HOLDING BACK THE FLOOD

Chapter 18: Thanksgiving

Frodo looked with delight upon the many fair faces that were gathered together; the golden firelight played upon them and shimmered in their hair.  ‘Many Meetings’, The Fellowship of the Ring

“I hate to wake them,” Pippin said, gazing at the bed.

“We have to,” Merry said firmly.  “If they come down for the feast late, and Frodo only finds leftovers, Sam’ll have our heads.”

“So will I,” came an amused voice.   A hand emerged from the mound of blankets, then Frodo's tousled head.  He nudged another blanket-covered shape with his foot.  “Are you up?”

“Mm hm,” Sam murmured.  There was a gasp.  “I’m sorry, Mr. Frodo, I must have fallen asleep!”  Sam leaped up in a panic, then winced.

“Of course you fell asleep, Sam; that's what naps are for.  And you need to stop sitting up so quickly,” Frodo admonished.  He yawned and stretched, then carefully slid down to the floor.  “Neither of us is perfectly well yet.”

Pippin ran to the corner of the room where Bilbo’s walking stick was propped up, and brought it to Frodo.

“Thank you, Pip.  Is there time for a bath?” Frodo asked hopefully.

“We knew you’d ask that,” Merry said.  “Would we wake you at the last minute?”

“We’d best hurry, though,” Pippin said, helping Sam down.  “I wonder what's for supper?”

“Whatever it is, it will be delicious,” Frodo said confidently.  “Bilbo was right about the food here, wasn't he?  And besides, he’s taught them everything he knows by now.”

When the bells rang for supper, the four hobbits, fresh from their baths and wearing new garments, walked together down the stairs.  Frodo insisted on supporting Sam’s arm (and was supported in turn), with Pippin on one side of them and Merry on the other.  As they reached the lower level, the murmur of voices they had been hearing, which they now realized was coming from the dining hall, grew quite loud.

“It sounds like the whole Shire's in there!” Sam said, a bit awed.  “Remember that feast last month, Mr. Frodo?  There were plenty of folks, but this sounds like a lot more.”

“I remember,” Frodo said softly.  “I'm surprised there had even been time to plan that feast; no one knew when I would wake, after all.”

Or if you would wake, Merry thought to himself, exchanging a glance with Pippin.  “Come on, let's get in there,” he said heartily.

Arwen occasionally enjoyed exercising her prerogative as mistress of Rivendell, and this night every aspect of the feast had been planned by her.  As the hobbits entered the hall, they looked around in wonder.  Dozens of candelabra lit the room, and bright autumn leaves of gold, orange, and red were scattered on the tablecloths and along the floor.  Vases and bowls were filled with crystals that she had asked Gimli to retrieve from the cavern and the banks of the new river.  They glittered and sparkled in the candlelight.  A great many Elves, some of whom the hobbits had not yet met, stood or sat in merry groups sampling nuts, fruit, and sweetmeats from a table decorated with flowers.  Each fair face seemed to radiate a gentle light of its own.  Round tables were arranged about the room, each set with gleaming white plates and silver utensils.  At each place there was a filled goblet of golden wine, and a small basket of freshly-baked loaves covered with a cloth.

Sam saw Bilbo beckoning to them from a table near the hearth, and he steered the other hobbits in that direction.  Chairs for the hobbits had been piled high with cushions, and Merry and Pippin helped Sam and Frodo settle comfortably next to Bilbo before claiming their own places and sniffing the air with anticipation.  When Gimli arrived, he joined the hobbits at their table, and Boromir, looking a bit hesitant, smiled gratefully as Pippin waved him over, as well.

“You never told us about your patrol, Boromir,” Merry said, sampling the wine.

“I've hardly had time!” Boromir chuckled.

“Did you find anything?” Frodo asked curiously.  “You went north, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Boromir said.  “I regret to report that the trails and passes north of Rivendell are unsafe for travel.  I hope your way home does not take you in that direction.”

“Oh, we’re not going home right away,” Pippin said, looking at Merry meaningfully.

“Why is it unsafe, sir?” Sam asked.

“Wolves,” Boromir said gravely.  “On each patrol, we encountered fierce packs of them.  If anyone wishes to travel that way, a mighty company of hunters will need to accompany them.”

Gimli’s eyes sparkled for a moment, as his hand itched to use his axe for something other than helping increase Rivendell's supply of stacked firewood for winter, but he could not think of going home… not yet.  He had taken his request to join the Ring-bearer’s company to Elrond, and had been approved.  The next months were going to be quite interesting indeed.

“Oh look,” Frodo said happily, discovering a loaf of warm pumpkin bread in his basket.  “I was hoping there would be more of this soon.  It’s nearly as good as yours, Bilbo.”

Sam and Pippin simultaneously pushed small dishes of butter towards Frodo’s plate, making them all laugh.

“There’s Mr. Legolas,” Sam said, pointing to the entrance.

