Warp and Weft
Chapter 2: The House on the Hill
At first look, it seemed so familiar.
Which was really rather silly since the house was not burrowed proper hobbit-fashion into the side of the hill and the windows weren't round, so there was no way it could be the same. Instead, it was situated on the hill's crest, and a very fair hill it was, high and broad and rounded, carpeted with grass green as the Shire could boast. The lane that led to the house was a gentle winding incline wide enough for a pony cart to pass easily, and it was bordered with round white stones that reminded Frodo of the path to Tom Bombadil's house (though fortunately without any hint of a barrow within near reach). The house's front door was not round, but it was painted a bright green and its top arched with a sensible round curve rather than the elongated fashion preferred by the Elves.
"Is that a Dwarf?" Frodo murmured to Bilbo as they rode up the lane and their new home on the Lonely Isle came into very clear and detailed view.
"Well, it's not an Elf," Bilbo said rather loudly (he was more than a little deaf). "As a matter of fact, I have no idea who it could be. Let's ask him." With that, they drew up to the low front gate and stopped, Frodo pulling gently on the reins and setting the cart's brake.
The stranger seemed not to hear them, for as they got out of the cart and walked up the path, Bilbo leaning heavily on Frodo's arm, he did not turn round or give any indication that he knew they were there. Instead, he continued with his work, which at the moment consisted of putting some finishing touches to the window frame next to the front door. The paint he was dabbing on was as bright green as the door's. From behind, the hobbits saw that he was tall and thick-set, powerful in build.
"Rather tall for a Dwarf, don't you think?" Bilbo said in a stage whisper as they arrived at the front step. That the stranger heard for he turned round and set down his paintbrush on top of the paint pot before straightening up to greet them. Though he was far too tall for a Dwarf, nevertheless any Dwarf would have been proud to have had the long hair and thick curling black beard that spread about his face and down his chest and back. Deep-set eyes reminded Frodo of Gimli and, oddly, even more of the Elves. There was long sight in them. His hands were strong and broad, stained with paint and nicked by hammer and nail.
He bowed. "Welcome to your new home, Little Masters. I am the Builder." His voice was very deep and resonant, befitting someone with such a broad chest. He spoke with an odd accent, saying his words of greeting slowly, as though unaccustomed to speaking the Common Tongue.
"Is that your name?" asked Bilbo, looking up at him with bright eyes, rocking back on his heels in the manner Frodo recognized as sheer interest and overwhelming curiosity.
"You may call me that ... though perhaps you might prefer to call me Hal."
Hal turned out to be very helpful if not very talkative, though he did let them know that he would be making some final adjustments to their house during their first week or so there. He turned up early every morning, usually as the hobbits were sitting down to first breakfast in their cozy dining nook off the kitchen (cozy for them though Hal had to bend over quite a bit to fit without knocking his head every time he moved). They soon learned to make enough breakfast for all three of them. It turned out that Hal was particularly fond of scones and strawberry jam washed down with a very large mug of strong tea (with four heaping teaspoons of sugar and a good half cup of creamy milk).
"Well, he certainly eats like a Dwarf," Bilbo said to Frodo one day as they were doing the washing up while Hal was staining some book shelves a mellow shade of cherry wood. "Did I ever tell you about the time Bombur ..."
"Shh ..." Frodo answered though it came out more like a bark of laughter. "At least he doesn't stay for supper."
And he didn't. Every day, when the sun began to sink into the west, Hal nodded a farewell as he picked up his tool box and made his way down the path.
As they began to feel a little settled in and not quite so strange, the hobbits found that they both loved to spend time behind the house. While Bilbo was content to sit in a comfortable chair and look about him for a few minutes before nodding off for a nap, Frodo explored their generous expanse of lawn though he did not go beyond its borders, at least not initially. There would be plenty of time for that, and especially to discover what was to be found in the woods that lay round about.
"Going off poking around again, are you?" Bilbo asked one afternoon after they'd been there a week and the house was almost completely fitted out to Hal's satisfaction. "Don't get lost ... and don't go too close to that edge. You're not used to such things."
Frodo stooped and dropped a kiss on Bilbo's forehead. "I'll try not to, Bilbo dear. But I do want to have another look around. I think there might be a path leading down to the shore. I thought I might have seen something yesterday afternoon when I was there."
