As soon as could be managed everything was taken care of, Bilbo and Frodo were dressed for travel, and the entire Gamgee clan, from the Gaffer holding the keys to Bag End to little Marigold crowing and babbling in her mother's arms, were assembled to see them go. Frodo was eager to be off, and Sam was dancing with shared excitement, he was so happy to see that his Master was to be rewarded instead of thrashed and sent to bed without supper.

Bell had forgotten her chicken pie during all the fuss, but Sam's sister May had smelled scorched piecrust and rescued it in the nick of time. Now she stood holding it and sniffled a little, while her brothers eyed it hungrily (they had still not had their luncheon), and Bell and little Daisy wept into their aprons. Hamfast pressed Bilbo's hand as if he and Frodo were going off to war, instead of a pleasant jaunt to some patch of woods or meadow. The Gamgees were sensible hobbits, who rose early in the morning and were usually safe indoors after sunset, and to sleep outside on the hard ground in the dark seemed to them not only queer, but also filled with peril.

At last the goodbyes were said and they started off. Bilbo sighed with relief when a bend in the road put them out of sight. Fine folk they were, and they were good and faithful servants and dear to his heart, but how they did run on! "You would think we were archers off to Fornost, the way they behave!" Bilbo said.

"It's only because they love us, Uncle," Frodo said, adjusting the straps of his pack. Bell had loaded him with food enough for ten hobbits, and each of them five feet tall by the weight of it.

Bilbo laughed. "Indeed, my boy, you're right and I shouldn't grumble. There's not a better looked-after hobbit in Hobbiton than we two." He ruffled Frodo's hair and Frodo grinned.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They walked all the rest of that day, stopping briefly for a ‘snack‘ that made a considerable dent in their supplies. They napped for a bit under a tree, and then went on at a good pace until the light was fading in the sky and the fireflies appeared. The heat-haze of late afternoon was settling on the horizon, and crickets were beginning to call from their hidden places in the grass. Bilbo and Frodo veered off the road for a good long way, until they crossed a small stream, then came to a clearing bordered by tall oaks. Bilbo dropped his pack off his back with a grunt and a sigh of relief; it was still heavy, and he wasn't as young as he used to be, in spite of his appearance. "This looks like a likely spot," Bilbo said, standing with his hands on his hips and looking at the sky. "No clouds, dark of the moon, just as Master Elrond said. Yes, this should do nicely.”

Frodo looked around, filled with curiosity. There seemed to be nothing special about their location. It was just a nice meadow in the middle of nowhere in particular, not very far off the road. If it weren't for the thick trees, he imagined he might even be able to see the roofs of all the little houses and holes in Hobbiton. Strangely enough, there seemed to be almost a beaten track, a flat, pressed place through the long grass, as though many feet had walked there. "Are we going to meet someone?" Frodo asked.

Bilbo pursed his lips. "Oh, possibly."

Frodo laughed and threw himself on his uncle, hugging him fiercely and then pounding him with his small fists. "I have the cruelest uncle in the Shire!"

Bilbo laughed helplessly until he fell over backwards. "Have mercy on an old hobbit! Have a little more patience! It's coming, I promise you. I could tell you a story while we wait; would that help?"

Frodo pursed his lips in eerie imitation of his uncle. "Oh, possibly."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next few hours were taken up with gathering wood, arranging their bedrolls and preparing another meal, and the slow enjoyment of eating it. Then as the fire burned down to coals they stacked the plates and utensils, (deciding in true bachelor fashion to leave the washing-up for the next day,) and Bilbo settled back with his pipe. (For his next birthday, Bilbo would see that Frodo had a pipe of his own, but for now he had not yet taken up the habit.) Frodo put his head on his pack and laced his hands over his chest, and watched the stars come out, and Bilbo told one short tale after another: Bits of his own long-ago adventures, mostly, but also bits of Elvish history, and what he knew of Men. Frodo felt tired, and it was getting very hard to keep his eyes open. He yawned hugely. Suddenly, right over his head there swiftly passed a streak of white fire.

Frodo sat up and cried out, "Bilbo, look there! And there!" The sky seemed filled with falling lights that flared and went out, some like streaks of chalk on black velvet, some leaving for an instant a trace of apple green or red.

"Master Elrond was right," Bilbo murmured. "It is magnificent."

