Chapter 5 – Part 4 Chapter 5 – Part 3
Chapter 5 – Part 2 Chapter 5 – Part 1
Chapter 4 – Part 2 Chapter 4 – Part 1
Chapter 3 – Part 2 Chapter 3 – Part 1
Chapter 2 – Part 3 Chapter 2 – Part 2
Chapter 2 – Part 1 Chapter 1
by Silent Draco
Chapter 6, Part 1 – Questions of Heritage
On Trees-Day next, Bilbo and Frodo were preparing a second breakfast. As the sausages finished singing in the pan, there came a quiet knock at the door. Sam cried “Bless me!” and hurried to answer; it was just the third hour of the day. A tall, broad-shouldered Elf with piercing eyes, closely swathed in a deep gray cloak, stood calmly. “Master Samwise? The stars shine on our hour of meeting. May I enter?” His armor carried a sigil, twin to that he had left with Sam, as he let his cloak open. “Oh! Ah, aye sir, enter i’ ye please!” The Elf hung his cloak and weapons in the vestibule, entered, and paused in confusion at the laid table. “Oh! We were about to sit down for second breakfast … er, a custom of our people, if place and time permit,” added Frodo. “Would you join us?” The Elf shook his head in disbelief, then murmured “… but Tuor spoke so, and at times appeared famished from mild …” Trailing off, he replied formally, “Master Pheriain, the honor is mine to break bread with thee. Of your courtesy, a cup of tea and one of the small seed-cakes would be most welcome.”
After an abbreviated breakfast, with talk of the wondrous feast and singing (partly recalled by the hobbits), the Elf returned to the Lay sung in Sam’s honor. “Master Samwise, an Elf devising song to honor the exploits of a mortal (your pardon) is a most signal honor. Very few are those so celebrated. But I am a warrior, not a poet, and thus may be blunt and direct. Have you the blade mentioned? What was its origin, if you know? If it is here, may I see it?” He asked longingly, almost hungrily. The hobbits paused, looking one to another. Finally, Bilbo spoke.
“Sir, we have all carried and used Sting, at different times. Frodo, I imagine you left Sting for Sam along with the book, and Bag End?” Frodo nodded, thinking deeply. “Well, with the two of us going into the West, we weren’t likely to need it. Sam, I thought you would leave them in care of your children, or at Michel Delving, unless you forgot (which I find unlikely), or had other reasons.” Sam started, then nodded vigorously. “Oh, dear, oh dear,” Bilbo continued. “Well sir, this is a tale to tell; Frodo my lad, would you put the kettle on again? I may need another cup or two. Tales are thirsty work.” The Elf smiled gently, and waited politely.
“Ah, that floral blend is splendid! Well, Master, this goes back to my first serious engagement with Gandalf, and his advertising my services as an Expert Burglar; now I had met him before, and knew of his wanderings and odd predilections for bringing Adventures and other mischief to the Shire …” at the Elf’s quiet chuckle, Bilbo hastily elided his discussion. “Right. Well, it was the year, hmm, 1341 of Shire-Reckoning, 2941 of the Third Age, in the spring after I had turned fifty, when Gandalf arranged for Thorin Oakenshield and his band to hire me. We journeyed east over the Misty Mountains, toward the Lonely Mountain and Smaug, but we were waylaid near the Great East Road by trolls, some days before arriving at Rivendell.”
Bilbo inhaled fragrant steam, and sipped thankfully at his cup. “Ah, the very thing. Gandalf was away, but returned and argued the trolls into remaining above ground until dawn struck them to stone. We followed large, nasty tracks to an even more noisome cave. There was almost no food we would use within, but hung on one wall were some weapons in scabbards. Gandalf examined them, and read names on the two swords: Orcrist, the Goblin-Cleaver, and Glamdring, the Foe-Hammer. Both were from the lost city of Gondolin, he said. The third weapon was a long dagger meant for an Elf, but Gandalf gave it to me, thinking I could use a short sword should we need to fight on the adventure. I did need to use it; first was to defend myself from Gollum, when … ah, that’s done. The second time was in Mirkwood. We had run short of food, and when trying to beg from the Wood-Elves we had wandered off the Road. A tribe of wicked spiders had captured the dwarves, and one was trying to wrap me up while I had a brief nap; the sword was very sharp, and when I smote that foul beast down, I named the blade Sting. It moved so easily, and struck just like an angry wasp.”
Bilbo continued, describing his battle with the spider bands, and his return to the Shire. “And when Our Birthday came, I left everything to you, Frodo. I had recovered Sting and the armor from Michel Delving, but took them along. Well, I was going off into the Wild again, in company of dwarves, and figured that you would be firmly settled in the Shire for some time. That was to be my last great journey, arriving at the House of Elrond. I wanted to continue onward, but I got so tire in the afternoon. When you four arrived with Aragorn in great haste, and with your wound, I knew that blade and armor would serve you well.” Frodo saw the unasked question and continued, “The armor, sir, was a coat of mithril-mail crafted by the dwarves for an elf-prince, but not delivered before Smaug descended on the Lonely Mountain. I needed both desperately; in our passage through the Mines of Moria, encounters on the Great River, and… Cirith Ungol.”
Frodo halted, and Sam spoke up softly. “Aye, an’ when Mister Frodo fell, I defended him from Her, an’ kept Sting safe on the last bit to the Cracks of Doom. But later, Master? I kept ‘em hanging in the second store-room in Bag End; when Stri- King Elessar would summon me as Counselor, he minded me to appear in his presence with me arms, as all of his other Counselors.” The Elf kept a grave face, but a smile danced across his eyes. “I left both, the Great Book, keys an’ all for Frodo – me son and heir, Frodo – an’ bless him, the lad must have felt that I’d need a good blade. He put Sting in me pack where I keep some rope and the big knife.”
The Elf asked insistently, “So, the blade you named is here? Please, Young Ones, may I now see it?” Sam went to his room, and returned moments later with a scabbarded short-sword. He carefully drew the blade and laid it gently on the table. “Sir, this is Sting. We have …” Sam halted abruptly; Sting suddenly flared white as the noon sun, as the Elf drew a long, hissing breath. “This was in company with Orcrist? May I hold it?” Bilbo nodded, wondering. The Elf surprised them all by gently picking up Sting in his left hand, crooning a song to the blade. He gently kissed the cross-piece, and the hobbits sat still as they realized that the hilt formed perfectly to his hand.
To be continued…