The Breathing Sea by StarSpray

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Chapter 6

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Contrary to Lady Celebrían's prediction, Finrod Felagund had not been awaiting them at the house. He did make an appearance about a week after their arrival, but only briefly—to see Lady Galadriel and others he had known in Middle-earth, and to meet Elrond properly. And to meet Frodo and Bilbo. Frodo found it more than a bit disconcerting to have a great elven king and Hero bowing to him—and wearing armbands that were oddly familiar-looking, with silver snakes twined about a crown and emeralds for eyes. After Finrod departed again Frodo went to ask Elrond about it. "It is the badge of his father Finarfin's house," Elrond said. "But you are thinking of the Ring of Barahir that Aragorn wears."

"Oh! Yes, of course," said Frodo. "But why would Aragorn have a ring with King Finarfin's badge on it?"

"Grandfather isn't king anymore," said Celebrían, smiling. "Uncle Fingolfin had barely set foot outside of Mandos before Grandfather renounced the throne in favor of him. But the Ring of Barahir was first the Ring of Finrod Felagund, who gave it to Barahir after the Dagor Bragollach as a token of thanks. And from Barahir it passed to Beren."

"Oh!" said Frodo again. "Yes, of course. I remember now."

They were sitting out on the patio again, overlooking the Bay of Eldamar. A gauzy piece of pale blue fabric had been stretched out as a sunshade, and beneath it they were sipping cool drinks made from fruits Frodo had never heard of before, but liked a great deal. He swung his feet idly in his chair; Elrond and Celebrían were stretched out on a cushioned divan, with Celebrían's head pillowed on Elrond's shoulder. Gulls circled and soared overhead, calling hoarsely to one another, and out on the water boats darted here and there like butterflies with their colorful sails. The singing of the mariners echoed across the waves and mingled with the bells ringing in Avallónë. Closer to home, songbirds called to one another in the garden among the bluebells and roses, and inside Lindir was playing his harp, accompanied by someone else on a viol.

The days passed leisurely. Frodo went out to explore Avallónë, sometimes with Bilbo and other times with Elrond and Celebrían, or with Lindir, or with Gildor. He met many figures out of old tales, often in unexpected circumstances. The most unexpected was coming upon Fingon the Valiant tripping over his own feet during a game of hopscotch with a gaggle of elven children who all piled on top of him as soon as he hit the ground, shouting and laughing. It was several minutes before anyone noticed Frodo staring open-mouthed at the scene, or Celebrían giggling beside him, and so it was a very dusty and red-faced Fingon who greeted her with a kiss on the cheek and who greeted Frodo with the usual deep bow.

The days turned into weeks, and there was still neither sign nor word from Gandalf. Frodo was not particularly worried, although his dreams were still sometimes troubled, and after those nights he woke with a stiff shoulder and tingling in his left hand. And at other times his right hand hurt, sharp pains that seemed to be coming from the finger that was no longer there.

There was little that Elrond could do to prevent the finger pains, only to ease them when they came. It was not unheard of, he said, in those who had lost limbs. "Mithrandir spoke of taking you to Lórien," he said one afternoon. They were sitting inside, for it was raining—the first grey and relentlessly wet day that Frodo had experienced here on Tol Eressëa, although it could still not be called exactly dreary. "Estë and her people may be able to do more."

Recently someone had discovered Bilbo's fondness for maps, and produced several of the island and of Valinor proper; Frodo was very keen to see Valinor's Lórien, if only because he had already seen its echo in Middle-earth. "Did he say when?" he asked Elrond. "Not that I'm in a hurry to leave here," he added quickly, glancing at Celebrían in the corner where she was embroidering something with thread that flashed and glittered like emeralds. "Only he said he would try not to be long, and I don't know how long or short that is, here."

"Mithrandir came and went as he ever he pleased, and rarely with any warning," Elrond said, smiling. "I don't see why that should change now that we're here. But I think he intends to fetch you sooner rather than later."

In fact, Gandalf returned only a few days later. "Hullo, Gandalf!" said Bilbo as the wizard came into the parlor where he and Frodo were reminiscing about the garden at home, and wondering what Sam was doing with it. "You look just the same."

Gandalf raised his bushy eyebrows. "Did you expect me to look different?" he asked.

"Well, yes, I suppose," said Bilbo. "I was under the impression that you could look however you liked now."