"Is this the surprise?"

"Well, part of it," Bilbo said hesitantly. "And how do you like it?"

"It's wonderful!" Frodo said. He had seen falling stars, but never so many and so bright, and often it was only a smeary glimpse through a window of Brandy Hall before he was hurried off to bed. Now he was swiveling his head, eyes wide with wonder, trying to see every corner of the sky at once. “However did you do it?"

Bilbo laughed and felt very pleased. "Oh, heavens, I had nothing to with it, nor Master Elrond either. Even an Elf Lord can't command the stars to fall. It's just a little thing that happens every year about this time; Tears of the Valar, the Elves call it, or just Star-Fall for plain folks. Any hobbit may see it if he is inclined to look, but most respectable hobbits are sound asleep in their beds by this hour." Bilbo's eyes twinkled as he leaned over and patted Frodo's knee. "But lucky for us, I gave up on respectability years ago. Far too much work."

"Thank you so much for this," Frodo said, and blushed a little. "It is so kind of you to show it to me, especially after what happened this morning. No one has ever gone to this much trouble to give me a gift before."

Bilbo's heart hurt a little. No doubt Saradoc had done the best he could by the boy, but still, who knew how many forgotten birthdays had gone by in his short life, lost as he was in the bustle of Brandy Hall? A regular rabbit warren that place was, as he well knew, and how easy for a quiet hobbit-lad with nothing and no one to call his own to simply fade into the background. He was like a star behind clouds there, his brightness hidden. Not any more, Bilbo vowed, and felt tears sting his eyes. By heavens, he's my lad now, and I'll help him shine.

Bilbo sighed deeply and wiped his face on his sleeve. He was sitting very close, and Frodo felt the movement in the dark. "Are you all right, uncle?"

"Yes, yes," Bilbo said. "Quite all right. Just a bit of dust in my eyes. The wind is rising."

They fell silent for a while as the wind came up and rustled the grass. Bilbo leaned back on his elbows and crossed his legs at the ankles. Frodo sat firmly upright to keep himself awake, but in spite of that, his eyelids drooped. There was a sweet smell on the air, the night wind felt cool on his face, and he seemed to hear a whisper of song. His head nodded, and when he looked up again there was a glow at the edge of the trees, like a star fallen to earth. He blinked and rubbed his eyes hard, then nudged Bilbo with his elbow.

Bilbo was not asleep. "Ah, so they have come as I'd hoped they would."

The light grew and grew, a shimmering in the dark, and the song swelled, and Frodo seemed to hear in it the sound of the sea and gulls calling across a gray sky. Tall Elves were walking out of the wood, dressed in green and gold, with fair Ladies in silver and white on horses beside them, and the light they made was so bright they cast shadows on the ground, and it seemed the stars themselves were singing.

A Elbereth Gilthoniel,

silivren penna miriel

o menel aglar elenath!

Na-chaerad palan-diriel

o galadhremmin ennorath,

Fanuilos, le linnathon

nef aear, si nef aearon!

Frodo rolled to his knees and crouched in the grass like a frightened rabbit. He had known for a long time that his uncle had dealings with strange folk such as Dwarves and Elves. It was a subject of much rumor and gossip at Brandy Hall, and he had often secretly wished that he might meet an Elf or two; but now that the moment was at hand his courage had deserted him. Beautiful and terrible the Elves were, tall and fair, like kings and queens out of legend, and he had never in his life felt so humbled, rustic, and small. He almost hoped that Bilbo would keep silent and let them pass by, but when the Elves had come within the sound of his voice Bilbo stood up and called out, "Good evening, fair people!"

To his astonishment, the Elf at the head of the column raised a hand to halt the others. He was very tall and his hair was dark and woven through with little bells. He was armed with a bow and on the belt at his waist he wore an ox horn bound with silver. He put his hand over his heart and gave a small bow. "I am Celebrom. Master Elrond told me that I might meet you if I passed this way to the Havens. Are you the Bilbo Baggins, the halfling of famous name? It has been long since you were at Imladris, but you are well remembered."

"One and the same," Bilbo said, bowing low. “Quite a bit older now, and only somewhat wiser! At your service. And this young fellow-" (Here he reached down and pulled a trembling Frodo to his feet.) "This is my nephew and heir, Frodo Baggins."

