Note: Selected quotations from “Roast Mutton”, The Hobbit, J.R.R. Tolkien

Chapter XVII: Of Hope and Audacity

When the household dispersed after the evening meal, Elrond retired with Gandalf and the hobbit to the Hall of Fire. As he had expected, the room stood empty, its perpetual fire blazing cheerfully. He led his guests to three seats by the hearth and waited courteously while Gandalf settled himself and Bilbo Baggins climbed into the chair, his bare feet dangling.

‘That does not look very comfortable,’ Elrond said pleasantly, casting about for a stool. He fetched it and crouched to slide it into place. Bilbo watched, wide-eyed, and flushed a little. Elrond looked up and smiled. ‘What is it?’ he asked.

‘I expect you don't see many folk my size,' Bilbo said. 'You’re a very considerate host.’

Elrond raised an eyebrow. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘That is kind of you to say.’ He rose and took his seat, arranging his garments with practiced hands. ‘I regret that I have not had more of an opportunity to spend time with my guests. I hope you will remember your stay in Rivendell favourably regardless.’

‘O, my, yes!’ the hobbit enthused. ‘I had no idea that places like this still existed: a secret valley filled with Elves, a place where all the stories are remembered and treasured. It’s wonderful.’

‘Again, I thank you. I have always endeavoured to make it so,’ Elrond told him. ‘Now it seems you have a story of your own to add to my treasury of lore: I understand you have been patiently awaiting my leisure to hear it.’

The tips of the hobbit’s ears grew red. ‘I appreciate you taking the time,’ he said; ‘though it seems to me that Gandalf would tell it better than I could.’

‘Nonsense,’ grunted the wizard in mild annoyance. ‘You promised to do it, now get on with it.’

‘Well, I... that is... I mean...’ Bilbo blustered in embarrassment.

Elrond shot Gandalf a quelling glance, reigning in his own smile. The hobbit’s discomfiture was oddly endearing. ‘Take a moment to collect your thoughts,’ he said kindly. ‘We shall not interrupt you.’

‘Thank you, thank you I’m sure,’ said Bilbo gratefully. Then he seemed to sink into a sort of reverie, eyes closing as he tried to prepare himself.

In the silence Elrond was suddenly aware of a fourth presence in the room. Circumspectly he glanced over his shoulder, but there was no one to be seen. Instead of rising to investigate he listened critically, and he heard what he had half expected to: a soft sound of carefully controlled breathing, well nigh as quiet as the inhalations of any Elf, but labouring a little on the exhale. It was coming from behind an arras near the door, and the nose through which the sounds issued was a little less than five feet above the floor.

Torn between irritation and amusement at this defiance of his wishes that was not quite disobedience, Elrond looked to see whether Gandalf was equally aware of the observer. The wizard raised his eyebrows and nodded ever so slightly towards the heavy tapestry with its richly coloured depiction of scenes from the ill-starred tale of Turin Turambar. Elrond smiled wryly and inclined his head. There was no way of rousting out the watcher without attracting Bilbo’s attention, and in any case no harm would be done – provided that the hidden spectator had sufficient strength to stand there noiselessly until the tale was finished and the hobbit could be led off to some other diversion.

‘I think I’m quite ready now,’ said Bilbo at last, and when Elrond nodded his assent the hobbit began. ‘Well, we ran into some quite nasty rain on the road, right about where it crosses the river at an old stone bridge. By the time we stopped for the night there wasn’t a dry place anywhere to be found, and no dry wood for kindling, either. It was then that we realized that Gandalf had gone and left us.’ He cast a frown of indignant irritation at the wizard, who snorted into his beard.

‘We were trying to get a fire going in spite of the wet when Balin spotted a light through the trees, and we thought it might look like a fire. There was quite a to-do then, as you can imagine, for you never know what sort of folk you might find so near the mountains: queer, dangerous people – begging your pardon, of course, Master Elrond; I didn’t mean you.’

Elrond inclined his head graciously. At his left, Gandalf had raised his hand to his mouth and appeared to be concealing a broad grin of amusement.

