"As they sang the hobbit felt the love of beautiful things made by hands and by cunning and by magic moving through him, a fierce and jealous love, the desire of the hearts of the dwarves. Then something Tookish woke up inside him, and he wished to go and see the great mountains, and hear the pine-trees and the waterfalls, and explore the caves, and wear a sword instead of a walking-stick."
- J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit
Chapter 3: O'er the Misty Mountains Cold
I dashed back down the hall, skirts flying around my knees. I hoped Lindir was nowhere about, because he would undoubtedly take my frenzy for what it was: guilt. Once safely inside my own rooms, I sunk back against the door to breathe and understand, just for a moment, what I was doing. A panic started to rush up inside of me as it sunk in, and I shook my head frantically, shoving my emotions down in favor of the more practical concern of finding traveling clothes.
My own clothes – the ones I had come in – were cleaned and pressed and hanging in my wardrobe along with the borrowed gossamer gowns I had been prancing around in, but they were no more adequate for a journey in snow than the Elven dresses. I was staring in dismay at my options, wondering if one of the other rooms in this hallway was meant for a male guest, when a knock at the door nearly sent me flying out of my skin.
I stood, frozen, wondering if it was Lindir or Elrond himself come to accuse me, but it was a soft, unfamiliar female voice that called out, "My lady, the Lady Galadriel has sent me to you."
There were no locks in Rivendell, at least not in the sleeping quarters, so I called out, "Come in."
An Elf maid entered, tiny in the waist and painfully graceful. In her arms was a soft brown bundle. She held it out to me with a kind smile. "She sent this to you, along with her good wishes. While you are gone, she says, she will continue to search for a way to return you to your home."
I took the bundle, but could do no more than stare up at the woman gratefully, for I felt again the import of what I was doing. I was going with Gandalf. We would trudge through snow and meet the dwarves deep in the Goblin caves in the Misty Mountains. We would hide out in Beorn's hall and find our way to Mirkwood, and there I would have a few decisions to make. If I made it that far.
And I wouldn't be able to bath or shave my legs for weeks. Good thing my traveling companions were fifteen burly men.
In the midst of my thoughts, the Elf maid had retreated, and I found I was standing alone with Galadriel's gift. It was men's gear, of course. Thick, fitted trousers, two shirts, and a tight undershirt I supposed was meant to give me some support. Boots of a strong but supple leather than came up to my knees. Wool socks and fingerless gloves. Over all went a jacket, cloak, and hood.
There was a pack with food, waterskins, and a second set of clothes. I dumped out one of the waterskins and refilled it from a bottle of wine that had been sent to my room with a previous day's luncheon. I looked at myself in the mirror for a long moment, taking in the girl that had no business traveling over mountains on foot. Her face and body were soft, her skin was pasty, and her eyes were frightened. And she had never really enjoyed camping. Nevertheless, I shouldered the pack and went to the door.
I was still paranoid of being found out. While I felt that Elrond would understand, Gandalf had explained their disagreement over the dwarves' quest, and I felt I was betraying my host. I cracked the door open to peer cautiously about me.
There was no need. Gandalf was waiting for me in the hallway, and in his hands were two objects I would be grateful for in the weeks to come. One was a small broadsword, just fitted to a woman's grip and strength. Eventually I would be able to swing it with ease, but at that moment it felt discouragingly heavy. The other was a walking stick.
Gandalf didn't say anything. He simply led the way down the hall with a confidence that belied our secrecy and haste. We took several turns I knew nothing of, miraculously meeting no one, and eventually came to the path that led out of Rivendell. In all my time there, I had never considered taking it. There were no horses waiting for us, just a couple of bedrolls. I looked up at Gandalf.
"We have everything we need," he said kindly. "There is no need to worry."
I nodded and gripped my walking stick more tightly.
Where I am from, we have devastatingly cold winters, and I am used to wearing thick layers, drinking dark beers, and fighting my siblings for the spot on top of the heater. I have spent hours shoveling my driveway in snowstorms, only to get up at five o'clock the next morning to do it all over again.
The greatest blizzard of my lifetime was nothing compared to what Gandalf and I walked into.
The snow whirled every which way, and there was nothing but white, and beyond the white a grayer white. It was like a bad concept of Heaven…or Purgatory. I kept my head bowed under its hood, which turned out to be less than sufficient, and my left hand on Gandalf's cloak. My right hand gripped my walking stick firmly. Two lifelines. Two objects that were all I knew in the world.
I don't know how long we went on like that. The time was as incomprehensible as the direction, but at some point I felt Gandalf turn sharply, and, clutching harder so that I did not lose him, I followed. The turn brought us into the wind, and I bowed my head still further against its fury. Then, abruptly, it was gone.
I looked up, suspicious and bewildered. "A cave!" I exclaimed unnecessarily.
Gandalf muttered indulgently. "Indeed. We won't get further without a rest."
"You mean we've gotten somewhere?"
