Hello ! For several days now (this is march the sixteenth), there has been quite a traffic on this particular chapter, from readers in Germany. You are of course welcome in these pages and I am delighted our neighbors (I am french) read me.
But may I ask why so ? Do you have a peculiar acquaintance with this very chapter ? Do you have a deep love for Rivendell that prevents you from reading further ? Do you have issues editing it ? Has a teacher decided to have his students find all the mistakes in my English translation ?
Well I must admit I am curious. Readers from Germany, please tell me why this chapter !
.oOo.
The Hobbit's joy was short-lived. One does not travel with a ranger at war as one frolics in the Shire. The steps were long and winding, and the meals, cold and fast. The squire-ranger's learning appeared confined to collecting timber, gathering wild berries, burrowing roots and especially neverending walking and night vigils. The evening pipe was hardly authorized; furthermore Gandalf's full authority was necessary to have it admitted. Arathorn addressed him mockingly:
-« Will you explain this new fad to me? For many years the residents of small Breeland have been cultivating and consuming pipeweed. They were recently imitated in southern Shire. And then Gandalf the Grey himself adopts this curious rite. I did not know wizards may indulge in these petty quirks. This herb has no known property besides its distillate that our ancestors from Westernesse used against pain and apathy. Do you suffer from chronic pain or creeping apathy? »
The coal of Gandalf's eyes were brought to incandescence under his bristling eyebrows. The wizard was about to reply when Gerry interposed hastily:
- « It's Tobold Hornblower who invented pipe-weed in the Shire long ago! »
A smile on his face, the Dùnadan answered to him with a learned air:
- «Pipe-weed in the Shire is very recent. I am a lot older than I look, don't you know? It's in Bree indeed that once leaves used to be dried and burned in pipes. The habbit was known there a few centuries ago, at the arrival of refugees tribes from Dunland. Old Tobold imported these methods and has certainly taken advantage of distinct varieties of plants, suited to the South farthing climate. Our guards posted at Sarn ford sometimes deal with the master of manor Hornblower, which is the most famous terroir. But the weed itself was brought in the second age by Numenoreans settlers, the ancestors of my people. »
The Thain's heir felt upset that the Shire was contested this art's genuine authorship. Alerted by the Hobbit's scowl, the ranger continued:
- « But South Farthing has given its pedigree to drying and smoking, and made pipe-weed crop a true industry. My dear Hobbit, this is an expertise and a wealth that could help revitalize trade in Eriador! »
The Hobbit had never considered his green Shire as an economic high place, able to export rare and elaborate products. He reached into his memory, which usualy dealt with dishes and desserts or female faces and baits, to find a precedent when the Shire would have shone by the industrial inventiveness or the commercial trick of its people. He only found the semi-legendary tales of its origin, embellished, sweetened and polished by centuries of peace and growing isolation. He expressed his instinctive disapproval about a development that would put his people in contact with the unknown:
- « My people fosters a long tradition of modest prosperity: we produce what we need. Any surplus is dried, salted or smoked, if possible, or we resign ourselves to eat it anyway. Progress developed by industrious Dwarves, deep Elves or inventive Men does not much affect us. »
Gandalf, who was drawing on his pipe, while listening the exchange with amusement, came against all odds to Arathorn's support:
- « The highest task of tradition is to return to progress the politeness it deserves and allow progress to emerge from tradition as tradition arose out of progress. 1 »
This interfering amazed the Hobbit and irritated the Dùnadan, because Gerry was now fully occupied to unravel the clever linod2.
- « A tradition is nothing more than a successful progress.3 », summarized the Dùnadan to cut short. He continued with conviction:
« Your people have remarkably accommodated the traditions of Arnor. The inhospitable and wet holes of your years of wandering benefited the construction techniques of men, whether they were inherited from Elves or discovered by themselves. Your customs merged with our laws that, better than a pastoral tradition, govern land tenure, its work and its defense. And your people have contributed to the permanence of the kingdom, in such a way that they survived it. »
Arathorn made a pause to prepare for what he had to say:
- « Now you have lived for yourself a part of the long soil of the Dúnedain in the service of the Shire peace. We ask nothing in return: the Shire is free and carefree! We would not admit it to be otherwise. But if you think for one moment that our pain might have won your sympathy, you must consider this opportunity for both you and us. Your people master the techniques of pipe-weed. Expanding this production and trade it with your neighbors can help us rebuild a strong and prosperous Arnor! Think of the glory to bring to your neighbors, a wealth that helps them recover!
- But nobody else than us smokes pipe-weed! », said the small Hobbit incredulously.
This protest of common sense, that Gandalf resisted the urge to oppose to the Dùnadan for several minutes, knocked the latter from enthusiastic plans to harsh realities.
- « Yet, a wizard still indulges in it! », he muttered with hope.
Then he added more formally:
- « Master Hobbit, let us make a pact: you teach me the art of pipe-weed, in return I shall instruct you in the ways of the rangers!
- Our deal is concluded! », the Hobbit said, suppressing a yawn.
.oOo.
