Chrys: Well, as you already know, I couldn't resist the idea of Haldir getting hold of one of those pictures. So you get the credit (or the blame!) for that story!
The essence of popsicles: There is bit more "hobbit stuff" in this chapter, and Merry and Pippin do put in a brief appearance—although Pippin does not pull Gandalf's beard! (I can try to work that in later, though.)
Dragonfly: Yes, it is "creepy," but, don't forget, one doesn't have to wear the Ring to be affected by it. Being in its proximity can be enough. Remember Boromir!
Legosgurl: Legolas is in this chapter, O Faithful Reader.
Salan: Goodness, now you are at Chapter 49 and are solving the mathematical problem to boot!
Terreis: Yes, I will fit in each birthmark. I just realized that I will have to slightly rework the introduction to Frodo's birthmark because Elijah Wood's tattoo is on his hip rather than his ankle. Oh, well.
Beta Reader: Dragonfly.
Chapter 64: What's in
a Name? II
The morning after the skirmish with the Orcs, Legolas sat on a block of masonry from one of the ruined walls of Fornost and gazed thoughtfully toward the east. After awhile, Gilglîr came to sit by him.
"A farthing for your thoughts," he teased.
"Gilglîr," Legolas replied, his face exceedingly serious, "don't you find it odd that Orcs should be found this far west?"
Gilglîr at once grew equally serious.
"Yes," he said soberly. "Yes, I do. It is uncommon for Orcs to travel so far in the direction of Mithlond."
"Do you suppose Mithlond was their ultimate target?"
"I find it difficult to believe that anything else in these desolate lands would attract their attention."
"Well, there is the Shire, of course."
"The Shire!" scoffed Gilglîr. "I know Mithrandir sets great stock by the Shire, but for all of his tales, I could never gather how it possibly could have held anything of any great value or importance. Truly, Legolas, I suspect that Mithrandir is excessively fond of that land because it is the source of the weed that he stuffs in that stinky pipe of his."
"No, Gilglîr, I think you are wrong about that. I have visited the Shire, and of all the mortal realms, it is one where I imagine Elves could dwell happily. It is a green land, a fruitful land, and its inhabitants are fond of laughter and song and tales of fellowship. The Shire may indeed lack those things which Men deem precious, but that realm is altogether beyond the value of anything else possessed by those of the mortal races."
"Ah," said Gilglîr astutely, "if there is nothing precious to be found in the Shire, then it can't have been the Orcs' target. They will not invade a land in order to amass laughter and song and tales of fellowship. They would want to lay their hands on something more substantial."
Legolas laughed and looked much relieved.
"You are right, of course, Gilglîr. There is nothing in the Shire that Orcs would covet. How foolishly I have been talking!"
Gilglîr clapped him on the back consolingly.
"Never you mind, Legolas. To be foolish is the prerogative of the young. And since I have set your mind at rest, come and have breakfast before Edwen Nana storms down upon you and seizes you by the ear. Now that Mithrandir has absented himself from the company, she is prowling the camp restlessly, seeking a target for her ministrations. A malnourished young Elf would be just the ticket, I think."
Legolas leaped to his feet with alacrity. It would not do to have Edwen Nana mothering him, especially not in front of the troop of elven warriors that he was supposed to be commanding!
Legolas and Gilglîr turned and walked toward a campfire where Edwen Nana bent over a pot stirring a dish that smelled much better than one had a right to expect, given that they were 'roughing it'. As they hurried in Edwen Nana's direction, a smallish, skulking creature briefly peered out at them from behind a stunted bush before vanishing back into the scrub.
At about the same time that Legolas and Gilglîr were being spied upon by the mysterious skulking creature, Bilbo was being spied upon—by Gandalf. Of course, neither Bilbo nor Gandalf would have called it spying. Bilbo was bustling about in the kitchen, making preparations for breakfast. Gandalf had joined him, although he was not bustling himself. For a wizard, the room was too small to admit of bustling, so he was seated at the tiny table, his legs drawn up under his chin. As he watched Bilbo, it did not escape his notice that every few minutes Bilbo anxiously clapped his hand to one pocket in particular.
'What has it got in its pockets?' the wizard said idly to himself, rehearsing a line from Bilbo's account of how he had acquired the ring. 'What has it got in its pockets?' At last he could not forbear speaking.
