3. Expectations

“Tell me about the Elves, please, Mr. Bilbo.”

All the stories I’d heard about the Elves hadn’t prepared me for the real thing. When I finally met some, here in my very own Shire (though it’s not my own as Gildor told Frodo that night), they’d been more marvelous and magical than I had ever imagined. They were somber too. Their eyes held a weariness I hadn’t understood then, and wouldn’t until the Quest’s end.

What would the Vanyar be like, they who’d made the trek to Valinor before anyone else and never left, who had never known war or sorrow? Would their glory overwhelm me or would they be so much a part of the land I wouldn’t be able to see them for the trees? 

I know now it’s better to go in without expectations. Then you’ll only ever be surprised and never disappointed. “Take things as they come and you’ll never have a worry,” as Gaffer would say.

Only thing I know is I wouldn’t speak the language. I’ve no Quenyan and only a few phrases in Sindarin that wouldn’t be much use; Dwarvish will be even less helpful, especially as I don’t know what it means.

“Are you sure about this, Granddad?” Perty asks between swings while breaking firewood. Perty is Goldilock’s eldest son, known to the Shire as Peregrin II. Goldi’d sent him up here under the guise of cheering me up, though I suspect she wanted him out from under her foot hair also. “There won’t be any hobbits there to keep you company.”

“No, but there’ll be Elves. Elves and elves.” A dreamy quality sneaks into my voice. I’m growing eager, and that’s a fact.

“Tell me about the Elves, Granddad.”

And Lor’, though my heart’s still squeezed from missing Rose, I laugh.