The next day the small group continued its way at dawn. They joined the Great East Road in a fragrant pine forest. Gandalf drove the pony that was dragging its iron shoes with an air of weary resignation. The Hobbit trotted around the Dùnadan who paced the long and steady rangers' stride. A grassy slope led to the ford of the river Bruinen. Gerry enjoyed the contact with fresh water but Arathorn hoisted him on the pony, as the swollen waters of late snowmelt did not allow him to cross safely.
They climbed a steep slope among tall larches that led on a grassy plateau, dotted with clusters of huge blocks of gray stone. Through some pine groves, they traveled a few miles in a brisk and fees westerly wind that washed the sky's white clouds. A little after lunch break, they left the road to the North, in a gray-green conifers wood. Darkness under the trees forced them to slow the pace on the carpet of needles that choked the sounds. Lower branches hindered their march and lacerated their flanks. Curiously, they always found it easier to move to their right, or even back on their steps. But Gandalf maintained their direction. Then the ground became very uneven, littered with sharp rocks. The pony refused to advance, not to mention Gerry. Arathorn sang a little Elven tune at the ears of the mount, which resumed its walk reluctantly. They had to mobilize all their strength of character to get through the rock. Gandalf pushed some agressive snakes away with his staff.
The air progressively filled with vapors that rose straight to the head with heavy scents of resin and honey. Travelers hardly resisted this haze of sleep; it took all of Gandalf's energy and the long experience of Arathorn to stay awake and guide the pony and the Hobbit in the right way. Deaf cracklings and fugitive rustlings were gushing from the gnarled trees. A huge stretch of dry branch fell with a crash in front of them. They had to fight against a growing tangle of roots and branches, feeling the menacing sounds of the angry forest welling up around them. Deliberately ignoring the threats and silencing their fear, they came abruptly to the edge of a precipice, masked by a fragrant mist that emanated from it. Gerry would have fallen into the abyss if Arathorn had not retained him. Slender archer silhouettes emerged from fog around them, waving their arms for a moment before vanishing under the larches foliage.
The travelers followed the ridge to their left. Some welcoming whispers, mingled with friendly jibes, punctuated their slow and cautious advance. Then they found the entrance to the secret hidden valley: the ridge softened and at times curls unveiled a little bridle path leading down into the mists, surrounded by fir trees. The confused echo of a mighty river, flowing below in a swift stream, rose to them, sifting through the dense but blazing fog. They went down the long and winding narrow path. Suddenly the mist cleared away in their descent on the trail. After a turn, a wide valley was revealed, framed by a glittering rainbow.
Under a precipice of a few yards, a steep pines incline softened into an oaks and beeches down, and ended with gently sloping closed fields and orchards. The valley of the split combe was fueled to the East by a powerful waterfall, the foot of which was covered by fine mist. The singing river crossed the broad valley, and escaped to the West by a narrow defile. The air warmed as they ran down the trail, revealing scents of saps and pollens.
The valley seemed much larger when the Hobbit walked out of the wooded slope: groves with many shades of green mingled with small cultures that gleamed in the serene air. A herd of horses grazed in the distance near the western defile in the shadows projected by the setting sun. Gerry realized that an insullied sky prevailed over the valley. To the East of the valley, on the upper slopes near the falls, small white goats were frolicking and tinkled their bells in a joyful song of welcome.
The spring mildness touched the travelers with its fragrances of blooming orchards. The enchanting sounds of renewal lightened their tired limbs and transported them in a time of innocence and peace when the world was young. Gerry would forever remember his winding descent into the magic and secret splendor of the terraces, shimmering out of the times of the mortals.
At the bottom of the valley, a narrow stone bridge without parapet allowed them to reach the opposite bank, dotted with graceful homes. Laughter, songs and words of welcome greeted the travelers as they advanced one by one on the bridge. Most gently mocked and took pity on Gandalf's new protege. The river flowed over a bed of multicolored stones, that sometimes shimmered like gems under the strong current.
A large Elven castle raised its pinnacles near the waterfall. They climbed the last slope with glee and reached the steps of the last homely home, West of the ancient world. The gate opened silently, and a gathering of the beautiful folk came forward to greet them.
.oOo.
Elven girls, wearing crowns of wild flowers, sang in the Sindarin tongue that has the power to shape the winged words. Their balad told the wanderings of Mithrandir4 and the tireless mentoring of young mortals, both Periannath and Aratani5. A tall Elf with long blond hair advanced, surrounded by some members of the house of Elrond, with his open palms forward.
-« Namarië6 ! », he said, raising his hand near his face.
He welcomed Gandalf in Sindarin with friendly consideration, then Arathorn with formal respect, finally he bowed to the level of the Hobbit with a smile by adopting Westron:
- « Welcome to the house of Elrond, master Took! I am Erestor, chamberlain and advisor to the Lord of Rivendell. Here you will find rest for body and mind. »
Gerry rarely gawked. Yet the beauty of the land and people had for a moment deprived him of the ability to express his feelings, however skilled he was at it. The prosaic mindset of Hobbits had him ask thoughtlessly, forgetting all forms of politeness:
- « How do you know my name?