"You are going to ruin breakfast if you don't better attend to the fire," he said severely. "And that would be a great pity, as the salted pork looks particularly good."
"Nonsense! I am not at all distracted."
"Then what is that smell?"
With a cry of dismay, Bilbo flew to the oven and opened it, and a great quantity of smoke poured out. Coughing, the Hobbit flung open the window and then returned to the oven, towel in hand, to draw forth a pan of scorched scones. He carried the pan to the window and threw the entire mess into the garden, evoking an indignant 'Hey!' from someone just outside the window.
"Sorry, Sam," called Bilbo. "When those scones have cooled, do you suppose the birds might like them?"
"Not likely," replied Sam, sticking his head in at the window. "They have better taste, seeing as how there's this garden."
"Scarecrow still not working?" said Bilbo.
"Oh, it works alright—as a perch! Say, Master Gandalf, sir, you don't suppose you could put a spell on the scarecrow to keep the birds off?"
"Not my line of work, Sam. Have you tried dangling sparkly objects from its arms? I understand that when such objects dance about in the breeze, the birds take both fright and flight."
"Not our birds," replied Sam gloomily. "They are drawn all the more by bright, shiny things."
'Seems to be a general problem hereabouts', Gandalf thought to himself. Aloud he said, "Well, Sam, it seems you will simply have to grow enough for both bird and Hobbit. That is the only solution, I deem."
"Then I'd best get back to my gardening, as it seems I have both mouths and beaks to feed!"
Sam went back to trimming the grass-border under the window, and Bilbo and Gandalf, joined by Frodo, turned to the enjoyment of what remained of the breakfast. This was, in fact, quite a substantial item, so no one suffered from the loss of the scones. Indeed, there was still food on the table when they were joined by two of Frodo's young cousins, who were visiting from Buckland.
"Merry! Pippin!" exclaimed Frodo, grinning, "you've gotten up before noon! Uncle Bilbo, you'll have to include this truly remarkable event in that book you are writing."
"I do believe you are right," agreed Bilbo, entering into the spirit of things. "This beats having thirteen dwarves and a wizard showing up for tea."
Merry and Pippin were too preoccupied with devouring the remnants of breakfast to protest this characterization of their behavior. The others continued their conversation over the heads of these busy young Hobbits.
"So, Bilbo," said Gandalf, keeping his voice quite neutral, "you were telling me that you think often of the Last Homely House. Have a hankering to see it again?"
"You are not trying to inveigle my uncle into another adventure!" protested Frodo.
"No! No! No! But why shouldn't he visit his old friends if he has a desire to do so?"
"And I do," said Bilbo suddenly. "But it's more than that," he added thoughtfully. "When I returned to the Shire, I took pleasure in it, yes, all of it, down to the sprouting of the last blade of grass. But I don't anymore."
"What!" exclaimed Frodo, aghast, "how can you say that!"
"Ah, but I can, my lad," Bilbo said sadly. "Those strawberries, now, every year they taste less sweet than they did the year before. I'm afraid if this goes on much longer, they'll be altogether tasteless."
"Why, then, maybe you do need a change," suggested Gandalf. "Leave behind everything that weighs you down. Everything," he emphasized.
"Everything, eh," said Bilbo, looking at Gandalf shrewdly. The wizard noticed that his hand went to his pocket. "But, my dear Gandalf, that would be impossible. Who would look after matters?"
"I'm sure Frodo could. You've brought him up well enough."
"Frodo! But he is not of age!"
"He will be soon enough."
"Why, yes, that's true," said Bilbo, looking at Frodo in surprise. "The years haven't seemed to pass for me, but they have been passing for him, haven't they. The day I turn eleventy-one, why, that's the day he comes of age. Do you know, Gandalf, that our combined ages will be one-hundred forty-four—one gross!"
"Remarkable! And therefore warranting some remarkable gesture on your part."
"Yes," agreed Bilbo, beginning to wax enthusiastic. "For a start, a particularly spectacular party, one that somehow features the number one-hundred forty-four—perhaps a party within a party for certain especial guests. Yes, that's just the ticket. It will be so much fun to draw up a list of one gross of guests."
