Into the West (A Lord of the Rings Fan Fic)

Chapter Twelve

“Mae govannen Bilbo,” smiled Amaruil as she rounded the corner and saw him sitting in his house, “how is the book coming along?” Although few years had passed them by, only just over ten, Bilbo seemed to be aging much faster than before and, where he had once stood looking barely a day past fifty, his hair was now almost all white, sitting on his head in ever thinning curls, while his face was lined with ever deeper wrinkles, like the crevasses in the mountains.

“Hmmm…” mumbled Bilbo around the pipe in his mouth, engrossed by the book he was writing, “it’s going well I think, thank you.”

“Are you working on your translations of our tales or your memoirs today?” she asked as she sat down beside him and read a little of the writing over his shoulder.

“Today I am writing the story of my adventures.”

“Surely you did not fight a dragon Bilbo!” Amaruil exclaimed, her eyes widening in surprise.

“That I did… sort of. Well, I suppose that it was really Bard who killed him but I did tell some dwarves where he was unprotected so I helped in a way.”

“That does not at all sound like you helped kill him Bilbo; perhaps that tale is a little tall?” Amaruil grinned.

“I am more truthful in my book, I promise!”

“I am sure you are, I am sure you are. What happened after that?”

“An enormous number of people decided that they were entitled to Smaug’s treasure and we nearly ended up fighting the armies of the Elven King and the Men of the Long Lake.”

“Nearly?” questioned Amaruil curiously.

“A whole army of Goblins and Wargs heard about the hoard somehow and so we ended up joining together and fighting against them.”

“Ah, I see. Did they argue about the treasure once you’d battled?”

“Not quite as much,” replied Bilbo with a little laugh.

“Well I will have to read your story sometime little Hobbit,” she said, a sweetness in her voice letting Bilbo know that she was using the term as an endearment.

“Maybe…” Bilbo grumbled, “it’s not quite finished yet though.”

“Well I am eagerly awaiting the day when it is.”

“Oh no story is ever fully finished Amaruil!” Bilbo exclaimed. “I cannot believe that even you, one of the so learned Elves, thinks that! Every story continues on forever; for example, though I will finish this story when I reach the point at which I return home, I could just as well keep going, for my story will continue as long as I live, and it may well go on after that!”

“Trust me Bilbo, I know that as well as you; I merely meant that I would like to read it when you have finished writing down all that you deem important and that pertains to your memoirs,” Amaruil said with a little smile.

“Well in that case you’ll have to wait until I’ve gotten rid of all the mistakes; an old Hobbit like me… well I’m sure I will have made many.”

“And how are your translations coming along then?”

“Oh I think I’ve finished those thank you; your knowledge was very useful,” Bilbo smiled.

“It’s nothing, I am just glad that I was able to be of help to you; it certainly was a great task. How long did it take you to finish the final story since the last time that I saw you?”

“Not too long and I went back through to check some things, but I think I probably made a number of mistakes which I am too lazy to make the effort to pick up,” Bilbo answered with a laugh.

“I would offer to read it but…”

“You haven’t the time; you know all the stories already and you’d rather read or sing them in Sindarin and Quenya, I know,” Bilbo interrupted teasingly.

“That was not quite what I was going to say,” she giggled. “Anyway Bilbo, I actually came to talk to you about something important and, as usual, you have successfully distracted me.”

“Oh please do tell,” Bilbo said as he took another huge puff on his pipe.

“Lord Elrond requests your presence at the feast tonight and he asks you to bring along something to entertain us with.”

“Does he now?” Bilbo mused. “Well I think that I might have just the thing,” he said triumphantly after a moment’s thought.

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“Please Amaruil, I beg of you, just talk to him; I could not possibly stand if you two were not to get on with one another,” Arwen said passionately.

“But I do not know what I would say.”

“Anything; he is another living being; he has interests, hopes, fears and dreams just like us.”

“But he is destined to be King, Arwen. Also, I know him not,” Amaruil argued weakly.

“Get to know him. For me?” she pleaded.

“Fine,” Amaruil relented and she was rewarded with a large and beaming smile.

“You will have the perfect opportunity at the feast thrown tonight,” her friend said, her pleasure evident.

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Amaruil sat beside Arwen and Aragorn as they listened to the elves who were singing various linnads, their voices melding into unearthly harmonies as they weaved an enchanting spell around the audience who was gathered there. Out of the corner of her eye Amaruil could see Bilbo dozing off, his head nodding forwards every so often as his chin disappeared into his chest.

“Bilbo?” called Elrond at the end of the elves’ song. “Bilbo!” he repeated louder, this time attracting Bilbo’s attention.

“Yes?”

“Would you do us the honour of reciting something, for we dearly love to hear your poems my friend.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Bilbo said, taking his place in the centre of the hall. “This is something I wrote many years ago, and though I doubt it can live up to your offerings I shall try my best.” He cleared his throat before beginning:

“All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost,
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring,
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be King.

With the grace of the Eldar upon him,
Sundered races unite once more.
They shall free the land of all grim
And the Halls will open their doors.

Though many may doubt his power
The bonds of blood do not fade;
By him will be felled the tower; 
He will put an end to the shade.

Together they stand stronger
Though only one may lead the way,
The evil powers dare not linger
When all that is good wins the day.”

Bilbo stopped speaking, leaving the elves in confused silence for a moment before they grinned and began to clap.

“Is there no more Master Bilbo?” questioned Elrond.

“No, I thought I’d stop while I’m ahead,” Bilbo joked.

“It is very short… May we have it once more?”

“Well…” Bilbo looked around him, searching for a way out but he saw none. “I suppose that since it is rather short... though it bears no comparison to any of yours whatsoever,” he said resignedly as he began to recite the poem he had written for Aragorn again.

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Hello everyone, just to say that, if for some reason you don't know, the first two verses of the poem belong to J. R. R. Tolkien (as do all the characters except Amaruil and her family, and all the places) but the last three (and the rest of the writing!) belong to me :D