- The wandering companies of our brothers continually gather news from all the lands of Eriador. We have come across you more than once in the groves and forests of Woody End, far away in the Shire. Although you rarely saw us, I guess. But do not be surprised if Master Elrond knows everything about those who enter his domain, be they guided by allies and Elf-friends like the powerful lords who led you here. »
Gerry had the mixed feeling that anything he might have done in recent days was known to his host. His reason told him that this impression was probably exaggerated, but he vaguely guessed that small vicissitudes of the outside world were seen from here with quite a relative importance. When he realized his host was desoriented, he bowed low:
- « I beg your forgiveness for my Hobbit boldness, which is due only to my dazzle. Halflings' greetings essentially involve declining our names and kinship. You seemed to know mine, so I did not know what to add! A thousand thanks for your warm welcome and your offer of rest. »
The tall Elf laughed:
- « Our own greetings for friends or strangers no longer remember halflings, I am afraid! But Periannath are courteous people. How eloquent you would be when you have indulged in rest... »
He added in a facetious tone:
- « …or the tables of this house! »
This time Gerry no longer doubted, this Elf knew a lot about his actions - and probably too long, he would have to hold his tongue. Erestor led them inside.
.oOo.
The Hobbit was quickly supported by a petty and smiling Elf, who led him by many patios and halls with aerial decorations. His small room opened on the North slope of the valley, directly on a veranda bordering a garden.
- « Mithrandir says this place is suitable for periannath. » said the elf, whose beautiful face, young and joyful, invited the confidence. Gerry thanked for this delicate attention and immediately inquired about the young Elf and the habits of the house, including meal times.
- « My name is Rúmil, the Elf replied with laughing eyes. I am responsible for guiding you, serving you and answering any question, which as I see are many. Master Erestor thought the company of a young Elf would be less confusing for you.
- How old are you, Rúmil?
- My mother counted two and twenty cycles of the sun since my arrival in Middle-Earth.
- I am your eldest of three springs. Do you usually receive Hobbits?
- Yes, Mithrandir often brings Hobbit companions.
- Oh! Who did you receive, if I may ask? May be I know them?
- The last time was a few years before I came into this world.
- It is therefore not so often...
- You periannath have your own assessment of time. The house of Elrond hosts for centuries all free people united against evils inherited from Melkor the Black Enemy of the world. But it seems these days that we may rely only on Elves.
- How could our appreciation of time be different, since we have almost the same age? As for your perception about other free people, I must confess I shared it until I was compelled to leave my country. I mean, I thought only Hobbits were sensible people, gathered as a community to live free off evil. »
Rúmil realized that he was proably more likely to learn from his host, than his carefree sprite apparence inspired at first sight. Before the beautiful and perplexed Elven face, Gerry burst out laughing and asked Rúmil, much to the confusion of the young Elf, to sit down with him in the chairs on the veranda:
- « This conversation takes an unexpected turn. Since I am your elder, I beg you, in consideration of my old age, please to adopt a posture that helps discussion and reflection. »
Gerry went out and filled his pipe, settling in one of the armchairs. The Elf sat on the seat in front of him but did not dare to relax. Leaning forward as a servant or an attentive teacher, he watched with interest and curiosity the Hobbit's doings. Blowing his first puff, Gerry sat back comfortably in the cushions and announced:
- « Here is what we Hobbits are used to do when a quiet moment allows us to rise above immediate needs. What are the young Elves occupations, when they have time for themselves?
- Past their younger years, Elves end up feeling the need to dive into the trend of the world. According to individuals, this need to answer the call of their heart and find their place manifests itself differently. Some feel the urge to explore the vast lands. Others feel called by the memory of a relative, even if he or she has come to Mandos' halls of waiting. Not all are called to the same age, of course. In fact I will speak mainly by hearsay because young Elves are hardly many. The enlightened Elves suffer in Middle-earth and long for joining the immortal lands. Hence Elven offsprings are rare in this world they will flee shortly. Here in Rivendell, only Idril, my promised, is as young as I am.
- You do have a promised?
-Idril and Rúmil have plighted their troth, five cycles of the sun ago. It seems our hastiness is very exceptional. Perhaps it is a sign of the precarious fate of the Elves in Middle-earth... We will unite when both have been called and have found their ways.
- And how long is this going to be? », asked the Hobbit, curious to assess elvish abstinence. The Elf replied casually:
- « Time does not matter. A union with confidence, free of doubts about the Call, is essential for us. »
Such an answer could not satisfy the Hobbit. He asked further, frantically:
- « But how do you know Idril is for you? How did you choose her? How do you know that you will not meet someone who suits you better later? Could that be that her "call" proves stronger than your love in the end? Was she called? And do you know what is your call, Rúmil? »
The burst of questions stunned the young Elf and put him on hold. This voracious need to understand immediately, all big and small issues, without order or judgment, as if he was running out of time, was certainly the mark of a mortal. Measuring how his answers might disturb the Hobbit, Rúmil leaned back in the chair to think and replied calmly:
- « Idril and I have no doubt about our union. This became obvious to us since we were young, gradually and jointly. We do not know if any might turn away, but I do not fear this eventuality, as it seems astranged to us. Yet Elven lore teaches us that such misfortunes occured sometimes. This was the case for Gwindor and Finduilas and in the elder days. »
Gerry pledging him to continue, Rúmil told the story of Finduilas, daughter of Orodreth, King of Nargothrond.
