A Good Gift. by hennethgalad

Chapter 1

   Bilbo shifted uncomfortably in his seat, Glorfindel had been talking for hours, but it was the first time, in all the years they had been friends, that Bilbo had ever heard him speak so candidly, and he was determined to miss none of it. Glorfindel himself looked worn, the shadows of his past lingering even in the sweet air of Imladris. The elf sighed and took the silver-studded leather flask from the pouch at his hip. Bilbo frowned, this new, open Glorfindel seemed a stranger to him, and the familiar flask suddenly appeared, as it were, from nowhere.
   'I say, Glorfindel, where did you get the flask ? It does not look to be of elvish make.'
Glorfindel looked at the flask, his eyes blurred for a moment, memories sounded in his head, laughter and fear, pain and ease, and the smooth comfort of miruvor.
   'It was given to me by a dear friend, named Heather Appledore.'
   'Heather Appledore ? Surely that is a Bree name, I am acquainted with the Appledore family, but I did not know of a Heather Appledore.' the hobbit looked at the lowered eyes of the elf 'Oh no, she is dead too, isn’t she ?'

   It was cold and still, dawn drew near, turbulent harmonies of birdsong raged around the Chetwood. Asfaloth strolled, almost reluctant to reach Bree, wishing to drift away from the path, and meander through the trees, aimless as a stream. Glorfindel sighed and patted the silver neck, 'Come, my friend, you will be hungry soon, and there are leagues yet between us and our fodder.'
   Asfaloth snorted but stretched his limbs and the trees began to thin as the ground rose to the hill of Bree. A burst of sound reached them, of fighting in the dark undergrowth;  Glorfindel stiffened, Asfaloth halted, listening. A man’s voice cried out 'Help ! Help me !' and a man with blood on his face ran into the road, looked up at Glorfindel and started, then ran even faster away into the darkness across the road.

   The fight seemed to be over. Glorfindel slid from the back of his horse as a woman in hunting garb strode out into the road. Her knuckles were bleeding, her tunic was torn, and her dark curly hair was in disarray, the thick plait half-uncoiled across her shoulders. Behind her came the sound of retching, and groaning. She rubbed the backs of her hands and looked up at Glorfindel.
   'Stars shine upon you, elf !' she said merrily. Glorfindel grinned, put his hand to his heart and bowed.
   'Well met, mighty hunter. I saw your prey flee. He went that way, should you wish to pursue him.'
   She glanced down at the path trodden by the man, a child could have tracked him.
   'I do not waste my skills on such vermin. It was their intent to make me their prey. Ha, they have no more idea of hunting than a rabbit does. Fools. But they will regret this assault, the scum, for I felt bones break beneath my fist.' She snarled and turned back to face the trees, where one of them could be heard trying to stand. 'Three of them, three ! Spawn of the void.'

   She spat, and there was blood in it. Glorfindel reached for his gold flask and offered it to her.
   'Why, what is this ? And who are you, handsome elf, with your long golden locks ?'
   'I am Glorfindel, I hunt evil creatures in the Wild. I am sorry that I was too late to be of service. The drink is miruvor, it has healing properties, and tastes... pleasant.'
   'Well met, Glorfindel ! I am Heather Appledore, I also hunt evil things in the Wild.' She frowned, looked down at the flask, then up at Glorfindel 'I feel as though I were in a song, and that if I drink this, I will be enchanted, and never see my family again.'
   Glorfindel laughed, took the flask and drank from it, then handed it back. Heather looked up at him, then grinned and tasted the miruvor. She blinked for a moment, then, as it took effect, her whole body eased and she sighed.
   'Well, if I am enchanted, it is a very nice enchantment. But let me return your kindness ! My camp is near, my broth is ready, will you join me ?'

   Hidden by a fold of the rising hill, and well shielded by rocks, her little fire burned low. She lifted aside the pot and piled wood on, as Glorfindel rubbed the tiredness from Asfaloth. They were quiet, listening to the birds and the crackle of the fire, going about the rituals of the camp as though they had journeyed far together. When Glorfindel sat on a log, she handed him a bowl and poured in the barley broth. There was a loaf of crusty bread, she tore off hunks, skewered them on a stick and toasted them over the flames, then dipped them in her broth. Glorfindel grinned 'I never have toast, why do I never have toast ?'
   She laughed and then said 'Well ?'
   Glorfindel shook his head, laughing, and speared a hunk of bread. They ate in silence, Asfaloth the noisiest of the three, until with a loud snort, a small black horse appeared through the shadows of the trees. Heather leaped to her feet 'Celeg ! Where have you been ! Never mind, let me look at you !' and she fussed over the small horse, muttering under her breath, as careful as though it were the king of the Mearas.
   Glorfindel smiled as Asfaloth politely leaned his head towards the smaller horse, while Heather expertly checked the hooves and rubbed the twigs away. Glorfindel soaked up the last of the broth with the last of his bread, drank some wine, then softly, as the sun rose, he began to sing.

