Elvish singing is not a thing to miss, in June
under the stars, not if you care for such things.
‘A Short Rest’, The Hobbit
“Watch your head,” Frodo warned Elladan.
Elladan looked around curiously as Frodo led them through the front hall and past the parlor. The ceiling of the hobbits’ dwelling might be lower than he was used to, but the spaciousness of the rooms impressed him. The interior was sumptuously furnished, with many open windows allowing the morning air to waft through the rooms. This home was much larger on the inside than he had expected, even though Aragorn had told him a great deal about it... and about its inhabitants. He was particularly intrigued by the chairs scattered about – there were more than a few large enough for Men or Elves to find quite comfortable.
“I need to finish making breakfast,” Frodo said. “There should be plenty, I’ll just...” He gasped in surprise as they entered the kitchen. “Bilbo, what are you doing out of bed?”
“No need for alarm,” Bilbo grinned as he turned away from the stove. His deep red dressing gown was covered with an apron. Bilbo’s hair was mussed and his nose was a bit red, but his eyes sparkled with pleasure. “I peeked outside and saw you speaking with our guests, and couldn’t bear to be idle another moment. It’s wonderful to see you again, Estel.”
“Hello, Bilbo.” Aragorn bent down to embrace his friend. “You have been ill, I hear.”
“Humiliating,” Bilbo grumbled. “Laid low by a summer cold. Just a few sniffles now, thanks to my attentive lad insisting that I rest and do everything the healer advised.” He turned to Elladan and bowed. “Bilbo Baggins, at your service.”
“I am happy to meet you at last, Bilbo Baggins,” Elladan bowed in turn. “My father and Estel have told me much about you. I am Elladan; Lord Elrond is my father.”
Bilbo examined Elladan’s face with great interest. He seemed quite young, but of course with Elves it was difficult to tell. The grey eyes sparkled with intelligence and curiosity, but also seemed sad, as if conveying a lifetime of grief or hardship.
“How is your father?” Bilbo asked him. “I often dream of Rivendell.”
“He is well, thank you,” Elladan smiled.
“Bilbo,” Frodo said firmly, “it’s time for breakfast, and I want you to drink more of the tea Cousin Gilly left. I’d feel better if you got off your feet; I’ll bring the food out in a few minutes.”
Bilbo chuckled, then obediently untied the apron and handed it to Frodo. He knew that his lad didn’t get many chances to look after him, and always felt wonderful when he could do so.
“Estel, why don’t you show Elladan the washroom, and where the bedrooms are,” Bilbo said. “You can put your things away, then join us in the dining room.”
By the time Frodo brought the hotcakes, sausages, and fried potatoes to the table, he found that four places had been set, and that Bilbo, Estel, and Elladan were deep in conversation – in Sindarin. The words were flying back and forth so quickly, he only recognized one – his own name.
“Forgive us, my lad,” Bilbo said, seeing Frodo’s distressed expression. “It’s not very polite of us to speak in a language you’re just learning.”
“That’s not it,” Frodo said, setting down the large platter. “I’m happy you have someone to speak Elvish with. I just don’t want you to strain your voice; your throat was so sore a few days ago.” He waved off Aragorn and Elladan’s offer to help, and scurried back to the kitchen to fetch tea and the honey pot, then to the cold cellar for a jug of cream.
During breakfast, Frodo did his best to hold back from blurting out most of the dozens of things he longed to ask Estel and Elladan; however, one question was uppermost in his mind.
“Estel,” Frodo said at last, passing around a dish of sliced apricots and peaches, “what did you mean earlier, when you said you were anxious to speak with me after you got my last letter?”
In answer, Aragorn reached into a pocket of his tunic and pulled out a folded piece of paper, which he handed to Frodo.
Frodo scanned it quickly, and looked up, puzzled.
Aragorn pointed to a paragraph. “Why don’t you read that part out loud.”