– « Beautiful and wise, she had long promised to Gwindor, a straight and powerful Elf who fought the dark enemy of the world alongside his King. They loved each other and they finally united. At this time the security of the elvish kingdoms lay in secrecy and concealment: Elven bands protected vast forests, where their citadels were hidden. It happened that Gwindor was captured by the orcs and held captive in the jails of the North. Broken in torment and mutilated by abuse, he finally managed to escape. Returning to the forests of his King, he rescued, on his way, a Human named Tùrin, who had committed serious crimes by the curse of the enemy. Recovering part of his desire to live, he became the mentor of the Human and took him, against the Elven law.
On his return to the secret kingdom of Nargothrond, Gwindor was celebrated as a lord of the Elves. Tùrin became part of the community, achieving great prowess against orcs. Gwindor meanwhile was bitterly dragging his infirmity despite Finduilas care. But the Elf she loved was deeply hurt in his body and soul. Then Tùrin raised so high in the esteem of the King, that he supplanted Gwindor in his privy council, adding to his resentment. Yet Gwindor and Tùrin remained friends until Finduilas, against her will, felt her love turn away from Gwindor and stand to Tùrin. This is a black mischief of the enemy, than to have perverted so deep a love. Thereafter all perished in the wars against the enemy, but that is another story. »
- I hope all your stories are not so sad! For my part, I have not felt such a deep love...
- Perhaps it is the strange fate of mortals to choose freely, with the share of luck imposed by chance encounters?
- Maybe... although I wonder if we really have a whole choice. In any event, families are frequently mingled in uniting young people in the Shire!
Before Rúmil's consternation, the Hobbit changed the subject:
- « But you haven't told me what are your "Calls ", although I'm not quite sure what it means.
- Each of us feels but a single "Call", as far as I know, except maybe princes of the Noldor back in the vanished years. It is an irrepressible attraction, a certainty that is revealed then develops, or rather a discovery of what suits you. Idril thinks she had no appeal yet, though she is particularly skillful for woven works. For my part, I know for the last few revolutions, that I must collect the memory of my people.
- So you read the lore books?
- That's right, but even more I shall meditate under the direction of Master Elrond to remind myself of the memories of the people of the Sindar, especially of my ancestors. »
The selfless and eternal depth of these immortals left the Hobbit somewhat perplexed. He preferred to change the subject again:
- « You said that sometimes Mithrandir leads some Hobbits to Rivendell? But what do they come here for exactly? When and why do they ever leave? Do they change here somehow?
- Some encouters change us forever. Mithrandir has a way of awakening the will, altruism and resistance to evil. He especially has Hobbits in affection, but it is said here that he constantly wanders into the wide world to stimulate and sustain the good will of any kind. His proteges quickly learn to stand on their own, to burn their own flame. After all, they are mortals. Either way it is dangerous to meddle in the affairs of wizards.
- How far perilous?
- Aside from the dangers of the world, I guess the main danger in accompanying Mithrandir is to confront one's own limitations. In essence, we can't prepare to this. »
Gerry frankly disliked the prospect of a confrontation with his own limitations. He was nearly persuaded he had already reached them during this adventurous journey. The feeling of a gap in his memory rekindled with a renewed meaning: what he had forgotten must have been one of his limits. Rúmil realized a hassle upset his host. To change his mind, he proposed to visit the kitchens, remembering what Erestor had taught him about the preferences of Hobbits. Indeed, the memory hole disappeared from the scope of Gerry's immediate concerns, supplanted by feelings of a stomach's emptiness.
.oOo.
The Elf and the Hobbit walked from patios to halls, two young people discussing the meaning of life, discovering little by little that they were very unlikely to understand each other, under the compassionate gaze of marble statues. The duo crossed many Elves, surprised by this young, eclectic and cheerful company and amused by the offbeat seriousness of the talking among the oratories and majestic colonnades of Rivendell. In a hallway lined with rooms, two merry brown cat-eyed lads pushed trolleys loaded with food in front of them, racing with each other; wholy dressed in green, they teased Gerry and Rúmil who could not divert any part of the appetizing loading.
Under a dark blue dome shimmering with thousands of gems, a serious Elven lady tried to put some order in a dance rehearsal. When the half-dozen dancers saw the Hobbit, the company dislocated its fragile formation and rushed around the "cute little pixie." The excitement was at its height when they noticed the dense hair on top of the Hobbit's feet. Gerry refused the urgent proposals to play a faun in a tableau that the group was preparing. Rúmil kindly and firmly scattered his friends, with a little help from his bride Idril, the youngest dancer.
Finally, the two lads reached the kitchen. Gerry could never have imagined such a grandiose spectacle. Rows of gleaming brass reflected the flames of multicolored lamps hanging from arches covered with silver mirrors. Glassware aligned in transparent cupboards shone as bright knight chainmail. A battalion of cooks watched for hearths of various colors, under the watchful eye of the master chef, who set the pace of a song, shared by all the Elves of the room. The huge kitchen was buzzing with agitation, but an invisible order paced the applied and inspired contribution of each protagonist. At times, the kitchen master, approaching a bowl, grabbed a utensil or ingredient and sang a variant or counter-melody, which had its own unicity but melted into the overall tune.
