Ok, yes this is an allegory and you can take it to be about whatever you think it is but to me it is supposed to symbolize the great spread and mistake of Grey-Company Elvish. Also I have formatted this after the popular renascence idea of creating an Allegory to prove a professional point, not for the sake of the story itself. (Galileo once made one about how the sun was the center of the solar system and not the earth, and that is my main inspiration). Also I'm not so sure my chronology is quite right; please correct me if I'm wrong.
Also, a rhetorical question for serious elvish students: Out of all of those people that we've corrected for using GCE (Grey-Company Elvish) how many actually believed us and learned real Quenya or Sindarin?
Legato with vengeance
Mithrandir or Windeandir: an Allegory
And so it was that in that year, in the Shire reckoning 1492, that Mithrandir, the Grey Pilgrim, did set out from his place of abode, a small cabin somewhere north of Fangorn, nestled snugly between two peeks of the Misty Mountains. He traveled west, as the bent old man he looked like, stopping often and seemingly having no need for hurry at all, only taking his faithful horse-drawn cart at a canter at best. And in that manner did Gandalf come for his holiday to the Shire, the peaceful little country of farms and rustic villages, one of his favorite places upon Middle Earth. Here he could relax and almost… almost forget his troubles and duties.
There in the dry, comfortable halls of Bag End did he find himself, sitting by the fire and conversing with Bilbo, the hobbit, on a great many subjects; from the exorbitant yield of pipe-weed in the South Downs that year, to the now flourishing culture of the Dwarves of the Lonely Mountain. However, as the night came down upon the little community of Hobbiton, the little hobbit-boys and hobbit-girls taking to their beds for their sleep, Gandalf too began to feel weary for no matter how slowly one travels it never seems to fail that at the end of that journey you should be tired to no end. "Dear Bilbo," the wizard began thinking of how to politely ask to be shown to the guest room in a Hobbit hole, when something caught his eye; a little red book with the tengwar letters on it spelling "i'lammen en Quessir". (A bunch of fiddle-faddle if you asked him) "What is this? I can't tell what in the blazes it reads!"
"Oh, you mean this, Gandalf?" Bilbo hopped out of his chair with a spark of glee on his face as he picked up the book, sitting back down into this chair. The little red book reflecting some of the fire-light as he swung its leather binding open. "Well, I call it my Guide to Elvish."
"A guide to Elvish, my good friend?" Gandalf pulled his pipe out of his mouth. "Do you really think so?" He got up, ducking to avoid Bilbo's chandelier and stood over the little Hobbit's shoulder as he looked at the book.
"Oh, it has been years since I've made it and I can't wait to share it with some one who really knows some Elvish." Bilbo smiled turning past the title page.
"Well, go ahead and share Bilbo, I'm all ears." Gandalf went back to his chair and resumed his pipe. Thinking, perhaps it was merely that he was having trouble seeing at his old age that made him misread the title.
"Alright, I try a little phrase: 'amin irma laure'." Bilbo read from his book, and then looked up at Gandalf hoping to see some form of recognition on his face.
"what!... er… uh… ::string of Valarin curse words:: What in the name of holy Manwë are you saying? Something… beautiful golden?"[Quenya írima: beautiful, desirable and laurë: golden] Gandalf gave the Hobbit a very stern look. "You had better not be pulling my leg, I was not born yesterday!"
"What? What ever do you mean Gandalf? I was just reading one of the simple phrases; it means "I want mead". Bilbo pushed his small nose up against the book trying to look closer at the writing.
"Tell me Bilbo, what does you little book tell you my nickname, Grey-Pilgrim, should be? I'm quite interested to see if our sources coincide." Gandalf sat forward in his chair feeling more and more confused.
"Um… well let's see now… p… p… Pilgrim! is andir and if this means grey then it would be Windeandir, dear Gandalf." Bilbo smiled, pleased at himself for finding it so quick.
Gandalf put his hand on his for head, letting out a sigh and mumbling, "Oh, Nienna, please don't cry for this fool…. he knows not what he says." Then Gandalf stood still for a minute just thinking until Bilbo interrupted him.
"Gandalf, are you alright? Do you need something?" Bilbo got up out of his chair and walked over to Gandalf. "Would you like a draught of mead? Or tea, tea is very soothing…."
"Oh no, my dear hobbit-friend," Gandalf sat up chuckling, "none at all…. But, do tell me, where did you find this 'Elvish'? for I'm very keen to know."
"That, that is quite simple, Gandalf, here follow me to the study, I shall show you where." Bilbo led the Maia down the short hallway and through a locked door. "Here it is!" Bilbo pulled a stack of papers held together by a leather band from under his desk, they were old and stained, had blotched ink in some places and where beginning to become dog-eared and cut in many places. "You remember that little incident with the trolls, where you saved Thorin and co. and me of course?"
"Yes I remember that very well and as well I remember it was all because of a little Hobbit that wanted to…" Gandalf was in the process of trailing of, himself, when Bilbo interrupted.
"Yes, yes, I do. But you must remember too, that I was but fifty years of age back then… far too young to be going out and about like that I'd say." Bilbo gave the wizard a disgruntled look and thrust the aged papers into Gandalf's arms. "Any way, I found it lying on the ground, near the trolls, after the sun rose. After I looked at it for a second I put it into my pocket and never took it out until I got home."
