The evening star

The summer breeze was trying to steal his pages. "I probably shouldn't try to write outside," Bilbo said, "but it makes a nice change." Two doves were billing on an archway below, and butterflies were dancing in the sunlight.

He was translating old poems, walking once more upon the great Road that was ancient history and story. He fell asleep amid an elegy to the lost beauty of Luthien. When he opened his eyes, he saw Luthien herself walking towards him, more beautiful even than the songs could make her.

He blinked, but she was not a dream. She was escorted by tall elves who wore brooches fashioned in the form of green leaves, and as she passed him, it seemed to Bilbo that her gaze fell upon him, and her mouth curved slightly into a gentle smile.

"Who is she?" he asked, when she had passed inside, and the world and everything in it resumed. The doves were still there. The butterflies still flew. The soft wisps of cloud were little moved from where they had been. "Who was she?" he asked.

At length he found somebody who would tell him. She was Arwen, the daughter of Elrond, the Evenstar of her people, and she had returned from a long stay with her mother's people in Lothlorien.

"Lothlorien," Bilbo breathed that night, as he gazed at the evening star gleaming bright in the west. Aragorn had often promised to paint him a picture of Lorien, but never had.

This time, my friend, Bilbo thought, I'll try to paint a picture for you, if words can do justice to beauty such as hers.

It was over a year before Aragorn returned to Rivendell. Bilbo watched him from a high balcony, and saw how heavy his step was, and how haggard he looked, how tired. He did not see him again that day, but that night, Bilbo dozed in the Hall of Fire as music and singing lapped around him like the waters of a gentle pool. Rising slowly through the surface of song, he saw Arwen in a dress of blue and silver, sitting in a low chair. A tall elf stood beside her…

No, not an elf, he realised. It was Aragorn, dressed as an elf lord, wise and strong. He said something to Arwen, and Arwen smiled at him, a smile like the first clear dawn of summer.

Bilbo carried that smile back with him into sleep.

"I saw you arriving," Bilbo said, the following morning. He had almost convinced himself that the previous night had been a dream. "You looked tired, Dunadan. Have they been very difficult, the paths that you have been walking?"

"Dark and difficult," Aragorn said. He was back in his travel-worn clothes; or maybe he had never changed them. "I was far in the east, hunting."

"Hunting?" Bilbo ran his finger up and down and patterned metal of the balcony rail. "What were you hunting?"

"Something that needs to be captured."

"Needs to be," Bilbo echoed. "So you haven't caught it yet?"

Aragorn shook his head. "I will paint no pictures of the roads I have travelled since last we met, for some things should not be remembered."

A white creeping plant was entwined around the railing. Bilbo brushed its petals with his fingers, and watched the pollen fall. "It doesn't matter," he said. "I had a picture for you this time, but I think… Unless I was dreaming, I think…" He rubbed his fingers together, scattering the last of the yellow pollen. "I think you might know about it already."

Aragorn came to stand beside him. The railing came not much higher than his waist, whereas Bilbo had to stand on tiptoe to see over it. It was strange how comforting it felt to have someone so tall beside you. Once, long ago, Bilbo had felt threatened by it, but it was years now since he had seen anybody close to his own height.

"She was such a vision of beauty," Bilbo said, "as if I had… fallen into a song. I thought she was Luthien."

"So did I," Aragorn said quietly, "when first we met."

Bilbo glanced up at him, and caught once again an echo of the man he had seen the night before. If he had received such a smile from Arwen, Bilbo thought that he, too, would shine.

"And are you…?" Bilbo began, but he found that he could not ask it. There was so little about his friend that he did not know. For years, Aragorn had been bringing Bilbo what he needed, but Bilbo had never wondered what pictures Aragorn cherished in his own mind. Until he had seen Arwen, he had never thought to return the gift.

"We pledged our troth in Lorien," said Aragorn, "many years ago. Since then we have seldom met. We cannot be together, not yet, and maybe never will be."

"Oh!" Bilbo cried. "Why not?"

"Because…" Aragorn was silent for a very long time. There was movement on the terrace below them, half hidden by the trees. A male blackbird sang from the rooftop, its beak shining like gold.

"Oh, I wish I could help you, the way you've helped me," Bilbo said fervently. "You've been so good to me. Even when you come in half-dead with exhaustion, you've made time to seek me out. I know it seems silly, but if it wasn't for those pictures of yours…"

Bilbo would never travel again; he was at peace with that now. But back in those early days, Aragorn had helped him to realise that he could travel without even stepping outside. He would never walk in the Shire again, but Aragorn had ensured that he no longer needed to. Even in Rivendell, he could still see the Shire.

"It's impossible to feel truly discontented in the House of Elrond," Bilbo said, "but you can feel melancholy at times. If it wasn't for you, I would feel melancholy more often. Because of your pictures. Because of your friendship… Oh dear, I'm not saying it well. We hobbits aren't good at saying those things that really matter. We talk so much, but only because we don't know how to say those few words that mean the most." He reached up and touched Aragorn's arm where it rested on the railing. "I wish I could help."

"You do," Aragorn said. "You always have."

Bilbo shook his head. "But I haven't done anything."

"You have." Aragorn looked upwards towards the sun. "When you describe something for someone else, you see it more clearly yourself. When I walked in fair places, I searched for scenes that I could describe to you. I saw the beauty of places that I would never have noticed otherwise. I paused, when I had time, to seek out precious views. I've cherished them all this past year, especially those from the Shire."

"Oh," said Bilbo. "Really? Even when you've got…" He swallowed. "I mean, when there's Arwen… When you must surely have such pictures of her."

"Yes," said Aragorn with a smile. "Even then."