   He watched the mortal daydream as the horses sagged into sleep. She stared at the fire, as it faded into the light of the day, and the sun rose warm around them. At last he stopped and spoke. 'Tell me your tale, Heather Appledore, now that I have told you mine.'
   She looked at him in astonishment 'That was your tale, that was real ? I thought I dreamed. I thought it was your drink, or the shock. That was your tale ? My father would say that your enchantment is an attack worse than what those vermin would have done. Do you seek to woo me ? You will fail, for my heart belongs to another. Though in truth, you are even lovelier than she, I had not believed the tales of the beauty of elves, but I see that they were not hollow. Unless.' She looked at him through narrow eyes 'Do they... are you considered exceptionally handsome among your people ?'

   Glorfindel laughed 'My lady, I would not dare to woo you, having seen the sorry state of your rejected 'suitors'. In my culture we sing long tales, to sweeten the passing of time, for however interested the heart, the mind becomes distracted.
   As to my looks, I am noted, indeed I am named for my hair, but not for my beauty, which is merely considered fair.'
   Heather nodded 'It is glorious hair, I am very envious. Though I am relived to hear that your hair is noteworthy even among elves, for mine has ever been a trial to me !'
   Glorfindel laughed 'I know a little of hair care, let me reset your plait, while you tell me your tale. Let me say this also, that my heart belongs to another, and he, though I hesitate to say it, is more beautiful than you, and indeed me. You need fear no wooing. But who were they ? Outlaws ?'
   Heather Appledore, spinster of Bree, youngest child of the ancient Appledore family, whose house was the second largest in the four villages, looked in astonishment at the shining elf 'You want to tidy my hair ?'
   'Please. It upsets me to see you disarrayed so. And... I think it will be easier for you to speak, to say uncomfortable things, if you are not looking at me.'
   She sighed and nodded 'Well, thankyou. You have been very kind. I am glad you came along, or I would have galloped back to Bree and sobbed with my head under the blankets. Though, Celeg had wisely bolted, and I would have had to find him first...

   Oh what a strange day ! Foul men attack me and a radiant elf appears from nowhere and offers to brush my hair !'

   Glorfindel loosened the thick tangle and patiently began to remove the leaves and twigs from the long dark mess of curls. He worked in silence, the birds had stopped singing and were busy foraging, the horses slept, the air was still, the only sound was the popping hiss of the fire.

   At last Heather sighed 'They were nobodies, they thought they could overcome a lone woman at night. They were wrong.
   I am the youngest, I have four older brothers, who bullied me without meaning to; they are nice lads, really, but so rough. My uncle, tired of my tears, showed me how to move, to wrestle, to run, and to punch with force. They stopped bullying me.'

   Glorfindel was silent for a time, painstakingly lifting the strands apart. It was lovely hair, it smelled of herbs and flowers. She was a fine looking woman. 'What brings you alone into the Wild ? Do you meet with someone ?'
   Her strong shoulders sagged 'Alas ! I hope to ! My brother, the eldest of us, was hunting here with friends, and was lost. The horse was found in a stream, very distressed, but my brother has vanished without trace. So I hunt the evil things of the Wild, and I hunt for traces of my brother. I...' She turned her head swiftly and yelped, though Glorfindel lifted his hands from her hair 'Ouch ! I wonder... I mean, have you seen him ? He is a little taller than I, but he looks alot like me...'

   Glorfindel looked sadly at her 'How long has he been gone ?'
   She bowed her head 'Four months now. He is dead isn’t he ?'
   He put his hand on her shoulder 'Almost certainly. I am sorry. If it was orcs, you will find nothing. But there are wolves, bears and much worse, loose in these lands. I would not insult you, but it may be best that you do return to Bree and to your blankets. There are others guarding these lands, I am one of them, and we would not have you lost as your brother was. Come, I ride to Bree myself, will you ride with me ?'
   At this, her eyes filled with tears, and she covered her face with her hands. Glorfindel let her weep, and continued silently untangling her hair until it lay like a dark shawl over her now hunched shoulders.

   'I cannot. She... She wanted children. She wanted to please her family, and live as women do, the life of the hearth. But I... She loves me ! She... He will be very disappointed, he will turn to drink, or get fat or something. Fool. She loves me.'
   Glorfindel was silent; he must be in Bree the next day, he was meeting some of the Rangers there. The image of the Rangers came into his mind, cloaked and hooded, sticking to the shadows, keeping themselves to themselves...
   'Listen to me, Heather Appledore, I would have your company, for you are quiet when you think, which is rare even among elves. And I would stand by until you no longer think of blankets, for I will not feel that you have been rescued until you are laughing at the idea. I propose that I lend you a cloak, and that you travel to Bree disguised as my companion, in that way you can see your home but not be troubled by it. What do you say ?'
   'What ? You have never been to Bree ! There haven’t been elves in Bree since I was a child, they passed through once, and stopped to drink at the Pony, that is, the Prancing Pony, the Inn.'

