THE SHORES OF PAIN
Elrond stood at the window watching clouds scud across the moon. In the garden beyond moonbeams danced, flickering in and out amongst the trees, whilst the breezed tugged at the first leaves of autumn, sending them spinning and dancing to the ground.
Across the lawn there was a glimmer of candle light in the library windows. Someone sat up late, reading . . . Mithrandir or Estel perhaps? It did not seem so long ago that the Lord of Imladris had stood at those windows.
00000
Standing by the long window, Elrond watched grey clouds, pregnant with the promise of more rain, flow slowly above the valley. Behind him the library, filled with elves only minutes before, had now returned to its customary quiet, the repository of centuries of wisdom waiting silent and impotent. A soft shuffling sound intruded upon the stillness and the Lord of Imladris pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing the corners of his tired eyes, before turning to smile softly at the ancient hobbit hobbling slowly towards him.
"Good day to you, Little Master."
"And good day to you, Lord Elrond." The little figure joined him at the window, tugging a shawl more closely about his shoulders to hold off the cool air drifting from the glass.
Noting the movement the elf turned back into the room. "I was drinking tea, I believe there is a spare cup. Would you share it with me?" He led the way to a low couch by a small table, on which were set the accoutrements of tea. Bilbo followed slowly and Elrond waited for him to settle upon the couch, arranging a cushion behind the small back, before seating himself.
The elven-sized cups were rather large for a hobbit so Elrond only half filled one, handing it to Bilbo and offering honey. Bilbo waved the honey away, taking the cup in both his gnarled hands and for a few moments they sat in silence, sipping their mint tea. The elf could feel Bilbo's thoughts gathering momentum and waited with a growing sense of dread. He had no need of prescience to know that the conversation that was about to be set in motion would bring his friend the bitterest of pain.
"Is something happening beyond this valley that I should be worried about?" The words dropped with a light plop into the waiting pool of possibility, sending ripples out into the distance. Elrond tried, in what he knew was a vain effort, to dam their outward eddies.
"Why do you ask that?" His voice was casual, the semblance of a smile playing upon his lips and he bent to take another sip of tea in an attempt to hide the falsity of the expression.
The ripples slid around his dam, joining upon the other side and moving inexorably onward toward the shore of painful discovery. Bilbo's ageing voice pressed on.
"It is not every day that the Lord of the Last Homely House gathers to him all the most powerful warriors of his household, in secret council, and sends them out in haste and fully armed."
Elrond's faint smile was more genuine this time. "What a people you hobbits are for gathering information. You are a folk of contradiction. You take great interest in the minutia of the lives of folk about you but take no care at all for the world beyond those narrow confines."
The ancient hobbit echoed his smile, although his tone was firmer now. "Well, this hobbit has always been the exception to that rule and is now asking about that outside world. You have not yet answered my question, which does not bode well in itself. Is something happening beyond this valley of which I should be aware?"
Setting his unfinished tea back upon the table, Loremaster Elrond leaned back in his seat and faced the small, lined features of Frodo's uncle. "What do you know of the tale of the Rings of Power?"
Bilbo paused a moment, bringing his mind onto this new and unexpected path. His voice took on the singsong tone of one reciting a children's rhyme.
"Three rings for the elven kings, under the sky.
Seven for the dwarf lords in their halls of stone.
Nine rings for mortal men, doomed to die.
One ring for the Dark Lord on his dark throne
In the land of Mordor, where the shadows lie."
He looked up for approval and Elrond obliged him with an inclination of his head. The elf's mellifluous voice continued the poem.
"One ring to rule them all.
One ring to find them.
One ring to bring them all
And in the darkness bind them
In the land of Mordor, where the shadows lie."
The words hung in the air for a moment, filling the room, and Bilbo had to wait for their echoes to dissipate before he could continue his line of questioning.
"But what has that ancient tale to do with today's events? The Dark Lord of Mordor was defeated long ago," he persisted.
Ancient tale . . . and yet Elrond, Herald of the High King, could remember the events clearly. Once again he felt the weight of all his years in Middle-earth settle down upon him like dust.