‘The dwarves fell to arguing, and at last one of them said “Well, haven’t we got a burglar with us?”, and the others all agreed that we had... meaning me, of course,’ said Bilbo with a hint of reticence. ‘I wasn’t much pleased to hear that, but what could I do? After all, I had agreed to come along on this expedition, and without Gandalf there to help I didn’t seem to have much choice but to do what they said. So we all crept forward a ways, and Thorin says to me, “Now scuttle off, and come back quick, if all is well. If not, come back if you can! If you can’t, hoot twice like a barn-owl and once like a screech-owl, and we will do what we can.” So on I had to go...’

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Bilbo proved to be an able storyteller indeed. His narrative style was unlike any Elrond had heard before, for he seemed to say whatever popped into his head with no thought for the colourful metaphors of Men or the rich imagery characteristic of Elven harpers, and his words were embellished by personal commentary that proved enlightening as well as amusing. As he recounted how he had come upon the trolls he began to warm into his role, and even began altering his voice for each of the three brigands. More than once he elicited a laugh from his listeners, and each time he felt himself chuckling Elrond could hear muffled noises of mirth issuing from behind the arras by the door. Bilbo, however, did not appear to notice, and he went on to tell of the quarrel and the careful baiting that had kept the trolls arguing until the sunlight claimed them. He described the discovery of the troll-hole, and the fruitless attempts on the part of Gandalf and the dwarves to open it.

‘Then I remembered I had picked up a key in the clearing,’ Bilbo said sheepishly. ‘Sure enough it fit the lock, and in we went. I’ve never smelled anything quite as ghastly as a troll-hole, and I hope I never shall again! It was full of plunder, all cast carelessly about. We took the pots of coins, and we buried them, and of course we took as much of the food as looked fit to eat. And there were swords of all kinds. There were two with hilts encrusted with jewels, and Gandalf and Thorin each took one. They’ve got runes on them, and Gandalf said once we could read those we might be able to find out more about them.’

Elrond looked at Gandalf, head cocked to one side. ‘Runes that you are unable to read?’ he asked.

‘A very old tongue,’ said the wizard. ‘Ancient Telerin, perhaps, or maybe even something older. Letters are your study, my friend, and not mine. I have not go the blade with me, or you might take a look right now. As it is it seems you shall have to wait until tomorrow. In any case, I rather think Thorin would resent his exclusion from such a study: I think his blade and mine are of like make.’

‘There are proverbs about those who claim plundered treasures as their own,’ Elrond said warningly, his eyes glinting with amusement. ‘Have a care, Gandalf the Grey.’ He turned once more towards the hobbit and smiled graciously. ‘Thank you for your tale, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire,’ he said. ‘It was most diverting, and quite educational as well. You handled yourself quite nicely in a difficult situation, and I hope you will be proud to tell that story many times more. You have a talent for weaving a fine tale.’

‘The tale wove itself, really,’ Bilbo said, flushing with pleasure. ‘I only told it as it happened.’

‘Ah, but it is the way that you told it that delighted your listeners,’ said Elrond. ‘A curious event does not always make for an entertaining story: much depends on the teller.’

‘You’d know more about that than I do,’ said the hobbit. ‘No one tells stories like your folk. I’m sorry we have to leave so soon: I’d love to learn more of your songs and your legends.’

‘You cannot linger longer, I fear, but I hope you shall tarry here again someday,’ said Elrond earnestly. ‘Do not forget: my house lies on your homeward road.’

Bilbo’s expression was one of astonishment. ‘Then you think we’ll slay the dragon and find the treasure? Some of the other Elves seem to think we’re all going to die horribly.’

‘I sincerely hope none of my folk had the poor taste to say that,’ Elrond said, trying valiantly to hide his amusement.

‘Well, no, not exactly,’ Bilbo admitted; ‘but they do love telling the dwarves tales of every great dragon that was ever felled by a mighty Elf-lord or a fearless human warrior, and all the destruction they wreaked before they were finally defeated. One of the smiths especially likes the story of that dragon up in the Grey Mountains that the dwarves couldn’t kill.’

‘And you do not find these tales encouraging,’ Elrond said.

