Stories of Arda Home Page
About Us News Resources Login Become a member Help Search
swiss replica watches replica watches uk Replica Rolex DateJust Watches

Trotter  by Dreamflower

 

Chapter Thirty-One: The Last Homely House

I was brought to Rivendell, and given over to Angul, who saw me installed in that same room in which I had recovered so many years earlier. But I was not confined to bed for long. I was soon doing much better, and gave some thought to returning to Two Rivers when I was completely well.

And yet, this time I felt far more at home than I had before. I began to explore the gardens and spend my evenings in the Hall of Fire. There was something about it that was very peaceful, and I think that I lost track of time. I was by this time, eighty-seven years old, a rather respectable age for a hobbit, but no longer young, either. We had word the following Spring that Thorn and Gilraen had a son, whom they had named Aragorn. Thorn sent me a message that perhaps when the child was weaned, he and Gilraen would bring the babe to meet his "Uncle Trotter".

I found myself looking forward to the idea of a visitor, and begged a bit of wood and a knife to whittle a gift. I thought a carved horse might be appreciated by a little boy. I often sat on a bench in the sunshine working on it. I didn't get on very quickly, but then whittling was not my finest skill, either.

One morning, Lord Elrond presented himself to me before breakfast. I had just finished dressing and was planning to go down to the dining hall, when he rapped on my door.

"My friend, I have a surprise for you, if you would care to accompany me?"

I followed him, eaten up with curiosity, down the corridor and down a flight of stairs, the clop-clop of my shoes sounding loud upon the stone flags. We went down another short passage, and he threw open a door at the end and waved me to enter.

I was amazed to see a large and sunny room, filled with an assortment of furnishings: a desk, chairs, tables and shelves, all constructed to hobbit-size. But there were also some bigger chairs as well. To the left of the door, a single step led up through an arched opening, and I could see there a small kitchen, built exactly to hobbit size-- a stove, cupboards, a sink with a pump, a hanging rack filled with pans and pots just the right size. On the opposite side of the room was a door: a round door. Speechless, I gazed up at my host, and he waved his hand to the door. I trotted across the floor and opened the round door, and there was a hobbit's bedroom-- bed, washstand, chair, chest. Another door led to a small water-closet. I gazed around the room, stunned.

I startled when I heard Lord Elrond's voice behind me. "Do you like it? Is there anything we should change?"

There were tears running down my cheeks unchecked. "Oh my," was all I could think of.

He smiled. "I do think that perhaps you like it?"

I nodded enthusiastically.

I'm not sure how long I dwelt in my little rooms, but one night I was wakened by a clamor in the courtyard below. I sprang from my bed, and hobbled as best I could without my shoes, to the window, and threw it open. There were several riders. In the moonlight, I recognized Elladan and Elrohir, who had left weeks before; the others were Rangers, though I could not see their faces-- and there was one rider, cloaked, and carrying a burden. The rider swayed, and several of the Rangers sprang to the mount's side. The hood on the cloak fell back, and I recognized Gilraen, pale as marble. When she handed her burden down to one of the riders, I realized it was a child. Where was Thorn? I saw no sign of him. What were his wife and child doing in Rivendell?

I struggled into my shoes, snatched my dressing gown, and clattered down as quickly as I could to learn the sad news.

Alas, Thorn, the brother of my heart! Slain finally by Orcs, as he very nearly had been all those years before. They say it was an arrow. If only I could have been by his side once more.

They call the little one Estel. But I am getting old, and sometimes I slip, and call him by his father's name. He looks much like his father did when first I met him. He is curious and open-hearted. But he is not so cheerful and mischievous. I think him rather solemn for one so young.

I do not go out of my rooms much anymore. My shoes seem heavier these days, and my feet-- as well as the rest of my bones-- often ache. But that is what it means to be old.

I do not think anyone will ever read this little book. I have written it to bring back to my own mind the days of my life. But if any ever should read it, I hope they know it was a life worth living for all its sorrow, I knew great joy as well. And I daresay, it was an Adventure such as no other hobbit has had before.





<< Back

Next >>

Leave Review
Home     Search     Chapter List