-« Tomorrow we will celebrate Nost-na-Lothion7, the beginning of the elvish year, Rúmil said with relish. There will be singing, dancing and a feast for the whole household. We shall have special guests. Master Erestor said a group of Dwarves of Dùrin will join us, can you imagine? And that's why Medianendil, Master of Elrond's kitchens, sings the rite of spring. The dishes promise a special flavor! »
The Hobbit had nothing against singing while working, but strengthening a dish with a musical recipe somehow defied his culinary sense. Rúmil took him by the hand and walked timidly to the kitchen's Master, who seemed so busy. Medianendil saw them from the corner of his eye. He immediately went on the verse which orders the spring pests and rodents to let alone the young roots and blooming buds. The young but subtle Rúmil carefully turned around, but a head waiter intercepted to take him to a reserve, where they were granted some food to sustain decently and without disturbing the preparation for the feast. A dolly was barely enough to contain rolls, cakes, honey, jams, dried meat, milk and fruit juices. The two thieves considered their fate as acceptable and retreated while the going was good, Rúmil only catching a large basket.
The companions walked down the hill, chatting like old comrades, and spent a pleasant moment talking about their customs and their hopes. They went in search of a "quiet" place, which is, in the mind of a Hobbit, a cozy bench, suitable for eating and drinking without being interrupted. But the valley offered the splendid panorama of a promising spring. At the end of a neatly paved trail, they found a small kiosk, which roof evoked the sails of an Elven ship. But when they approached, they discovered that the "quiet" place was already busy and very animated.
Gandalf and Arathorn, face to face, opposed there vigorously again on the serious subject of Arnor's renewal. A beautiful and gracious woman, with long hair, black as raven-wing, sat a little apart, a little boy on her lap. Both played with the old thrush, but the lady followed, with attention and some anxiety, the debate between the two men, sometimes intervening to moderate both. Rúmil and Gerry slowed down. Apparently the curiosity of young Elves equals the inquisitiveness of Hobbits. They both crouched at the foot of the slope, under the booth, and listened.
Arathorn continued the statement of his views:
- «... Only a strong state can fight against dark forces and secure its borders. Besides an unchallenged leader and a core of dedicated fighters, a strong kingdom foremost requires resources and exchanges with neighboring allies.
- My dear Arathorn, Eriador is strongly depopulated since the defeat of Argonui. The victory achieved with the aid of Gondor and Lindon Elves is far and these two allies themselves are now in serious trouble.
- They would be safer if Arnor could revive and fill with an industrious people, the wilderness that was formerly cultivated. You know, we have developed a network of farms and herdsmen in the old Western Arthedain around our secret refuges and along the Great East Road. We are on the right path, we started to restore small clusters of industries that complete them: tanneries, meat drying, mills, forges, breweries, hop farms...
- The Dùnedain are too few to support so many activities. Orcs from the North and the Misty Mountains would come upon you before people have time to grow and strengthen.
- Men cannot grow without resources, Gandalf!
- I fear it is too early, Arathorn. My heart tells me so.
- Mine orders me not to wait. How long will my people still have to remain anonymous, hidden as vagrants, homeless and deprived of their lifestyle? Our time has come, Gandalf! Consider that, since the war of Dwarves and orcs, goblin threat has been significantly reduced. Once the first cities have been revived, we will be able, with the help of our hidden villages already installed, in addition to the Shire and Bree, to rapidly reduce our dependence on imported goods such as clothing, weapons and tools. Then will come industries on a larger scale. For example we will plant trees in the middle of the Gwathlo valley for future naval industry in Minhiriath.
- You are dreaming about amber and ivory of the great bay of Forochel! I hope you do not think to restore the whaling fleet of Tharbad?
- And why not?
- The North is in the grip of an evil that is beyond your understanding, Arathorn. And its influence reaches into the heart of Eriador some winters. You must first secure the inner territory, such as the haunted downs of Tyrn Gorthad, and then your borders.
- You underestimate the capabilities of my people, Gandalf. Some activities persist as before: wax and honey in Eldanar, wool in the South downs of Cardolan, furs in Numeriador, Hops in Bree and the Shire ...
- This is probably true, but you should acknowledge that these activities need your protection more than your lore.
- But we did not lose the expertise of our forefathers, we have patiently kept it all these years of hiding in our secret havens on Lhûn and in Sirannar. Elixirs of Fornost Erain, dyes of Minas Tarma, heavy waters from Amon Emerie, musicians and instruments of Bar Eketa, Twilight Hills essential oils, medicinal herbs from Lake Nenuial: all these riches are sleeping quietly, preserved by skilled and tireless hands and minds.