Bilbo harrumphed a bit but in an understanding sort of way, so Frodo felt encouraged as he walked across the long sloping green lawn that looked out on the sea. From where Bilbo sat, he could see the endless leagues of the water but not the beach or Avallónë further up the coast ... and not the cliffs. It was the cliffs that particularly intrigued Frodo for some reason. The white shore, the green land, even the Elven city that was so tall and white—he had expected all that; more, he had seen them in his dreams.
But he hadn't seen the white cliffs that began exactly where the green lawn ended, tumbling down in steep and jagged slopes until they met the sandy shore. They were so white. Frodo had thought the sand was the cleanest, brightest white he'd ever seen until he saw the cliffs rearing up above the beach, high and sparkling like clear jewels under the sun. They were so different from the dull gray and brown of the Emyn Muil and yet their edges looked as knife-sharp and ragged.
When he reached the edge of the lawn, Frodo turned round to wave at Bilbo, and Bilbo waved back. Hal had come outside and was with him, standing tall and stalwart as a strong old tree, his thumbs tucked into the waistband of his trousers. Good. Bilbo liked talking to him, not that there was a lot of response, but Hal had turned out to be as good a listener as he was a builder of houses and hobbity furniture.
Frodo turned back and knelt on the grass, settling in for a good long watch. There was much to see, not just the cliffs to examine for paths. Avallónë's harbor was in view, and the Elven city rose in green and white terraces above the harbor. Usually, it was not a busy place, so it surprised Frodo to see so many of the Fair Folk clustered at the quays. Then he was that much more surprised when he looked out onto the water and saw that the ship that brought him was leaving, setting out again for Middle-earth he supposed.
He heard Hal settle next to him, but he kept his eyes on the ship, watching its sails fill with a brisk wind. "It's going back there, isn't it?"
"Yes, that is what it is for, though first it will go to Alqualondë and from there set out on its return to mortal lands."
"How long will the ships come and go?"
"Until the Elves are all here or make the final choice to stay there until the end."
"And do you build the ships?"
"No. That is their task."
They watched the departing ship in companionable silence until Bilbo hailed them after a few minutes. "Hoy, Frodo!"
Frodo stood up and, waving at Bilbo, began to jog back to the house. He arrived only slightly out of breath.
"Did you find your path down the cliffs, Frodo?"
"No, I'm afraid not."
"Well, don't worry." Bilbo reached out and patted Frodo's hand. "Maybe another day."
"Gandalf!" Frodo threw open the door. "Come in, come in!"
Hal laughed as Gandalf came into the parlor, stooping as he stepped over the threshold. The wizard wore a familiar (to the hobbits, that is) old gray robe ragged about the hem and carried a crooked staff in his hand. "Gandalf, indeed!" Hal rumbled and ran his fingers through his curling beard. "Is young Olórin still in there somewhere, not to mention Gandalf the White?"
With that, he chuckled again and, gathering his tool box, bowed a farewell and left. They could hear his laughter as he made his way down the path.
Frodo and Bilbo looked at Gandalf, who stood with a bemused expression on his face, looking inward. Eventually Frodo asked, "Do you know him?"
Gandalf started. "Oh, yes, yes I do" he said. "Very helpful sort ... handy."
When he offered no additional information, Frodo moved to another tack. "Will we see you as you were before you went to Middle-earth?"
The bemused expression faded a little, replaced by the familiar laugh lines. Gandalf's eyes twinkled as he took off his tall hat. (How many of those did he have?) He said, "It surprised me, too, that I have not taken on my old form. But ..."
"Yes?" Bilbo said though it sounded more like a snort.
"I seem to have grown accustomed to this ragged old wanderer." He smiled. "I suppose you have a guest room for me? I think I shall stay the night ... if I'm welcome, that is. Though you might have no choice if I don't keep my head ducked. I see you keep the same proportions that you did at Bag End though I suppose that's Hal's doing."
The hobbits shook their heads fondly. Frodo put away Gandalf's hat and staff, and Bilbo put the kettle on to boil.
With thick mugs of tea warming their hands, they looked at each other, each of them a little shy and caught up in his own thoughts. Gandalf broke the silence. "And what shall you call your new home, my dear friends?"
Frodo and Bilbo exchanged a glance and then Bilbo spoke. "Bless my beard ... or bless yours, Gandalf. We haven't had time to think of such a thing, what with settling in and giving Hal carpentry orders. Do you have any ideas, Frodo?"