Frodo suddenly remembered his manners. "At your service!" he squeaked, and bowed so deeply he nearly fell forward on his nose.

Celebrom laughed gently, a deep and musical sound, like falling water. "Well met, little Elf-friend. It is good to know that the House of Baggins endures; such a line should not die out." He turned to Bilbo. "If it pleases you, my folk and I would rest here in this meadow a while. Although our road has been long it is now drawing to an end, and it would ease our hearts to gaze upon the familiar stars of Middle Earth a little longer before we leave them."

"It would please me very much indeed," Bilbo said. "Stay as long as you like!"

The Elves went to and fro, staking out the horses, setting out mats and cushions in the long grass, and their ladies brought out flasks and plates, fruit, bread, and wine. The Elves then set themselves here and there, and ate and drank. It was really like a hobbit picnic in some hayfield or garden of Hobbiton, Frodo thought, though he was sure there were no hobbits in the shire that would have such a light about them, or could look so proud and beautiful, or move with such grace as these folk. Frodo found a full plate placed before him, and an Elf-maid pressed a cup of clear wine into his hand. Frodo blushed to his toes when she touched his hair and spoke to him in her soft voice before she left him. He wished he knew what she had said, and turned to Bilbo hoping for a translation, but Bilbo was deep in conversation with Celebrom.

"I really must ask Bilbo for lessons in Elvish," Frodo sighed to himself, still feeling the touch of that cool hand, the depth of her sad, bright gaze. But Frodo was a very young hobbit still, with other concerns: His stomach growled hungrily, and he looked to his plate and began to empty it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So the night wore on and the stars fell, and of those Elves that had finished eating or doing whatever small tasks that had come to hand, some rose up and sang together. Frodo sat in wonder, listening. He wished again that he knew their words, for although some songs were short and merry and filled with laughter, most were lengthy and sad and seemed to tell of mournful endings, and bitter partings, and the inevitable passing of all things beautiful and good.

Tears welled up in Frodo’s eyes, and the beauty and sorrow seemed to sink into his heart. Bell Gamgee's worst fear had come true, for her young Master Frodo was lost and enchanted, his head eternally filled with 'fluff': For a love of all things Elvish had awakened in him as he listened to those clear voices, and he would never again be the same sensible hobbit-lad that had marched away from Bag End in the morning.

"Master Bilbo, I fear we have talked too long. Young eyes grow weary," Celebrom said to Bilbo with a smile, putting a hand on his shoulder and giving a nod toward Frodo. "And your heir will soon fall asleep in his plate."

Bilbo looked over to Frodo, who was slouched close by, his pale face pinched with tiredness. As they watched, Frodo’s eyes started to close, his chin dipped down, and he began to lean to one side like a felled tree. The empty plate was slipping and the not-quite-empty cup was canting dangerously toward his lap.

“And here I am all this time, rattling on while he sits here not knowing a word!” Bilbo scolded himself. “Gracious me, Celebrom, I believe we’ve bored the poor lad to sleep.” He took the plate and cup from Frodo’s hands and set them aside, then propped a pillow behind his back. “Here, my boy, you’ve been up quite a bit later than you’re used to. Let’s get you tucked in.”

Bilbo gave Frodo a gentle push and he fell back onto the pillow, already half in his dreams. Frodo had the feeling that the pillow was only a small boat on a vast ocean with an enormous, dark sky overhead, and he tightened his grip on it as the green grass rose and fell around him like great waves. The sweet sound of Elvish voices came to him over the water. He was a little afraid, but he could feel Bilbo's warm hand. Even if he drifted away Bilbo was with him, and it was all right. They would go together.

Bilbo pulled a blanket over him and gently brushed the brown curls out of his eyes. Frodo was smudged and dusty and there was chaff in his hair, but there was a sweet look of peace in his face, and he smiled in his sleep. "Dear boy, my best lad, you've had a long day,” Bilbo whispered. “Go ahead and rest, and don’t worry about missing anything. They'll go on singing all night, you know. Sleep well."

****************TBC

What I know about Sindarin could be put in a thimble and still have plenty of room left over. The translation of Celebrom, if I got it right, is Silverhorn. (Or more correctly, the *sound* of a silver horn, which is as close as I could get to what I meant. O Scholars of Elvish, if I'm wrong about this, please don't hesitate to correct me.)