"Oh, that's gross," said Merry, whose attention had been caught by the word 'party'.
"But doubtless some of the guests will be, too," Pippin chimed in.
Bilbo had leapt to his feet and was pacing the kitchen, small as it was.
"Gandalf, you've set me off. You are therefore obligated to design the fireworks."
"I will," said the wizard, surprising everyone by his failure to put up even the slightest resistance. "And I assure you that they shall be as spectacular as everything else that shall transpire that evening."
At the mention of fireworks, Merry and Pippin locked gazes and nodded one at the other. They had at once resolved to do their part in that department. Oh, yes, they each said silently, the fireworks would indeed be spectacular.
The remainder of Gandalf's stay at Bag End the wizard spent locked with Bilbo in the library, where the two of them drew up plans for the party. It was agreed that Gandalf would carry missives to Erebor and Dale commissioning the party favors, and he would arrange for Dwarves to augment the cooks and craftsmen that Bilbo would hire locally. As for Bilbo, much of his attention was devoted to drawing up lists of the gifts that in the Shire the host traditionally gave to guests at birthday parties, rather than vice versa, as was customary in other lands. "You say you feel 'weighed down'," said Gandalf. "Let this be an occasion when you shed much of that weight. Dispense freely with all that you possess."
"But I must leave something for Frodo," Bilbo protested.
"Of course! Your principal possessions will remain in his hands—all those things that are most precious to you."
At the word 'precious', Bilbo looked hard at Gandalf.
"Now, Bilbo," said Gandalf coolly, "we have already sorted this out. You know perfectly well that you could give away all your other possessions, but if you retain that one, you shall be as heavily burdened as before."
"I know you are right," grumbled Bilbo, "but it's still hard. And, yet, I don't know why it should be. It's only a bauble. I have never been avaricious, Gandalf. Gold and jewels have never had power over me."
"As you proved when you surrendered the Arkenstone to Bard in an attempt to stave off battle between the Dwarves and the Men of Dale and their allies the Elves of Mirkwood. That was a noble deed! I should not like to think that you will go out any less nobly."
"No more should I. Well, then, let it remain on the list of those things that I shall convey to Frodo."
"Yet I see that you have marked it off."
"Have I? Oh, yes, a line's been drawn through it. Absent-mindedness, I suppose."
"Aren't you going to write it back in again?"
"Well, yes, I suppose I should."
Reluctantly, Bilbo picked up the pen and dipped it in the ink well. Slowly, and in a shaky script unlike his usual neat one, he added the word 'ring' to the bottom of Frodo's list.
"You've very nearly blotted it," observed Gandalf, "but I can just make it out. Now, then, about the Sackville-Bagginses. You must leave them something."
This worked very nicely to distract Bilbo, as Gandalf had known it would.
"Ah, the Sackville-Bagginses. Do you know, Gandalf," the old Hobbit enthused, "I have just the thing. They stole my spoons whilst I was away on my adventure. I am sure of it! To tweak them, I shall give them yet another set of spoons!"
"Excellent!" exclaimed Gandalf. "That is right up there with giving Hugo Bracegirdle the bookcase and Adelard Took the umbrella."
"Do you think so?"
"I do indeed."
Beaming, Bilbo threw himself wholeheartedly into drawing up the cleverest list that could ever have been devised of gifts carefully matched to their intended recipients. The crisis surmounted, Gandalf let out a silent prayer of thanks and pulled out his pipe.
'Need a smoke after that fright', he said to himself. You may be sure that he did not blow any smoke rings, however! Smoke squares and smoke triangles aplenty, but no smoke rings. And later that evening, when wizard and Hobbit sat smoking together, every time Bilbo blew a smoke ring, Gandalf would quickly send a figure after it, a dragon that would fly through the smoky hoop, or a horse that would gallop through it. Indeed, if Gandalf could have contrived to do so, at meals he would have given the dishes rectangular shapes, and he would have squared the very walls of the hobbit-hole. But he could not, however, and so he had to satisfy himself with encouraging Bilbo to occupy himself entirely with making plans for the most extravagant party that had ever been held in the Shire.
