exaggerating the beauty or comfort of his Bag End.  When he described the library in his study, she was amazed.  “You have so many?  I’d been told the Halflings were not particularly fond of books and learning.”

       He shrugged.  “What can I say?  I’m the grandson of the Old Took himself, and I appear to have inherited more Tookish curiosity than is normal amongst Hobbits.  I’ve always loved a good tale--but always felt adventure is best experienced there in the comfort of ones chair, sitting by the warmth of the parlor or study fire.”  He shrugged.  “I can’t believe I left home to go on an adventure like this.  What in Middle Earth got into me?”  He sighed.  “I could always blame it on Gandalf, I suppose, but in the end it was my own pride that got me out of the Shire.  I couldn’t bear it when the Dwarves said I looked more like a grocer than a burglar.  After Gandalf had been telling them how intelligent I was and all, I had to do something to prove him right and the Dwarves wrong.”  He laughed.  “It would be a fine joke, wouldn’t it, if my pride cost me my life?”  Gently he caressed the white blossom of  an Elven lily, his face growing solemn.  Yet he didn’t appear frightened.

*******

       That night she had a dream of her children--her son Aragorn, known here as Estel, and the two who had been lost to her.  At first after Lord Elrond had brought them here she’d dreamt of them often, knowing the grief again and again of the loss of the two babes she’d borne and miscarried, knowing that they had shared with their living brother the hope for Middle Earth.  How it was that their share of that hope would come to be now that their lives were lost before they were even born she had no idea.  Elrond had spoken of them being born elsewhere, in other lands, to other parents.  But how could that happen?

       A shining face looked down on her, smiling gently, wiping away her tears.  “Do not worry, beloved daughter,” a voice spoke in her heart.  “They will be born.”

       “But not to me!”

       “No, daughter, not to you--not now.  That time has past, that possibility is gone.  Others must bear them now, others see them born, raised, brought to the point of the promise."

       “Sauron will never let them live if he knows they are born.”

       “Then we will see to it that they will be born where he will not look, raised where he cannot expect--not until it is too late.”

       “But then they will not know the full heritage of our people, either as the Dúnedain or the descendants of Elros.  What will one born to those not of the Dúnedain know of that heritage?”

       The shining One smiled down on her.  “We prepare the way already, daughter.  They will know the fullness of their Elven heritage, and far more of the history of the Dúnedain than they will realize.  The wisdom of Elrond will be shared with them, even if it is second-hand.”

       “But how will my beloved Aragorn know them if they are not born to me?  They will not be the brothers they were intended to be at the first.”

       “Though they may not be brothers of the body, they will always remain brothers of the spirit, daughter.  They will recognize one another, will care always for one another.  They will be as brothers, though they will be born in different lands, to different peoples.”

       “My beloved Gilorhael--he is to help Aragorn to restore the kingship, to restore the dual kingdom.  How is that to happen if he is born to another land, to another people?”

       “You foresaw that the one intended to be Gilorhael would hear the voice of Iluvatar in his heart.  Do you think he will fail in that should he born to another than you?”

       The Lady Gilraen bowed her head.  “I beg pardon.  What must be will be.”  She raised her head, looked again into the shining face.  “But I cannot but grieve that I will not know him, that I could not see him born, see him beside his brother from the beginning.”

       “You shall see what will be, if you are willing to open yourself to it, Lady.”

       “Will they be born to the same parents?”

       “No, although they shall, at the proper time, come to think of themselves as brothers, shall know the same teacher.  They shall see one another enter adulthood.  Both will rejoice ever in beauty, both know caring for others.  They shall teach one another.”

       “So be it,” Gilraen sighed, bowing in acquiescence.

*******

       “That is the Perian Bilbo Baggins?” asked Estel with fascination as he watched from the window.

       “Yes, beloved, it is,” his mother agreed.

       “He is smaller even than the Dwarves.”

       “Yes.”

       “I can see his Light of Being.  It is white, but a warm white.”

       Gilraen turned to her son with surprise.  “You can see his Light of Being?”

       “Yes, Nana.”

       “As you can see the Lights of Being for Lord Glorfindel and your adar?”

       “Yes, Nana, but it is different than theirs.  It is not the Light of Being of an Elf at all, and it’s almost as if it has only recently begun to shine brightly.”

       “How can you know that?”

       The child shrugged.  “I don’t know how I know, Naneth--I only know that I know.  How did he come to be on an adventure with the Dwarves?”

       “I understand that Gandalf chose him out to serve as the burglar for the Dwarves, and partly so as there might be fourteen rather than thirteen in the group."

       “Where are they going?”

       “Far to the East, to the Lonely Mountain.”

       “But there is a dragon there.”

       “Yes, the dragon Smaug.  Apparently Gandalf has come to see that if they go there they will somehow be able to see to its death.”

       “I wish I could go.”  There was no mistaking the longing in the boy’s voice.

       Gilraen was amused.  “One day, my son, you will face worse than dragons, and will do that regularly.  But first you must finish your lessons with your adar and your brothers and Lord Glorfindel and Lord Erestor that you are ready when the time comes.”

       Estel sneezed, and wiped at his nose with frustration.  “I hate feeling sick, Nana.”

       “Yes, I understand, beloved.”

       “I wish I had a brother--a younger brother near my own age.  Can you manage that, do you think?”

       Gilraen straightened with shock.  “What?” she asked.

       He flushed.  “I’m sorry, Nana.  I only feel lonely at times.”

       She felt guilty as she examined her son’s face.  “Yes, I can see that this would be so.  I am sorry, Estel--I cannot bear another child--not since your father’s death.”

       “I wish I could remember him, Nana.”  It was simply stated, but full of longing.

       “Well, beloved, he knew you, and loved you fiercely, and was oh, so proud of you.”

       “And he was a Ranger.”

       “Yes, one of the best--as you will be one day.”

       “Elladan and Elrohir aren’t Rangers.”

       “No, but they ride with them often.”

       “And one day I will ride with them, too.”

       “Yes, when you are old enough.”

*******

       “You go around that way,” Estel ordered an unseen companion, “and I’ll go this; and you, Anorahil, remain in hiding here and we’ll flush him toward you.”

       Bilbo, from where he’d been sitting on a bench with a book of poetry from Lord Elrond’s library, watched fascinated.  He’d not realized there were any children here in Rivendell; yet here before him was definitely a boy, and quite a fine specimen of such at that, obviously intent in playing Let’s Pretend.  The boys he’d seen in Bree had been similar to most of the lads he’d known in the Shire, doing chores for their families or playing at games with balls and sticks; this one, who was plainly a child of Men, was playing at hunting, and with imaginary companions.  Having been reduced to such quite often when himself a child, Bilbo found his own sympathies reaching out to the lad.

       “Are you ready, Anorahil?” the boy whispered.  Then, after a pause for a reply, which was apparently positive, he hissed, “Now, Gil-galadrion!” and he rose and drove the imaginary game at the imaginary hunter, then called out, “Gil-galadrion--hurry--the boar is savaging at Anorahil!”

       The cut sapling he carried for a boar spear held at the ready, he and his other imaginary companion hurried to the rescue, and apparently with a good number of thrusts managed to save the day, at which time he was leaning over the unseen Anorahil and binding up his wounded thigh, speaking of the courage he’d shown and how this was little enough to show for having faced a great boar.

       The boy then made a great show of trussing the legs of the boar together, then slipping the cut sapling between them, and instructing Gil-galadrion to carry the front end was in the process of bearing the prize home in glory when he finally realized his play had been observed.  He flushed, but held his head high and proudly as he met the eyes of the Perian sitting on the bench.

       Bilbo cleared his throat.  “Superb hunting, my Lord,” he said formally.  “And your saving of Anorahil was very timely.”  He rose and gave a deep bow.  “Bilbo Baggins, at your service, my Lord,” he said.

       “Estel of the Dúnedain at yours, good sir,” replied the boy.  “I greet you to my Adar’s home of Imladris.”

       “The Lord Elrond is your father?” asked the confused Hobbit.

       The boy gave a shrug that was economical of effort.  “My father died when I was yet a babe,” he explained.  “I’ve lived here since then with my mother.”

       “I see,” Bilbo said, suddenly realizing who must be the child’s mother. 

       “You are a Perian.”

       “So they tell me Hobbits are called in Elvish,” Bilbo said.  “And you are a child of Men, as well as a fine hunter?”

       “The Dúnedain are the descendants of the survivors of Númenor.”

       “I see.”

       “Do you have children?” asked the boy.

       “I never married,” Bilbo answered, “and have no children.  I have a number of cousins, however, most of whom are married or will be married soon enough.  I suspect their offspring will serve as children for me, for those times when I want such.  I must say, your wounded companion Anorahil appears to have been well cared for.”

       “Adar and my brothers teach me the healer’s arts as well as the warrior’s way.”

       “I see,” Bilbo repeated, wondering how many more times he would say the phrase during this interchange.  “This is the first time I’ve seen you.”

       “I was ill and stayed in my room.”

       “Anorahil and Gil-galadrion must have missed you while you were ill.”

       Again the boy flushed a bit, but stood with his head raised proudly.  “They did have one another to keep company with,” he said.  “They are very patient with me.”

       “Good companions to have,” the Hobbit said approvingly.  “My special companion when I was a lad was named Bingo, and it was amazing how patient he could be while I was finishing up my chores or lessons.”

       “What kind of lessons did you have to do?”

       “I needed to learn how to read and write, how to figure, the genealogy of my family and my Baggins and Took forebears particularly, the history of the Shire, how to plant and harvest, how to dance.  What kind of lessons do you have?”

       “I study Adunaic, Sindarin, Quenya, and Westron.  I learn the histories of the great Elf kingdoms of the First and Second Ages, of Númenor, Gondor, and Arnor.  I study about herbs and healing.  I learn how to handle sword, spear, knife, and bow.  And I study poetry and music.”

       “We have something in common there, then.  I love poetry.”

       “Do you know the Lay of Gil-galad?”

       “I’ve heard it before,” Bilbo replied.  “But I bet you know it better than I do.  Is your friend Gil-galadrion named after it?”

       Again the slight shrug.  “Gil-galad was Adar’s Lord when he was younger, before he became Lord of Rivendell.  Adar had great love and honor for him.  He followed him to Mordor and fought in the Last Alliance beside him, saw when he and Elendil the Tall died bringing Sauron down.” 

       “I see.”

       “Sauron is the great enemy of us all,” the boy said.  “When I am a Man grown I will help in the fight against him.  And my brothers will aid me.”

       “Your brothers are here with you?” asked Bilbo, wondering why, then, the child played with imaginary companions.

       “Well--Elladan and Elrohir are as my brothers.  But Gil-galadrion and Anorahil are my imaginary ones.  I wish they were real ones, though.”

       “Oh, I see.  As Elladan and Elrohir are so much older, that is why you have imaginary ones as well?”

       “Yes.  Was Bingo an imaginary brother?”

       “He was an imaginary cousin.  For some reason I was happy being the only child of my parents, although they clearly wanted far more than just me.  But I always enjoyed playing with my cousins, real or imaginary.  Most of my lad cousins, though, were in Tuckborough and Overhill or even Buckland, so if I wanted a lad to play with at home in Hobbiton I was often reduced to playing with Bingo.”

       “What did you play at?”

       “Oh, we played at farming and gardening, and at Túrin and the Dragon, or treasure hunting.  My dad could understand the first, but never saw why I might be drawn to the others.  Not a great deal of imagination, my dad.  But, then, he was very much a Baggins.  Mum understood, though--but then she was the Old Took’s own daughter after all.”

       “Oh, I see.” 

       Bilbo smiled to see the boy repeating his own repetitive phrase.  “Well, I must say that it is a pleasure to meet you, young Estel.”

       “And you, small master.”  The boy gave him a courtly bow.  He gave a look to the Sun.  “I must go now--I am to meet with Lord Glorfindel for my weapons practice.”  He smiled, then bowed again and turned to head off for a different part of the valley.  Bilbo watched after with interest, saw how comfortably the pretend spear lay on the child’s shoulder.  This, he realized, was going to be a warrior to be reckoned with.

*******

       Bilbo was returning the book of poetry to the library when he found himself joined by Lord Elrond.  As he replaced the volume reverently in the place from which he’d taken it, he commented, “I’ve just met young Estel and his brothers.”