As Legolas entered the hall, supported by Lindir, he was surprised at the many voices that called out to him.  Gimli had not been shy about letting the Elves hear every detail of what he viewed as a selfless act in protecting Sam from certain death.  Sam looked up eagerly as Legolas came towards them, and was delighted when the Wood-elf asked if he might occupy the last seat at their table, between Sam and Gimli.  Lindir brought over a small stool which he slid under the table so that Legolas could prop up his injured leg.

“I see that you have retrieved your belt, Master Dwarf,” Legolas said, sitting as comfortably as possible.

“I found it today in the meadow, among some debris that had been pushed out by the waters.” Gimli replied.

“Mr. Gimli,” Sam asked, “did you find the other basket?”

“I am sorry, Sam, but it is gone without a trace,” Gimli said.  “Master Elf, this young hobbit was eager to get your opinion about certain flowers he had been gathering when the rather unfortunate incident occurred.”

“Is that why the basket you gave me was so light?” Merry asked Sam.  “There were flowers in it?  I must have left it in the cave.  Sorry, Sam; it probably got smashed to bits in the flood.”

“No matter,” Legolas said kindly.  “As soon as the healers deem all of us capable of walking that far, we will return to where Sam found his blooms.”

“That would be wonderful,” Sam beamed.

“After all,” Legolas said casually, “we really should inspect Master Dwarf’s bridge.  I am certain it is sturdy enough, but Elves require a certain level of--”

“Inspect!” Gimli spluttered.  “Are you questioning the beauty of Dwarf-made craft?  Is your education so deficient?”

“Are you insulting my education?” Legolas demanded.  “I have had the finest tutors in Middle-earth.”

“He never had his knuckles rapped by Aunt Amaranth,” Frodo whispered to Merry.

“Ask your so-called tutors about the Nauglamír,” Gimli said icily.  “Then I will hear your apology.”

“It was King Thingol who supervised its remaking.”

“Speak not of he who flung such insults at my forebears as should never have been spoken!”

“Dare you speak of this in the House of Elrond?  It was his own mother who bore the--”

“Shouldn't we do something?” Merry whispered frantically to Frodo.  “They look like they’re about to do battle.”

“It’s all right, Mr. Merry,” Sam said confidently.  “I think they were doing this in the cave, too.  They’re not really angry, they’re just… well, that’s how they talk to each other sometimes.”

“Are you sure?” Pippin asked doubtfully.  “Gimli looks ready to chop someone’s head off.”

“I’m sure,” Sam said cheerfully.  “Mr. Bilbo, look here!  Cranberry muffins!”

Elrond, Arwen, Aragorn, Erestor, Lindir, Glorfindel, Eriniel, and Gandalf were seated together at the main table, and the wild arm-waving and icy glares of Gimli and Legolas were causing Glorfindel some concern.

“Are you certain about your decision?” he asked Elrond.  “How will the Ring-bearer travel in secrecy with those two in the Company?”

“I am certain,” Elrond said firmly.  “Their hearts are true, and both realize the gravity of that for which they have volunteered.”

“Ada,” Aragorn said from his seat between Arwen and Gandalf, “I have been meaning to talk with you about Pippin and Merry.  Their hearts are also true, and Frodo values them highly.  They do not wish to be parted from him.”

Elrond shook his head.  “I cannot allow it,” he said gravely.  “They must return to the Shire.”

Aragorn was about to speak further, when Gandalf caught his eye and shook his head.  “This is not the time,” he murmured.  “Wait.”

Finally all were seated, and everyone looked expectantly in Elrond's direction... but it was Arwen who stood first to greet their guests.  She  wore gems in her hair, and a gown of green banded with gold.  When she arose, holding a candle, the hall quieted instantly.  She looked so beautiful that Pippin’s butter knife would have dropped to his plate with a clatter, had Merry not hastily caught it in midair.

“One month ago,” Arwen spoke, “we feasted the recovery of an Elf-friend who had been gravely wounded in confrontation with the Enemy.”  She nodded to Frodo, and Bilbo put an arm about his nephew.  “Tonight we once again rejoice in his recovery, and much more.”  Each table held a glass bowl filled with a clear oil from which several wicks protruded.  She touched the flame of her candle to the wick in the bowl in front of her before passing the candle to Aragorn, and he to Gandalf.  As the candle passed around the room, the bowls of oil at each table sprang to light in different colors – gold, white, blue, or rose.  Frodo looked up at Gandalf, suspecting the wizard’s involvement, and the wizard winked at him.  Finally, when the room was blazing with light, the candle came back around to Arwen.

“Friendships grow, bonds strengthen, and hearts grow in resolve.  Hope remains,” Arwen said quiely.  She sat down, and under the table Aragorn took her hand.  He would leave on patrol again at dawn.

Elrond now rose to his feet, looking regal in robes of blue and silver.

