In the House of Elrond Half-Elven

Bilbo Baggins sat by the fire in his old comfy chair in his snug little room in the Last Homely House. He chuckled a bit at the name. “Hardly the last such place east of the sea. Old Elrond was putting on airs a bit I think. I’ve heard there are a good many homely dwellings to the east of Imladris.”

He released a heartfelt sigh as he gazed into the fire. He thought of places he had been and places he had only heard of. Places near and places far. Places his lad had wandered off to; he and Sam and the rascals. He chuckled softly as he thought about the four of them. They had wandered far afield, those lads, and would soon be here, if the talk going around the large dwelling was correct. First in his head then, without realizing he was doing so, out loud, Bilbo began to sing.

“I sit beside the fire and think
of all that I have seen,
of meadow-flowers and butterflies
in summers that have been;

Of yellow leaves and gossamer
in autumns that there were,
with morning mist and silver sun
and wind upon my hair.

I sit beside the fire and think
of how the world will be
when winter comes without a spring
that I shall ever see.

For still there are so many things
that I have never seen:
in every wood in every spring
there is a different green.

I sit beside the fire and think
of people long ago,
and people who will see a world
that I shall never know.

But all the while I sit and think
of times there were before,
I listen for returning feet
and voices at the door.”*

He dozed off as the last line left his lips. In his dream he seemed to hear what he had just sung about and suddenly had that queer feeling one gets when being stared at. He opened his eyes to see his four lads standing about in front of his chair, looking lovingly down at him.

“Hullo, hullo!” he said. “So you’ve come back? And tomorrow’s my birthday, too. How clever of you! Do you know, I shall be one hundred and twenty-nine? And in one year more, if I am spared, I shall equal the Old Took. I should like to beat him; but we shall see.”**

“Yes, we shall, and I’m certain you shall indeed equal and pass him, Cousin Bilbo!” Pippin enthused, a big smile brightening his face.

Bilbo cocked his head to one side and laughed. “The Tooks will be after you for a traitor, Pip lad. Speaking such a heresy!”

“Pippin has learned a lot on our journey, Uncle,” Frodo said as he bent to hug the old hobbit. “He knows the Bagginses are the better hobbits.”

“At least these two Bagginses!” Pippin and Merry said in unison, and they all laughed.

“What’s this?” Bilbo asked after catching his breath and finally taking a good look at his nephew and the others. “You all look as though you just got off of the road.”

“We did, Mr. Bilbo,” Sam replied. “Seein’ you was more important to us all than takin’ time to freshen up.”

“Tsk, tsk!” Bilbo clucked his tongue at them. “Off you all go and get yourselves set to rights and I’ll ring for some refreshments for when you come back to my room.”

The four didn’t move, so Bilbo swept his hands at them as though to sweep them out of the room. “Quit standing there staring at me as though you have never seen and old, crotchety hobbit before. Off with you all! You are dusty and smelly and not at all in the proper condition to be paying a social call. What would Dora say?” He tried to sound stern, but his eyes twinkled and a grin tugged hard at the corners of his lips. “Just don’t fall asleep in your baths and forget to come back.”

“We won’t!” they all replied and jostled each other on their way out of the door.

Bilbo did manage to ring the bell and give his request for food and drink for himself and four other hobbits before he himself dozed off. The lads had to wake him up to dine with them when they returned to his room, but he did stay awake to eat with them. The old hobbit said nothing, but he did notice that they were all a bit different. There was a depth even to their gaiety, and a hint at times of . . . something Bilbo could not quite put his finger on. They had changed. And Pippin, he noticed, spoke a bit more slowly and his attention wandered from time to time as his own was wont to do, though not in quite the same way.

“Ah well,” he thought. “There will be time enough to find things out.”

Bilbo’s, and Frodo’s for that matter, birthday dinner was held during the next day’s noon meal time as the old hobbit wasn’t as alert in the evenings. It was a grand affair, being a combination of the celebration of the birthdays and a welcome home for Lord Elrond and the others who had gone with him to Minas Tirith. The finest of Elven and Hobbit fare was served with special attention paid to providing the favorite dishes of the guests of honor.