‘I suppose they were all slain in the end,’ Bilbo hedged; ‘but it does sound awfully dangerous, don’t you think?’

‘Your road is a perilous one, yes, and whatever the outcome the course by which you will reach it will be hard and treacherous, but I do not think it is hopeless,’ Elrond said, casting a look out of the corner of his eye at Gandalf, who was watching with a smile behind his beard. ‘You may succeed, or you may fail, but I do not think that you set out from here to march to certain death, and it is my fond hope that you will return victorious, to share with me and with my folk the tale of your triumph.’

‘There you have it, Mr Baggins,’ said the wizard. ‘What further assurances could you ask for? Elrond Half-elven himself has blessed the quest and your part in it. Can there be any doubt of success?’

‘There is always doubt,’ Elrond interjected pointedly. ‘One must not ask “is there doubt”, but rather, “is there hope”. Tell me, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, do you think there is hope?’

‘It seems to me there’s always hope while folk are healthy and determined and keep their wits about them,’ the hobbit said, shrugging his shoulders a little.

‘Then you have your answer,’ said Elrond serenely. He rose and moved to stir the fire. ‘Thank you for your tale: you are indeed an able storyteller. It is a skill you ought to hone, for when you return you shall have many stories to share. But for now we should seek out the rest of your party and ensure that they are enjoying themselves. After all, you have but one night more in my house, and I would fain have you take pleasure in your last days here.’

‘I don’t know,’ Bilbo said, yawning as he hopped off the chair. He stretched his small arms enormously. ‘I rather think I’m going to turn in for the night: I don’t suppose we shall get much sleep in the mountains, shall we, Gandalf?’

‘Not the kind of sleep you’ll get in the Last Homely House,’ the wizard warned with a teasing smile. ‘You ought to make the most of it while you can.’

‘Good night, then,’ Bilbo said, holding out his hand. Elrond took it and they shook amicably. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow evening, I hope?’

‘Indeed you shall,’ said Elrond. ‘I am anxious to take a look at your plans, to say nothing of those swords,’ he added with a pointed frown directed at Gandalf.

‘Tomorrow,’ said the wizard, eyes twinkling wickedly. ‘You are not the only one who can play these games, Peredhil.’

‘Good night,’ Bilbo said again. ‘I’ll just be going now, if you’ll both be so kind as to let me slip by.’

Elrond had not realized that he and Gandalf had effectively blocked the hobbit’s route of escape, cornering him with chairs on one side, the fire on another, and two tall robed figures before him. With a soft chuckle, the Elf-lord stepped back, and Bilbo was able to move past.

‘My, how you humour him,’ Gandalf said once the hobbit was gone. He clasped Elrond’s arm appreciatively with one wizened hand. ‘Thank you.’

‘He is a delightful fellow,’ Elrond said earnestly.

‘Yes, he is,’ agreed Gandalf. ‘Unfortunately his fellow adventurers are having difficulty seeing it. Thorin endures his company because it is the price of my aid, but the dwarves do not respect Mr Bilbo Baggins. Not yet.’

‘But you think that they will come to.’

Gandalf nodded. There was a shuffling sound from the other side of the room, and Elrond turned.

‘Come out, young watcher,’ he sang.

The arras was drawn aside, and Estel emerged, a rueful smile on his face. ‘Good evening,’ he said, almost shyly.

Elrond quirked an eyebrow. ‘Is it indeed?’ he asked. ‘Then perhaps you can explain to me how I find myself so grievously disobeyed tonight?’

Estel coloured a little, staring down at his shoes with his hands clasped behind his back. ‘I wanted to see the dwarves,’ he confessed.

‘I see. The dwarves are out beneath the stars, doubtless regaling Glorfindel and the others with tales of imagined triumph and glory. Yet here you stand, like a mole rousted from his hole, where you were neither expected nor invited.’ Elrond struggled to remain stern: he was overjoyed by this proof that Estel’s indomitable will had not been broken by the horrors he had endured. Discipline, however, was of equal importance to audacity, and it came less naturally to the child.

