MORE THAN MEETS THE EYE

Chapter 4 – A Father’s Pride

`The Company of the Ring shall be Nine; and the Nine Walkers shall be set against the Nine Riders that are evil. With you and your faithful servant, Gandalf will go; for this shall be his great task, and maybe the end of his labours.

`For the rest, they shall represent the other Free Peoples of the World: Elves, Dwarves, and Men. Legolas shall be for the Elves; and Gimli son of Glóin for the Dwarves. They are willing to go at least to the passes of the Mountains, and maybe beyond.

‘The Ring Goes South’, The Fellowship of the Ring

“Be seated, my son,” Gloín said, gesturing to one of the ornate – but rather fragile looking – chairs in their quarters.  Gimli sat down carefully, then grunted in approval at the comfort of the Elvish furnishings.  “Master Elrond is sending forth the Company of the Ring, and I do not know when we shall see one another again.”

Gimli reached out and took his father’s gnarled hand.  “I will return from this venture with honor.  As you did.”

“As I did, yes,” Gloín smiled.  “All your life you have heard the tales of our grand adventure; it did not surprise me that you volunteered to accompany Burglar Baggins’ nephew on his journey south.”

“I would ask you about something,” Gimli said.  “I have spoken at length with Gandalf regarding Frodo, and learned that he has reached the age of 50.  He looks as young as his cousins, and Peregrin is not yet even an adult by his people’s reckoning.  It seems that hobbits age slowly, as we do.  But Bilbo is younger than I, and already so frail.  Has he suffered a great ailment?”

Gloín gazed into the hearthfire and was silent for a time, and Gimli could tell that his father was remembering long-ago days.  Finally the older Dwarf stirred, and sighed.

“Bilbo is actually quite advanced in years, as hobbits measure their lives; he has lived longer than many of his race before him.  He is not ill, but greatly aged, as you observed.”

“But when he visited Erebor a scant 17 years ago, he was hale and hearty.  I scarcely recognized him when we arrived here.”

“Nor did I,” Gloín admitted.  He looked sadly at his son.  “I have observed much, and deduced a good deal over these weeks.  Bilbo bore Sauron’s ring for 60 years.  When he left it behind with Frodo... well, it is my opinion that his age has now caught up with him.”

Gimli frowned, following his father’s train of thought.  “Are you saying that Frodo appears unnaturally young?  That when we see the Ring to its destruction, he will age before our very eyes?”

“I hope not; that would be a cruel fate for him, and a difficult experience to bear.”

“The Ring-bearer will continue to be hunted,” Gimli said quietly, thinking ahead to the journey ahead of him.

“Aye,” Gloín agreed, “as will those with him.  Swore you any oath to Frodo to remain with him to whatever end?”

“Master Elrond requested none.  Do you advise that I do so?”

“My son, none know where the road may take them, once they set their feet upon it.  Who could have foreseen that Erebor would be reclaimed with the aid of a hobbit accompanying Dwarves, or that the Enemy’s Ring might be unmade with the aid of a Dwarf accompanying hobbits?  Do as your heart bids you, and you will know how far to travel with the Ring-bearer’s Company.  Perhaps you will learn the fate of my brother and cousins in Khazad-dûm, from whom we have heard nothing for these many years.”  Gloín felt a stirring of foresight, and as he spoke his eyes were distant, as if seeing something Gimli could not.  “Perhaps you will see lands beyond the knowledge of any Dwarf before you.  Perhaps you will win great renown, and hear your name in song.”

“And perhaps the Elf and I will refrain from throttling one another in front of the hobbits,” Gimli muttered, only half in jest, and Gloín laughed heartily.

“What will it be like, travelling with hobbits?” Gimli asked curiously.

“It will be entertaining and eye opening,” Gloín said with a fond smile.  “Let me tell you a story...”  And Gimli listened eagerly to yet another tale of Burglar Baggins, who with a song and a sword had rescued his father and companions from certain death in the depths of Mirkwood.

When Gloín’s tale was done, Gimli was more determined than ever to step forth as a stalwart and trusted member of the Ring-bearer’s Company.  He got to his feet, pressed both hands to his heart, and knelt formally.

“Send me forth with your blessings, father,” he said quietly.

Gloín lay his hands upon Gimli’s head, and spoke an invocation to Mahal for guidance and protection. 

“My son ventures forth into lands under Shadow, far from his home.  May those whom he meets see in him the strength of his people.  May he use prudence when required, and swift action when needed.  May his life be long, and his honors well earned.”  He paused, then murmured, “And may time pass quickly until I once again gaze upon his face.”

Gimli raised his head, his eyes glistening.

“Thank you, father,” he whispered.

“Now and always, my treasured son... be thou blessed.”

After Gimli had departed, Gloín sat long by the fire.  Once again, a hobbit of the Shire was the unlikely center of great events, possibly the greatest and most perilous any of them would live through.  And once again, a child of Durin's line would bear witness, and perhaps be remembered by generations yet to come.

“May it be so,” he said quietly, pride and love swelling his heart.  “May it be so.”

** THE END **