       The Elven Lord looked surprised.  “His brothers?”

       “Yes, his imaginary ones--Gil-galadrion and Anorahil.  They were hunting boar in the gardens.”

       “I see.”  Bilbo smiled at this further repetition of his own oft-repeated comment from the morning’s interview.  “Were there any casualties?”

       “Anorahil appears to have needed to have his thigh bandaged afterwards.”

       Elrond smiled.  “And did Estel bandage it himself?”

       “Yes, although he had Gil-galadrion handing him bandages and something called athelas.”  At the Elf’s nod, he asked, “Do children of the Dúnedain often grow up here?”

       Elrond examined his face carefully.  Finally he said quietly, “Do you know who was the first King of Númenor?”

       “His name was Elros Tar-Minyatar, if I remember properly from the book I read as a tween.”

       “Tween?”

       “The years between twenty and coming of age at thirty-three,” Bilbo explained. 

       “Oh, a tween.  I see.”  He gave his head a brief shake.  “Do you know who Elros was?”

       “He was the son of Eärendil and Elwing, was he not?  And a descendent of Beren and Lúthien?”

       “Yes, that is so.  Did you know he had a brother?”

       “Yes, my Lord Elrond--a twin brother named----”  He colored and dropped his eyes.

       “Yes, you have the right of it.  Elros Tar-Minyatar was my own twin brother.  We were called the Peredhil, the Half-Elven.  He chose to live as a Man, accepted the Gift of Iluvatar, the gift of mortality, and was given the honor of leading the Edain to the new land of Atalantë to found Númenor.

       “Since the foundering of the Star Isle, I have ever offered fostering to the descendants of my brother, those who remain in the North.”

       “Then--” Bilbo looked over his shoulder at the windows looking out on the gardens, as if he would see the boy still there, “--then he is a descendent of Elendil and Isildur?”

       “That this is a possibility is not  to be spoken of outside this room, or with anyone save myself.  You may not speak of it, write of it, or in any way make mention of it.  Do you understand, Master Perian?”

       “Not even to himself?”

       “Especially not with Estel himself.  His own safety lies in remaining hidden.”

       “Even from himself?”

       “Even from himself.  When he is of age he will know--must know.  But for now it is best he not know, for what he does not know he cannot inadvertently betray.  The Enemy has sought for him, sought to slay him, since before even he was born.”

       “Then his real name is not Estel.”

       The Elf Lord did not answer, merely fixed him with a deep look. 

       “I apologize, my Lord Elrond.  I am merely a Hobbit, and, I’ve learned, a remarkably curious one at that.  Please forgive me for exercising my nature.”

       Elrond Peredhil gave a brief nod.

       “I was wondering, Lord Elrond, more about the Elvish languages.  I’ve read words in the books you shared with my grandfather that I feel I can begin to understand, but wanted to learn more.”

       “Sindarin or Quenya?”

       “I’d rather thought both, if that is acceptable for one not of your race.”

       The Elf laughed.  “And why would it not be acceptable for one not of my race?”

       “Well, I’ve learned the Dwarves don’t readily teach others their native tongue.”

       “That is mostly because even among Dwarves it is rarely known, save for place names.  There are a few who know it, but they are mostly the direct descendants of Durin himself.”

       “And I suppose that Thorin is unlikely to teach me more, then.”

       “I fear you have the right of it, Master Baggins.  We, however, have no such restrictions on our languages, save among ourselves; and then it is most likely due to smoldering resentments ages old.  But such are not permitted here within the vale of Imladris.  Now, if you truly wish to learn Sindarin....”

       A number of tomes were brought out, and Bilbo looked at them with surprise, awe, and pleasure.  “I can’t take these with me.”

       “No, small Master.  But we will keep them in the room given to your use for when you return.”

       “I hope that will happen,” the Hobbit said with some concern.

       “I do not believe you have much to worry about on that account,” the Elf said, smiling.  “You appear to be intended for some other fate than being lost down Smaug’s gullet.”

       “That is reassuring, I must say,” Bilbo said.  “Although I wonder, now that the Took in me has been so awakened, if I will ever be content to remain sedately at home in Bag End from now on.”

       “Would that be a bad thing?”

       “For a Hobbit, it is social disaster, my Lord.  However, I find myself wondering why I ever cared.”

       Elven Lord and family head for the Bagginses of the Shire looked to one another, smiling into one another’s eyes.

*******

       Bilbo spent one more morning on his balcony watching young Estel at play in the gardens, seeing him and his imaginary brothers facing down Smaug the Dragon.  It was himself that was hurt this time, burnt by the Dragon’s fire; and bravely he accepted the ministrations of Gil-galadrion and Anorahil as they bathed the grievous wound and rubbed ointment onto it and bandaged it loosely.  He had no care for the Dragon’s hoard of treasure; only, apparently, the desire to see the end of its evil and to bask in the company of his brothers.  It was as the imaginary brothers went off to see to the safety of the nearby folk of Laketown that one of his Elven brothers came searching for him.

       “And what mighty adventure have you had this morning, Estel?”

       “I was imagining how it would be to fight the Dragon of the Lonely Mountain.  I can’t see how Master Bilbo Baggins is to manage it, for he has no skill at weapons.  He carries the short sword he found, but Glorfindel says he has not learned to use it well.”

       “He was not chosen by the Dwarves to accompany them for his prowess with weapons, but for his skills as a burglar, to be inconspicuous and quiet and clever--that and to be the one to change the number of the party from thirteen to fourteen.  He will most likely not fight the Dragon, but instead will seek to confuse and confound it.”

       “When do you ride out against the orcs again?”

       “After the Dwarves have left, although few will openly brave the passes in the weather coming.”

       “I wish I could go with you.”

       “When you can best our brother sparring with swords we will take you, but not until then.”

       The boy gave a great sigh, and said, “So be it, then.  I must work hard at it.”

       The tall Elf caressed the side of the boy’s face.  “You have ever worked at it, tithen nin, and already are becoming very good for a youth.  Now, come.  It is time for you to study with Lord Erestor on languages now.”

       Obediently Estel followed the Elf back toward a distant section of the place where apparently he was to meet with Lord Erestor.

*******

       The next morning after meeting with the Dwarves, Bilbo set off for the kitchens to see if he could wangle a decent second breakfast.  They would be setting off for the passes on the morrow, and he found himself both dreading and delighting in the prospect.  How on earth was he going to deal with dragons?  He was a Hobbit, not a great, Elven-trained warrior.  Well, he thought, best to deal with but one step at a time.  Surviving the passes, he realized after hearing the tale Lord Elrond’s son Elrohir had told the previous night of their last sweep of the pass beyond Rivendell, would be a feat in its own right.  He shuddered at the thought of perhaps meeting goblins there, for they sounded fearsome in the extreme, and probably far worse than what had been described in the books he’d loved.

       As he waited for the Elven maiden serving in the kitchens that day to prepare a plate for him, he glanced out the window and saw young Estel kneeling with two others in the kitchen garden, weeding the lines of vegetables and herbs.  It was nice to see that the child was given similar chores to those which a Hobbit lad might be expected to perform.  The boy’s grey eyes were intent on the rich soil, and his hand worked deftly with the weeding tool.  It was the last time Bilbo was to see the boy for some time, and the last he even thought of him until his return to Rivendell months later.

Promise

       Gandalf looked down with considerable pride on the small figure on the pony beside him, leading a second pony behind him laden with two small chests of treasure and what little goods he brought with him.  The diffident, comfort loving soul he’d prised out of the Shire had been honed into an alert, thoughtful, caring, and increasingly curious individual who now knew he was capable of facing trolls, goblins, wargs, spiders, and dragons, who’d befriended Eagles, shapechangers, Dwarves, Elves, and Men.  Bilbo was singing one of the many songs he’d crafted in his travels, and appeared a good deal more comfortable now that they were on their way home than he’d been on the outward journey.

       There were no known Dragons capable of fire and destruction left in Middle Earth that the Wizard was aware of, none that the Enemy, when he rose again, could use against the rest of the Free Lands.  One less weapon in the hands of the dark forces, he thought with relief.  Of course, he didn’t plan on telling Bilbo this--wouldn’t do to let Bilbo’s head get further turned by just how incredible the feat had been of inducing Smaug to leave his hoard and so exposing himself to the bow of Bard for his destruction.  Even more incredible had been finding that this burglar had such a strong streak of integrity, leading him to seek to stop the Dwarves from their reckless career before they came to full blows against the Men of Laketown and the Elves of Mirkwood.  Who else might have seen how the Arkenstone could be used to begin to force Thorin to see sense?  The Dragon sickness had run through almost all, all save Balin and Bilbo himself.  The Creator be thanked that even Thorin saw the foolishness of it all ere he died, had found his end freed from it and having both forgiven the Hobbit and been forgiven by him.  One more redeemed, Gandalf thought.

       It was as they came down out of the pass and neared the Vale of Rivendell that he realized he could clearly see Bilbo’s Light of Being, and paused his steed to fall behind to look on it in awe.  He’d been allowed to see glimpses of it, which had been part of what had drawn him to choose the Hobbit for the fourteenth member of Thorin’s group.  Much of his reason for choosing Bilbo had been to suit his own sometimes twisted sense of humor--let the Dwarves learn that the apparently meek and foolish could reach great heights once challenged, he’d thought at the time.  But apparently there had been guidance given him he’d not been aware of at the time for his choice.  Invoking the power of his hidden ring, the Wizard examined his companion more closely, seeking to illuminate his True Shape, something he did rarely.  The brief glimpse afforded him was enough to humble him and to give him even more ease of mind.  No, it had not been just he himself who had seen the worth of Bilbo Baggins, who had desired to see him shorn of his Shire sensibilities and his full might of imagination and intelligence set loose. 

       But there was something else about Bilbo that disturbed the Wizard, something which had been discernible for a good part of the journey but not so clearly so as to allow him to put his finger on it, something potentially dangerous but which he sensed must be allowed to be for a time.  Somehow the very presence of this danger was increasing the clarity of Bilbo’s Light.  Gandalf decided he would need to ponder on this.

       As they descended into the Valley, once again they were met by song by the Elves of Imladris, but this time the song was less frivolous, the rhymes more in honor and less in teasing.  Elladan dropped from a tree overhead into the path of the Wizard and his companion, and bowed low, greeting both and leading them to the door of the Last Homely House.

*******

       Bilbo had awakened to the sound of singing in the gardens below his window, and looked out at a boy holding a white cat in his arms, stroking the animal as he watched the Sun lift her head to look down into the vale, her light sparkling from the waters of the Bruinen and the many waterfalls that filled the valley with their coolness and mist. 

       Estel stood almost still as he sang, his young face full of joy and quiet delight.  Bilbo smiled, then paused as he realized that about the young Man he could see a clear, shining Light.  He’d not seen such a Light since his grandfather had died when he himself was so very young; and that which had surrounded old Gerontius had been nowhere as bright as what he saw now about the boy, which to Bilbo’s eyes resembled the light of stars.  Bilbo felt a distinct thrill of awe as he looked on the boy known as Estel.  Last night after his arrival he’d been looking through the books that Lord Elrond had indeed left in his room for his return, and had found that estel meant hope.  He felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle, not in fear, but in anticipation.  There was a great mystery here, he sensed.

       He went into the dining room to find that again food for the dawn meal sat upon the great sideboard, and one of those who had just come in from the night guard assisted him to fill his plate and saw him to the chair laden with cushions that had been placed for his use.  Bilbo thanked him and climbed up into the seat, and set himself to making up for many days of far lighter fare enjoyed during his return journey.  The Lady Gilraen was in the room, he realized when halfway through his meal, although she appeared not to be paying any attention to him.  Her face was sad, and the shadowing of her eyes indicated she’d not slept well the preceding evening.  Both his curiosity and his empathy were now engaged as he looked at her across the room, and as his eyes followed her out when she finally rose and brought her almost full plate to the cart set to receive it, then quitted the hall.

*******

       He was again exploring the gardens after the meal when he heard a noise in a summer house that drew him.  He entered it quietly.  “If I can be of service....” he began.

       The Lady Gilraen sat inside, and it was plain she’d been weeping as she straightened from the cushions that covered the bench.

       “I’m sorry, my Lady,” he said quietly.  “If I have intruded----”  He began to back out of the small structure.