During the entertainment after the meal, Bilbo was having difficulties with staying awake. It irritated him that he would doze off so easily, and that was the main reason he spent so much time in his room. However, he sat up straighter and made a concerted effort at staying awake when Elladan and Pippin rose to stand together before the head table as two servants set two stools behind them.

“Elladan has been teaching me to play the harp, Cousin Bilbo,” Pippin announced in his high, clear voice. “And we decided we would like to sing and play a song for you and Frodo for your birthdays.”

Bilbo’s eyes widened for a moment and in his head he pictured a small Hobbit lad playing a very loud, raucous fiddle. Then he heard Frodo, who was sitting beside him, chuckle. He looked at his nephew.

“I know what you are thinking about, Uncle Bilbo, but don’t worry. He already knows how to play it.”

Bilbo smiled as he sighed with relief.

The two musicians took their seats, looked at each other, nodding slightly to set the beat, then began a beautiful ballad. The two harps and two voices wove in and out of each other with only the different pitches and timbres of the voices and instruments distinguishing one from the other. Elladan took the lower notes with a voice as rich and warm as a mid-summer’s day. His harp flowed languidly along like a slow summer river. Pippin’s higher tones added a brightness like the greens of spring time; his harp flitting about like a warbler in full voice.

Until it simply stopped. For a measure, the Elf sang and played alone, then he too quit. The room was heavy with quietness.

Bilbo had been starting to doze when the silence jerked him to his senses. He gazed at the pair sitting before him. Elladan simply sat there, patiently looking at Pippin. Pippin was staring strangely off into the distance. His left hand had traveled upwards to toy with his scarf, his head tipped to one side and he seemed to be muttering to himself. This lasted for what seemed a very long time, leaving Bilbo increasingly confused as no one made a move to help the lad except the big golden dog that went everywhere Pippin went. Sunshine had walked out to her small master and now sat at his side leaning against his left leg.

With a slight startle Pippin’s head straightened up. He played a few wobbly notes, then picked up with the song where it had stopped; Elladan did the same. When they finished, they stood, acknowledged the applause of their audience, then bowed to the guests of honor.

Taking a cue from everyone else at the head table, Bilbo acted as though nothing strange had occurred.

“A beautiful tune, my friends!” He called to them as he applauded.

“Thank you for your generous response,” Elladan said with a smile and a nod, first to the elderly hobbit and then to his Father. “We are glad that our offering pleased you all.” He turned to Pippin, who was also smiling, although he looked somewhat tired, and quietly added, “Will you come with me to put the harps away?”

The youngster nodded and they left the hall with Sunshine staying very close to Pippin’s side.

Bilbo turned to his nephew, a look of concern mixed with anger in his eyes. “What was all that about, Frodo? I’ve the feeling there was a good deal more to your adventures than you have told me thus far.”

Frodo felt the red of embarrassment creep up his neck and onto his face. “Yes, Uncle. Yes there is more, but . . .” Frodo nodded toward the open floor where a small group of Elven dancers were getting into position, “I think there is a little more entertainment planned. I promise we will talk of it with you later.” He gently patted the old hobbit’s hand. “Don’t be worried for Pippin. He will be just fine.”

Bilbo was not really content with that answer, but let it go for the moment and began to watch the dancers. However, while watching the graceful elven movements he quickly fell asleep and was carried to his room when the dancers finished. It wasn’t until later that evening that Frodo and the others, Pippin included, were able to tell him about some of the less pleasant moments from the Quest. Merry and Pippin told of Boromir’s death, of their capture (without the nastier details), and of their parting after the incident with the palantir. Bilbo commented that their account helped him fill in more of the gaps in what had happened with “poor deluded Saruman”.