- Arathorn, I have not forgotten what was Arthedain in the time of its resistance: ironwork and satins of Thalion, tapestries made in the cantons of Feotar, Gwathlo Valley cereals were admirable. Certainly, a kingdom without enemies could expand and reopen the tin and copper mines of Rhudaur, the iron mines in the Blue Mountains, the marble quarries in Emyn Sûl, and even exploitation of aromatic woods of Ettenmoors or peat of Oiolad desolation. I know you dream to plant vines in Eregion and I recently learned that you are considering to extend the cultivation of pipe-weed to make trade with people who ignore the pipe! You hear that, engineering, knowledge and inventiveness of the Dùnedain is in my mind. But you do not take enough into account the fear that paralyzes men of Eregion. Your projects require considerable hand work. But all your might in alert barely manages to repel raids of orcs. Threats will increase tenfold when your jewels, these rich preys, begin to make themselves known. Against the power of dragons and the fear they inspire, garrisons are of no avail. Time is not yet ripe to restore Arthedain. We must first eradicate the North of its ills.
- You advise caution, Gandalf. I hear you. But indecision or fear of hear-say dragons should not paralyze us. We have achieved the first step of my plan: implant a few farms and herds and secure the main road to the East. My ambition is to extend this network to Rhovanion then to Gondor. The news you bring from Saruman and the battle we won make me think that we are right.
- Some evil is setting in Rhovanion, and has tried to reach us, indeed. But do not despise the Great Worms! It seems to me unwise to risk your precious resources while it is not time yet. Your refuges remain vulnerable; I guess that's the reason for your worthy wife and your grand-son being safe here?
- That's right. But my oldest son Arvedui led our troops to Tharbad to hunt these dark marauders. He will join me here after the victory.
- Take care that whole Dunland might set ablaze. I recently attended the summary execution of one tribe by another. There is no hope in a fight to the death like this. It was horrible, Arathorn. I urge you to more measured actions.
- You sorely lack a vision of the future, Gandalf.
- You are dramatically short of realism, Arathorn. My vision, unlike yours, is based on observations and not dreams. But perhaps you will hear reason, if not from me, at least at the council that Master Elrond should not fail to summon shortly.
- What about?
- About some expedition in the north!
- This project is an initiative of the Dúnedain! It has no place in a council! I disapprove that you mentioned it!
- I have not spoken of it! But facts and new players have emerged. You should consider this as a sign and meditate at length! »
Thereupon Gandalf, irritated, got up, greeted the couple, stroked the head of the little boy and strode to the house of Elrond, muttering under his breath and brooding his resentment. Rúmil, squatting with Gerry at the foot of the hill where the booth stood, turned an amused face towards the Hobbit. Sneaking up on the Great and catching them in the act of quarelling was somehow exciting!
His smile faded into an alarmed expression. The Halfling, white as a sheet and eyes bloodshot, was leaning against the slope and panted heavily, his hand on his chest. The story of Gandalf had remembered him the atrocious killing of Men by Men he had witnessed, this wanton killing his ring had caused. That was certainly what had been hidden fom him, for his own good. His intimate limitation was revealed; exceeding it had overwhelmed him with horror. A mixture of disgust and guilt got him nauseous. He glimpsed the werewolf's gaze of hatred commanding his dark side to rise. Half-conscious, his mind merged all the violence he had suffered in recent days. Gerry had the feeling that his ring of power was at the heart of this surge, he feared to drag behind him as a curse invading his body. The hideous grinning face filled his mind, it came up to devouring him...
Rúmil shook him gently, forced him to get up and slowly led him on the paved path. Halfway to the western pastures, under the soft spring sunshine, they sat on a bench placed in front of a pool of clear water. The Hobbit sank his teeth into a loaf and his morbid cast of mind fainted. The Hobbit insatiable appetite for earthly dishes and the "strange ways of Elves" astonished Rúmil.
« The flame of mortals is intense but fleeting. Their fate is to be accomplished in a short time. » the Elf thought.
Once sated, Gerry laid in the grass "for a moment". Noting that this moment seemed to last for an indefinite time, Rúmil sat cross-legged in front of the pool and dived slowly into deep Elven meditation.
.oOo.
When he came out of it, night was about to fall. The Hobbit was still lying, but his eyes wide open evoked a terror despite the reflection of the clear and star-lit Hobbit uttered a hoarse cry:
- «He's trying to get in, it is getting closer! »
Trembling, the halfling struggled violently before falling inert, but with all limbs stiff. Rúmil called for help. Arathorn ran and took the Hobbit in his arms. Joining his wife while returning to the manor, he showed her the small lifeless body.
- « What is wrong with the boy, Aremel8? Please can you cure him? », little Arafin asked.
Facing the anxious insistence of his grand-son, Arathorn laid the Hobbit in the grass. His wife's name was Luinloth9 and she belonged to the lineage of the healers of Fornost Erain. She quickly examined the Hobbit whose gray complexion was slowly turning blue. Her face with delicate and regular features creased with contained anxiety. She made an emergency resuscitation by rapidly pushing on the chest of the halfling, who began to breathe whistling. She took a leaf in a discreet pouch at her belt and crushed it by vigorously rubbing her palms. Then she opened her hands and blew the cuttings on to the Hobbit's face. Finally she gently rubbed with her thumbs the brow, the eyelids, the temples and the nose of the Hobbit. The small body gradually resumed easier breathing.