While Gandalf was in the Shire coaching Bilbo with great tact and gentleness, his elven friends were still taking their ease at Fornost. Thanks to Tathar, all were housed quite comfortably, especially considering that they were camping in the ruins of an ancient city. Thanks to Edwen Nana, all were equally well fed. It should be mentioned that Edwen Nana also had washed and mended each and every one of their travel-stained garments. Caranlass had offered to help, but Edwen Nana waved her off.
"You are a newly-wed and shouldn't have to lift a finger. You'll be busy soon enough, I'll warrant, seeing as how you and Tathar have spent so much time in that private shelter he has devised."
Caranlass blushed, but she thought Edwen Nana's surmise was very likely a correct one.
With all the washing, Edwen Nana spent quite a lot of time on the banks of a nearby stream. From the tracks, it was plain that many animals came down to that stream to drink of its water. Most of the tracks she recognized, but there was one strange set.
"Now, that's an odd sort of an animal," she mused as, curious, she followed the trail for a bit. "Seems like a four-legged creature, but I would swear that two of its limbs end in mannish or elvish feet, whilst the other two limbs end in hands. A small creature it is, too, even smaller than a dwarf, I should think." It was noon-time, and the world was so bright and sunny that Edwen Nana did not fear to follow the trail even a little further. And so it was that she tracked the beast to its nest. Sleeping, it lay curled up in the shade of a bush. Edwen Nana regarded it with astonishment. It was the better part of naked, lacking as it did fur and being almost entirely devoid of garments. But Edwen Nana could see that it was not entirely naked. A bit of rag covered its naughty bits. It was not, she therefore concluded, altogether wild. It was also a 'he'. Moreover, he did indeed possess both hands and feet. Edwen Nana also saw that he had pointed ears. Elves, of course, had pointed ears, but this was no Elf. For one thing, he was much too small to be one of the Fair Folk. Edwen Nana knew that the creatures Gandalf had gone to visit also had pointed ears. Was this, she wondered, one of the fabled Periannath? True, from Gandalf's tales she had expected a more reputable-looking sort of being. This one did not have brass buttons on his coat—he had no coat at all!—and he did not look as if he ate even one dinner a day, let alone two whenever he could get them.
As she marveled at the creature, perhaps he sensed her presence. Suddenly he opened his eyes, which seemed too big for his famished face, and let out a wail of dismay.
"Lost, lost, we iss lost! A nassty Elf hass found uss, it hasss!"
The creature cowered and whimpered. Edwen Nana continued to regard him with frank interest, but she also tried to reassure him.
"I am an Elf," she acknowledged, "but I am not nasty. It's true that sometimes I am strict with younglings, but I like to think that I've never been unkind or cruel."
The creature stared at her no less warily, but he did cease whimpering. Encouraged, Edwen Nana went on.
"You poor, gangrel creature," she said sympathetically. "You look as if you haven't been fed properly in ages. Come to our camp, and I will find you somewhat to eat."
This offer of food softened the creature's expression considerably, but did not win him over altogether.
"We isss hungry," agreed the creature, nodding his head vigorously. "But we dasn't go near those nasty Elveses with their sharp swords. No! no! no! we stays in the bushes, we does. Safer in the bushes. And darker, too. We dasn't like the bright face. No, we dasn't. Hurts our eyeses, it does."
"I am sure," Edwen Nana coaxed, "that no Elf would hurt you. And, look, it is beginning to cloud over. The sun is not as bright as it was only a little while ago."
"No! no! no!" The creature shook his head even more vigorously than before.
"Very well, then, I will fetch you something to eat."
"You won't fetch the Elveses," asked the creature anxiously, "the Elveses with their sharp, poky swords?"
"I promise you that I will not," said Edwen Nana.
"You swears?"
"I swears," replied Edwen Nana. She was torn between laughter at the creature's droll manner and pity at his wretchedness.
The creature still looked suspicious, but he sat back on his haunches as if prepared to wait. Edwen Nana hurried back to the stream, retrieved her bundle of laundry, and returned to the camp. At the cooking fire, she filled a bowl with stew, and then, bowl in one hand, spoon in another, she hastened back to the bush where the creature had been hiding. Somewhat to her surprise, he had not fled, and when she proffered the bowl of stew, he snatched it from her hand. The spoon, however, the creature ignored. Instead, he raised the bowl to his mouth and greedily and loudly slurped down its contents. When he had finished, Edwen Nana tried to draw him out a little.