“This valley has been a refuge for millennia,” the Elf-lord said gravely, “and although times darken and the Enemy’s subtleties grow, a refuge it remains.  These past days have been full of uncertainty, but the combined efforts of all in this room have restored Imladris to a place of peace.”  He picked up his goblet.  “To those who labored unceasingly to free those trapped in the darkness, I thank you.  To those who serve through healing, I thank you.  To each who daily gift this House with those things which contribute to its hospitality – cooking, cleaning, weaving, gardens, orchards, carpentry, lore, music, crafts, and husbandry – I thank you.  To those who patrol our borders and bear messages near and far, rarely home but always in our thoughts, I thank you.”  He then turned his gaze to two Elves who were startled to be singled out.  “And to those who must often labor in silence and secret, I thank you.”  The smiths bowed their heads for a moment.  Of the Morgul shard Glorfindel had brought them, which they melted in their hottest flame, they had spoken to no one, and would not until given leave.

Elrond raised his goblet and drank, and everyone did the same.

“Let the feast begin!” Erestor cried out in a glad voice, and the hall suddenly echoed with joyful laughter and talk.

“That was a proper speech,” Merry said with satisfaction.

“It was,” Pippin agreed.  “Long enough to satisfy, but short enough so the food doesn’t get cold.”

“Mr. Frodo,” Sam whispered, “look over there!”  He motioned to several unattended barrels.  “This is very good wine and all, but--”

“Hmmm,” Gimli said thoughtfully.  “Someone should make sure those casks are opened correctly.  If you will excuse me for a moment…”

Soon the ale was flowing as freely as the wine, and servers proudly brought in platters of roasted meats, baked hams, fish, savory sauces, mixed greens, tender yams, honey cakes, and custards.  The hobbits were delighted to be served mouth-watering mushroom dishes, and bowls of warm, chunky applesauce sprinkled with cinnamon -- a sweet spice from the south rarely available in the Shire. 

As the hobbits passed around the bowls and platters, Gimli’s attention was temporarily diverted by a rose-colored crystal in a bowl near him.  He ran a gentle finger along its smooth facets, and whispered something in his own tongue.  Legolas watched him for a moment.

“Let us call a truce, Master Dwarf,” he said.  “We can at least agree that all aspects of nature are worthy of our regard.  As I reverence trees, you reverence stone.  Each, in its own way, is conscious; each is a part of Arda’s song.”

“Agreed,” Gimli said.  “Here, laddie, you take this,” he said generously, handing Legolas the crystal.  “Perhaps you will grow to appreciate it.”  Legolas looked doubtfully at the bit of rock in his hand.

The feast was lively, with enough food to satisfy hobbits and enough song to satisfy elves.  Laughter and tales flew back and forth, and even Gimli and Boromir were included in the toasts.  At last, feeling full and contented, the hobbits dispersed to express their appreciation to the chefs and bakers, and to wander about the hall for some visiting.  Frodo made his way to the main table, and all who watched him pass were happy to see their small friend looking so well.  After paying his respects to Lady Arwen, and once again thanking Lindir and Eriniel for all they did to help Sam, he turned to Aragorn.

“I’m glad you could be here this time,” Frodo teased, referring to the previous month's feast.

“So am I,” the Ranger said fervently, and Arwen pressed his hand.

“Come back safely,” Frodo said, more seriously, and Aragorn nodded.

Frodo finally made his way to Elrond's chair.

“I’ve been wanting to thank you for everything you did,” he said to the Master of Rivendell, his eyes shining with gratitude.  “I know you were ill, and also why.  I’m overjoyed to see you well again.”

“Thank you, Frodo.” Elrond said.  “And I am overjoyed that you and Samwise are recovering so quickly.  It is my hope that nothing else disturbs your stay here.”

“Everything's fine at present,” Frodo said, winking at Gandalf.  “That’s all anyone can promise, after all.”  He bowed, then went to join Bilbo, who was sitting alone by the hearth and scribbling on a piece of parchment.

“More poetry?” Frodo asked, settling down beside him.

“Of course!” Bilbo grinned.  He gazed fondly at his nephew.  “Having you here is wonderful, my lad.  I hope you don’t have to leave too soon.”

“That’s up to Master Elrond,” Frodo said quietly.  He stared into the fire.  “I wonder how far south that Black Rider is now.”

“Far, far away,” Bilbo said encouragingly.   “Elrond will never let you leave until he knows the way is safe for you.”

“Safe?” Frodo asked ruefully.

“Well, as safe as a Baggins can be,” Bilbo said lightly.  He looked up, and noticed Arwen and Aragorn talking together, their heads nearly touching.  His heart swelled with joy at the sight.  “Lucky he who takes this wife,” he murmured.

“Lucky who?” Frodo said, distracted by the sight of servers bearing large, frosted cakes and a variety of pies into the hall.

“Oh, nothing.” Bilbo smiled to himself, and once again took up the parchment.  “I’ll tell you all about it someday.”

** TBC **