Frodo and Sam told of meeting up with Gollum, the struggle through the Emyn Muil and the Dead Marshes, and a little about the journey to the Morgul Vale.

It took a long while, in fact they had had to pick the conversation up again the next morning, as Bilbo kept dozing off; something which annoyed him greatly.

“Most of the time it is no bother at all, seeing as I spend much of my day here in my room with my books and thoughts. But it is the most irksome thing when I do wish to converse with someone,” he sighed. “Here it is past elevenses and I still don’t know what happened to young Peregrin here.”

“We’ll simply jump ahead then, shall we?” Pippin stated more than asked. “It was decided to march off to the Black Gate, as a distraction you see, in hopes that it would help Frodo. Merry was hurt and could not go, so I went as a soldier of Gondor and to represent the Shire. This horribly nasty person had come out of the Gate and told us . . .”

Pippin paused and looked at Frodo and the others, unsure of what he should say at this point in the tale. Frodo gave him a small nod, which Pippin returned before taking a deep breath and continuing.

“He had the mithril shirt and some other of Frodo’s things and he said that Frodo had been . . . had been . . .”

“That I had been taken and killed,” Frodo finished to help the lad out.

Bilbo’s eyes widened. His right hand rose to his chest and started to gently massage where his heart was pounding within him. He stared long at his beloved heir, then slowly at the other lads. His had been no easy adventure. Theirs had been so much worse. When his gaze settled on Pippin, the lad continued.

“Yes, he said that, and when we formed lines to fight, I put myself in the front. A troll came and over powered a friend of mine who was next to me, then stooped to kill him. The man has a son, and they are my friends, so I stabbed the troll to keep it from killing Beregond.” A wry grin came to Pippin’s face. “All well and good, right thing to do and all that, but I really hadn’t expected to kill the beast. I was so surprised when it started to fall that I forgot to get out of the way. It landed on top of me and smashed me beneath itself.”

Pippin held up his right hand, wiggling his good fingers and thumb while his ring and little fingers stayed curled. “Two of my fingers don’t work at all. I have a bad knee and I have the falling sickness from going too long with barely enough breath to keep me alive. Other than that, I’m really quite well.”

It had all come out in a rush and seemed to hang in the air.

Bilbo nodded sagely. “That explains a good deal.” He paused to yawn. “It appears you all went through some terrible things.” Bilbo sighed quietly as he sadly looked at each of the lads. They all had changed, he could see it in their eyes. He wondered what else those eyes had seen, what other things they did not want to bother him with. When he looked into Pippin’s eyes he saw the lad was gazing into the distance again. Bilbo then glanced at Frodo, who gave him a sad smile.

“He is strong, Uncle.”

“That he is,” Bilbo murmured. “All of you are,” he added, before another yawn escaped him. Exausted from all he had heard, he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

The others sat in silence for a few moments.

“Do you think he really understands?” Pippin softly asked.

Frodo nodded. “Yes. Yes I think more than we expect him to. But I do think he no longer wishes to dwell on harsh things, or sad things. If you recall, the only things that have seemed to stir him, or keep him awake,” Frodo added with a chuckle as he looked fondly at Bilbo, “were when we spoke of Lorien, the honors that were given to us, and Strider’s coronation and wedding. He keeps fallling asleep through the rest of our talk.”

“I’m thinkin’ you’re right, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said. He had easily slipped back into the formal address with being around Mr. Bilbo. “I’m thinkin’ he knows there was bad times but he would rather hear of the wonders we’ve seen.”

Merry stood up and stretched then went over to Bilbo to lay a lap robe over his elderly cousin’s legs. “Well, I’m in need of a walk about the gardens. Anyone else want to come along?”

Sam and Pippin rose to follow but Frodo waved them off.

“I think I’ll sit here and nap a bit myself,” he said through a yawn. He was asleep almost before the door closed after them.