   But Glorfindel smiled secretively, and rose to his feet. He pulled a dark green cloak from his pack and slung it about his shoulders, pulling the hood low after the manner of the Rangers. Heather gasped and stood slowly 'Why... it is as though you have vanished ! As though a light has gone out... A moment ago I was in a song, but now, well, it is an ordinary day, and you are just another of those Rangers.'
   'I have two such cloaks, come, try for yourself.'
   Heather twirled in the fine green cloak, as good as her mother’s finest cloth, then stopped still 'Oh but Glorfindel, I am too short, nobody will believe that I am a Ranger.'
   Glorfindel nodded, 'You shall ride in, on Asfaloth, who we shall also disguise. I shall take off his bells, he will not mind, for your sake, though he loves to strut and jingle ! And with me on Celeg, they will take us for Rangers, you may count on it.'
   'What, me, on that magnificent horse ? What will people think, they will never believe it.'
   'They will, because I shall hint, truthfully, that you are the truant child of a rich friend, that I have under my care for a time.'
   'Truant !' Heather exclaimed, then fell silent for a time, until at last she sighed and nodded. 'You are wise, and kind, Glorfindel, the stars truly did shine upon our meeting, for me, at any rate. Thankyou for your trouble.'
   Glorfindel bowed and smiled warmly 'It is not trouble, it is a pleasure. I seldom meet anyone on my journeys, it is always pleasant to meet a charming stranger. And I admire your courage and your skill in battle; it is an honour to ride with such a one. Indeed, it is a comfort ! For all too often I ride alone, and to have your swift and steady blade at my back warms my heart.'
   Heather frowned 'But you are so nice, don’t you have any friends ? Why do you ride alone ?'
   Glorfindel laughed 'Oh Heather, will you be my friend ? Few words, and to the purpose, as they say ! Yes, I have friends, but they have other work. I ride alone because I can, while others ride elsewhere. But also, there are those who I would have chosen to ride with, but who are... gone. And there are those who would ride with me but... I prefer to ride alone.'
   Heather gaped at him 'But you would choose to ride with me ? What a nice thing to say ! I feel more enchanted by your words than I did by your drink.' She heaved a ragged sigh and frowned again 'Do you have any left ? I still feel somewhat shaken, in truth. I think your kindness has made me soft.'

  They drank a little miruvor, and cleared away the remains of their campfire, then Glorfindel sang a quiet phrase to Asfaloth, and removed his lovely silver bells. Heather watched in silence as the glorious elven horse had a plain blanket thrown over his shining flanks, and nodded as Glorfindel turned to her and gestured to the horse. 'Poor Asfaloth, dressed in rags and with a mere mortal on his back !'
   'Not so, for Asfaloth witnessed your victory, and now, clad in the colours of the conqueror, he shall bear you in triumph to your home.'
   Heather looked down on Glorfindel from her great height on the back of the mighty Asfaloth. She could see the parting of his golden hair, it seemed wrong somehow, that an elf should be looked down on by a mortal, but then the Rangers were tall too, the shortest of them taller than even old Rowley, the tallest man of the four villages. But Glorfindel had turned away, greeted Celeg with a cheery, almost musical, word of elvish and leaped on his back. Celeg danced excitedly sideways for a moment, then reared dramatically into the air. Glorfindel shook back his hood and laughed 'To the light !' he cried, and turned Celeg swiftly round the glade until he came sparkling to rest beside Asfaloth, who snorted softly.
Heather laughed 'Oh Glorfindel, you are wonderful ! Fearless, and full of joy !'

   Bilbo snorted 'I asked about the flask, not for you to tell me how marvellous you are !' He stopped and sighed 'Sorry Glorfindel, I know, you were just telling me the tale. And no, don’t sing it instead ! You know I'll only fall asleep if you do. So she gave you the flask, did she ? What happened to her then, in the end ?'
   'Well, we rode together, from time to time, long wanderings up and down the Road, for many years, until her joints pained her, and she sat thereafter at home, instructing the youth for some years. At last, she died.
   At her table, her heart gave out, all on an instant. She stood up, gripped her heart, and slid to the ground, though they caught her as she fell.' Glorfindel frowned and looked down for a moment, then up at Bilbo 'She said... she said "Tell Glorfindel..." as she died. And always, when I drink, from this flask she gave me, that she got from the dwarves, I wonder what her message was.'
   Bilbo smiled 'Have you known so few mortals then ? I know what she would say to you.'
   Glorfindel looked at Bilbo in astonishment 'You do ?'
   Bilbo laughed ' "Remember me !" She gave you the flask, and the message, to be remembered. It is almost a joke, to a mortal.

   We say that a person lives on as long as they are remembered. You elves don’t, because you never forget anything. But we do, we have to try to remember, or it fades away. So, to be remembered is a kind of life after death, for us. And Heather Appledore had a friend who would live forever, and so she asked you to remember her, to give her a kind of immortality. And you have, for now I shall remember her, and look more fondly on the people of Bree for bringing you a friend where you least expected to find one.'
   Glorfindel nodded and looked down at the flask in his hand 'It is a good gift, a wise gift. Dwarven made, given to an elf by a Breelander. Yes, it has been... There have been times when the flask itself has warmed the mood. A good gift.'