Elrond's gardens were rich and abundant; an ideal place to get lost.
Since Bilbo's knowledge of their meandering paths and natural archways was too deep to waver, he merely pretended to do so. Getting lost, as he deemed, would provide a flawless explanation on why exactly would he be creeping closer and closer to the source of voices now not far ahead, in the careful and sly manner only Hobbits can.
He then realised with a pang of uneasiness that the speakers were moving towards him.
The Master of Burglars slumped most unceremoniously amongst the thicket, and listened. This was almost too much for his old bones; but pride, and something akin with nostalgy nailed him to the ground, made him listen.
(If only he could still appear and disappear when he pleased...!)
Swiftly, the speakers were closing in.
"Elrond, this is madness," said the voice of the Chief Advisor. "You are sending the Halfling to his death, and you know it. There is no chance he would even get to Lothlórien. The mountain roads are perilous... Orcs are now wandering as far as the Ettenmoors... This..."
"The Council ended a week ago, Erestor."
"There is the Sea," said the Advisor with determination, "that way is still open. We still have time! Swift horses... we could make it before the Wraiths gather their strength. It is their master alone who can give form to their nothingness."
"...so Sauron would rise again, a few Ages later. Did you not hear what Mithrandir said? The matter has been decided: with a heavy heart, but decided nonetheless."
"You know as well as I that we cannot triumph over Him! We do not have the power. For centuries you have never been deaf to my counsel; please, do not discard me now!"
"I would never discard you, my friend. I have considered what you said, what others said. But as I have reminded you before, the Council is over. Frodo Baggins volunteered for the task, and I made my decision. Any further strife or irresolution is fruitless, or worse."
"Elrond – "Erestor almost choked on the name. "Can you sleep at night, knowing that this bright young fellow shall be butchered or worse? And the Ring…"
Silence followed; and then, the rustle of litter; and the Master of Burglars lay on the ground, on his bed of dead leaves, eyes watered by dew – or something else.
"…you have gone too far!" a third voice suddenly said, strained with the pride and sorrow of two long lives.
"And you were not particularly useful. He did not even notice you were here. I did not even notice you were here!"
"I never noticed I was here, either."
There was a sharp intake of breath, and Bilbo waited for the Advisor's sharp rebuke, which never came.
"Can you accept this, Glorfindel?"
"I must. We must. Our time in Endórë is coming to an end, and Sauron is not our Enemy to defeat. We have had another."
"I am weary of this," Bilbo heard Erestor saying. "Though I also feel that I cannot leave others alone, to face all the horrors to come without my help."
"So do I, my friend. That is why I shan't leave them."
"You –"Erestor breathed. "You cannot…!"
Glorfindel's voice was gentle.
"Come now. Let us not worry about things we cannot change; and untangle Master Baggins from the bushes."
~ § ~ § ~ § ~
The Ballad of Eärendil and the Star was brought under thorough examination. The verses were whittled and the rhymes smoothened, thanks to Strider, who had the time to be actually useful, for once.
The new version was introduced in the Hall of Fire; and Bilbo Baggins sang it with deep emotion and deeper delight. All around him were appreciative faces, and sighs of happiness.
(Whether it was his art that moved the Elves or their compassion for him, Bilbo preferred not to ask. He had every right to be proud of himself, after all.)
Yet two faces were missing from the attentive crowd: and Bilbo Baggins, of course, had to find an explanation. Why would they both suddenly forget about him? They knew very well that he had been working on that masterpiece for ages – even if the word ages held a very different meaning for a Halfling than for the Firstborn, Ringbearer or not.
Finding the answers seemed delightful at first: a puzzle, a game of chess – Bilbo might have said it was all like a riddle-game; but the thought of riddles tended to make his skin crawl lately.
For what did he know?
His friend, Glorfindel was seen much less than usual. Most of the time, in fact, he was away; aiding the Sons of Elrond and the Dúnedain in their search.
His other friend, Erestor was seen even less than usual. No one knew what he was doing, for he seldom appeared; yet he never left the safe haven that was Imladris.
Whenever he came home at last, his friend, Glorfindel seemed to be deep in thought; and many a night, he joined Elrond in his study. They locked the door and talked, so it was said. Every few hours, they asked for wine.
His other friend, Erestor was silent, his face pale, his strides quicker and straighter than ever. His words were seldom heard, and Bilbo had forgotten the sound of his laughter.
Glorfindel was avoiding Erestor, and Erestor was avoiding Glorfindel.
The answer came to Bilbo by itself: more dwindling certainty than conscious thought, as if it had always been there, waiting to be acknowledged.
Glorfindel was to take that cruel road; and Erestor was not!
And it was all his fault; and the fault of riddles.
~ § ~ § ~ § ~
It was a silent, peaceful autumn morning; yet Bilbo Baggins witnessed a true outrage. A scandal. A terrible insult to his sense of comfort, the like of which had never happened before in the (by his own standards) long time he had spent in the safe haven of Imladris.
The doors of the library were locked.
Bilbo had considered asking his host about the matter, but as he imagined knocking on Lord Elrond's door and intruding on his daily routine, the whole business suddenly seemed a nuisance. Still... he, Bilbo Baggins, was now not only an honoured guest, but a citizen of Imladris; and he had a right to visit the library whenever he wanted to, even at this impossibly early hour. If the door remains closed, then he would pick the lock!