"My name is Nana," she began. "What is your name?"
The creature made a gurgling sound in his throat.
"Haven't you a name?"
Again the creature made a gurgling noise.
"If you don't have a name, I shall have to give you one."
"Isss our name," said the creature, and then he made the gurgling noise again.
"That sound is your name?"
The creature nodded.
"But that's not a proper name!"
"It suits usss, it doesss," the creature said sullenly. "Fits, yesss, fits uss."
"But tell me truly, did your mother give you that name?"
At this the creature's eyes filled with tears.
"No! no! no! no mother. We dasn't have a mother. Dasn't have a father. Dasn't have a cousin. No, no cousin. Dasn't have one."
The creature vigorously shook his head.
"No cousin. Dasn't have one. Never had one. Not never."
"It is true," said Edwen Nana, highly puzzled, "that not everyone has a cousin. If neither your mother nor your father had siblings, then of course you will have no cousins. And it is possible that a person would never know his father. But you must have had a mother, if only for a little while. Didn't she name you? I would be very surprised if she didn't!"
Perhaps it was the gentleness of her voice, so unlike any voice he had heard in ages. The creature's eyes cleared momentarily, and without cringing he looked directly into Edwen Nana's eyes, wherein his own face was reflected.
"Smeagol."
"Smeagol," she repeated, delighted. "That's a lovely name."
He continued to stare into the mirror of her eyes. At last he dropped his gaze.
"Dasn't like it," he said. "Too much like the other. Rhymes with it, it doesss."
"Rhymes with it?" said Edwen Nana, once again puzzled. "What do you mean? What does it rhyme with?"
Smeagol shook his head gloomily.
"Will alwayss be Gollum, we will."
"But your name is Smeagol!"
"Was Smeagol," he whispered. "Not no more. Not never."
Feeling great pity for the creature, Edwen Nana held out her hand to him. On it she bore a ring, a trifle really, one of the favors given out at the feast in celebration of Tathar and Caranlass' wedding. Smeagol startled at the sight of it.
"Ring," he hissed.
"Yes, a ring. Do you like it? You may have it if you wish."
Edwen Nana began to pull the ring from her finger.
"Dasn't want it," said Smeagol/Gollum. "We wants the other one, we does."
"The other one? I'm sorry," said Edwen Nana, "but I don't have another one. I don't generally wear jewelry, so I have only the one ring."
"The One Ring!" howled Gollum, suddenly banging his head against the ground. "The One Ring! We wants it, we doessss. We wants it!"
Vainly Edwen Nana tried to calm him, but he only shrieked the louder. Suddenly Tathar, drawn by his cries, sprang through the bushes, sword drawn.
"No!" shouted Edwen Nana. "He is harmless. He carries no weapon."
Tathar settled for seizing the creature with his free hand. Gollum, however, immediately proved to be not altogether harmless. His teeth were scanty but sharp, and he sank them into the wrist of Tathar's sword arm.
"Ow," howled Tathar. "The beast bit me!"
In his pain, he lost his grip on Gollum, who immediately opened his mouth and sprang clear of the Elf. Scuttling on all fours, he vanished into the scrub.
"What was that creature?" Tathar gasped, nursing his wrist. "In all my days in Middle-earth, I have never seen anything like it!"
"Perhaps," said Edwen Nana tartly, "you have never seen anything like it because it wasn't an 'it'. It was a 'he'. His name is Smeagol."
"Fine," said Tathar, equally acerbic. "He is a 'he', and he is Smeagol. Now perhaps you will condescend to tell me what he was."
"I don't know," admitted Edwen Nana to Tathar and the other Elves who had now joined them. "At first I thought he was a Perian, but he didn't much resemble those folk as Mithrandir has described them. He did have pointed ears and was small in size, even smaller than a dwarf; but he wasn't stout, and he didn't have a head of curly hair. In dress, manner, and speech, he also did not remind me of Mithrandir's tales of the Periannath."
"I should say not," Tathar muttered. His wrist still pained him.
Edwen Nana's manner softened.
"I am sorry, Tathar," she said contritely. "I didn't mean for you to be injured."