“And Estel,” Frodo read, “I had the strangest dream last night. Remember when Halbarad visited the ruined city, and met with the Dwarves? I dreamed I was there. I was walking about, amongst big rocks and pieces of buildings. I don’t remember much else, except that under a bowl there was a secret door behind a star, and I wondered if I was about to find hidden treasure just as Bilbo had. Then Scamp woke me, the silly rascal. Speaking of Scamp, we’re still trying to teach her to fetch Bilbo’s slippers without her wanting to--”
“That’s enough,” Aragorn said.
Scamp, laying at Frodo’s feet, looked up alertly at the sound of her name, then returned to chewing on her prize – the longest of the strips of dried meat Elladan had offered the pups.
“What is this all about?” Frodo asked.
“When we were camping at Bindbale Pond, just after we were ill, you told me about a dream you had. It was about a human woman and some children, and their strange-looking homes.”
“I remember,” Frodo nodded.
“The woman is my mother, Frodo. You described her, and the village in which she lives, perfectly. I recognized some of the children in your dream, as well.”
Frodo stared at Aragorn in amazement. “You believe my dreams are sometimes true?”
“Frodo,” Elladan said, “did Halbarad tell you there were carvings of stars in the ruins?” Frodo shook his head. “The city of Annúminas, abandoned now for thousands of years, was laid out in a star pattern, in memory of the shape of the island from which the Men who founded it had come... as well as for other reasons. Many depictions of stars can still be seen, thousands of years after the city was abandoned.”
“Then you think there really is some kind of secret door in the ruined city? Behind a star?” Frodo looked confused. “What about the bowl?”
“Who can say?” Aragorn mused. “Whatever your dream did or did not mean, when I received your letter it reminded me that the Dwarves will soon be mining in the hills near the lake. I have only been there a few times; if there was indeed something hidden and left behind when the city was abandoned, I would like to find it before the chance may be lost forever.” He gazed at Frodo. “Do you remember anything more of your dream? Any landmarks?”
Frodo, still reeling from what Aragorn and Elladan had said, closed his eyes for a minute, then shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said finally. “It was just... a dream, with everything jumping around as dreams usually do.” He frowned. “Perhaps if I went there someday, I might remember more, or recognize something. If it was real, and not just a dream, of course.”
“Why wait for ‘someday’?” Aragorn smiled. “Would you like to come with Elladan and me to the ruins, and find out for yourself?”
“I would love to!” Frodo cried, his eyes shining. “Oh, but...” He sighed, remembering that he was just a tween, and not yet able to come and go as he might like. Could he convince Bilbo to let him go?
Bilbo had been sitting quietly, watching Frodo closely. The boy’s eyes had faint shadows of weariness under them; he knew how worried Frodo had been about him over these past weeks, and how little rest he had allowed himself. Bilbo’s thoughts flew back to his brief sojourn in Rivendell all those years ago, and how deeply peaceful he felt there -- especially when the Elves sang, and time seemed to flow like gentle water in a stream. He had never felt so rested or refreshed before or since, and longed to someday return to that hidden valley for a very long stay. Traveling with one of Lord Elrond’s sons might convey some of this peace to his lad, especially if...
“Do you sing, Elladan?” Bilbo asked suddenly.
“I do,” Elladan replied. “Why do you ask?”
“While you journey together, I think Frodo will enjoy hearing the songs of your folk as much as I did, many years ago in your father’s halls.”
“While we journey together?” Frodo gasped. “Do you mean I may go with them?”
“What do you think we were discussing so intently when you were bringing in breakfast?” Bilbo’s eyes twinkled. “Estel asked my permission for you to accompany them.”
“Oh Bilbo, how wonderful. But...” Frodo’s smile quickly faded as he looked at Aragorn. “What if I can’t remember anything else, or it really was just a dream? You’ll have wasted your time, and will have to bring me all the way back home again.”
“Frodo,” Aragorn assured him, “finding nothing would hardly be a waste of time. We would enjoy your company, whatever the outcome. Truthfully, I doubt we will find anything other than rocks and hills, and perhaps some peaceful fishing.”
“Bilbo, may I really go?” Frodo asked. “Will you be all right?”
“My dear boy,” Bilbo said. “Go, with my blessing. The Gamgees will take almost as good care of me as you do.”
Frodo whooped with joy, and Bilbo’s smile was as bright as the sun.
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