       “Master Baggins!” she responded.  “No, do not be embarrassed.  It is nothing.”

       “I cannot believe, Lady Gilraen, that such tears were brought on by nothing.”

       She turned her head and looked out one of the open panels of the summer house.  “It is but echoes of griefs long past, Master Perian.”  She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

       Bilbo brought out a clean handkerchief and offered it to her.  “The loss of your son’s father?”

       She accepted the square of cloth and made use of it.  “Among other losses.” 

       This answer was said so softly Bilbo almost couldn’t hear it.  He came closer and lifted himself onto the bench beside her, reached out his hand to gently stroke hers.  “Would it help to talk about it?” he asked.

       She’d not spoken of it for a very long time, and sat thoughtfully.  She knew she must not tell him, yet was suddenly angered at the strictures surrounding her son and herself, the constant need to keep silent and secret.  Finally she said, rather defiantly, “Estel was not the only child I bore, Master Baggins.  There were two other babes, and I lost them both.  One would think that after all this time I would have come to terms with their loss and would give over the grief.  Yet, I find I have not been able to do so.  I dreamt of them again last night.  It’s odd--I’ll be able to almost pretend they hadn’t been conceived for some months or even years--and then for some reason I cannot understand the memory comes back and the dreams return, and the grief is as fresh as if it were only yesterday when I lost them.”

       He said, rather carefully, “I know that miscarriages do happen.  I am sorry, my Lady.  It must have been devastating.”

       She nodded, and wrung his handkerchief a bit.  “They were both sons, also.  Our people have such need of strong sons, for there are so few of us left.  Once the whole of Arnor was full of our people, of villages and even cities, farms and woodlands teeming with life and delight.  Now--now we are but a shadow of what we once were, and we must rely on Imladris for so much.  We ought to be equal partners with our kinsmen among the Elves, not always supplicants and dependents.”

       He nodded and kept silence, stroking her hand.  She smiled down at him, her color beginning to return.  Finally he asked, “Does Estel know that he had brothers that were lost to him?”

       “No.”

       “He wishes that he had them, you know.”

       “Yes, I know.”  She was quiet for a time.  “In my dream last night, I saw them, smiling, as I’ve seen them before, my beautiful sons, beside their brother, first as children, then as adults.  Then they faded away, the two lost ones.  Then I saw their smiles and the Lights of their Being, but not on the faces of our people.”

       “What does the dream mean?  Or does it mean anything?”

       She shrugged.  Then she sought to change the subject.  “Did you ever wish for brothers or sisters?”

       “As I told Estel, I didn’t mind being an only child.  I rather enjoyed being the center of my parents’ attention.  But I always loved my cousins when I was small.  They were my favorite playmates and friends.  My Took grandparents alone had eleven children, so have my share of cousins, you see.”

       “What is it you do among your people?”

       “My heavens, you do ask the difficult questions, don’t you?  I am a gentlehobbit.  My parents left me well enough off I’ve never had to worry much about money.  I inherited the shares they held in farms around the Shire, and the partnerships they held in businesses.  I own a fair amount of land, mostly in the Westfarthing, and it’s all let out properly, so my income is steady and more than I need.  I enjoy entertaining, and am glad Bag End is so large that I can pretty much entertain as many of my relatives as I please when I please.  But I am also glad I live alone, and enjoy it when the rest go home and I have the place back to myself.

       “Then there is the garden.  Holman and Hamfast see to it now, and both are totally devoted to it.  I work in it also, but where Holman always saw himself as working alongside me, young Hamfast seems to believe that when I do so I am working alongside him, if you appreciate the distinction.

       “And then there are my books.  Always up to now I’ve read widely.  But now that I’ve been out in the world--now I plan to read to learn, and possibly to teach as well.”

       “Whom will you teach, and what?”

       “Undoubtedly I’ll teach my younger cousins.  My grandfather Gerontius, who as I told you was known as the Old Took, encouraged us all to read and write, and seeing how keen I was to do so as a child was always giving me books.  My dad was terribly torn by a good many of those books, don’t you know, decent, predictable Baggins as he was.  The tales were all right; but the histories and books of maps and the idea that they could waken the curiosity about the outer world enough to perhaps make one wish to go out and see it for oneself frightened him.  Never even went to Bree, my dad.  And I loved the books of maps, and always wanted to know what features and lands and so on were in the white spaces beyond the margins.” 

       He paused thoughtfully.  “And now I know some, at least.”  He looked up into her eyes and smiled.  “I’ve been further than any Hobbits since Manco and Balcho came over the Misty Mountains into Eriador and founded the Shire, you know.  Except perhaps my two uncles who left so long ago.  But one of them never came back, while the other was reportedly a cabin boy on a ship from Gondor, but we’ve not heard from him for years.”

       “So you will teach them beyond the white spaces in the margins?”

       “Oh, yes, my Lady, I will do so.  I see why my venerable grandfather wished us to appreciate them.  Now, he did go to Bree, and I now believe he might indeed have visited here once or twice himself, alongside Gandalf, of course.  Always had a particular fondness for Gandalf, the Old Took did.  Certainly I’ve seen that some of my own books and many I read in the Great Smial came from here, or were copied from here.”

       His eyes were suddenly alight with purpose.  “I will see to it that more books from here make it into our libraries.  I’ll become a copyist and bookbinder myself.”  He suddenly became concerned.  “That, is, of course, if the Lord Elrond will agree to share the works of his library with me so I can copy them.”  He sighed.  “It’s quite ridiculous that the folk of the Shire should continue to pretend that the world ends at the boundaries of the Shire, and that there is nothing in those white spaces, you know.  My mum would tell me about them--when Dad wasn’t home, of course.  Wouldn’t do to speak of what was in the white spaces when he was, for he truly didn’t wish to know.  What possessed Bungo Baggins to marry one of the Old Took’s daughters I cannot fathom.  What she knew and was curious about so often scandalized him.”

*******

       That night she saw him in the Hall of Fire, a journal in his hand, taking notes, and the next day he was speaking at length about binding books with Lord Elrond and some of those who worked in the libraries.  For several days he worked with the bookbinders, learning how pages were sewn together and bindings added.  Then he spent a day in the scriptorium watching the patient work of the copyists.  She would catch glimpses of the Hobbit in the gardens with various books, oftentimes taking notes in his journal.  She admired his enthusiasm, even found it a bit intimidating.

       The last night of his visit he sat in the Hall of Fire, listening to the tales told there, his quill and journal forgotten in his hand as he heard sung the Lay of Gil-galad.  Estel sat with her, his own eyes distant as if he saw the shining from afar of the great Elf lord, the glimmer of the head of his great lance and the light of stars reflected from helm and shield, the courage with which Gil-galad had faced Sauron himself alongside Elendil the Tall, followed close as they were by Elrond and Isildur.

       Gandalf was looking curiously at the Hobbit where he sat, and didn’t seem to notice the boy from among Men who sat by the Lady Gilraen.  It was odd--neither Wizard nor boy had as yet appeared to pay the least bit of attention to one another during Gandalf’s infrequent visits to Imladris, and Gilraen wondered about that.  Right now, as had been true in his previous visit, Gandalf was almost totally focused on Bilbo, a mixed look of pride, amusement, curiosity, and anticipation on his face.  What is it, she wondered, the Istari sees in store for the Perian that catches his interest so markedly? 

       She wondered further, then felt Estel lean against her, put her arm about him as he gave himself up to the images induced by the Elven song.  She smiled as she looked down into the drowsing face of her son, and then saw about him the Light of his Being, the clear, star-like shine of his very spirit, a Light which would, with the Grace of the Creator, shine before all of Gondor and Arnor one day.  If that day can now come, she thought.  For there were others who ought to shine alongside him, the matching light of Gilorhael and the reflection of Anor’s own Light from Anorhael. 

       She wondered where they might be born, when they would come to birth, how they might meet one another.  A teacher would be given to them, she’d been promised, one who would share with them the Lord Elrond’s wisdom.

       As the lay was at last finished Elrohir came to gently waken Estel and lead him to his bed.  The movement caught the attention of the Perian, who looked across the room at the boy, and suddenly Gilraen saw clearly a flaring in Bilbo Baggins’s own Light of Being, a warm, white Light which, she realized with a thrill, was indeed growing stronger as Estel had reported.

       Gandalf had begun to turn to speak to Elrond, but had paused, the flaring of Bilbo’s Light plainly catching his attention, which drew it further to the sight of Elrohir with his hands on Estel’s shoulders.  The Wizard’s own blue Light suddenly flared more strongly, his face intent, as he looked quickly back from Estel to the Hobbit, his curiosity plainly roused, as if he were seeking to look beyond seemings as at last he looked back at Estel.

       He sat and watched the boy disappear out the door, a look of wonder and growing delight on his face.  Elrond was watching him with concern, then appeared to be sharing an unspoken communication with the Istari.  Gandalf simply raised his hand dismissively, as if he were well aware of the need for silence on the subject of Gilraen’s son.  He then looked quite hard at her, and she perceived the interest and deep compassion he felt for her.

       Suddenly uncomfortable, Gilraen rose, bowed toward Lord Elrond and his guests, and turned and left deliberately.  She withdrew to her room, but found she could not rest.  At last she took the cloak from Lothlorien she’d been sent a few years back and slipped out to the gardens.

       Gandalf was before her, though, was standing, leaning on his staff, looking toward the West, his Light of Being shining clearly in the darkness of the night beneath Elbereth’s stars.  It was as if the light of the stars themselves answered his, as one after another they shone down on him.

       She finally spoke. “You may not speak of what you have seen this night outside the Vale of Imladris.”

       Again the dismissive gesture, although he did not yet turn to her.  “I know that, my Lady.  So, the stories were untrue--or, rather, premature.”

       “Premature--yes.”

       He turned to her at last, his face shining with relief.  “Good.  Very, very good.  And to catch even me off guard--that was right and proper.  But rest assured, my Lady, I will never speak out of turn of what I have seen.  I was sent to follow the path of Gil-galad and Elendil, to face the Enemy, and this is something I must enjoin on you which you must share with no other, not even Elrond, though he knows it well enough.  To know that slowly the prophecies are coming to fruition is heartening.

       “He will be all you would have him be and more, your son.  He will be a great warrior, but also a great leader in peaceful times as well.  And the healing hands of the King will be celebrated in song and story for millennia to come.”

       “But how is this to be,” she burst out, “without his brothers?  They were lost to me, and their father is now dead and I can take no other as husband.  I am, after all, one of the Dúnedain myself.”

       “What have you been told of them?”

       “That they will now be born elsewhere, in different form, to different parents of other lands, that they will be taught.”

       “Then that is what will be, daughter.”

       “And who will teach them?”

       “Have you seen none you would have teach them?”

       She looked away, giving almost a sob of loss.  “And who might that be?  The Perian?”

       “You would have Bilbo Baggins be their teacher?”

       She shrugged.  “He would do as well as any other, I suppose.”  Then she turned back to him.  “But certainly the Creator would not send the spirits of Estel’s brothers to be born among the Periannath.  That would be the height of absurdity.”

       He shrugged in return.  “Do not seek to second-guess the Creator, Lady, for He is far more subtle in thought than are we of His creation.”  At her intense look of question he shook his head.  “No, to me is not given foresight of what disposition will be made of their spirits.  I am only assured that when they are needed they will be born and come forth, to the consternation of all the wise, including myself.”  He smiled.  “My Masters are as intrigued as I am myself.”

       She found herself, in spite of her unwillingness, smiling in response to him.  She could almost feel the sheer joy that at the moment suffused him.

       He raised his eyes again to the stars.  “One of starlight and one of sunlight--they will be born, my Lady, they will be born.  And a little they will know of you, even.  Of this am I assured.  But this you must remember:  they are not only the Hope of the Dúnedain--they are the Hope of all the Free Peoples of Middle Earth, the lost two and the one who sleeps now in his bed within this house.  You do not have exclusive claim on them.”

       Reluctantly, Gilraen nodded her understanding.

Birthing

       She woke in the night, suddenly felt confused as to where she was.  She looked about the room--no longer the chambers she’d known in Imladris.  She dwelt now again in the Angle, not far from the fortress where she’d lived during the years of her marriage to Arathorn.  Halbaleg had seen a small house built for her near a stream and backed by a small wood of beech trees.  Here she dwelt now, now that her son was returned to their people, now that he was no longer Estel but Aragorn once again.