Frodo settled back in his chair and thought about it for a minute. "I don't know. Part of me would like to make it something from the Shire, but as homely as this house is, we're not in the Shire anymore. I shouldn't like to force things that aren't meant to be, if that makes any sense."
Bilbo nodded. "Yes, my boy, that does to me."
Frodo shook his head and said to Gandalf, "He still calls me his boy."
"How terrible of him, but then he always has been stubborn about some things so I suspect you shall have to let him continue," Gandalf said. He reached out one hand and touched a bright strand of white hair that curled behind Frodo's ear. It was not the only one.
"I thought we were discussing what to name the house," Bilbo said, trying to look stern. "What do you say, Gandalf? You haven't given us your wise opinion."
"Let the name simmer a while, like a good soup does," said Gandalf. "Something will come to one of you when you least expect it."
"Very well," said Bilbo. "And speaking of soup ... Frodo, my middle-aged cousin, don't you have a pot on the fire?"
A few days later, a good name suggested itself. Actually, it was Hal who suggested it as he was making a final tour of inspection, for he was finished with his work. He did not realize he had suggested it and the hobbits never got the opportunity to tell him because they never saw him again.
As he stood on the front step saying farewell, he patted the door frame and said, "I don't think you'll find another home like this in all the Western lands."
After a goodly amount of nagging by Bilbo, Frodo got out a pot of green paint that Hal left behind and daubed the name on the front gate. When visitors arrived they were greeted by:
West Hill
Bilbo and Frodo
Baggins
In addition to the lettering, there was a sort of rough twining vine, also painted in green, though to Bilbo it always looked like a blob. But West Hill was a name that both Bilbo and Frodo agreed was truthful. On the one hand, it certainly was in the west and farther west than either of them had ever thought they would be. And on the other hand, it had a hobbity Shire-like sound to it, one that had come naturally.
They knew they had chosen well when they saw the grin on Gandalf's face on his next visit.
But Frodo still had not found the path down the cliffs he thought he'd spied during his first days at West Hill.
"Did you think it odd that you were just given a house like that and sent off alone?" Vairë asked as she and Frodo stood and looked at the second tapestry, a very fine rendition of West Hill, including a clear depiction of the painted front gate and a rather shadowy one of Hal bending over his tool box.
"A little. Though it's not like they just set us in the cart the first day and sent us on our way as if we were unwelcome visitors. We'd been there some time though I couldn't tell you exactly how long." Frodo laughed. "It's always that way there. Odd." He shook his head and returned to the topic at hand. "I think they realized we wanted to get off by ourselves. Avallónë was more than a little overwhelming, as beautiful as it was and as welcoming as everyone was to us. Even to Bilbo, who'd spent so many years in Rivendell. It really was a kindness ..." Frodo stopped a moment and traced the outline of Hal's tool box picked out in gray and brown threads. "But what I really want to know is who was Hal? He was certainly not an Elf."
"No, indeed! Did he not tell you his name ... or Gandalf, surely you asked him?"
Frodo snorted. "Gandalf? He was no help. Believe me, I tried that pretty quick. Oh, he hasn't changed at all in the matter of doling out information in all the time I've known him."
"And Hal said nothing else?"
"Well," Frodo said, sucking on his lower lip for a minute while thinking back. "When we first met him, he introduced himself and said he was the Builder. Is that what you mean?"
"The Builder? Do you mean the Maker?"
"I don't think so."
"Hm. Perhaps it's a new name he's taken though it could be a translation difficulty. I don't imagine Aulë speaks the Common Tongue very often."
"Aulë!"
"Well, yes, who else? You do not think we would have sent an inexperienced craftsman to build your home, do you, Ring-bearer?"
Frodo's jaw fell open. Vairë, smiling, patted him on the shoulder and moved away to the next tapestry in the series, leaving him to contemplate West Hill and the shadowy figure of Hal which, now that he looked more carefully at it, did not seem quite so indistinct.
As he traced the figure (outlined in silver thread, he noticed), Vairë's voice drifted over to him. "Perhaps you just did not hear him clearly when he introduced himself."
"Hm?"
"I believe the Dwarves like to call him Mahal." With that, Vairë fell silent as she waited for Frodo to finish his contemplation and join her.
As for Frodo, he grinned at the tapestry and spoke under his breath, not that he minded her overhearing him. "Mahal, indeed. Well, perhaps my ears needed a bit of cleaning that day, but I wouldn't take that possibility for a bet."
With a shake of his head, Frodo joined Vairë.