"Of course we have! Do you think this is my first snowstorm?"
I clammed up, then, after shaking an entire snowman off myself, set to breaking out our supplies. Gandalf was making a fire without the aid of a tinderbox or lighter fluid. When he was finished, there was a full blaze, and it held.
"Now, that should keep us warm for a little, I think," he said proudly.
"And if it doesn't, this will make us think we are anyway," I said, passing him the wineskin.
Gandalf chuckled and took a swig. "My dear, you are the finest traveling companion I have met thus far."
"Thank whichever fine vineyard supplied this vintage." I took a drink of my own, then passing it back to him, began rummaging in my pack for something more substantial. "My home is in wine country. If I had been allowed the time to plan, I would have brought the contents of my cellar."
"Is it indeed?" said Gandalf. He watched me for a moment as I prepared the food. I am a fine cook, given the right ingredients, and I figured as long as he was guiding us and lighting fires and fighting off villains, I might as well contribute something to the journey. "Tell me of your home, or rather, the part of your home that concerns Middle Earth, for you have never been clear on that point."
"They're books," I answered honesty. I threw a little salt on the pan, waited for it to heat, then added the fish. I had decided early on that there was no reason not to tell the truth, up to a point. After that it was a matter of stating simply that revealing more could jeopardize the fate of Middle Earth, and that I didn't want to risk it. I would tell them nothing of their futures. Not even Thorin. "Fiction, we call them, legends that are not true, but rather sprung from a gifted imagination. But the storyteller knew what he was doing, so perhaps they are true after all."
"All evidence," said Gandalf, "is in favor of the latter. At least, it seems so from my position."
"Mine too, now," I said. "it must be history, though I confess this is not entirely the story I have been told."
"Yes, you said that, but have not explained," said Gandalf shrewdly.
I sighed. "It's little things that are different. Maybe they are things that have been lost over the years, or twisted…you know how it goes with tales. But they bother me, and I have been watching them. Sometimes the little things are the important ones, I have found." I added some vegetables to the mixture in the frying pan.
"As have I," said Gandalf. "You are watching, no doubt, for some significant difference. Is the fate of this quest of such great import?"
"Perhaps not," I said, "but bits of what happen along the way are, and…No, I do believe this quest is important. I cannot say why, exactly, but I believe that if this doesn't end precisely as it is meant to, history will shake."
"'History will shake?'" the wizard repeated. "Well, well." He was silent several long moments, during which the food was finished, and I stopped being dramatic long enough to fill a plate and pass it to him. "I think we ought to discuss what to tell those we meet along this journey."
"You mean the truth won't do for everyone?" I asked wryly, taking a bite of my fish. It was plain, but as good as I could make it given the conditions.
"No, certainly not. For the dwarves, I think, especially as Thorin and Balin already know some of it. The others might as well know too. Aside from that… unless you meet along the way someone you are certain you can trust, I think we should say that you are a seer."
"A seer..." I said to myself. Then, to Gandalf, "Well, that makes more sense than it doesn't."
We ate in silence awhile, passing the wineskin back and forth. I wonder how it was for Gandalf, if he minded my company, or the company of the dwarves, or if he preferred traveling alone. He seemed to have a great deal on his mind, and it would have been easier to ponder in solitude, no doubt. But sharing alcohol is socialization enough for anyone of quality, in my opinion, and the wizard gave no hint that he resented my presence. So we were as companionable as we were going to get.
My own thoughts wandered. I thought of my home, of my dog, who I hoped someone was feeding, and my family. I thought of my nephew and the niece that was soon to be born. I missed them, I realized with astonishment. I hadn't given it thought previously, being too caught up in my adventures, but under the excitement and confusion was homesickness.
"Gandalf?" I asked tentatively.
"Mm?"
"Do you know how to send me home?" It was a stupid question, maybe, but I had to ask.
"If I did," he said impatiently, "don't you think I would have done so already?"
"Maybe…" I said, not convinced.
"And haven't Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel been trying their best to help you?"
"But they are Elves," I said quietly. "And you are one of the Maiar."
The silence that stretched out after that was thicker than the walls of the cave and louder than the storm outside. Gandalf scrutinized me grimly, no doubt seeing this knowledge as an intrusion, but I held his gaze. It was not my fault I knew, and I hadn't told anyone. I suspected anyone he wanted to know already did.
"I do not know how to send you home," Gandalf said at last. "Nor have I any idea how you came to be here. But, as the Lord Elrond and the Lady Galadriel have already promised, I will do everything I can to help you."
I nodded, a little embarrassed, and ready to drop the whole thing.
"But," Gandalf added, and he held my gaze once more, "I want a promise from you in return." I gulped, then nodded. Usually I will not promise something I have not heard, but I felt there was no refusing him. "Promise me you will do whatever is necessary to ensure this quest ends as it is meant to. Promise me you will protect our history, with your very life if necessary."
"I promise," I whispered, without hesitation.
And thus I sealed my fate.
