Work in Progress. by hennethgalad

Chapter 1

   Bilbo leaped to his feet when Elrond entered the room, his hand reaching for his waistcoat pocket, then faltering, half clenched, before dropping to his side. It was an improvement, thought Elrond, since for a long time Bilbo had struggled to keep himself from searching for the Ring whenever he thought of it, which was often. 

   "We have not had the pleasure of your company in the Hall of Fire for three days, my friend. How is it with you? Are you well?"

   Bilbo turned away agitatedly, shuffling at the untidy pile of papers on his desk. Still facing away he spoke in a strained, hoarse voice "They are there... They are in... in Mordor."

   Elrond shrank back, glad that the hobbit could not see him, and found his own fist clenched, the fist that should only ever be a hand, else it be deemed unworthy to bear Vilya, the Ring of Air. 

   He knew that Bilbo was right; the Ring was almost home, the dark dissonant throb of its song grew ever mightier, and he strove with clenched jaw against the unrelenting pull of the black pit of Barad-dûr. He had no sense of the Enemy as an individual, as a mind. It was all very well for Galadriel to speak of a great Eye, but he felt only the darkness and the void, not as an emptiness, but as a greight weight, pulling him down, dragging him from the light into...

   But Vilya dug into his hand, and he unclenched his fist, and his jaw, and looked to his own ring, which had changed his life.

   Imladris had been celebrating, even those in mourning found the strength to smile, for the downfall of Sauron had been accomplished, and for the first time the world was free of the Enemy. He had sung with them, tears on his face, but his mind turned ever to the perfect little box, as lovely as all the works of Celebrimbor, in which Vilya lay. For the first time, Vilya was free, and now, if he dared, he could take up that ring, and bear the burden of responsibility that power lays on all who would not be evil.

  It was like waking from an intoxicated dream, the beauty of the sapphire seemed to twist at his heart, and the golden setting was the most perfect... He tore his mind from the ring and looked up and about, and into his thought, like someone nearby shouting loudly, the spirit of Galadriel was present, hailing him. They had been astonished and delighted to find that they could communicate over such a vast distance, to say nothing of the mountains! And when Galadriel had turned back to Laurelindorenan, he had looked eagerly about him at all the wonders revealed to his newly enriched sight.

  Bilbo was looking curiously at him, he realised he was staring into space, grinning. 

   "Are you struggling with your writing? Would you like assistance? Is there anything I can do?" he picked up a handful of papers, but Bilbo was still staring at him. The papers were bits of different stories, Hador, Gildor and Maeglin, all in a muddle. "Why not finish one story before you begin another?"

   "Oh Elrond! Every night in the Hall I hear a new tale, and I hurry to write it down, and then the next day Glorfindel will tell me an even more interesting tale, and before I've written that down, I'm called back to the Hall of Fire to hear yet another new tale! I can't keep up!"

   "But Bilbo... There is no need for you to be writing other people’s stories! Tell your own story, it is remarkable in itself! Thranduil was right, you do count among the great elf-friends of old, and if you cannot accept my word for it, you might accept his!"

   Bilbo smiled fondly at the thought of the majestic elvenking "I wish I could see him again! No I don’t, I can’t bear the thought of leaving Rivendell. I can hardly bear missing the Hall of Fire, but I really am trying to get these papers in order."

   "Please let me help you! One of my people with experience in such matters will be delighted to help."

   "No! No... In any case... But you will laugh..."

   "No. I shall not."

   "Very well" said Bilbo, blushing furiously "These stories are all part of one whole. It is merely a question of arranging them in the order they happened in. I have tried to make sense of things, if you like, and there’s hardly any of it that I just made up, there has been no need to make things up! By the stars Elrond, your people..."

   Elrond, who rarely gave way to emotion, found himself blushing. He was a descendant of all three House of Elves, and all three Houses of Men. His people had done so much... 

  His people had invaded Valinor... He sighed and hung his head.

  "Oh Bilbo... Be kind to us... If you can."