"I see… Well Bilbo…" Gandalf paused for a second thinking of all the nasty sounding things he could say about learning Elvish from Trolls, but just decided to kill it before it spread. "I have one way to fix this…" Then Gandalf strode out of the room and back to Bilbo's hearth, the little Hobbit trailing behind.
"Gandalf!"
Paying no attention to the Hobbit, Gandalf picked up the small red book and cast it along with the Troll manuscript into the flames of the fire. "There," Gandalf reached out stopping Bilbo from screaming bloody murder over his little book. "It's better of this way at any rate, just calm down and go to bed; I think you need the rest…." Gandalf proceeded to lead the Hobbit-in-shock to his room and shut the door with Bilbo safely behind it. "Hobbits…."
The sun was shining from just over the horizon as Gandalf got up out of the chair he had slept on, if he even sleeps, stepping over some random Hobbitish nick-nacks that get in the way because it's a plot devise and strode into the kitchen finding little Frodo in the cupboard, grabbing a number of cakes and a container of tealeaves. "Good morning Mr. Gandalf! Would you like some cakes?"
"Yes, thank you, dear Frodo, and a bit of tea as well." Gandalf smiled at the Hobbit-lad as he dashed around the kitchen getting their breakfast ready. "Frodo my-lad, where is your uncle? I'm afraid I haven't seen him this morning." Gandalf looked around a little to see if he was in any of the adjoining rooms.
"He's gone outside for a bit, to lighten his spirit, and sing a few songs, he said," Frodo poured the tea into Gandalf's cup.
"I see… Frodo, would you also pour some tea for your Uncle, I think that I will go outside to talk to him." So Frodo happily bounded up to the cupboard and got down another teacup for Bilbo and presented the cup which he filled, to Gandalf who thanked him and walked out the door only to find Bilbo leaning against the grassy sides of Bag End, with a book and quill in his hands and another book sitting on the grass beside him, his eyes glancing from one to the other as he furiously scrawled away.
"Oh, it's you…" Bilbo muttered, only looking up for a second then going back to his work while Gandalf sat down beside him, putting the teacups on the ground. "I suppose you'll be wanting to throw this one into my fireplace as well once I'm finished?" Bilbo asked in his sharp and agitated tone of voice, without looking in Gandalf's general direction.
"Bilbo, there is something I must tell you about that language you were speaking last night…" Gandalf took out his pipe and began to blow some smoke rings as he thought about what he was going to say. "That language was, well, not Elvish…"
"What! Do you mean to try to tell me that all this work I've done has been for naught? Do you expect me to believe that?" Bilbo stood up, not being much taller than the sitting Maia.
"Yes, Bilbo, I do." Gandalf blew a few more smoke rings. "However," Gandalf suddenly cut off his smoking of the pipe; a very devilish idea creeping into his head, "if you would like to, I can take you to the elves so that you may see for yourself what their language is really like…." Gandalf purposely let the thought just hang in the air for Bilbo to digest.
"I… should like that very much, Gandalf," Bilbo lost all trace of his bad mood and he began to come around, "even to Rivendell?"
"Yes, my dear friend, that was exactly where I had a mind to take you…." Gandalf reclined against the grassy slope of Bag End once more. "But, when should you like to go?"
"Oh, but I should like to go today… but the boy, I can't go leaving him here all alone, nor do I want to take him with me to grow up in a strange country far from any other hobbits…. Then I shall leave once he has come of age, then I won't have to worry about leaving him by himself for a long time. It will take a long time won't it Gandalf?"
"You could spend an age studying the languages of the Elves and still have only the very basic jist of them." Gandalf chuckled at the eagerness of the Hobbit. "Now, Bilbo, where in the Shire did you get that?" Gandalf pointed the end of his pipe at the book that Bilbo had been copying out of before Gandalf had sat down.
"This is another copy of my book that I borrowed from Mr. Gamgee down the lane, you know; my gardener- doubt he's ever even opened it once, the little…" Bilbo stopped noticing the look of astonishment on Gandalf's, "What's the matter, Gandalf?"
"You mean to tell me that… that you sold more of those things?" Gandalf swallowed hard, not prepared to have to deal with the kind of problems that could result from such an atrocity to all of the Elvish speaking world.
"Um… I… yes, I did," Bilbo hung his head in shame. "Almost the entire Shire has gone crazy for them; there isn't a hobbit I know who doesn't have one," coming from a Hobbit that kind of information is usually best regarded as very true.
"Oh, you're just as big of a fool as you grand-sire!" Gandalf strode down the garden walk-way of Bag End and then down the street to the first house on Bagshot Row. Speaking in a very harried and disgruntled voice once the Hobbit of the house came to the door Gandalf spoke, seeing one of the little red books in his hand, "My good sir, do you realize that that very book you are holding is a forgery, it does not teach real Elvish, will you kindly let me have it, I can replace it as soon as next week with a fully annotated and concise guide the Elvish as spoken by the real elves of Lórien…." Gandalf was interrupted by the awfully plump Hobbit.
"No thank you, Windeandir, you bring queer enough things to these parts! Namaarie!" the Hobbit slammed his door in the wizards face. However, Gandalf was not bothered by this, he knew he didn't have a particularly clean reputation in the Shire but surely some one would come their Hobbit senses. Despite Gandalf's optimistic attitude he was still only greeted with the same response at all the doors he tried until finally he gave up, whistled for his horse to bring the cart, climbed on and he muttered, as he drove out of site of Hobbiton, "You have brought this upon yourself, my dear Bilbo, and it will have to be you who will bale yourself out…"
The End
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