        The promise he’d shown as a warrior was certainly fulfilled, and after six months of riding as a recruit he’d been granted his first command.  Many of those assigned to his newly formed troop had looked on him with suspicion.  Yes, they’d heard from their sons and younger brothers who’d ridden with him under Berenion’s teaching that this was one who was full worthy; but he was still so young--barely twenty-one years of age and with still no sign of a beard to grow on his face.  Yet his grey eyes were keen enough, his mouth indicating he was not one to seek to cross, or to question too deeply.  

        Those in his first command were, for the most part, older, more experienced Men.  They had looked on his apparent youth and decided they had much to teach this youngling--and were amazed as they found themselves learning from him instead.  Yes, he knew warfare, knew it full well.  Never had they seen such skill among Men with sword and knife.  He could wield a spear and bow also, but with somewhat less skill than his sword.  But none could best him with sword, they realized.

       Nor was his ability to lead questioned long.  He had an instinctive understanding of tactics, and quickly acquainted himself with the strengths and weaknesses of his Men.  Nor did he shirk when facing the hard decisions, when he must tell one he might not go forth now although he was dying to avenge himself upon the enemy while he would send forth another in his place. 

       The troop lost only two in the first two tours of duty it took--the other troops had averaged five losses per campaign.  Aragorn son of Arathorn was coming to be seen as a good commander to serve under.

       There was no question now, the night Gilraen woke in her small house, that Aragorn was the rightful leader of the Dúnedain.  He’d been long recognized as Chieftain, and had even begun to leave Eriador at times, alone or with Gandalf and occasionally his Elven brothers, to see the other parts of Arnor, to learn more of them.  He’d gone East of the Misty Mountains to meet the Beornings, the Men of Dale, the Men of Laketown, the Elves of Mirkwood, the Elves of Lorien, the Dwarves of Erebor.  He’d been to the Dwarf caverns of the northern Misty Mountains and the Iron Hills.  He’d traveled to Mithlond to the Havens and had spoken with Círdan.  He’d traveled in disguise North into what had been Angmar, and what would be so once again, she knew.  Now he prepared to take leave of his people, to go south to Rohan and Gondor accompanied by his cousin Hardorn, to learn of those who would be his people and his allies there.

       Halbaleg with the help of Halbarad and Halladan, Galdor and Berenion would see to the needs of the North Kingdom, as had been done when Aragorn was but a boy growing up in hiding in Rivendell; but they knew they could communicate with him, that he did not relinquish his claims, his rights, or his responsibilities.

       He would be here soon, she knew, to take his leave of her.  And what would he find?  A mother worn beyond her years for one of the almost unmingled blood of the Northern Dúnedain, one who’d awakened in the night, disturbed by a dream which was not the least frightening.

       She could not sleep again, and finally arose as the Sun began to lift herself above the Misty Mountains, set herself to getting her fire lit, hanging over it the kettle for tea such as her son preferred.  He’d brought her gifts from his travels to brighten her abode--eating ware from Erebor wrought of silver; dishes from the Breelands of fine pottery, gaily painted; a fine porcelain teapot and mugs from the Shire; fragile yet beautiful glassware from the Iron Hills; fine carvings of wood from Beorn’s people; a beaded curtain from Dale; the kettle from the northern Dwarves....  Yet still her longing for what might have been did not diminish.

       He did not acknowledge as yet that she was fading, slowly fading.  She would remain yet a time, though.  But she no longer found joy, even in the smile Aragorn could give her.  He alone of her bright hopes was left to her, and only for him, for a time, would she linger.

       Then she heard it, the voice raised in an elaborate counting song, a song which his father had always sung as he rode back home to her.  Halbaleg had taught it to him, she suspected.  Her heart suddenly lifted as she went to the door to welcome her son back to her small house.

       He saw her at the door, saw the Light of her Being briefly flare in response to the song he sang.  He knew that this was one his father had sung, was between them the signal that their enforced parting was over for a time, and he’d begun to sing it,  hoping it would hearten her, help her to hold on so that she would in time see the joy to come as the prophecies were fulfilled.  After all, Aragorn had full intention of bringing those prophecies to fruition.

       “Nana,” he said as he slipped off Noroloth and hurried forward to embrace her, the great grey following behind him.

       “Welcome, Estel,” she said.  “The water has just begun to boil.”

       He laughed.  “You always seem to know.”  He turned to remove saddle and bridle from Noroloth, turned him loose to graze as he pleased, knowing the stallion would come at his whistle.  He’d not ridden far, after all.  Shaking his head, Noroloth turned to check out the offerings there in the small meadow on the west side of the cottage, set himself to graze his way down to the stream.  Aragorn watched after, then settled his gear over the rail on the porch designed for such things and followed her inside.

       He was as elegant, she thought, in his worn green leathers as he’d ever been in the fine robes and tunics he’d worn in Rivendell; and even with his short beard he yet had the Elven Light in his grey eyes.

       “You look tired, Naneth,” he said quietly.  “Was your sleep disturbed?”

       She shrugged.  “It was but a dream.”

       “Was it one I could ease, Mother?”

       “Oh, it was not a frightening one, beloved, and would have disturbed no one but me.”

       “Tell me of it.”

       She shrugged again and busied herself pouring out the tea, setting out the honey pot for him to use, slicing bread.  But he did not take his eyes from her, would not allow her to not answer.

        Finally she turned and faced him, set down bread and knife.  “I dreamt of a wedding.”

       “Mine?”

        “No, although I have dreamt that indeed you and Arwen might wed.  But if that is to come to be, it will not be for many years yet, not until and unless the shadows of Mordor are completely dispelled.”

       He sighed, but nodded.  “So it must be, I suppose.  But, if this was not my wedding, whose was it to disturb you so?”

       “It ought not to have disturbed even me.”

       “Tell me of it.”

        She looked down.  “It was a bright day, in the beauty of a garden of flowers.  I saw the bride wreathed with flowers, her eyes as bright blue as summer skies, smiling with sheer joy.  Who she is I do not know, but I know her bridal wreath was heavy with primulas.  Her bridegroom was scarcely taller than she, his hair dark, but beaming like the sun with joy and pleasure.  And among the company was your childhood friend, the Perian Bilbo Baggins.”

       “What?  Has Master Bilbo married at last?”

        “Oh, no, for he was not the bridegroom, but a guest, and a happy one at that.”

       “You dreamt of a wedding in the Shire?”

       “Yes.”

       “Have you dreamt of such before?”

       Again she shrugged.  “Yes, a year past.  And Master Bilbo was a wedding guest then, too.  But this was the richer wedding.”

       “Why should such a dream disturb you?”

       “I do not know, Estel.”

       “Perhaps these are to be important to me someday, Nana.”

       “Perhaps, my love.”  But she did not say that the last time she’d dreamt of eyes of such blue, they’d been those of the son she’d lost a few months before Aragorn had himself been born, the twin brother he’d not known.

       “And Master Baggins was present at both weddings?”

       “Yes, he was.”

       “An odd detail.”

       “Yes.”  She took one of the slices of bread and put it on a toasting fork and held it over the kitchen fire.  “Would you wish one or two slices of toast, beloved?”

       As they ate together, he looked out the open door at the richness of the surrounding countryside.  “Hardorn will be coming soon, and then we will set out.”  He sighed.  “It is not so very different than I’d imagined when I was a child, you know, although it is with my cousin and not the brother I always had hoped for that I go.”  He laughed.  “I remember asking you once if you could manage a brother for me.  I was such an innocent at the time.”

       “Well, before your father died we did try.”

       He reached out and caressed her cheek.  “How much he loved you, Nana.”

       “And I him, for all my youth.”

       “Elsewhere women marry when still little more than girls.  I still do not fully understand why we of the Dúnedain feel we must wait so much longer.  There is no question you were a woman grown when the two of you married.”

       “True.”  Then, after a few moments she asked, “Your imaginary brothers you had when a child--how did you come to imagine them?”

       He sat looking out at the growing morning as he sipped thoughtfully at his mug of tea.  Finally he said, “I think it was in a dream at first.  I was quite small, perhaps three or four years old, I think.  I was standing outside what I now know was one of the fortresses of our people, and one I knew to be my brother stood beside me.  Then you came out carrying a babe, and I knew he was our little brother.”

       “What did they look like?”

       “My twin was much of a height with me, but his hair had true curls to it, and his eyes were a startling blue with dark lashes, and his face was naturally paler than mine.  The babe’s eyes were like mine but perhaps with a touch more hazel, but his hair was somewhat lighter, as if the sun was shining on clear waters over brown pebbles.”

       “One was your twin?”  She seemed startled, he thought.

       “I think I hated to be the one singleton in the family, Nana.  My twin brother would understand me like no one else, you know, for all he was quite different from me in many ways.  I’d be the warrior, and he’d be the musician and poet.”

       “You do bear quite a gift for singing, you know; and your poetry, when you deign to write it, is very beautiful and moving.”

       He turned to her earnestly.  “But I have to think about it, Nana, while Gil-galadrion would just breath it out naturally.  But although he would learn to wield weapons out of necessity, he would never be fully comfortable with them, and would not kill unless there was nothing else he could do.  We would--we would complement one another so--or so I always imagined it.  But I never, never dreamt of him with a beard.  He’d always be more Elvish in that way also.”  He suddenly examined her more closely.  “What is it, Naneth?”

       She was shivering, and shrugged.  “I seem to become chill so easily any more, my son.”

       He found the shawl sent her by Anbeth, wife to her brother Halbaleg, and wrapped it about her shoulders.  “My mother, I so wish you to see the prophecies for our future come to be; but it cannot be if you allow yourself to fade now.”

       “Nothing is certain, Aragorn.  You are the hope for the Dúnedain indeed, but there are so many other conditions that must be right if we are to indeed see the ending of Sauron.  And so much of my own hope have I had to give over.”

       “I am still here for you, Naneth.”

       She gently caressed his temple, looking up into his eyes.  “My son, you I have had to give over to our people--if we are to survive, you must be theirs first.  And I do not regret that giving--not at all.  But--you are not the only one who wished to see you have brothers, beloved.”

       Outside, Noroloth raised his head as if listening intently, his nostrils dilating.  Aragorn also looked to the track, his hand going naturally to the sword he carried.  Then it dropped as he straightened.  “Hardorn is come with the pack horse,” he said with regret.  He looked back to her.  “I sorrow you did not have more children on whom to lavish your love and caring, Naneth.  But now I must go.  Remember, Nana, I will never give over loving you.”  He leaned forward and kissed her, and she hugged him close, then shooed him out of the cottage where he picked up his tack and gave his whistle.  By the time Hardorn approached the dooryard, Aragorn was already astride.  A last salute he gave her, and with his cousin he turned South and West toward the Greenway.

       As she watched her living son ride away with her brother’s youngest child, she shivered again.  He had described the sons she, too, had dreamt of--the proper ages, the proper coloring.  Most of the pure Dúnedain had the coloring Aragorn himself had--skin of medium hue, the slightly wavy hair dark brown to black, the grey eyes; but some had the bluer eyes of their Elven ancestry, usually with paler skin and little if any beard, and some with a slightly more golden hue to skin and hair and eyes such as her cousin Rahael had sported.  And he’d seen a twin brother to himself as the most Elvish of the three, and had named him also in honor of starlight.

*******

       “How is she?”  Distracted, Doncella Sandybanks looked into Bilbo’s face as he reached out to detain her on one of her frequent trips back to the kitchen of Number 5.

       “She’s doing well enough, I suppose; but whether or not the bairn will survive----”  She shrugged helplessly.  “It’s a month early, after all.”

       Bilbo looked toward the other room where his cousin Drogo sat beside their mutual cousin Ponto Baggins, shaken and frightened.  “It will tear him apart of he loses both wife and child.  And to carry the babe so long only to lose it now--Primula would be totally devastated.  She’s already lost two!”

       “I know, Mr. Bilbo--I know full well.  Please pardon me--need more water.”

       “I’m sorry,” he said as he let her go.  He could hear from the bedroom the voices of Bell Gamgee and Ponto’s wife Iris, seeking to soothe Primula, seeking to offer her what little support they could now. 