For several days after that, the subject of the Quest and the War were not discussed. The peace of Imladris was all around them all, begging to be enjoyed. The hearts of everyone were given more to being filled with relief, joy and gratitude, even though the Elves knew that for them this was the beginning of the end of their time in their beloved Middle-earth. Those concerns would wait for another day, now was the time to appreciate the beauty of the birth of a new age.

Sam loved to spend time in the gardens. He puttered alongside the Elves, learning as well as teaching the ways of plants and those who tend them. There were ways Hobbits had with potatoes and mushrooms that the Elves did not know and they were glad to learn new things. But even in that place of beauty and peace, Sam would have sudden stabbing thoughts of his Gaffer and his siblings. Were they well? Whatever would they think when he came riding home? Was Rosie waiting for him, or had she accepted another? He would close his eyes and sigh, reminding himself that he would know the answers soon enough, somehow knowing it was not yet time to leave Rivendell.

Frodo spent nearly all of his time with Bilbo, patiently going over everything the old dear had been writing in his books. In between readings, he would simply sit and watch his Uncle as he snoozed in his chair, thinking his own thoughts about what had been before, what had transpired in the last year, and what was to come for both of them. He had a feeling deep inside his soul that they would not be in Middle-earth much longer, but the manner of their leaving was unclear to him.

Merry spent time with the head herbalist, as well as in the map room; that is when he wasn’t keeping an eye on Pippin. He had to keep reminding himself that the lad couldn’t be in a better, safer, place and that he needn’t be an old mother hen. Yet, he couldn’t shake his feelings of responsibility for his young cousin. He just wasn’t sure of how much he could let the lad go. It had always been an issue, and now, with Pippin’s condition . . . Merry would sigh and return his attention to what the herbalist was showing him.

Pippin was feeling as untroubled as he had in a long while. He was also feeling more troubled than he had in a long while. There was a freedom in Rivendell that was hard to put one’s finger on, a safety - even from the falling sickness. It was as though those things weren’t all that important in the realm of Elrond Half-Elven. Yet, he did have worries and concerns and as he and his healer became closer, some of them rose to the surface of his thoughts, demanding to be discussed.

“And so, the best thing to do after you have one of your ‘seeing’ spells is to insist on time alone.” Elrond was saying to Pippin during one of their talks. They were outside in a garden filled with late blooming plants enjoying the lovely bright autumn sunshine shining out of a deep sapphire blue sky.

“You will need to have quiet in which to recall all you are able to, and to give it thought. Meditate upon the images and sounds of your vision. You may not understand it fully, that is not the point, but you will at least have a surety of what you saw and will be able to recall it later should the events unfold.”

Elrond smiled at the youngster. “You have had some smaller visions, haven’t you? Even before your injuries?”

“Yes,” Pippin replied, feeling suddenly shy. “Yes. Not many, nor often, but yes. I had one of Strider tracking the Orcs when Merry and I were captives. More often, though, it is only a feeling of someone being near to me when I know they are far away, and then only when someone is hurting or in danger.” He looked up at his mentor. “Merry’s mother to be more precise. I . . . I have had those feelings, even as a child, that she was near by when Merry or I were badly hurt or frightened. She is my father’s sister and a very Tookish Took. We even look a great deal alike, she and I. I am thinking that, well . . .”

Pippin paused and looked away. This all was still very strange and awkward for him to talk about. As true as he knew the matter was, it still seemed like just so much nonsense when spoken aloud.

“I think the faerie blood is strong in her too.”

Elrond nodded even though he knew Pippin was looking elsewhere. “Yes. I am sure you are quite correct. Gandalf suggested as much to me, as well as saying that he thinks she suspects the truth of the tale herself and knows she has the gift.” Elrond paused and smiled as Pippin looked up at him. “He also said that Bilbo’s mother was a Took in whom the faerie’s blood flowed, which was why he choose him for the journey with the Dwarves.”

Pippin chuckled at that. “Yes, he wanted the adventurousness of a Took, but not the troublesomeness of a Took, so he sent a Took modified Baggins.”

