Chapter Nine: Of House and Home
After helping Bilbo settle into life in Rivendell, and a good long rest, Mélanyë finally went back to her normal routine; or would have, save that her 'normal' routine had always included her mother. She tried very hard to move on and begin a new life without her, but she still found herself expecting to find her around a corner, or in her favorite spot in the Hall of Fire.
Bilbo, of course, made a valiant effort to fill the void her mother had left and he did keep her happy, but there was always the constant reminder of what she no longer had. She realized one day that it was her house. She and her mother had lived there for as long as she could remember, and everything in it reminded her of her loss. It was Bilbo who suggested that she should move.
She chose a room near Bilbo's in the wing of the main house where visitors usually stayed. He helped her, and when they were finished she had a grand party that went on far into the night. The new surroundings did help, and Bilbo noticed that the air of depression had left her.
She at last went back to her bakery, where she had worked happily ever since she was old enough to reach the counters. She found her friend Norin there working away and greeted her with a hug. When they parted Mélanyë grinned as she saw that her friend had left a streak of cocoa on the front of her robes. She looked to Norin with mock seriousness.
"I see that everything has been kept in order." Norin bit back a smile and saluted, clicking her heels together.
"Yes, ma'am, oh captain of baked goods!" The two erupted in laughter. "So you finally come back to work! You know, Elrond had sorely missed your cookies!" She smiled at her friend. Mélanyë began to inspect her bakery, touching all her old tools and mixing bowls.
"Well, I'll be sure to make a big batch just for him," she said over her shoulder. She picked up a cookie cutter and sighed. "I may have to re-learn all of this," she said. Norin laughed, but she had been serious. She had been away for so long that her bakery seemed a mystery to her now. It was like meeting up with a friend that she hadn't seen in years. She felt Norin's hand on her shoulder.
"Should I teach you," she said evenly, "or do you still remember how to crack an egg?" A slow smile spread across the hobbit's face and she gave her friend a playful whack on the arm.
Mélanyë and Bilbo soon slipped into a routine, spending much of their time together. Bilbo's first visit to the Hall of Fire ended with him being carried off to bed in a sleeping bundle. He soon got used to all the singing, and began composing songs of his own. He also began writing his book, which he showed to her one night as if her was revealing a deep secret.
"It's all about my adventure," he said with barely contained excitement. He looked anxiously over her shoulder as she flipped through the carefully written pages. About halfway through they went blank. She looked up at Bilbo.
"Well, it's not quite finished," he said. In the back of the book were some lose sheets scrawled with songs and poems he had heard in the Hall of Fire, and while they had travelled. Some were translated into common speech but many were in Elvish.
"I can help you with these," she offered, holding up a page filled with the flowing script.
"Oh, I would be so grateful if you did," he said, "I can write them down, but it's so hard to translate properly. I can never get the full meaning of the words when I do it." She closed the book and hugged him.
"I'd be happy to help"
Aragorn visited often, bringing news of the lands about Rivendell and of the Shire, which was of particular interest to the hobbits. Mélanyë thought she guessed the reason for his frequent visits, but kept it to herself. She never told anyone, but she had once spied a quiet moment between him and Arwen through her bakery window.
She had been kneading dough when she looked up and saw them by the fountain in the gardens below. They sat close together and she saw Aragorn take her hands and kiss her. Mélanyë had stopped her work when she saw them and was now leaning on her table head in hands, watching the scene below. She sighed longingly, thinking of what it must be like to have someone like Aragorn. She was still young yet, but she felt that she would never fall in love as they had. She loved many, of course, but not as Aragorn and Arwen loved each other.
She hastily went back to her work as she heard the bakery door open. She looked up expecting to see Norin standing beside her, but instead she saw Lindir. He grinned at her.
"What?" she asked nervously. Lindir approached her and with his thumb he wiped away the flour from her face.
"Staring out the window again?" he said. She blushed and turned hastily to the window, noting with relief that Aragorn and Arwen had left. Lindir leaned against the wall in front of her.
"Gandalf is telling stories of hobbits again," he said. He pointed to the dough on her table. "Are you sure this can't wait? They're very funny- you're missing out." She chuckled. Gandalf had also visited often since they'd been back. He was well known in Rivendell for his wisdom- and his stories. She hastily crammed the dough into a loaf pan and, wiping her hands on her apron she followed Lindir out the door.
The years passed, each just as the one before. As time went on, however, things began to happen: Gandalf and Aragorn's visits became less frequent, the summers seemed to grow less bright and cheerful, and it seemed to her that Elrond had grown troubled. Mélanyë also noticed that Bilbo began to age. Very gradually, but steadily. She noticed one day that he would have trouble standing if he had been sitting for a long time. Someone else noticed too, and for his birthday he was presented with a beautifully carved walking stick.
Mélanyë spent as much of her time as she could with Bilbo, for in the back of her mind she knew that his time was ending. She spoke with Lindir about it, and he assured her that it was the way of things, and that all mortals must pass on. It didn't ease her sorrow in watching her dear uncle age so quickly, but it did give her comfort. Still, it seemed that he had lots of life in him yet, and after all, he wasn't about to go without finishing his book.
One night in Bilbo's study he showed it to her again. As she flipped through its pages for a second time she saw that he has added drawings, along with a detailed map of the Shire. She smiled remembering the beautiful green hills and the party under the Tree. Her thoughts then went to Frodo, and what must be going on in the Shire. She wished she could visit, but couldn't bear to leave Bilbo alone. She looked over at him in his chair by the fire, and saw that he had drifted off while she was studying his map.
She got up and gently replaced the book on the table. She went to leave, but turned back and looked at him. The firelight danced on her uncle's aged face and smoothed away many of the lines that had so gradually appeared since she'd known him. It seemed to her that in his peaceful sleep he looked as young as he was when they'd met. Of course she saw that his hair was now white instead of the dusty brown it had been, and his skin was lighter and more delicate, but just for a moment, she saw him as he was years ago.
A small thin tear traced a line down her cheek as she realized that he would never be able to go on any more adventures. He could never again take her to see dwarves, or to go for long walks and camping trips in the forests. She realized now what it meant to be a mortal, and also that the woe of the Eldar was to watch as their friends among them pass on while they are left with their memory. She placed a soft kiss on her uncle's forehead before leaving him to his peaceful dreams.