-« Fortunately, my grand-son asked for help immediately, said Luinloth. The Halfling is now breathing normally. But he is possessed by an atrocious dream beyond my powers of healing, and that will overcome his resistance if the eldest of our house does not take care of him. »
Arathorn resumed carrying his little groom in his arms and ran towards the manor. A few minutes later, Gerry was in bed, surrounded by Rúmil, Gandalf and Arathorn, whose faces were ominous.
An Elf Lord entered the small room, rejecting his rich skirts of dark blue velvet and satin. His face allied the meditative grace of the Elves, the enduring will of Men and the wisdom of magicians. Approaching the bed, he bent over the Hobbit, his head crowned with dark hair like the shadows of a moonless night and surrounded by a white band. Starlight shone in his silver gray eyes, revealing memories of all his people, either happy or sad, bearing hope and regret. The face of Elrond was ageless, neither old nor young, noble and beautiful as the first King of Men before the marring of the world.10 The King, crowned with many summers, showed the maturity of his thought and the vigor of his warrior arms. His brow reflected the fullness of Elven lore but his discreet smile betrayed the disillusioned weariness of many struggling years. The Lord of Rivendell, Elrond Peredhel11, famous for his wisdom and foresight, extended his healing hand to Gerry's brow.
The Hobbit was naked and paralyzed in a beam, darted by a black almond-shape pupil, with a yellow iris, streaked with fire. He felt his last resistance yielding to the imperious and wild impulses of that gaze. He was to wear a wolf skin and run to his fellow in the moonlight. The beam vanished like smoke in the wind as Elrond interposed raising his fist. The beast let go, unable now to find the Hobbit. Gerry, finally released, curled in on himself. A warm, reassuring voice called him:
-« Come back, Gerontius, your ennemy is gone. Come back to light! »
Gerry opened bulging eyes for an instant. Elrond's hand on his forehead calmed and reassured him. He finally fell asleep, breathing with a peaceful pace. Elrond sighed:
-« This young Hobbit just escaped a plight. I am surprised by the inner strength he opposed to the animal spirit that had subjugated him. He will rest until tomorrow. There is nothing to fear now. I closed the door. But I feel Gerontius still bears a heavy hidden weight, like a responsibility that overwhelms him, a mistake which oppresses his mind or a risk that instills doubt. Rúmil will watch for him and warn me if anything abnormal occurs. »
Elrond gave detailed instructions to Rúmil, who was to regularly clean the air in the room with the vapors of a decoction. All retired for the night.
.oOo.
When Gerry awoke, Gandalf and Arathorn were smoking together, sitting in chairs on the porch. They had sent Rúmil back for a rest after his all-night watch. The Hobbit opened one eye, then two, and saw the two men approaching his bedside. Their faces reflected both the joy to see him back to health and the fear that he may keep some injury at heart. Gerry was moved with their obvious concern. Arathorn smiled like a spoiled child:
- « See what the wood-turner has made for me this morning! He chose a strong briar root. »
He brandished a beige wooden pipe that smoked heavily. The Hobbit exclaimed:
- « But your pipe is about to flare up. Please give me that, with my weedbag. »
The Hobbit's belongings had been withdrawn. They were stacked on a safe, cleaned, artfully mended and folded. Besides, on a silver platter, the contents of his pockets had been gathered. Gerry searched his weedbag suspiciously but he found what he had feared to lose. He pulled a small instrument he used to empty the pipe on the platter, much to the dismay of the Dùnadan. Gandalf badly hid his laughter. Gerry gave him a reproachful look. He dutifully scratched the bottom of the fireplace, then stuffed the pipe with a new pipeweed, light and cheap, and lit it with the help of the wizard.
-« Arathorn, you should have expected me for your first lesson. A wooden pipe is to be prepared with method. You will need several sessions to repair these uncontrolled burns. »
Arathorn was happy to suffer the outraged remonstrances of the little Hobbit, rather than having to share the blame of a wizard, anxious about the fate of their ward. Gerry had the ranger take a few puffs. The Dùnadan acknowledged that the smoke finally got an acceptable flavor.
For a long time, the three friends talked in thicker and thicker smoke, in a very relaxed atmosphere. Rúmil returned, bearing a tray filled with food. He had not gone to rest, but had gathered some "restore-Hobbit." He opened the windows disapprovingly, dispersed the smoke and claimed his protégé needed rest. Gerry let him do it in memory of the time of his childhood, when his nurse protected him with by medical half-truths, from the wrath of a too demanding father.
In early afternoon master Elrond came to visit Gerry, who had recovered after some more nap:
- « Welcome to Rivendell, Gerontius son of Fortimbras Took. I see that your friends were able to have you smile. But we should still pay attention to your full recovery. »
Rúmil left the room, leaving the Hobbit alone with the Lord of Rivendell.
- « What can I do for you? »
Gerry embarked on a path that surprised and alerted the Elf lord:
- « Master, what do you know about the origin of my people?
- Hiding in the swamps and hills, yours have long lived in the upper valley of the Anduin, the great river that runs from North to South on the eastern slopes of the Misty Mountains. Loeg Ninglorion12, this is the most distant origin I have knowledge of. You should consult Perfendur, the master of Imladris libraries, who will help you gather what regards the history of your kin.