       There was a knock on the door, and he went to answer it.  Dora was there, her face almost as pale as that of her brother’s wife.  “How is she?” she was demanding as he let her in.

       Bilbo nodded back to the bedrooms.  “The babe’s coming now, no matter when it’s due,” he sighed.  “Doncella says Primula herself is doing all right; but whether or not the bairn will survive is anyone’s guess.” 

       Dora nodded, shed her cloak and bonnet into his arms and hurried down the passage back to the bedroom, looked in.  Bell Gamgee came out to make room for Mistress Primula’s sister-in-law, and hurried off to the kitchen.  As Doncella came out of it with a basin of steaming water, she was saying over her shoulder, “Just keep the clean water coming, Bell.”  In seconds she had disappeared back to the bedroom herself. 

       Bilbo sighed as he hung up Dora’s things on the pegs by the door, then found himself making silent prayers to the Creator and the Valar to aid Primula in this.  At this point he was afraid to pray for the child--just as long as Drogo didn’t lose his wife at the same time!  He had sent word to Dudo and Camellia, but whether they’d make it in time was about even odds at the moment.  There’d been no way to alert Primula’s parents and brothers and sisters in Buckland, though, and Menegilda would be furious not to have been there.  Too bad, really, for she was herself a markedly skilled healer and midwife, and might have stopped the early labor had she been able to get there in time.  Now, however, things were too far advanced--they had no choice but to brazen it out.

       He went back to the room where Drogo sat, until Drogo couldn’t bear it any longer and went down the hall to the bedroom, went barging into it in defiance of custom, stood by the bed and took his wife’s hands.  She hung on his gratefully, then gave another cry, and then--then, suddenly, it was over and the babe was there, was already born.

       There was no whimper or cry.  Doncella swiftly tied off and severed the cord, then held the tiny bairn in her arms, her face very pale.  She draped it face down over her arm, struck it as gently as she could on the back with the heel of her hand to expel what fluid might be in the lungs, to try to get the tiny lungs moving.  She lifted it up by the fragile ankles, and finally the fluid drained out; then lay it with its head in her cupped hands, its body lying on her forearms, gently swung it up and down several times. 

       She’d all but given up on it, had stopped to look again at the faintly blueish cast of its skin, when she felt a movement in it.  “It’s alive,” she breathed, then repeated the swinging several more times.  When she stopped again, the movement was more definite.  It moved its arms, gave a faint, mewling cough, and she again changed its position to lie over her arm.  A second tiny cough, and the entire form quivered.  She turned it over and looked down into its face with relief.  The eyes were definitely opening to look up into hers, the mouth opening to take in a so-needed breath.  The tiny lungs rose and fell, the arms reached out from its body.  There was the tiny mewling sound again, almost like that of a newborn kitten, and she gave a sob of relief. 

       “You gave us a fright, you did, little one,” she said gently.  Once she knew it was breathing properly, she laid it in its mother’s arms.  “Your son,” she said softly, looking as reassuringly as she could into Primula’s eyes.  “He’ll apparently stay with us for a time yet.”

       Shocked and amazed, Primula and Drogo Baggins looked first questioningly at her, then back at the tiny creature held by its mother.  “He’s so small!” Primula whispered.

       “He’s a month early, after all,” Doncella said.  “He’ll need to be by your body most of the time for at least the next month, will need to listen to your own heartbeat and breathing to remind his what to do and to reassure him.  He ought to still be in there, after all.”

       The infant’s parents nodded. 

       Bell came with the next basin of water, and after giving it some thought, Doncella chose a leaf from her store of healing leaves and slipped it into the basin after bruising it to release its oils.  She then took one of the readied cloths to wash the babe’s body, finally managed to diaper it, although it took some doing to get the diaper folded small enough to fit the tiny thing.  Then she wrapped it in a blanket and handed it to Drogo while she checked on the condition of the mother.  “Take him on there,” she said to him.  “Let us get Mistress Primula cleaned up now and the bedding changed and all.”

       “What herb did you use?” Drogo asked before he left the room.

       “Kingsfoil.  It helps ease the heart and clear the air, I’ve found, and is far gentler than many of the other herbs I might have used,” she told him. 

       “Odd scent to it,” he commented as he turned out of the room to show the gathered menfolk in the study.

       None of those who’d been in the room recognized the odor, for not one of them had been near the sea.

       Bilbo looked up as Drogo entered the room with the tiny bundle, stood as Drogo came first to him.  “It’s alive?” he breathed.

       Drogo’s expression said it all.  “Yes, alive.  Our son!  He’s survived--so far, at least.”  He opened the blanket so Bilbo could see more clearly.

       Bilbo looked down on the tiny male child lying in his cousin’s arms, and felt his heart give a disinct lurch.  It moved purposely within the blankets, opened its blue eyes to look up into Bilbo’s own, and those eyes were more distinctly blue than were the eyes of most bairns.  But more surprising was that as he looked down at the small mite he could see clearly a distinct light about it, like the light of stars.  Only once before had he ever seen such a light about an individual, years ago in Rivendell, when he looked at the boy who was growing up there, the hidden heir to the descendants of Elendil and Isildur. 

       Without conscious thought Bilbo reached down and lifted the bairn tenderly in his hands.  “So, you are the one for whom we’ve been waiting all this time?” he whispered.  “It’s been quite a while we’ve waited for you, and then you decide to make things interesting by entering the world before you’re quite ready for it.  And do you know, you managed to come on my birthday?  Does this make you my birthday present?”  Carefully he held the bairn to his cheek, felt the warmth and smoothness of it.  “You dearling,” he whispered, then slid it reluctantly back into its blankets.

*******

       It was in the fall of Aragorn’s thirty-seventh year that she dreamt the birth of Gilorhael, the concern, the realization this one was coming too soon and was almost lost again, the work of the midwife to get the babe to breathe, the uncertain beat of the heart at the first.  She awoke assured the babe was alive, and with the view of the Perian Bilbo Baggins there, holding the tiny thing in his hands, the immediate love he felt for the infant.  Then she saw Master Baggins in a lane, speaking with the others whose wedding she’d seen, those who were to be, apparently, the parents of Anorhael.

       Was it so, then--that her lost sons would indeed be born among the Periannath?  Certainly none were likely to look for them there--neither friend nor foe.  The only one of note who cared for the Periannath was the Wizard Gandalf--and, to a far lesser extent, the Lord Elrond himself.  Neither of those was likely to betray the two were they to find them among the Hobbits.

       She realized at last--the very absurdity that these two, on whom two thirds of the hope of all the Free Peoples of Middle Earth lay, would be found at the last amongst the Periannath would serve to save them, and better than if they’d been born to her or amongst any other people.  She found herself humbled, amused, and appalled all at the same time.

       And she realized also why it was the Creator had set apart Bilbo Baggins, why Gandalf had been moved to choose him, of all creatures, to serve as burglar and fourteenth member of the group headed for the Lonely Mountain--he, apparently, was to be the teacher for these two.  Did he know?  Did he realize that these two were the lost sons he’d discussed with her?  Certainly during the last ten years she and Estel had spent in Imladris Elrond had sent a great number of books to the Shire to the use of Bilbo Baggins.

       She sighed as she sat, her shawl about her, in the rocking chair Aragorn had brought to her and set by her fireplace.  Then she felt more than heard the hoofbeats of an approaching horse, heard the elaborate counting song, realized that he was coming to her.  He had been granted leave by Lord Ecthelion, who had no idea where the Captain Thorongil went or why as he saw to the needs of his own people; and he intended, apparently, to spend a few days at least, with her.  She did not rise from her chair. 

       She did not want to remain in Middle Earth to witness the last battle with the Enemy.  But, at least she now knew that the hope was there, that Gilorhael had survived his birth, that Anorhael would come in his time and would be there to the support of both who’d been meant to know him as brother.

       She looked up into the clear grey eyes of her own living son as he entered the house and came to embrace her with concern, and smiled.  Her remaining hope she’d given to the Dúnedain, and the rest of her hope had been given to all the Free Peoples by way of the Shire.  What irony! 

       She found she looked forward to entering the Presence and facing the Creator who had shown such a strange sense of humor.

Surprise

       He sat across from Lord Elrond in the library of Rivendell, scrolls of prophecy laid out between them, sipping from a goblet of wine.  Gandalf felt frustrated, for even with the aid of Lord Glorfindel they’d not found any hint of where the other children of the Hope might be born, what guidance they might need.

       Glorfindel had risen not long before, shaking his head.  “I know not why this concerns you so strongly,” he had said.  “When it is time, you may be certain that they will be revealed.  It appears you have more faith in your own strength of wisdom than in that of the Creator.  I will go out and rejoice in Varda’s stars.”

       After the leaving of the golden-haired warrior, Wizard and Lord of Imladris had sat looking at one another.  Elrond sighed and leaned back in his chair, rubbing at his chin.  “He is right, Gandalf,” he said.

       “Perhaps,” Gandalf answered grudgingly.  “Certainly I’ve found no hint of them in my travels.”

       “Where all have you sought?  It is long since you were here in Imladris.”

       “I come last from Far Harad.”

       “Do you truly think that they might be born in lands under the rule of Sauron himself?”

       “Do you think he will look too closely at those in those lands he feels he controls, Elrond?  Yet, I do not truly think they would be born there, either.  However, sometimes a thing is best hidden in what one might think is in plain sight.  And there are pockets where Sauron does not hold sway, where the old ways hold.  He does not admit this, but Sauron is not as all powerful as he would have us believe.”

       Elrond leaned forward to take up his goblet, drank deeply, set it down again with a decisive click.  “We are obviously going to have to wait for the time set by the Creator Himself.  Iluvatar will see the need met when the time is right--we know this.”

       The Wizard nodded, and drained his own cup, then turned the goblet between his fingers.  “It does appear that we will learn what must be in the appointed time.”  He sighed and set his own goblet down between that of Elrond and the one left by Glorfindel.  He looked up with a resigned expression into the Elven Lord’s face.  “Yet I do not believe all my journeying has been in vain.  I have seen that the support for Sauron’s aims is not universal, and that even such support as he will receive will be far more questionable than he thinks.  Even if he is unaware of it, Aragorn has left questions in the minds of many as to the rightness of the claims of Sauron, and an example of decency that the Enemy may well rue.” 

       Elrond straightened.  “Will you stay long?”

       Gandalf shook his head.  “No, I think I will leave tomorrow.  I have a mind to take some rest in the Shire.”

       “You visit Master Bilbo?”

       “Yes, for it is several years since I last saw him.  The last time I was able to visit the Shire he was not there at Bag End--was visiting his younger cousins in Buckland.”

       Elrond gave a short laugh.  “Yes, he seems to be much taken with the one named Frodo.  I’m not certain why he never married, for his caring for his younger cousins is certainly exemplary.  He’d have made an excellent father.  Well, as you go there already, I will send some books to him by you.  He’s seeking to study Quenya more deeply.”

       Gandalf shook his head, smiling.  “Never underestimate the curiosity of Hobbits, Elrond.  I’ll take them gladly.”

       By the time he reached the Brandywine Bridge, Gandalf was regretting the offer to bring the books, for they weighed down the satchel he carried over his shoulder.  As one of the Borderers who watched at the Bridge admitted he’d come from Brandy Hall that morning, and that Master Bilbo had not been there when he left and had no plans to come to visit that he knew of, it appeared Gandalf would indeed find him in Hobbiton.  Sighing, he changed shoulders with his satchel, made certain his hat was well seated, and headed West.

       A day later he walked up the lane to Bag End, and decided to enter via the garden gate.  It was restful, Bilbo’s garden--the flowers, the green hedges, the lilac bushes with their heart-shaped leaves.  He smiled as he breathed in the scents of growing things.

       From the study window he could hear the soft sound of voices, then cries of astonishment.  A small face peered at him from the casement, then pulled back with cries of fear.  A second face, a familiar one this time, looked out, and he heard Bilbo call out in gladness, heard his voice as he disappeared back into the hole, heading for the front door.  Smiling, the Wizard himself headed that way.  So, Bilbo is entertaining young Hobbits, is he?  Well, it will be refreshing and amusing to add to the entertainment, he thought.  

       Then he was being brought in and drawn down the corridor to the study.  “You are in good time,” Bilbo was saying.  “I have a surprise for you.”