The two friends laughed together, then Pippin spoke again.

“Will I be able to have children, Elrond?”

The change in topic caught the Elf off guard. “I should think it is obvious that you will. Those with the faerie blood have obviously had offspring. You most certainly shall be able to father children, baring any other . . .”

Elrond stopped in mid-sentence as his eyebrows raised with his sudden understanding. Pippin’s eyebrows also rose as he inclined his head toward his healer in a gesture that said, ‘Exactly’ before a rush of red colored his face and he looked down in embarrassment.

“I shouldn’t have just blurted that out,” he mumbled before continuing a little stronger. “I’m the heir to The Took and Thain of the Shire, and well, although it isn’t like being a king or even an Ernil . . .”

Pippin looked up long enough to share a sly glance and a wry grin with the Elf Lord before once more looking at his nervously entwined fingers as they lay in his lap.

“Not that sort of important, but it is important to the Tooks and the other Hobbits of the Shire. I’d like to be able to comfort my father, if only a little bit. My condition will be hard enough for him to come to grips with, I’m afraid. It will be nice to have something good I can tell him.” The youth looked up again. Hope, fear, pleading and determination mixed together in his green eyes. “So, I will put my question to you again; will I be able to have children?”

“Do you fear passing the falling sickness on to your offspring?”

Pippin blushed more deeply, his discomfort showing in his posture and still fidgeting hands. “Well . . . no. I, eh . . . I think, since it came upon me from an injury that that won’t be an issue.” He looked up quickly. “I am right, aren’t I?”

“Yes, that is correct.”

Pippin nodded and let out the breath he was holding as he looked back at his wringing hands. “It is more . . . eh, that I was wondering about . . . well . . .” He took a deep breath and looked Elrond straight in the eyes. “I’ve not been with a lass, if you take my meaning, but I’ve heard it is rather exhilarating and I know if I get very angry or really excited or really tired out, it can bring on a fit and so I’m worried that I won’t be able to do it.”

The hobbit sort of shrank into himself as his concern now hung in the air between them. His gaze went back to his hands in his lap.

“Not that we hobbits are normally all that shy about talking about such matters, mind you,” he muttered. “But you aren’t exactly another hobbit.”

Pippin did not expect the reply he received.

“Come with me, Pippin,” Elrond said as he stood. “There is an Elf I have been meaning to introduce you to, and I think this is the time to do so.”

Pippin hurried along after his mentor. They went to the building where the weavers worked, going straight to one of the few male Elves who were sitting at the large floor looms.

“May we interrupt you, Findecano?” Elrond enquired as the Elf turned to see who had come up beside his loom.

“Of course, my lord. How may I help you?”

Pippin noticed that the weaver-elf’s Westron was good, but stiff sounding from lack of use.

“This is Peregrin Took,” Elrond said as he placed his hand upon Pippin’s shoulder. “One of the Company of the Ring, as I’m sure you are aware. Pippin, this is Findecano Amandil.”

The Hobbit and Elf nodded to each other.

“I am at your service, Peregrin Took of the Shire,” Findecano said.

“And I and my family are at yours,” Pippin responded.

“Findecano was seriously injured in battle many of this world’s years ago, Pippin,” Elrond said. “As you know we Elves do not become ill in the manner of mortals, but we can suffer injury and be left to deal with it’s effects. Findecano became afflicted with the falling sickness from his injury as you did from yours. He has a lovely wife who he met and married after his injury. They have three children.”

Elrond smiled as he saw looks of understanding passing between the weaver and the small soldier.

“I think you can be of more help to this brave Knight of Gondor, at this time, than I can, Findecano.” With a nod to them both, Elrond left them to become better acquainted.

The two sat together on the bench, one with his feet dangling while the feet of the other worked the bars of his loom. To the gentle rhythmic sounds of weaving a friendship was formed, and Pippin’s concerns were allayed.

