CHAPTER 12

Bilbo shook his nephew awake just after sunset. "Come along, Frodo. Time we were packing up."

Only half awake, Frodo simply sat in confusion, while Bilbo began refilling his back pack. "I thought we were spending the night in this wood. Isn't it a bit late to be moving on?"

Bilbo merely laughed and caught his nephew's hand, hoisting him to his feet and pushing his pack on him. "If you don't hurry up we shall be late. Pack up your things now and dowse the fire." Too dazed to object further, Frodo rammed his few bits into his pack and went to the stream to fetch water, taking a moment to splash his face whilst he was there.

When he returned to their camp site Bilbo had shouldered his pack and seemed to be listening. Frodo put out the fire and then smothered it in earth. "Bilbo, what are we doing………." His question was cut short by a quick wave of his uncle's hand. Beckoning him to follow the older hobbit struck off away from the path they had been travelling and headed into the trees.

A full moon was rising and a thousand stars added their twinkling light so that travelling was as easy as in daylight.

Ahead of them, Frodo gradually became aware of a soft murmur, accompanied by the jingle of harness and the delicate clip of fine horse's hooves. Within the shadow of the trees there was the flicker of movement and the murmur became the sound of voices, singing softly……..no…….not singing, Frodo realised. The voices were talking but the voices were so beautiful and the language so musical that he had mistaken it for singing. Whoever was approaching was speaking in Quenya.

"Bilbo! Come back. We will be seen," hissed Frodo, urgently, grasping his uncle's coat tails and yanking Bilbo back most unceremoniously. The young hobbit was startled by a bright peel of silver laughter to his left and spun about to face the most beautiful creature he had ever seen in his life.

This was no hobbit, nor was it any of the big clumping men that were sometimes seen at the borders of the Shire. The Elf stood, bow held loosely in his left hand, and waited for Frodo to regain his composure. Frodo could only stare, open mouthed.

The fair figure was tall and lithe; not just tall by hobbit standards but taller than any man Frodo had ever seen, standing about six feet four high. Not as broad across the shoulders as a man he was dressed in brown and green leathers, embroidered richly in fine silver thread. Long hair, as black as the night sky, was caught back at his temples in fine braids to expose the delicate tips of his pointed ears; and his skin was as fine as alabaster, almost glowing in the pale moonlight.

As Frodo's examination reached the face he was drawn to the bright glimmer of the figures eyes. In the moonlight they were pools of quick silver but he guessed that in the daylight they would be grey. Although the face that held them showed no lines of age the eyes told of centuries of knowledge and experience and Frodo felt their gaze look at him and then in to him, as though searching out every corner of his mind.

He was brought back to reality with a start when Bilbo pinched his arm and found the stranger laughing still. "You were seen fully half an hour ago, Master Hobbit, when you washed your face in the stream. We have been listening to you thrashing through the undergrowth for some time." Frodo felt himself blushing. Hobbits could move very quietly but when the Elf moved to pass him his softly booted feet made not a whisper of sound on the leaves and twigs underfoot. When he turned to watch him pass Frodo found that the rest of his companions had joined him and there were now eight of the exquisite figures; four male and four female and all tall and dark haired. Behind them stood eight fine grey horses. Still, the young hobbit could not gather his scattered wits.

"Elen sila lumenn' omentielvo," came Bilbo's voice to his left. Frodo had at least the presence of mind to join his uncle in a low bow but all the Quenya Bilbo had been so carefully training him in went completely out of his head. To his surprise the Elves bowed or curtsied in return.

"Saesa omentien lle," came the lilting reply from eight soft voices.

One phrase finally surfaced from the mud that was sloshing within the younger hobbit's head. "Mae govannen."

One of the ladies smiled and Frodo's blush deepened to be addressed by such beauty. "Well met, indeed, Master Frodo."

Another of the males stepped forward. "My name is Garand and this is my brother, Delulas. Here also are Henduil, and his brother, whom you have already met, Tinaldor. The ladies are Fiondra and her sister, Sethiel, with their mother, Vilmarith; and Aniviel, who is wife to Delulas. My Lord Elrond sends his greetings and bade me look for you on the road."

Bilbo drew Frodo forward. "Aaye, Master Garand. I am Bilbo Baggins, of Hobbiton, in the Shire and this is my nephew and heir, Frodo Baggins. I am honoured that you would meet with us." Garand held out a hand and beckoned them forward and all turned back in to the wood and resumed their quiet trek through the moonlit woods, now with Bilbo and Frodo amongst them. Frodo found himself walking between the husband and wife, Delulas and Aniviel. Wordlessly, Delulas reached down and took Frodo's pack, tying it to his horse's saddle with his own.