       “Are you indeed teaching some of your younger cousins?”

       “Oh, indeed!  But, you will see in a moment....”

       And then he entered the study and saw the two Hobbit lads facing him, one almost an adult and the other yet a child, both faces somewhat alarmed, and he found himself wanting to laugh aloud, though he didn’t dare.  Then he saw another detail, one which perhaps Bilbo himself did not see----

       Olórin seemed to stand beside his terrestrial form, the Light of his Being flaring brightly in response to what he saw before him, the mithril-pure Light that was twin to one other he knew, and the golden Light he’d sought throughout Middle Earth, and he rejoiced, his song of praise offered up unheard by those who stood before him.  Meanwhile his terrestrial form took a deep breath, joy filling him along with the air that entered his lungs.  And he wanted to laugh with joy and the delight of it.  The Enemy, in his self-centeredness, would expect those who came against him to be great warriors as was Aragorn.  Never in his wildest dreams would he expect this!

       O Eru, Iluvatar, Master, Creator--how my scrambled journey throughout Middle Earth must have amused you!  All praise to your planning, humor, and understanding of our foolishness!

       And he could swear he heard delighted laughter in his heart, and feel the divine Hand on his shoulder as he found himself trying to reassure two Hobbit lads.

Return to Rivendell

       “Welcome again, Master Bilbo,” Elrond said as for the fourth time Bilbo Baggins entered his house.  “Will you remain with us now?

       “Since you’ve made the offer before, and I am assured you mean it, yes, I think I will.  That is, of course, if I’m not too much of a bother.”

       The Elf Lord smiled.  “It is never too much of a bother to welcome you.  Your interest in learning is quite refreshing, you know.  And, since Estel left us there has been precious little chance to teach, an exercise I find I miss.”

       Bilbo laughed.  “I, too, have been teaching.  I thank you so much for your assistance, my Lord, for it has been so much easier with the books and documents and maps and all you’ve shared with me over the years.”

       “How many have you taught to read and write?”

       “I’ve quite lost count, you know.  Almost every cousin born to me since I was here before, I think.  All save my lad, for I believe he was born knowing how already.”

       “Sounds as if your Frodo is quite a unique individual.”

       “Oh, indeed.  I already miss him terribly, but know he needs this time.  He’s one of the most responsible individuals the Shire has produced.”

       As they walked through the halls of Imladris, Elrond asked, “Has he found a love yet?”

       “No.  Well, actually, he did once, but since Pearl threw him over he’s not looked much at any others, although he was dancing more than usual with Narcissa Boffin at our last joint birthday party.  I am rather hoping something comes of that.  Narcissa has favored him for years, after all, quite as long as Pearl did.  Both of them have been taken with him since before he came to live with me the summer before he turned twenty-two.”

       “And you’ve taught him both Sindarin and Quenya?”

       Bilbo laughed.  “He even knows a smattering of Adunaic, which is a bit more than I do.  He reads Sindarin quite well, and seems to understand much of what he reads in Quenya.  I’m not certain how good his accent is, though, as I simply haven’t had that much experience truly speaking the languages myself.  And those Elves I’ve met in the Shire are usually so overwhelmed just to meet someone who speaks their language at all they wouldn’t dream of being helpful and correcting my pronunciation.”

       “Gandalf can’t seem to speak highly enough of him, I find.”

       “Nor can Frodo speak highly enough of Gandalf.”

       “Do you think he may in time visit here?”

       “Perhaps he will in the future, but I hope not for some years yet.  Let him come to terms first with being the Master of Bag End and family head for the Bagginses.”

       “Does he have any special friends?”

       Bilbo laughed.  “Everyone loves Frodo, for all he’s now the current Mad Baggins.  Almost every cousin there is loves him, except, of course, Lobelia and Lotho Sackville-Baggins.  The realization he has inherited Bag End must be destroying their souls.  But his especial friends are Merry Brandybuck, Folco Boffin, Freddie Bolger, Pippin Took, and Samwise Gamgee, with a special nod to Ferdibrand Took and Berilac and Brendilac Brandybuck.  If it hadn’t been for Pearl, I suspect he and Isumbard Took would be quite close, too.”

       “What about Pearl caused the rift between these two?”

       “Bard has been in love with Pearl for years, since before she became enamored of Frodo.  Even though she shows Frodo no favors now, it will be a time before Bard begins to thaw toward him, I suspect, unless they get thrown together.  Once Bard truly comes to know Frodo, I’m certain they will become close.”

       They stopped at the door to the rooms which Bilbo had used in his previous three visits.  “Well, I hope one day to meet him in person.  He sounds quite wonderful.”

       Bilbo’s look as he looked up at the brother of Elros Tar-Minyatar was rather enigmatic.  “I think that when he finally comes here, you will be most intrigued, my Lord.”  

*******

       Bilbo had been there three weeks when he asked about the Lady Gilraen.

       “Since Aragorn has returned to the Dúnedain she, too, has returned to the outer world.  She no longer dwells here, and has not visited since she left.  Nor has she welcomed visits from any of us.  Now that her son no longer needs her full nurturing, she has slowly, very slowly begun to fade.  She finds it difficult to endure being without what she sees as a purpose.”

       Bilbo bowed his head.  “I see,” he said softly.  “I am sorry.”

       The Elf looked off toward a window, his gaze growing somewhat distant.  “None of us can control what another will choose,” he said equally softly.

       “May I try to visit her?” Bilbo asked.

       “You may, if you wish,” Elrond said.  “Shall I arrange for one of my sons to take you?”

       After a moment of thought, Bilbo shook his head.  “It would be better if Lord Glorfindel took me, I think,” he said slowly.  

       Elrond looked at the Hobbit questioningly, but Bilbo kept his face impassive and his thought shielded.  “If you so desire it,” the Elf said, his own curiosity piqued, but not sufficiently to press at the shielding Bilbo had raised about himself.

       Two weeks later Lord Glorfindel accompanied the Hobbit to the Lady Gilraen’s cottage.  What they spoke of on the way Glorfindel would not say, and he shielded the house during the interview.  Bilbo came away saddened, but obviously feeling he had met some type of obligation he felt he had needed to attempt.  Gilraen accompanied him to the door as he left, and leaned down to kiss the Hobbit on the top of his head.  He reached up and touched her cheek as she remained bent down, then bowed low and returned to Glorfindel’s side, and they returned to Rivendell.  It was the last time Bilbo was to leave Imladris until the final riding of the Elves.

*******

       Bilbo Baggins’s first meeting with Aragorn on his return to Rivendell was warm, and a friendship and respect sprang up between the two which was delightful.  Bilbo seemed to be relieved whenever any mortal visited the place, but particularly when Aragorn did.  He soon had Aragorn’s full story out of him, although it appeared he had already divined much of it during his visit when Aragorn was still known as the child Estel.

       Together they wrote a number of songs and poems.  But even alone Bilbo continued to create much as he’d done when he dwelt in the Shire, and the folk of Imladris were impressed by the skill shown by the Perian as he wove increasingly complicated and beautiful rhyme schemes.  His love of language, Erestor admitted, was the equal of any Elf.  The rhymes he wrote in Sindarin tended to be more simple constructions; but in Westron he was clearly a master.  The Elves were highly respectful of his skills, but he tended to see their praise as somewhat mocking.  Yet even his discounting of Elven praise did not stop him from writing further. 

       Aragorn’s pleasure in being consulted on many of Bilbo’s constructions he sought to hide, playing on the Hobbit’s certainty the Elves patronized him somewhat.  In actuality he was impressed by both Bilbo’s skill and his perseverence, not to mention how prolific a writer he was.  Where there were so few younglings to hear Bilbo’s tales, he turned increasingly to his poetry and to the writing of his memoirs, and the Dúnedan found it all fascinating.  In return Aragorn told Bilbo as many tales as he could think of regarding his own adventures.

       Gandalf was becoming an increasingly common guest in Rivendell, and now that Bilbo was plainly a friend of Aragorn son of Arathorn he often joined them in corners of the Hall of Fire or out in the gardens, joining in the mutual tale-telling, teasing, jokes, and confidences.  It pleased Gandalf to see how close Bilbo seemed to be with the Man, but in time he wondered if Bilbo might be telling Gilraen’s son perhaps more than he ought to know about Frodo.  One day when he found Bilbo alone on one of the bridges over the Bruinen he broached the subject.

       “You have been speaking a fair amount about Shire business with Aragorn,” he commented.

       “And you’ve been avoiding speaking of it,” Bilbo responded as he leaned forward to watch the dark shape of a fish work its way upstream against the current.

       “Perhaps,” the Wizard sighed.  He brought out his pipe and pouch, preparing the former.  Bilbo brought out a shorter pipe out of his pocket and looked up at Gandalf from the corner of his eye.  “What is it, Bilbo--are you out of pipeweed?”

       “Not exactly, but I know you have some Old Toby while mine is from here in the valley.  Isn’t quite the same thing at all, you know.”  He accepted the amused offer of some leaf, brought out his striker and quickly set it smoldering, breathed deeply of it.  “It’s good enjoying proper Shire leaf now and then.  Thank you, Gandalf.”

       After a few moments of companionable puffing, Gandalf finally asked, “And what do you tell him about Frodo?”

       “Just what I’d told you--that he is the best Hobbit in the Shire, that he is one of the most giving and caring individuals ever.”  Then, after a time of silence he asked, “Did what I told you tell you who and what he was?”

       Gandalf looked sideways down at him, then sighed.  “No, it didn’t, and that was even after having received strong hints as to where I might look to find them.”

       “Them?”  Bilbo tried to look innocent, then laughed.  “Who would look for important folk working in a garden?”

       “Do you tell Aragorn about Sam as well as Frodo?”

       “As well as Merry, Pippin, Folco, Freddie, Ferdibrand, Sancho, Berilac, Pearl, Pervinca and Pimpernel and Narcissa.  I’m not drawing undue attention to any one of them, you know.”  He stretched.  “I seem to remember someone saying once that in many cases it is best to hide things in plain sight.”

       Gandalf laughed.  “You have learned all too well how to confuse and confound, my friend.”  Then, after watching the progress of the fish himself for some moments he continued, “You went to see the Lady Gilraen, I understand?”

       “Yes.”

       Finally he asked, “And?”

       “And who is it today who is curious?  That is supposed to be my function, you know.”

       “I suppose I’ve developed a level of fondness for the lady.”

       “Nonsense, Gandalf.  You are merely intent on learning what I told her and how she took it.  Well, I told her that I had the most extraordinarily fine young cousin imaginable, that I’d done my best to prepare him for the outer world, and that his gardener would fight dragons on his behalf.”

       “And her response?”

       “She kissed the top of my head as I left.  She is glad enough, but still, I think, unhappy not to have raised all three herself.”  The Hobbit sighed.  “It is the one she would have called Gilorhael whom she most resents having lost, I think.  Odd how one always thinks of starlight and wisdom in the case of Frodo.  He spends nights on the Hill watching the stars, you know.”  His face became solemn.  “I don’t wish him to leave the Shire.  I don’t wish that fine spirit to be endangered.  I wish him to become Mayor and serve our people well, for he has the intelligence and compassion to do a remarkable job of it.”  He looked up frankly to meet the Wizard’s eye.  “I love him so, Gandalf.”

       “And who else is it who wishes to keep him, in an odd way, to himself?”

       Bilbo sighed and shrugged.

*******

       Gilraen woke from another dream, one which was frightening.  She saw in it a twisted creature in a dark cavern, saw a small golden something slip from the pouch he wore on his belt, saw it fall to the floor, saw Bilbo find it, pick it up, put it in his pocket....  Then she saw her son and a Perian, a startlingly beautiful Perian with dark hair and pale complexion and eyes blue as summer skies, the eyes she knew so well, looking at one another, between them a Ring.  “No!” she cried out as she woke.

       There was a movement from the pallet near the fireplace as Aragorn rose.  “Naneth!  Naneth, what is it?”

       She looked into his eyes.  “It would destroy him, Estel!  You can’t let him carry it!  You must see it in other hands, not those of your brother!”

       “Naneth, I have no brother.”  He said this softly, with the full weight of regret he had always felt over this matter.  “Does this--this thing threaten Elladan or Elrohir?”