"Defeated, yes. But not destroyed, for his Ring was not destroyed. He slunk away to lick his wounds and he is returned. He has gathered the nine and the seven and he seeks the three, although they are still hidden from him. And he is looking for his Ring . . . the One Ring . . . the ring to bind all others to him. With it he will dominate this Middle-earth and none will be able to stand against him."
Bilbo could feel his feet being carried away from him on the road and he was not sure that he wanted to follow it further, for it seemed to lead into a place of shadows and fear. The journey was gathering momentum, however and he had not the strength to halt it or to step aside. Nonetheless he tried.
"But the One Ring was lost in the mists of legend. It has not been seen or heard of since the day it was cut from the Dark Lord's hand in the last great battle."
Elrond set his resolve and continued to drag the innocent hobbit onward, knowing now that there was no turning aside and hoping to get the journey over with as swiftly as possible. "And now it has been found. The Enemy knows it has been found and he is seeking to wrest it from its present keeper."
Bilbo blinked in surprise and set down his delicate china cup, fearful that another such shock would make him drop it. "Found? When and by who?"
"By a hobbit of the Shire. One Bilbo Baggins."
All colour drained from the ancient hobbit's face and the elven healer watched with some concern, ready to intervene if the shock proved too much. One word escaped the pale lips.
"Frodo."
But, as Elrond had hoped, Bilbo Baggins was made of stern stuff. The tiny jaw clenched and jutted out with determination. "And you have sent your warriors to fetch it here. My lad will have kept it safe. You'll see," he averred, confidently.
"I have sent the warriors to find Frodo and bring him and the Ring to Rivendell."
Bilbo shook his head with a determined air. "No, no, no. I'll not have Frodo dragged into this affair. It's far too dangerous for him. And anyway, once you have the Ring he'll be safe. There's no need to involve him. I will write a note for your warriors to give him, telling him that it's safe to hand it over." His voice took on a desperate edge and then faded away as he saw the elven lord shake his head, sadly.
"Gandalf told him of its importance this spring and made arrangements to travel with him to Rivendell. Frodo set out to bring it here over two weeks ago and my people are searching for him on the road."
"But, why couldn't Gandalf bring it himself and leave my lad in safety?"
Elrond sighed. "It is difficult to explain and you will hear more of it in Council once the Ring is arrived. Suffice it to say for the moment that no-one of power can bear the One Ring and it had to be Frodo that carried it."
Putting that mystery on one side for a moment, Bilbo returned to practicalities. "Well, at least with Gandalf at his side he will be as safe as he can be."
Elrond's keen grey eyes held his firmly. "Something has detained Gandalf and Frodo set out without him." The elf pressed on, trying to get all the shock over with at once. "Frodo has been attacked and hurt upon the road and Aragorn is bringing him here as swiftly and secretly as he may."
Bilbo collapsed against his cushion with a sob and tears began to gather in his pale blue-grey eyes. Elrond reached across and deftly unfastened the hobbit's collar, putting the cup of now cool mint tea to his lips and pressing him to take a swallow.
"I am sorry, Bilbo. I had hoped to get Frodo here safely before I told you of this . . . but there, I think your unhobbit-like sense of curiosity was my undoing. After all these years under my roof I should have known better."
And Bilbo continued to surprise him for he rallied, pushing the cup aside and wiping his eyes on a corner of his shawl. He gathered himself and sat up. "Yes, you should," he censured, uncaring for the moment that he was speaking to a mighty elf lord. His nephew was in danger and he must be got safe.
"I will need a pony. If you will arrange it I will go and change into something more suitable for riding. Frodo needs his Uncle Bilbo." When he made to rise however, Elrond laid a hand upon his shoulder to prevent him. The elf's eyes were filled with sorrow.
"No, Bilbo. You will only slow the riders. A pony will not be able to keep up with swift elven steeds." When the little hobbit opened his mouth to protest further Elrond ploughed on. "And we do not know which route Aragorn will be taking. That is why I have sent out so many. You could find yourself travelling with one party only to find that he is met by another." He felt Bilbo settle beneath his hand. "If you stay here you will be ready to greet him . . . a comfort and a familiar face amongst strangers. He will need that."
"Very well. Although what comfort he will find in the one who bequeathed him this legacy I am not sure." The old hobbit's voice was thin and weary as the last ripples touched the shores of his pain.
TBC