"So I can," said Gandalf as he took a seat beside Bilbo, "and so I have. I've grown rather attached to this body; it's very comfortable, like a well-broken-in pair of boots.
"And speaking of comfort, how are you getting on? Have you sung all of your songs for all of the greatest kings and princes of the Noldor yet, Bilbo."

"Not all of them," said Bilbo. "Though I would like to visit Tirion, if it's possible."

"Certainly it is. We can leave any time. Frodo, at least, I want to take to see Lord Irmo and Lady Estë in Lórien. It would not hurt you either, Bilbo."

"Yes, yes, to repair the harm done by the Ring," Bilbo waved a hand. "I never felt the worse for it."

"Indeed?" Gandalf's eyebrows rose again. "Then what was all that you were saying before you left Bag End, about feeling like a bit of butter scraped over too much bread? That was the Ring, Bilbo. Indeed, in time you would have become as thin and stretched as Gollum!"

Frodo shuddered as Bilbo frowned. "Let's not talk of Gollum," he said. "Tell us how we'll get to Tirion."

"I can show you." Gandalf rose and went to pull a scroll off of a shelf full of them tucked into little nooks. This one, unfurled, was a map of Valinor proper. Bilbo's eyes lit up as he leaned forward to peer at it. All of the cities and roads were clearly marked.

"Hang on," said Bilbo, pointing to a dot just south and west of the Calacirya. "What's Menegroth doing there? I thought that was part of Beleriand."

"Well, all of the folk who lived there have ended up in Valinor, either by sailing or through the Halls of Mandos," said Gandalf. "And they did not all want to go to live in Alqualondë or Valmar or Tirion, and they missed their home that they could not return to. So a new Menegroth was built, and there dwells Elu Thingol once again, and his grandson Dior and his wife Nimloth. I'm told it is nearly an exact replica of the old Menegroth."

"I would very much like to see that!"

"And I am sure they will be happy to have you. And there is no hurry to visit all the places you want."

"Well, there's a bit of a hurry," said Bilbo cheerfully. "I am one hundred and thirty one, as you know. I've surpassed the Old Took, and I for one am looking forward to finding him on the Other Side and telling him all about it."

"Oh but not yet, Bilbo," said Frodo, feeling a little alarmed. Bilbo had seemed much more his old self since they had passed over the Straight Road—it was as though his age weighed on him less, here, although that did not match the tales Frodo had heard and read about Valinor before setting sail.

"No, not yet," said Gandalf. "You have as long as you want—not forever, for you are not Elves, and this blessing is not the same one the Valar gave to Tuor when he came, but long enough I think, for you to have your fill of Elven feasts and Elven tales. Yes, even you, Bilbo. But in the meantime, I will take you both for a holiday in Lórien. And after that you may visit Tirion or Valmar or Menegroth, or even the forges of Aulë or the forest haunts of Nessa and Oromë, if you so choose!"

"That all sounds wonderful," said Bilbo. "What do you think, Frodo?"

Frodo found himself rubbing at his missing finger, and made himself stop. "I've been rather looking forward to seeing Lórien," he said.

They left a week later. Elrond and Celebrían and Lady Galadriel went with them as far as Alqualondë, to see Galadriel's grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins. Alqualondë was large and sprawling, unlike any of the cities Frodo had ever seen, and all along the bay the beaches were not white sand but all the colors of the rainbow, bits of gems that the Noldor had brought for their friends so long ago, worn down by countless years of waves and wind into glittering dust. They said farewell to Elrond and Celebrían and Galadriel at the harbor, and Gandalf led the way to a stable where Shadowfax waited for them, munching contentedly on oats. There was a pair of ponies there, as well. Frodo's was a little brown thing with bright eyes that nuzzled at his shoulder, and Bilbo's was pale grey with a white mane. The elves who tended to the stable were happy to help Frodo and Bilbo with their saddles, and to help Bilbo up into it.

"On the road again with Gandalf!" Bilbo said as they set off, walking through the streets past silversmiths and bakers and fishmongers. "And with Frodo, too—how wonderful! All that's missing is a pack of Dwarves to grumble about everything." And as they left Alqualondë proper he started to sing one of the many traveling songs he had learned from the dwarves, which earned many startled looks from the elves that they passed on the road. It was a song Frodo knew, so he joined in on the chorus, and Gandalf, after he was done laughing, also sang along. So they passed the journey through the Calacirya, with the Pelóri towering over them higher even than the Misty Mountains. Frodo kept looking up and then worrying that he would tilt over backwards out of the saddle, and still he could not glimpse the peaks.