Meal times were the only times that Bilbo left his room, always leaving early enough so that, even with the slow pace of his walk, he was always in his seat at his table when the servers appeared with the food. He no longer sat at table with the Elves of Imladris, as he could not clamber up to either sit upon cushions nor into the tall chair that had been made for him when he had first come to dwell in the Last Homely House. He had a table and chair that was Hobbit-height. The table was big enough so that if one or more Big People wished to visit with Bilbo, there was plenty of space for them to sit on the floor and have room for their plate, bowl and cup upon the table, and usually, there were a few Elves taking their meal there. For now, while his kin were there, the extra space at the table was taken up by Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin; all seated in proper Hobbit sized chairs with Hobbit sized plates and silverware.

“I really wish they hadn’t bothered with the what they see as Hobbit sized plates and bowls,” Merry said durning luncheon one day. “The servers could be saved some steps if we used the bigger plates.” A wicked grin grew on his face and he waggled his eyebrows. “I wouldn’t need fourths or fifths if I had the bigger dishes.”

“Hear, hear! Well said, Meriadoc!” Frodo said as he touched his cup to Merry’s. “We really should take that up with Lord Elrond.”

Pippin laughed happily. “‘Twould be like eating off the serving platters at home! Ma never lets me do that.”

“As well she shouldn’t!” retorted Bilbo, an unconvincing look of shock on his face. “Whatever would proper folk think?”

“That her son can eat his way out of a full pantry.” Sam said as though under his breath, but definitely loud enough for them all to hear.

They were all laughing heartily when Pippin felt Sunshine tug at his sleeve. He picked a piece of chicken off of his plate and offered to her on his palm.

“All right, lass. Here you are, but you really should wait, you know. I always save you a treat.”

Sunshine whined and tugged again at his sleeve.

“Really, Sunshine. This is excellent chi . . .”

Pippin suddenly realized that the light in the large dining hall looked too bright and the sounds of conversation around him were like sounds when he would swim under the surface of the Brandywine; all muffled and distorted.

Sunshine had tugged on his sleeve.

She hadn’t nudged his thigh with her nose as she usually did when begging.

Pippin stood up, still feeling as though he was underwater. Slowly, slowly he flowed away from the table. Slowly, slowly he floated to the floor.

He would not remember landing upon its delicately inlaid wooden surface.

To the others, everything happened very quickly. Pippin jerked up from his seat, then ran for three or four strides, taking him out in to the open area of the large room, where he appeared to dive headlong into the floor, twitching and convulsing as he went.

Merry, Frodo and Sam were beside him in an instant, moving as fast as only hobbits can, and Elrond was there mere seconds later. Bilbo sat frozen in place. He hadn’t even begun to react by the time his lads were up and across the floor. Useless! Old and useless! Never before this had he so begrudged getting old. His heart reached out where his arms couldn’t, every ounce of him holding the writhing lad with his loving, worried, thoughts. Bilbo could see Pippin’s face as he thrashed, pink tinged froth upon his youthfully smooth cheeks, whites showing where the lovely green eyes should have been. Finally, the convulsions slowed and, as the small body relaxed, a dark stain marred the front of the lad’s breeches. Elrond wiped the bloodied froth from Pippin’s face while gently brushing the lad’s hair away from his eyes.

Bilbo had heard of such fits, of course. He understood the implications when Pippin said he had the falling sickness, but he had never seen someone having a fit. “The poor dear lad!” he cried out as tears followed the wrinkles in his face, working their way down to his chin. “The poor dear lad,” he repeated more softly and kept repeating as Frodo enveloped him in a hug, rocking him gently as though Bilbo were the young one, not Pippin.

A pallet had been brought. Merry and Sam helped Elrond move Pippin onto it then they followed as two Elves carried him off to his room. Frodo looked up and caught Sam’s eye, but Sam motioned for him to stay with Bilbo as he and Merry followed after Pippin.

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*Poem from “The Fellowship of the Ring”; chapter “The Ring Goes South”

**From “The Return of the King”; chapter “Many Partings”