       “No, Aragorn, not them.”  Her eyes were clearing as she woke fully, but the dread was still there, was still palpable.  “No, it doesn’t threaten them, Estel.  But it does threaten----”

       He felt her shaking under his hand.  “Naneth?  What is it?”

       She looked away, then back into his eyes.  “Why him, Aragorn?  Why must it threaten that beautiful one?  It will seek to take him!  It will seek to destroy him!  You must not allow it!  Even if he is to help you to the kingship--it would cost him all!”  She looked away westward.  “Where is the other, then?” she murmured so low that her son could barely hear it.

       Confused and deeply concerned, Aragorn held his mother to him, felt her whole body shaking, heard her whispering, “Why must the rest of the hope cost that?”

*******

       Bilbo was drowsing in the gardens over a book when he heard purposeful steps coming toward him.  He became alert and looked up to see Elrond and Gandalf both bearing down on him.  “What is it?” he asked.  “Has something happened to Frodo?”

       “No, we need to know more about that ring of yours, Bilbo.”

       “The ring?  Whatever for?”

       Gandalf waved the question away.  “Did Gollum give you any hint at all as to where he might have come from?”

       Bilbo shrugged.  “Not really.”

       “What was he like physically?”

       “I didn’t see him any too clearly, of course, and most of what I did see was by the light of Sting, which was waxing and waning as, I suppose, goblins were coming and going in the other caverns nearby.”

       “His height?”

       “He stood up fully only once--most of the time he moved on all fours almost like a beast and crouched down.  But I’d say he was but a little taller than I.”

       “His hands and feet?”

       “Much like mine again, only fingers and toes were slightly webbed, similar to those of a frog.”

       “Ears?”

       “What about his ears?”

       “Were they similar to those of a Man, a Hobbit, an Elf, or a beast?”

       “Remarkably like a Hobbit’s.”

       Wizard and Elf looked to one another again.

       Gandalf asked, “Did he have any hair?”

       “Some, but it was somewhat long and straight and very lank.  Some strands were grey or white, and a few were dark.  Perhaps he once had a full head of hair, but now he had only sparse hairs and locks here and there.  He wasn’t quite bald, though.”

       “Any hint of a beard?”

       “No.  None.”

       “How did he dress?”

       “Wore only a loincloth.”

       “Only?”

       “Only.  Why all these questions about Gollum?”

       Gandalf looked at Elrond, ignoring Bilbo’s question.  “What were the Periannath like when first your folk found them in the passes of the Misty Mountain?”

       The Lord of Imladris looked into his memories.  “Not a great deal different than they are now, although more then had hair that was straighter and longer than the Hobbits I’ve seen and heard described in the last few generations.”

       Gandalf nodded as he digested this information.  Finally he asked, “Did they say where they had lived east of the mountains?”

       Elrond shrugged.  “The only group to describe where they’d lived were those who had the longer, straighter hair--they’d lived near the banks of the Anduin and some of the rivers and streams that feed it.”

       “Stoors, then,” Bilbo volunteered.

       Gandalf straightened.  “Then--then it appears that Gollum may have started as a descendent of the Stoors.”

       “You mean, that Gollum began as a Hobbit?” asked Bilbo, appalled.

       “Or a close relative,” suggested the Wizard.

       “How revolting!  How did he change so?”

       Gandalf shuddered.  “I have my suspicions, and--” he looked into Elrond’s eyes, “--I do not like the way they lead me.  He appears to have carried that ring of his for quite some time, perhaps many times longer than he ought to have lived.”

       “A great Ring, then,” murmured Elrond, his face pale but set.

       “And we know the disposition of the Nine, the Seven, and the Three.  Which leaves only....”

       Elrond straightened and took a deep, ragged breath.  “Eru forbid!”  He shook his head.  “Describe it.”

       “Plain, a plain gold band.  No stone, no visible markings.”

       “As I saw It, It had on It letters as if written in red flames.  I could see them while It was still on his hand, and as It lay in the palm of Isildur’s hand.  Only because his hand was gloved could he hold It, and it appeared to be hot to the point of burning him as he carried It.”

       “Would the letters still be visible now?”

       Elrond shrugged.

       “Are you speaking of Sauron’s Ring?” Bilbo demanded.  A brief distracted nod was the only answer given him.  “But it couldn’t have been Sauron’s Ring!  It couldn’t!  I carried it for over sixty years, and it never affected me....”

       Gandalf merely looked at him.  Elrond examined him closely, then commented, “You still appear much as you did when I saw you newly returned from Erebor, Bilbo Baggins.  Your hair is greyer, but that has happened only in the past few years since you came here.  Your face is only a little more lined.  Is it common for Hobbits of over a hundred years to look like a Hobbit in middle years?”

       “Of course not, but I am the Old Took’s grandson, after all.”

       Gandalf considered, as did Elrond.  “I remember your grandfather’s hundredth birthday, and his hair was white, and his face far more lined than yours now, Bilbo.”  He raised his eyes back to Elrond’s again.  “And there was the way he became belligerent when he felt his ownership of the Ring was threatened, the calling of it his ‘Precious.’”

       Elrond paled further.  “You mean that he called it that?  Isildur spoke of It as having become ‘precious to him.’  It was one of the signs It was taking him.”

       Gandalf looked back at Bilbo.  “And you said that Gollum referred both of himself and his birthday present as “Precious’?”

       “Yes, Gandalf.”

       “How can we test the Hobbit’s trove, Elrond?” the Wizard demanded.

       “I have no idea.”

       “If it is Sauron’s Ring, I dare not handle it for long.  It would want me to claim It so It could claim me.”

       Elrond nodded reluctantly.  He suddenly looked down at Bilbo.  “You must speak of this to no one, Bilbo, not to even Glorfindel.  Do you understand?”

       White and shaking, Bilbo agreed.

       Gandalf was staring now off to the West.  Finally he turned back, “I must find Gollum, see if I can find out where it came from, if we can identify it for certain.”  He straightened, and clutched his staff decidedly.  “I will borrow Strider, have him help me find Gollum.”

       “He won’t willingly go beneath the Misty Mountains, Gandalf.”

       “If he’s to come to Throne, Crown and Sceptre we have to know, Elrond.”

       Again, Elrond nodded reluctantly.

       Sick with the implications, Bilbo clutched his book to him as he watched Elf and Wizard head back toward the wing nearest the library.

*******

       Bilbo sat in the chair near the bed where Frodo lay, watching Elrond bending over him.  Several days had they labored over Frodo’s shoulder, and only now had the rest of the great Elves of Imladris quitted the chamber, only now had Elladan drawn Aragorn away to his own bed.  Elrohir had taken the wooden tray on which the shard had been set to lie outside the Vale of Imladris, where the rising Sun would shine fully upon it, see the tray set ablaze before he began his search for further signs of the Nazgul and their steeds.  The clear Elven Light that shone about Elrond could be clearly discerned.  Sam had been sent out to fetch the broth that had been prepared for Frodo, and now only the two of them remained here.

       Elrond sighed as he straightened, looking down on the sleeping form of the Hobbit.  Suddenly he stopped, holding his breath as he looked more closely.  Finally he turned to look with shock at Bilbo where he sat in his chair.  “You have seen to his education?” the loremaster of Rivendell asked.

       “Yes, my Lord.”

       Elrond searched the old Hobbit’s eyes.  “Do you ever discern the Light of Being?”

       Bilbo smiled.  “I first saw his when his father brought him out for me, as head of the Baggins family, to see, when I lifted him up to examine him.  Reminds me of starlight--very like one other I’ve seen.”

       “One other?”

       Bilbo didn’t answer, merely lifted his chin higher.

       “Has he any brothers or sisters?”

       “He’s the only one of five babes his mother bore who survived, Master Elrond.”

       Elrond seemed confused, looked back at the still form on the bed.  The door opened and Sam returned with a tray on which sat several mugs of tea, a small mug of broth, a covered bowl of sugar, a pitcher of cream, and several spoons.  The Elf started to nod his thanks to the gardener when he stopped, and his eyes widened.  Sam didn’t notice as he set his burden down on the table near the bed, then turned his attention back to Frodo, a slight smile easing the concern in his expression as he noted the breathing was steady and Frodo’s color was definitely returning.

       “He’s truly asleep now,” Sam murmured, tension leaching quickly from his shoulders.

       “Yes, Master Gamgee,” Elrond said with far more respect than he’d used before when addressing the gardener.  “And you, sir, also need to rest.”

       “I’ll not be leaving him,” Sam warned.

       “So I’ve seen.  I’ll have the pallet prepared for you again.  Master Bilbo, if you will agree to assist me?”

       Bilbo slipped out of his chair, and Sam pulled it closer to the bed and was seating himself in it as the older Hobbit followed Elrond out into the hall and pulled the door closed behind them.

       Elrond looked at Bilbo with great interest as they paused in the light of a brazier halfway down the hallway.  Bilbo cleared his throat.  “His Light of Being is more golden, my Lord.”

       “Does either have the least idea----”

       “I don’t believe so.  Both have been well educated in the lore of the First Age, although Sam has never paid much heed to that of the Second--not a great deal of interest in it.  Both have more knowledge of Sindarin than they realize, and Frodo has done a fair amount of study of Quenya as well.  Frodo has also had a good deal of education about the Enemy, not that we have that many books about Sauron in the Shire.  But all I could glean from my discussions here and with those Elves and Dwarves who’ve come through the Shire I’ve shared with him--not that he’s wished to discuss the subject.”

       Elrond looked back toward the closed doorway.  “They have no idea....”  He looked back at the Hobbit again.  “But you recognized the meaning?”

       “I wasn’t always certain with Sam, but had thought about it seriously enough that when the moment he came to Bag End Frodo began to embrace Sam as the brother he’d never known I began pressing Hamfast to allow me to teach him.  I’d taught the older four of his and Bell’s children to read, write, and figure already, although we did it so quietly the Gaffer didn’t even realize.  But as Sam would need to know so much more, I had to make it more open.  I’d been telling him tales already, you know.”

       Elrond began to laugh.  “Does Gandalf know?”

       “Of course I’ve known,” the Wizard said as he quietly joined them.  “From the first time I saw the three of them together in the study in Bag End.”

       “But not before then?” Elrond questioned further, giving Gandalf a piercing look.

       Gandalf shook his head.  “Bilbo was most discrete.  It appears that Iluvatar has made certain that these two would be born where the Enemy would be least likely to look.  And even when he did look, it was not in search of those who pose the greatest danger to him, but simply in search of his treasure.”

       Elrond looked back at the door again with a deep sigh.  “And we begin to see now what form the danger they pose to him takes.  They have been appointed the caretakers for the Ring--at least for the present.”

       “Will you now tell Aragorn?” asked Bilbo with concern.

       “No,” Elrond said with a sigh.  “No, for I would not have his loyalties divided.  The love is already growing there amongst the three of them.  But I will not cloud his judgment by piling on more emotional ties which in the end are no more than what is there already.”

       Bilbo nodded.  “I’ll take it over from here,” he said quietly.  “Whatever needs doing, I’ll see to it as much as I am able.”

       Wizard and Elf looked at one another over the Hobbit’s head.   Gandalf then looked back down at Bilbo, setting one hand on Bilbo’s shoulder.  “No more than you are able, though, my friend,” he said.

       Bilbo shrugged.

       As Elladan returned from Aragorn’s chamber, his father stepped forward to ask that he have Sam’s pallet prepared, then led Gandalf and Bilbo back into the room.  Elrond sat on the bed, lifted Frodo up into a seated posture, woke him only sufficiently so he could be fed the broth, and saw to Frodo’s needs as Bilbo took the second chair in the room, accepted a mug of tea from Sam, and set himself to watch once more over his beloved younger cousin.

*******

       Glorfindel stood on one of the bridges over the Bruinen as Elrond joined him.  He looked briefly toward the Master of Rivendell, and smiled as he turned his attention back to where Eärendil’s star shone in the distance.  “So, you have now seen?” he asked quietly.

       “Yes,” Elrond nodded.  “It appears I am the last to know.”

       “Aragorn does not know the implications,” Glorfindel said with a sigh.

       “Is that why Bilbo asked to go see Gilraen?”

       Glorfindel gave him another enigmatic look, and a soft, mysterious smile.

       Elrond shook himself.  “They are not Men, Elves, or Dwarves.  He has not inherited the desire for personal power the rest of the races know.  His people have never been subjected to the effects of any of the Great Rings.”