"Diola lle"

"You are most welcome, Master Frodo. My Lord Elrond said that you had but newly begun your lessons in our tongue. I must complement you on your pronunciation."

Frodo shook his head. "I'm afraid I know only a few words and I would not dare to try and hold a conversation. I thank you for speaking in Westron and I hope it is not a bother for you."

Aniviel laid a hand, lightly, on Frodo's shoulder. "The journey from Imladris has been long and uneventful and the onward journey to the Grey Havens will probably be much the same. I am grateful for the diversion of your company, Master Frodo and I am looking forward to hearing some tales of this beautiful country you call, The Shire, when we stop for supper." Frodo desperately wished that he could stop blushing every time one of them looked at him.

Ahead of him he could hear Bilbo and Garand exchanging quiet conversation but, for the most part, the only sounds the group made as they drifted between the trees like shadows, was the whisper of some short exchange or the jingle of the horses harness.

For some time they travelled thus, until Garand led them off to the right, and up a long green ride, which snaked slowly upwards until, at the top of a hill, it opened out into a wide green pasture, surrounded on three sides by wood. Eastward the ground fell away, steeply and Frodo could see the tops of trees below them and beyond them the twinkling lights of the village of Woodhall.

They left the horses here to pasture and, bringing their packs, the elves turned right. Garand drew aside the branches of a laurel and signalled the hobbits through the gap he had formed. Beyond all was dark, but suddenly lights began to blaze and Frodo saw Henduil kindling torches around a wide space, roofed like a hall, with a living canopy of branches. At its centre Tinaldor began laying a fire and around that were set several sawn rings of tree trunks of just the right size to form seats. The ladies began unpacking food and drink and Frodo offered to help but they turned him aside, stating that he was their guest, and bade him sit with his uncle by the now merry fire.

The food that night was some of the best Frodo ever tasted in his life and after the meal the elves began to sing. The young hobbit understood little of the words but was content to listen to the clear voices singing in such sweet harmonies that they brought tears to his eyes. With each song, however, the young hobbit found himself growing increasingly drowsy, until his chin was resting on his chest. He would have fallen if Delulas had not caught him and lifted him into his arms, bearing him away to a leafy bower and covering him close with blankets from Frodo's pack. One final song wove itself within his dreams:

A Elbereth Gilthoniel,
silivren penna míriel
o menel aglar elenath!
Na-chaered palan-díriel
o galadhremmin ennorath,
Fanuilos, le linnathon
nef aear, sí nef aearon!

When Bilbo woke him the next morning the elves were gone and Frodo felt bereft; his heart aching to think of such exquisite creatures leaving the world.

"Well, Frodo, my lad. What do you think of elves, now?" beamed Bilbo.

"I don't think I could put it into words, Bilbo. I am so glad that you arranged for me to meet some but I also feel very sad that they are all leaving. I wonder if the world will become a very dark and dour place without them."

Bilbo pulled him into a hug. "I know, lad. I know………Oh, I almost forgot. Lord Elrond has sent you a gift." Bilbo reached into his pack and pulled out a small, carefully wrapped, package, handing it to his nephew.

"Why ever would such a great elven lord send a present to me?" Frodo accepted it, turning it over and over in his hands. "What is it?"

"Garand did not know. There's only one sure way to find out and that's to open it, lad."

Frodo tugged at the bright green silk that bound it and ribbon and pale green paper fell away to reveal a small, black bound book. Frodo opened it and exclaimed. "It's a dictionary, Bilbo! A Quenya dictionary." On the first page, in the same flowing script that had graced the envelope of Bilbo's letter, was written, "For Frodo Baggins, Elf Friend of the House of Imladris."

Bilbo's smile widened. "Now there are two Elf Friends in the Shire. I am one and you are the other. I think that truly makes you my heir."

THE END

Elen sila lumenn' omentielvo A star shall shine on the hour of our meeting

Saesa omentien lle Pleasure meeting you

Mae govannen Well met

Aaye Hail

Diola lle Thank you

A Elbereth Gilthoniel,
silivren penna míriel
o menel aglar elenath!
Na-chaered palan-díriel
o galadhremmin ennorath,
Fanuilos, le linnathon
nef aear, sí nef aearon!

O! Elbereth who lit the stars, from glittering crystal slanting falls with light like jewels from heaven on high the glory of the starry host. To lands remote I have looked afar, and now to thee, Fanuilos, bright spirit clothed in ever-white, I here will sing beyond the Sea, beyond the wide and sundering Sea