They came to Tirion at evening, when Eärendil's star was rising up out of the west. "Does he ever come down?" Bilbo asked Gandalf. "Like some of the tales say? Or does he really have to stay up there."

"On an errand that shall never rest?" Gandalf replied, chuckling. "No, he comes down often to see Elwing—those tales are true, and she can be seen sometimes flying out to meet him. And I am sure you will meet them both before long."

They stayed the night at a very nice inn near the edge of the city. It was not like the Prancing Pony that had rooms suited to hobbits, but the innkeeper and her wife put forth every effort to make up for it. It was a merry place, filled with laughter and light and music—and excellent food. The elves were delighted to have a new audience for their songs, and to tease Gandalf for his beard and bushy eyebrows. They stayed up late and slept late, for there was no hurry, and after a hearty breakfast they left Tirion, passing on through orchards and fields and pastures. There were many creatures and plants that Frodo did not recognize.

The journey was as pleasant as a walk through the Shire had ever been. They camped some nights, sleeping beneath the stars on soft grass, but most nights they stayed either at an inn or in someone's home; elves in Valinor loved guests, even (or especially) unexpected ones, and there was always room. But in spite of the warm welcomes, or perhaps because of it, Frodo preferred the nights spent under the stars. It was wearying to always be Frodo of the Nine Fingers, the Ringbearer, to be honored as a hero he did not feel that he really was. At least Gandalf and Bilbo had known him before all of that.

At last, the dark line of a forest appeared on the horizon. "There is Lórien," said Gandalf, gesturing with his pipe. "The realm of Irmo Master of Dreams, and of Estë the Healer."

It was another few days before they came to the edge of the forest. Beech trees towered over them, interspersed with slender birches and dark pines, and groves of mallorn trees, all silver but for the tops of the leaves that were pale green. There were many other trees—oaks, maples, yews, and many that Frodo did not recognize. And while the wood seemed mostly free of undergrowth there were thickets of sweet honeysuckle and berries of all sorts, most of which Frodo did not recognize. Birds called cheerfully to one another, and deer and rabbits paused in their foraging to look at the riders as they went by. And there were elves, walking together or sitting beneath the trees, sometimes alone, sometimes in groups. Some of them were singing, others were talking, others were silent. And other stranger figures flitted between the trees, not always in any recognizable form. Frodo supposed they must be Maiar, those who dwelt with and served Irmo or Estë.

There were many paths that twisted through the wood, and more often than not they followed little laughing brooks or streams that glittered with the dappled sunlight, lined with so many different kinds of flowers that it was like a rainbow had come to settle down for a nap on the forest floor. The canopy overhead was thick enough that the sunlight that came through had a greenish look to it, and it was cool and refreshing to just step in among the trees.

They came at last to a little fern-lined glade where a gap in the canopy above let in the golden sunshine. A little cottage had been built there, just the right size for two hobbits and also for any elven-tall visitors they might have. There was also a little shed for the ponies, and one of the little brooks flowed along through one part of the glade. "Oh, how lovely," said Bilbo. "They've even made the doors and windows properly round."

"Of course they have," said Gandalf. "I gave very detailed instructions. You should find the kitchen well stocked, as well. Shall we see about lunch?"

The ponies were let loose to explore, and of course Shadowfax did whatever he wished. Frodo had not known what to expect in Lórien, but a proper hobbit house, with as nice a kitchen as could be hoped for, had not been it. But it was the most comfortable place he had been yet in Valinor, though he never would have admitted such to any of the elves that had hosted them. "So what happens now?" he asked Gandalf.

"Now you rest," said Gandalf. He had his pipe out again, and was blowing smoke rings out the window. "Or go for a walk, or do whatever you like. Estë will find you sometime in the evening; she rests herself during the brightest hours of the day."

Bilbo decided to take a nap. Gandalf seemed to have settled in for a good long smoke, so Frodo went out alone to walk a little bit, examining the flowers and berry bushes that he did not know. He met no one on the walk, which both surprised him and didn't; it was as though Lórien itself knew that he wanted to be alone at the moment, though elsewhere he could hear faint sounds of talk and laughter and music. It was a very different place than he had imagined; in his mind he had been picturing the Lórien of Galadriel and Celeborn in Middle-earth, all silver and gold as he had seen it in the fading winter. This place was very different. But it was comforting to sit down beneath a mallorn tree; he had missed the one in the Party Field since leaving the Shire. He leaned back against the smooth bark and closed his eyes. Somewhere a bluebird was singing, and after a very short while he fell asleep.