The Tenth Walker
Chapter Three - Solace
The members of the Fellowship of the Ring turned away, and one by one they faded silently into the dusk.
There was no song to guide their steps through the steep, winding path that led them out of Imladris, nor joy, nor blessings cried high and clear over the Hidden Valley; only hushed farewells and well-wishes spoken in low voices. Their journey would now be slow and hard for many miles, Glorfindel knew, leaving the Road at the Ford of Bruinen, and passing through the silent woods behind the hills of Wilderland, out of sight, hoping to evade the spies of Sauron while the Nine Riders were still scattered and powerless.
He kept his head bowed while others from the household of Elrond turned away from the darkening Valley, and turned their steps back towards the Hall of Fire to bask in its warm, orange glow; and he kept his keen eyes on the spot where he had last seen the white knife of Legolas Greenleaf catch the firelight. The prince of Mirkwood had been the last to turn his back on the Last Homely House, and as his steps faltered a great gust of wind hissed through the barren branches above; and Glorfindel shuddered at the coldness of the winter night as if this was the first time he had felt the touch of frost in his life.
"They shall not be very long, you will see," said a small voice at his elbow; and glancing down he saw that Bilbo Baggins had not gone back with the others. He could barely see the old Hobbit's face beneath the hood of his cloak and the width of the thick scarf that he had wound around it.
"Dismal weather for a journey, this one: dismal, I tell you," Master Baggins added a little bit self-consciously as he stomped his feet against the ground, as if to beat life into his limbs.
"The Two Trees could come back to life and light their way, and the journey would still be wrought with horrors," said Glorfindel softly.
"Not in a high mood today, are, we, Master Balrog-Slayer?" To his dismayed astonishment, the old Hobbit chuckled; and if such a gesture was not unfitting enough, he even poked his arm with his index finger. "I know how you feel, if that brings you solace."
"With all due respect, Master Baggins," said Glorfindel solemnly, "I doubt that very much."
"But of course I do," said Bilbo. "You feel cheated, and yet at the same time, you also feel like a cheater. You feel that you should have gone with them, do you not? Like that was your duty; and it is now somehow a failing of yours that in the House of Elrond you must stay. I feel the same, you see. The Ring had come here by my fault; I kept it and played around with it as I pleased, but now that the road darkens and the time has come to pay the price for it, I have become old and frail, and duty calls another. My Frodo! It might be even you who knows not how I feel. Would you send your kin to imminent death instead of yourself? Your best friend? Your son, if you had one?"
"I did, once," said Glorfindel softly. "You are not entirely wrong: I do feel like I should have gone with them. And yet I heed the wisdom of Elrond who has advised me against it: for the strength of this Fellowship lies not in power, but in secrecy. Unseen, unheard and unlooked-for they must pass through mountains, wastelands and far countries, alone and unaided must they find their way to the heart of Mordor where the Shadow lies. I would prove a distraction at best and their exposure at worst; for Sauron hates my sight and curses my name, and my coming could very well arouse the full wrath of Mordor. Ai, if we only still had great armed forces, knights and warriors, our banners flowing high! I would feel less like a thief in the night. Yet the times have changed, our light dimmed, and the world shall never again be the way it once was."
"Not indeed," said Bilbo, "and again I must tell you that I feel the same. Laugh at me, if you will, or take offense at the insolence of an old Hobbit; but the more I speak to your folk these days, the closer I feel to you. I have tried to explain this to Gandalf once: I feel thin, sort of stretched, like butter scraped over too much bread, I said – but that is not truly it, not anymore. I think the bread is getting thinner, too."
Glorfindel threw back his head, and laughed. Mirth sprang from the depts of his being like a clear spring from a mountain-side, and the deepening darkness of the winter evening seemed suddenly less grim.
"No legend or lore could compare to the scathing wisdom of Master Baggins," he said. "Come now, Elf-friend; if your heart truly understands mine to such depths, you must have guessed that the cold is getting under my cloak."
"I has gotten to the marrow of my bones," said Bilbo; and when Glorfindel offered his hand, he was not ashamed to accept the help.
Their walk to the Hall of Fire was slow but steady; and as soon as they stepped inside, old Bilbo was swept away by those who had missed his song on the Mariner, and now wished to hear it. Still thinking about bread and butter, Glorfindel let him go; and his eyes fell on Erestor and Galdor as they sat in the furthest corner, talking in hushed voices. Tyelcano Mornedhel was with them, too, although he seldom came to crowded halls or spoke to others; and as he beheld the three of them, the only faces he remembered from his past life in Gondolin, he was filled with wonder and silent gratitude.
It was easy to forget that no victory awaited the Firstborn in this war. If the Fellowship was to fail, then all things would end, and darkness would consume Arda; and if they were to succeed, then the power of the Rings would end forever, and the realms of the Eldar fade to oblivion.
Still, there was one last stand to make. One last fight against the spies of Sauron. One last chance to defy him once and for all: and in that moment, Glorfindel knew that he would honour the task he had been given.
To teach. To shield. To protect.
And as he sat with his friends, and listened to the little voice of Master Baggins as he sang of the Mariner, the Ship and the Star, he was finally at peace.