       “He may be able to carry it far longer with little effect.”

       “But It will still seek to corrupt him, still seek to ensnare him as It can.”

       “That is Its nature after all, Elrond.”

       Elrond gave his father’s star great scrutiny.  Finally he spoke again.  “I fear for his sanity as well as his safety.”

       “He may choose not to take It further.”

       “Perhaps.  But I doubt that he will deny the task set before him.”  Then, after a further silence, he added, “Did he see your Light of Being?”

       “Yes, he did as I revealed myself to the Nine, and Aragorn and I drove them into the flood.”

       “Has he seen Estel’s?”

       “I do not know.  But the love between the two of them is growing.  And that between him and his gardener is also growing.  They already are devoted to one another, and their understanding they are brothers of the spirit is far more advanced than perhaps even they realize.”

       “One of the last times Aragorn visited with his mother, she awoke during the night crying out about the safety of his brother, of how wrong it was that he must be called upon to give all.  He told me about it on his return.”

       “I did not know.”

       “Gandalf would see It into other hand as well.  He has developed great love for Frodo Baggins.”

       “It is part of his nature, I think, that he draws love to him.”

       “Wisdom and the light of stars in him, and similar more deeply hidden in Samwise.  Yet even Sam's own parents felt impelled to reference wisdom in his naming, even if they made light of it.”

       Glorfindel merely gave a slight nod.

       Finally, Elrond murmured, “May their wisdom and love for one another see them through what must come.”

       “Do you ask Sam to come to the council?”

       “No, but I have no doubt he will come anyway.”

       “I suspect you have the right of it, Elrond.”

       Together they stood in silence, watching the voyage of Eärendil’s bark, and the slow movement of the rest of the stars.  My adar, Elrond found himself shaping the prayer, guide this son of your spirit, even though he has been born among the Periannath.

       When at last he returned to the house and looked in on Aragorn’s sleep, the last relatively untroubled rest he’d most likely know for some months to come, he felt reassured somehow, that his father would indeed seek to offer the guidance asked.  Now he himself and Glorfindel must take thought to how they would handle the defense of Rivendell.  The Enemy would attack it, he knew.

Passing

       Gilraen and Arathorn stood in the Gardens surrounding the Halls of Mandos, near the Way that went to the further Gardens.  They looked up into the sky, watching the circling of the stars, set to dance this night in honor of two who had done so much for the healing of this Creation.  To their right, at the beginning of the Way, stood a single figure, shining warmly white, its Light growing brighter as it awaited those who now danced above them with the stars.  Gilraen’s eyes shone as brightly as the two she awaited, and Arathorn’s arm lay over her shoulder.

       Then--then they were coming, the two shining ones, mithril-pure and anor-filled.  She saw them, the joy of their release, the delight in the reunion, the anticipation of what was to come.  Would they enter into the Halls, or go directly?  

       No, they never looked to the great edifice of the Halls of Mandos at all--and their Lights shone even more brightly as they looked to the further Gardens.  They would go directly, Gilraen realized with understanding.  No, they had no need for the Halls of Waiting--they were ready now.  And the three Shining Ones headed that way, led by the clear star-light shining of he who would have been twin to Aragorn. 

       “Gilorhael!” she called out, unable to contain herself further.  “Anorhael!”

       He who would have been Gilorhael looked at her, and both recognized her and did not.  He paused briefly, smiled at her, then turned back on his way.  The other gave her a bow of recognition, but did not quit his fellow’s side.

       He who had been Master Bilbo smiled at her, and winked.

       I did my best for you, my Lady, his thought told her.  

       Thank you, she returned.

       Will you come now?

       No, I will wait for the one I was allowed to know.

       He nodded his understanding.  He’ll be looking for them soon enough.

       She who had been Gilraen looked into the eyes of he who had been her husband.  He turned back to look after the three, the two who were almost his sons and the one who had been their teacher.  “So,” he said quietly, “those were lost to us, but not to Arda.”

       Gilraen nodded, shining tears of joy falling from her eyes, white Elven lilies springing up where they fell.  “Yes,” she said quietly.  “The Hope was not lost after all.”

The Coming of the King

       “Behold the Queen!”  At the opening of the door to the Hall of the Dúnedain and the entrance of the shining soul there the entire company turned, a pathway opening automatically to allow the entrance of a woman of such beauty that all must turn to see.  The joy of Gilraen as she watched the entrance of her son’s beloved wife flared high, particularly as she saw the great Aragorn Elessar Envinyatar Telcontar, Estel and Thorongil, rise from his great High Seat beside that of Elros Tar-Minyatar himself and come down to meet her.  The Light of Being for both husband and wife lit the entire Hall as they met and embraced, and the delight of their Perian attendants added a new depth to the joy that permeated all.

       "Behold my Queen,” proclaimed the King, “the daughter of Lord Elrond and the Lady Celebrían, the granddaughter of the Lord Celeborn and the Lady Galadriel, the rulers of the Golden Wood. She is the Lady Arwen Undomiel, Evenstar of her people within Middle Earth, and the like of her will come to Middle Earth not again save in the heritage of our children. Rejoice with me at our reunion."

       Beside King and Queen stood the two Hobbits who’d been accepted to the service of Gondor and Rohan, and all bowed low in the honor they’d earned.

       Gilraen and Arathorn came forward to give their greetings, and the Lady Arwen Undomiel turned to them with a joy the gravity of which could not be measured.  “Arwen, my sister!” Arathorn said, embracing her.  “And now my daughter as well!  At your presence this room must know more of the Light of the Eldar than has been known for the two Ages of its existence, for now two of the Peredhil grace it.”

       Gilraen looked into the face of the one woman her son had ever loved and smiled with joy.  “I rejoiced to receive back from my son the Hope I’d given with him to our peoples, and now I know why it has been so fulfilled.  For your love alone would he have faced that responsibility, for the fulfillment you have given him.”  She held close to her heart the one who’d served as Mistress of Imladris for so long after her mother had quitted the mortal lands of Arda before becoming the Lady of Arnor and Gondor.  “Oh, my Lady Arwen, I rejoice to see you at last reunited with my son, for he has never been as whole as he is with you beside him.”

*******

        When at last the moment came, Gilraen was fully ready, and Arathorn beside her.  Long the two had held back from crossing the River and entering the further Gardens, those which were no longer within the realms of Arda.  Now it was time, time to approach the Presence at the last, renewed and readied by the presence of the last of the Kings of the Eldar Times.

       “Will you accompany us, our Father?” Aragorn asked of the Lord Elros. 

       That great King roared with laughter.  “My Son,” he returned, “I already am beyond the River.  Yes, I entered this Hall and sit here, but I could not be restrained from the Presence for long.  My memory remains here for those who will come after, as yours will beside me.  But I will be as glad to greet your arrival there as I have been to do so here.”

 Aragorn’s laughter also filled the Hall of the Dúnedain, full of the delight of it.  “Then I leave you with the knowledge of the love of your brother, as I will greet you there, then.”

       “My father ever honored you, Uncle,” Arwen added.

       Elros nodded.  “We had discussed when young what we would do in the end, but still when I chose to accept the Gift of Iluvatar it took him in part by surprise.  I wonder if he has ever known the desire to see what is hidden by the next turning in the road as I did?”

       Aragorn shrugged.  “I think he has known that, but is willing to wait to learn, my Lord.”

       Elros looked down at the two who stood at the side of this illustrious pair, and bowed deeply to them.  “When you meet the other sons of my spirit, give them my greetings,” he said gently, laying a shining hand on each of them in blessing.

       “We will,” said Meriadoc Brandybuck, Esquire to the King and Knight of Rohan.  They bowed in return and turned to accompany King and Queen to the great Door, which opened to allow them to go forth. 

       Pippin turned ere they quitted the room, and saw that at the far side of the room on the High Seat sat Elros Tar-Minyatar, and beside him the very King and Queen they followed.  “Don’t rightly know, Merry,” he said quietly to his companion, “if I’ll ever fully appreciate how we can be here in more than one place at a time.  I couldn’t see--are we still back there by them?”

       In the door Merry took his True Shape, and now being taller than most of the company he turned and looked back, then laughed.  “Yes, there we are, and you are singing for the Lord Denethor, and doing so in joy.”

       “Good,” said Pippin, again assuming his True Shape as he quitted the Hall and stood on the Way to the Gardens.  In good humor they made their way through the nearer Gardens, headed toward the deeper ones.  “What did the Lord Elros mean about the sons of his spirit?”

       Merry smiled, full of delight.  “That you will learn shortly, Pippin my lad.”

       Pippin looked up at Aragorn’s smiling face as he walked with his wife on one side and his mother on the other, his father shining behind them.  “Nice to see this family back together again.”

       Merry nodded.  “Now for Aragorn to come back to Frodo and Sam again, and he’ll feel complete.”

       Arwen looked at the silver Bridge.  “I’m the first of my kind to even see this since Elros came this way, two Ages past,” she murmured.  She smiled and stepped upon it confidently.  

       As they stepped off of it, Aragorn examined her with pleasure.  “How you could ever be improved upon I could never imagine,” he said, kissing her lightly.  His anticipation could be seen as they approached the gap he’d gone through before.

       Rosie stood beside Sam this time, and before them, amongst the children, knelt Frodo, the Light of Frodo’s Being alone filling the glade with glory.  All turned to examine those who entered now, and the one who’d been Frodo and Iorhael bowed deeply.  “We welcome you.”

       Arathorn was the first to come forward, drawing the two shining forms together that he might examine each.  “You who might have been my own sons, I greet you and give thanks for you.  The son who lived would never have known the fullness of bliss had you not agreed to take the chance a second time.”

       Gilraen said nothing, but held out her arms to them.  They accepted her embrace and returned it.  Sam murmured, “I’m a bit sorry not to have known you in life, my Lady.  But I’ll not regret what I did know.  I think you’ll love the Gaffer and my mum Bell.”

 “I’m certain I will, Anorhael,” she said.  “I so often regretted the loss of you to my arms, but now simply am glad that you were there for Estel when he needed you.”

       Long she and Iorhael exchanged looks.  Aragorn laid a hand on the shoulder of each.  “You sacrificed your hope of family, Naneth, as he did the same.  Now those sacrifices have been fulfilled.”  He straightened and drew the shining form of his twin brother up and to him.  “And now, at last, Gil-galadrion, you and I will be able to go out together on errantry as so often I dreamed when I was a child.”  He looked down, and his laughter filled the glade and beyond.  “And I see we will never go forth alone--that wherever we go we will ever be surrounded by youth and imagination.”

       The one who might have been Gilorhael laughed fully with Aragorn, and looked around at all those who filled the glade.  “Youth and imagination, you say?”  The laughter grew more full and joyful.  “Family I have again--brothers and sisters, parents beyond anticipation and children beyond count!  And the tales I will have ever to tell!”  A shining hand caressed the great mantle the figure wore.

       “Now, wait a moment,” Sam laughed, “You’re not going nowhere without me!”

       Pippin looked into Merry’s eyes.  “Then, it’s true?” he asked with growing delight.  “They are brothers after all, were always meant to be?”

       “Of course, you daft Took!”

       “Our first bit of errantry,” Frodo laughed, a shining arm about Aragorn’s waist, smiling across him at Arwen’s shining visage.  “To the Presence!” 

       Arathorn and Gilraen had turned to the one who’d stood, tears of joy and fulfillment shining on his face, watching the reunion.

       “Thank you again, my Lord,” Arathorn said with deepest respect to he who had been Bilbo Baggins.  “You did a remarkable job of readying the two of them.”

       “I’d have spared him all the grief if it had been possible,” Bilbo said quietly.  “But I find it was well worth it to see that one now, surrounded by the love so long known and now fulfilled.  Thank you for the honor of fostering those Lights for so long.”

       “We, too, would have only fostered them,” Gilraen murmured. 

       She and her husband put their arms about the Teacher’s shoulders, and together they followed in the King’s train, hearing the murmured, “The way is so beautiful....”  And before them they saw, waiting for their coming forth from the glade, the discrete form of one who in life had been absurdly short, but who in fulfillment was a tall and shining figure, awaiting with patience the coming of those whom he’d come to love beyond all others, sharing that love through the works of his artistry.