- I must admit I'm not very good at reading.
- This is an unfortunate gap for a gentle-Hobbit, heir to the Thain of the Shire!
- Tell me more, please!
Elrond sat in a wicker chair at the head of the Hobbit's bed. Although he now spoke Westron and not Sindarin, his warm, expressive voice had the power to awaken visions of past things:
- « The Hobbits lived in marshes along the Anduin. They wove few relationships with Men and usually fled before them. A fear and a growing danger, emanating from the Black Forest, on the East bank of the great river, gradually drove them from their shelters. They crossed the Misty Mountains in small groups or even entire clans, many centuries ago. Many fell during this journey. They spread in Eriador and multiplied again. Some settled in the Angle between the rivers Mitheithel and Bruinen. Others crossed Eregion, where they skirted the tribes of Dunland. A small group was able to establish in the heart of the Misty Mountains. Another founded Hobbits villages in Breeland. But most eventually settled on the southern lands of the kingdom of Arthedain, the last state of the Dúnedain. They were exposed to the resentment of the great nobles who protected their feudal rights. So the King of Fornost Erain, who needed farmers, granted the Hobbits the large tract of land that you know. Most Hobbits dwelling in Eriador gathered there. After the last northern war, the Dùnadan kingdom went into hiding, but the Shire survived. It has now expanded to the East, when the Oldbuck annexed Buckland, and to the South to include much of the western bank of the brandywine, but its northern and western borders are virtually unchanged since its creation.
- So my ancestors went through Eregion, the ancient kingdom of the Elves?
- Some of them, yes. But Let us talk about you now. How do you feel?
- Free of all control and rested. »
To the Master Healer, the Hobbit's tone seemed too cheerful to be honest. Elrond continued:
- « Really? You have suffered the onslaught of a terror from the elder days, a werewolf drinker of souls and blood of the living. You've been saved just in time. But your escape was so narrow, that I have to make sure you are aware of certain risks you may now be exposed to. »
The tall Elf paused long to watch the Hobbit, who looked deeply interested:
- « I think you are sensitive to the plight of your fellow beings and prone to pity. These qualities certainly support your strength and your love of life and helped you renounce the call of savagery, destruction and darkness. But I have read in you, something like a question or a burden. »
Another pause ensued, during which the Hobbit affected to wait and see, with this faked poor innocent air that won the affection of all the gossips of the Shire. It goes without saying that the comedy did not abuse Elrond:
- « In my experience, sharing your doubts and fears with someone else, who would not be involved, can help you to overcome or circumvent these difficulties. »
Again a silence fell, embarrassing for Gerry, but eloquent for Elrond.
- «I am not trying to steal your secrets, Gerontius Took. I advise you about this burden weighing on you: it makes you more vulnerable to lurking evil. Your guilt will designate you among others as an obvious victim, easier to pervert. By exceeding your doubts, you would strengthen yourself in two ways.
- Master Elrond, I do not think I have the right to get rid of any dangerous burden, that I alone am responsible for, by passing it to someone else.
- I understand. But perhaps this burden would be lighter if it were shared by friends, ready to support you knowingly. And maybe would you rate it less dangerous for yourself and for others, if you agreed to submit it to the wise. Do not feel restrained by shame, because it is not appropriate between friends, especially to address the lies of our dark enemies. »
Gerry thought silently, enticed to open up to Elrond and Gandalf. He would have to confess the theft of a ring of power, his attempt to use it, his early success, and its great attraction of the servants of darkness. About that Elrond was wrong, he thought: it was not himself but his ring that attracted them. Gandalf had warned him about the danger of the rings of power, but he felt unable to abandon his. He knew in his heart that he was lying to himself, but he kept silent, pretending he would return the ring to its rightful owner when he could. Elrond felt his hesitation and glanced the stiffening in the expression of the Hobbit's face, and knew that he had failed to help him.
-« Nobody would think about forcing you in any way. But may I offer you an advice?
- Please, master! »
The obsequious tone of the Hobbit strengthened the resolve of Elrond, who told him bluntly:
-« I believe you are in danger, young Hobbit. Loyalty to your friends seems to me second to - or even a pretense - to personal intrigues. I recommend you should put your own house in order. If you fail to, you will fall with no hope to recover. You will need to endure a trial that teaches you the true value of loyalty. If you want to talk to me, I am ready to help you. »
.oOo.
NOTES
1 Jean d'Ormesson
2 Verse, epigram, witticism.
3 Maurice Druon
4 The Grey Wanderer, Gandalf
5 Both halflings (Hobbits) and humans of high lineage (probably the Dùnedain)
6 Contraction of sindarin A na marië, « Take care of yourself », greeting for both meeting and separation.
7 Flowers blossom.
8 Ar-Emel : Grand-Mother
9 Sindarin for blue flower
10 Probably the face of Elrond allows to imagine his brother's, Elros, who chose mortality and became King of Númenor. This happened many centuries before the downfall of Númenor and its submersion.
11 Elrond Half-Elven
12 Gladden Fields