‘I knew you did not want me where I might be seen,’ Estel said; ‘but I heard you talking yesterday about coming here for a tale from one of the guests, and I thought that if I crept down while everyone was at supper I might hide and listen unobserved. I failed,’ he added, his lip curling a little.

‘Not entirely,’ Elrond admitted. ‘You managed to keep your presence from our guest, and that is fortunate. Still, there is the question of your defiance of my clearly expressed wishes.’ He waited for Estel to speak, but the boy appeared to be at a loss for words. Beneath the flush of embarrassment he was rather pale, and he swayed a little on his feet: evidently his recovering strength was not quite equal to the task of standing so long immobile. Elrond sighed. ‘Come and sit down, and we shall discuss it,’ he said.

Estel obeyed gratefully, taking the chair that Bilbo had abandoned and placing his own feet on the stool. His long legs raised his knees quite high in such a position, and he rested his elbows on them, cupping his chin in his hands. ‘I’m sorry, Atarinya,’ he said. ‘I was curious.’

‘You were curious?’ asked Elrond. ‘And now?’

‘Now even more so!’ Estel admitted, eyes igniting with eager fire. ‘Who was that? What manner of creature is he? He is not a dwarf, for he has no beard – or perhaps he is a dwarven child? You call him Baggins, but that does not sound like any dwarf-name I have ever heard. And he has woolly feet!’

‘It seems that although we could not see you, you saw us quite well,’ said Gandalf drolly.

‘Yes,’ Estel said frankly. ‘There is a place on that tapestry where a worn spot on Nienor’s gown was mended. You cannot see it from this side, but the repair was backed with linen instead of wool, and with the firelight behind it the patch is quite translucent. I have sharp eyes, for a mortal,’ he added quietly, making an effort not to sound as if he was boasting.

Gandalf laughed aloud, and Estel sat up straight, looking rather affronted. ‘It seems you do not know your house as well as you think, Elrond Peredhil!’ the wizard chortled. ‘And you, boy, appear to have a particular knack for turning up where you are least expected. I do not envy your guardian the task of seeing you through adolescence.’

So saying he swept from the room, leaving Elrond alone with his son. The Elf-lord turned querying eyes upon Estel, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

‘I am sorry that I disobeyed you, Atarinya,’ Estel said.

‘Yet I think you are not sorry for the act of disobedience itself,’ commented Elrond.

‘No,’ admitted the child; ‘for it was a most diverting tale, and I have never seen a person like Master Baggins before. Is he a dwarf-child?’

‘No, indeed. He is a hobbit, one of the little folk who dwell far to the west, beyond the Old Forest. Their land lies north and west of Sarn Ford, and south of the ruins of Annúminas.’

‘In what was once called Arthedain,’ said Estel, his eyes closed as he recalled the maps that he had drawn and redrawn a hundred times. He then looked avidly at Elrond, ‘But what is his business in Imladris? He will not be of much use in slaying a dragon: why do the dwarves want him with them?’

‘I do not think they especially do,’ admitted Elrond; ‘and I confess that I can see little use for him myself, beyond his unflagging hope and a degree of common sense, but Gandalf is an able judge of mettle, and he believes that the hobbit will be of some help. We cannot always foresee what a person may contribute, but we must never discount an individual’s potential for aid – or for mischief,’ he added with a pointed look at his son.

Estel flushed again. ‘Are you very angry with me, Atarinya?’ he asked.

‘No,’ Elrond admitted. ‘I ought to be, but I am not. I understand your curiosity and I am relieved to see your high spirits remain untainted. If the price of that discovery was this moment of insubordination, then I count it cheap. However, if you defy my wishes again we shall have to see about some form of punitive action. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Quite clear, Atarinya, thank you,’ said Estel gravely.

‘Then the matter is settled. Though if in future you wish to pass unnoticed in Elven company, you shall have to have a greater care about your silence.’ Elrond rose to his feet and held out his hand for the boy to take. ‘Now show me this patch on the back of the arras, that I may seek out the shoddy artist who used inferior materials in its mending.’

An enormous smile illuminated Estel’s face: he knew he was forgiven.