Now it was Tathar's turn to feel contrite.
"I'm not badly hurt, Nana."
"Would you like me to see to your wrist?" offered Edwen Nana. "No," she quickly corrected herself. "Caranlass will want to do that."
"Caranlass," said that very person, stepping forward from amongst the other Elves, "would indeed like to tend to Tathar's wrist, but she would very much appreciate it if you, Edwen Nana, would oversee her. I am a novice at this sort of thing, Nana, whilst you have had years—decades!—of experience."
Smiling gratefully at Caranlass, Edwen Nana accompanied her and Tathar back to the camp, and looked on, offering only an occasional word of advice, as Caranlass bathed and bandaged her husband's wrist.
Everyone kept a sharp eye out for Edwen Nana's creature, but no fresh tracks were spotted during the remainder of the fortnight that they waited at Fornost for the return of Gandalf. At the conclusion of that time, a familiar voice was heard singing from afar.
"Here comes Mithrandir," observed Legolas to Gilglîr.
"Aye," said the Seneschal, "and he persists in thinking that he can sing."
"Well, he can sing," retorted Legolas. "He is doing it now."
"Oh, is that what he is doing?"
Legolas swiped playfully at the Seneschal and then walked forward to greet his old friend.
"Mithrandir, mae govannen," he called as he drew near the wizard. "Did your business in the Shire go well?" he added as he fell into step beside the Istar.
"Very well, indeed. I think we shall see some movement shortly."
Legolas shook his head.
"Always trying to set things in motion. I hope you know, Mithrandir, that once you set things in motion, you can't always be sure of controlling them."
"I am quite aware of that, Legolas, but if we wait until the other side sets things in motion, then we may have even less hope of controlling matters."
"I suppose there is some wisdom in what you say," conceded Legolas.
"You suppose. You suppose," said Gandalf, bowing in mock gratitude. "Thank you very much! I hope you remember that I am your elder. In comparison with me, you are naught but a whelp."
"A whelp! Exactly how old are you anyway? Isn't it possible that I am older than you?"
"Perhaps in years," said Gandalf loftily, "but not in wisdom."
They had reached Gilglîr, who was grinning ferociously.
"Whelp," he mouthed at Legolas, who pretended to scowl.
"How have you fared these past two weeks," Gandalf continued. "Has anything of note occurred?"
"Well," said Gilglîr, "it turned out that a great deal of filth had accumulated in Fornost."
"Not surprising," observed Gandalf, "as the city is in ruins."
"Ah, but this filth consisted of about forty Orcs."
"Orcs," exclaimed Gandalf in dismay. "So many? And so near the Shire? My dear Legolas, I may have put things in motion not a moment too soon!"
"That may be true, Mithrandir," said Gilglîr, "but at least these Orcs no longer represent a threat. Under the leadership of the whelp—ah, the prince—they were all slain forthwith. We had some help from Caranlass in that endeavor," he added.
Gandalf was too troubled by the news that Orcs had drawn so near to notice the comment about Caranlass.
"Has anything else untoward transpired during my absence?"
"This may be of little moment," replied Legolas, "but Edwen Nana did stumble over a curious beast. When Tathar tried to capture it, it bit him and he lost his hold on it."
"A curious beast? In what way was it curious?"
"Edwen Nana got the best look at it. I'll fetch her."
In short order, Edwen Nana appeared and began to describe the creature. As she spoke, Gandalf grew more and more agitated.
"A smallish creature," he muttered. "Hands and feet but crawls in lieu of walking upright. Pointed ears. Nana! Did this creature have a name?"
"Two, Mithrandir. At first he told me his name was 'Gollum', but by and by I was able to make out that he had once been called 'Smeagol'."
"Smeagol, eh? That information may come in handy. Thank you. And now, Edwen Nana, may I trouble you to replenish my pack with such foodstuffs as can be spared."
"You're not off again!"
"I am. As soon as may be I must track this creature. Things have indeed been set in motion, and it will be long ere I once again sleep in a bed."
"But a tent, Mithrandir, only a tent," cried Edwen Nana, distressed.
"No tent for me," said Mithrandir firmly.
Gandalf could not be dissuaded, and in less than an hour the wizard was once again disappearing into the scrub. But this time he was not singing.