He was a burglar, after all.
~ § ~
Tiny flecks of dust were dancing around in the air as the old Hobbit made his careful descent along the stairs, part of him still wishing he had his Ring in his pocket. To know that it would take only a heartbeat, and he would vanish like smoke whenever he desired…!
Now, however, that was no longer the case; and he had barely reached his beloved books on Second Age symbolism when he heard faint voices of a heated debate coming from three stories below (somewhere between annals and letters of historical value, he guessed).
Unfortunate as he was, naturally, he would be once more forced to eavesdrop. What else could he do…?
"A strange location for a secret tryst, I must admit," said a voice Bilbo had seldom heard in all his years in Imladris, yet knew very well. "Were all secret garden benches, abandoned armouries and dusty store-rooms occupied?"
"I take no risks."
"You could have invited me to your rooms."
"I said, no risks."
"For a Chief Advisor, you do not seem very well-versed in conspiracies, Lord Erestor."
"Aye, and that is why I need your help."
"Indeed?" The voice of the strange and solitary Elf called Mornedhel (or sometimes, on very rare occasions, Tyelcano) sounded almost surprised. "And how could I help you?"
"I need someone to talk to… someone who would understand." There was a sound that implied Erestor had collapsed upon a chair. "It is – well, it is about Glorfindel."
Not wishing to become part of any conspiracy,Bilbo had previously considered to politely retire; but he was also terribly curious. Sliding closer to the banister, he could now make out the dark figure of Erestor in the chair, as well as the silhouette of the other Elf standing in front of him.
"He is being utterly impossible," said Erestor. "He took into his head that he must go on that terrible Quest. He would not say a word, but I know. I am sure. He is a dear friend of mine, and I do not know what to do! He will not see reason; he will not see how gravely he is needed in the House of Elrond."
"Or how gravely you need him."
"Perhaps. Once was enough: I do not want to lose his friendship, his laughter… his company again."
"Then tell him."
"It is not as simple as that," Erestor sighed.
"It is very simple. Tell him you need him; but never forget that Glorfindel is a warrior, and whatever he considers his duty shall always come before his desires. Beg him to stay, drag him by the end of his robes, pull him back, if that is what you would rather do; yet you will never succeed. He shall offer his shoulder so you could cry on it; he will comfort you from the bottom of his heart – and then, he will go, for such is his nature."
"Do you remember Sirion?" Bilbo could barely make out Erestor's words. "What you promised…"
A long silence followed; it was dull, heavy, and frightening.
And then, just as Bilbo thought that there was no point in eavesdropping any longer…
"I remember," said Mornedhel, "and I shall act upon that promise, whenever the time comes."
"Good," said Erestor, "because the time has come."
"And what will you have me do? Hammer some sense into your friend, who needed to be slain by a fiery demon in order to start wearing a helmet? Have you any idea how many times I have wasted my breath…"
"If GIorfindel himself is deaf to counsel, then to Elrond we will go. I must convince him that Glorfindel is not the right one to go on that doomed journey – because he is, in fact, not! And if Elrond will reject me, he still might listen to you. I need your wits to build up a perfect reasoning: one that cannot be challenged."
To Bilbo's astonishment, Mornedhel laughed.
"What you need, child, is not reasoning. It is doubt."
"Doubt?"
"The very thing."
Bilbo no longer dared to look; but the soft creaking of the floor told him that Mornedhel was pacing back and forth among the shelves.
"We know that Sauron's One Ring has been found; it is fell and dangerous, though fair to look upon – and we also know of this creature, Gollum, who has been corrupted by it. What did Gollum know of the Ring's power? Nothing. He used it to catch fish. He was, by all means, a plain creature, small in both spirit and stature; yet the malice of the Ring made him a wild and dangerous enemy, a match even for the Rangers of the North or the Woodelves." (Here, a soft chuckle was heard, and Bilbo decided that Mornedhel must not think very highly of Woodelves). "…now imagine that same Ring on Glorfindel's finger! A terrifying thought, is it not? He would be a match for Sauron himself, if strengthened with its power; but that would not save our skins, since he would then very soon become our next Dark Lord. And if he does go on that mission, who knows what might befall him? The road to Mordor is long, and much can happen during such a tiresome journey. One can never know what the Ring's reaction will be as it creeps closer to both its master and the place where it was forged. Its power and malice shall probably grow still, seeking to raise feuds between its bearer and his companions – and who could resist its temptation, then?"
There was a sharp intake of breath.
"I…," Erestor stammered. "I asked you for rhetoric, but this is a very real danger, one I have not yet realized. Nor did Glorfindel himself, maybe – or anyone else."
"Nay, Erestor," Mornedhel's voice was strangely gentle. "I have known your friend for many years. He is stronger than any Darkness. In a way, he is like…"
His voice faltered.
"…I am convinced that he would never yield to Sauron's powers, but I have foolishly promised you my help, and it happens that you want me to make him stay; so make him I shall! Whisper this into Elrond's ear, and you shall have your peace."