Chetwood Truffle Pies by hennethgalad

Chapter 1

continues.

The baker smiled at Bilbo, laying down the plate of fresh pies. 'Chetwood Truffle Turnovers,  I think. We thought we should give you the first taste, since you are the expert. Glorfindel is coming down to try them, though I am sure he will tell us that we have not captured that local piquancy. He will probably be right... But what do you think, Mr Baggins, are these convincing ?'

   Bilbo picked up the small, delicate pie, hoping he would not burn his tongue, and took a cautious bite. The Turnover was delicious; the frugal cooks of the Chetwood, making pies from whatever they foraged beneath the trees, would have wept to taste such light flaking pastry, such rich onion and mushroom filling, and such generous use of smoky truffles and fresh herbs. He finished the small pie swiftly and reached for a second 'They are even better than the real Chetwood pies, you have outdone yourselves again ! Though, perhaps you had better make some more, or I fear my greed will overcome me and I shall leave none for Glorfindel.'

   The baker laughed and thanked Bilbo, and returned to the noisy heat of the old bakery, next to the big mill, on the bank of the Bruinen. It was Bilbo's favourite place for breakfast (if the weather was fine), for the bakers of Rivendell were the finest in Middle Earth, and Bilbo would hear nothing of the cakes of Lothlorien or the crumbling biscuits of Mithlond. He sighed contentedly and bit into his third pie, and sat back in his favourite chair to watch the river bubbling past. Across the water lay meadows filled with wild flowers, where Asfaloth grazed, surrounded by adoring members of his herd. Bilbo smiled fondly at the lovely white stallion, flicking his tail as he browsed the lush grass.

   Beside Bilbo, overhanging the water on the near bank, stood a long narrow copse of trees, lining the path down to the bakery and the mill. Here the students, who came to Imladris from far and wide to study with Elrond the Loremaster, had taken to gathering. At first it had been the bakery which drew them, those who had sat late at book or bottle (or both!) had met at the riverbank and waited in the trees, where, being young, and frequently drunk, they had begun to sing. Soon talans had been built, and now it was the unofficial student bar. But the sound of the millwheel churning through the water covered the worst of their lyrics, which were somewhat experimental, leaving only the faintest of melodies blending with the endless rush of falling water that filled the air of Imladris.

  Bilbo drank some mead and ate his fourth pie, shaking his head at himself. The students had started to sing about Glorfindel, and Bilbo suddenly realised that that meant that they had seen him. He turned to look up the hill and there was Glorfindel, laughing but shaking his head. Bilbo rose to greet him and froze in the act of calling his name. From the trees that lined the path between them, an elf hung, held by his wrists, kicking, shouting and naked. It was so shocking that for a moment Bilbo thought that they had been invaded. Then Glorfindel moved.

Of course the ring had changed Bilbo, sharpening his senses, and his memory. Yet still he needed to recall what he had just seen several times before he could make sense of the blur of motion that had been the enraged Glorfindel. He had leaped an astonishing distance, caught the wrists of the elves in the tree and jerked them down to the ground. The naked elf had scrambled up the tree and vanished among the branches, but the two students on the ground had scarcely had time to breathe before realising that Glorfindel had stripped them and bound their hands with their own clothes. In furious silence he seized their arms and dragged them away up the hill.

   Bilbo looked regretfully at the pies, then scrambled up the steep bank, for he knew every shortcut in Rivendell, exasperated at always having to run to catch up. Glorfindel was marching the students into the Hall, Bilbo hurried across the courtyard and up the steps, in time to see Glorfindel turn into the Hall of Fire. Bilbo gaped after them, then dashed across the hall to hide in the shadows where he could see into the Hall of Fire. Glorfindel bound the students to a pillar in silence, then turned and strode angrily away.

  But Bilbo had faced a live dragon, and lived to tell (and retell!) the tale. Besides, he was supposed to be meeting Glorfindel for breakfast. It was for him to offer comfort to his friend. He stepped anxiously into the path of Glorfindel, who frowned at him and said 'Not now Bilbo' and stalked away, then stopped, and turned slowly. 'Forgive me, Mr Baggins, of Bag End. I... In my rage I mistook you for... well, for a child, I suppose. I disdained your counsel because you are small. Can you ever forgive my insult ?'

   Bilbo smiled up at the tall elf, who was trying to neither stoop, nor to look down on the hobbit. 'Never mind that Glorfindel, come and try the Chetwood truffle pies, and if you like, you can tell me why you are so angry. It sounds like a long story, and I for one would very much like another pie. Or two.' 

   Glorfindel laughed 'Dear Bilbo, who could ask for a better friend than he who stole the Arkenstone from Smaug for the sake of his friend Thorin Oakenshield.' He looked thoughtfully at Bilbo 'I truly do admire your courage, Mr Baggins, never doubt that. Yes, let us dine by the waters of Bruinen, and I will tell you a tale to break your heart, and mine. But it may be that he should live on in our hearts, he deserves remembrance, and more worthy remembrance than those fools gave him.' 

  To Glorfindel, of course, the pies were delicate morsels, to be eaten whole, and he duly devoured seven before sitting back in his chair with a sigh and picking up his mead. The millwheel rattled and clanked, the miller could be heard faintly, singing of Lùthien, and the bakers had taken spiced cakes out of the great ovens, the sweet fragrance was filling the courtyard air. Glorfindel raised his head and sniffed, Bilbo stood up to ask for a taste, but the baker emerged, smiling broadly through the shine of sweat on his red face. 'Do not eat them yet, you will certainly burn your tongue this time Mr Baggins.' He turned to Glorfindel 'Would you care for a glass of miruvor, my lord ? We always have some in the bakery, in case of accidents.'

Glorfindel sighed 'Thankyou. Yes, yes, I would be most grateful.' 

   When he had drunk the tonic, his whole body seemed to soften, and he smiled up at the baker 'Your miruvor is good, but your Chetwood truffle pies are, and I am certain that Mr Baggins will concur with me on this, even finer than the originals.' He turned to Bilbo who snorted with laughter. For Glorfindel was imitating the voice and manner of the mayor of Bree judging a baking contest at the annual fair. But the baker smiled politely and returned to his kitchen. Glorfindel suppressed a smile "I shall have to explain to him, or we shall no longer be his favourites. Do you still miss Bree, and the Shire ?'

   'Oh, of course I do ! But no, I have said my farewells, it is pleasant to know that everyone is bumbling alone just as well without me. I tire so easily, you know...' 

   Glorfindel pushed the plate of cakes towards the hobbit 'Here, eat some of these, we must keep your strength up !'

   Bilbo laughed and picked up a hot cake and blew on it to cool it, then looked sharply at Glorfindel 'But I am not so tired that I do not have time for the troubles of a friend. Come, tell me all, and I shall bite the ankles of your tormentors !'

   'You would too, you old fool. Very well, I shall tell his tale.' He looked sidelong at Bilbo, his blithe smile turned to something subtle and shadowed for a moment. Bilbo thought of the rage he had seen on the fair face of the elf, and remembered with a kind of shock that elves had been to war against other elves, long long ago, and that Glorfindel himself had been there, and seen it. 'But I think it will shock you, more than it would shock an elf. Even Aragorn does not know this tale. Those wretched students, ferreting out old stories and misunderstanding everything...' he sat back, visibly calming his own rage, and presently spoke in a more nomal tone.

  'It happened long long ago' he began. Bilbo laughed and in a singsong voice said 

  'Before the sun and the moon...'

  'Yes, it was before the sun and the moon, in the time of the Trees....'