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“I like not this walking into danger,” said Gimli. “It goes against my common sense.”
“Nor do I,” said Frodo. “But how much worse to remain behind, and wait for danger to come to you.”
Aragorn, at the head of the procession now that the nine companions had passed beyond the sight of those gathered in the courtyard of Elrond’s dwelling to watch them depart, spoke words of as much comfort as he could offer in the gloomy circumstances of their leaving.
“If we walk quickly enough, perhaps it never will.”
The delegations of Elves and Dwarves had returned once more to the palace, and Bilbo Baggins stood alone before the gate of Rivendell, singing quietly to himself. He did not hear Lord Elrond’s approach until the tall Elf was beside him.
“Your verses?”
“No. A song I heard, many years ago. I can’t remember the rest of it.”
“It is more mournful in sound than the light songs my cousin Thranduil’s people sing,” said Elrond. “Rather it comes from times long past, when Men and Elves exchanged words and songs more freely.”
“To the exclusion of Hobbits, I suppose.”
Elrond gazed into the distance, seeing, perhaps, their departed friends as Bilbo could not with his mortal eyes. “Perhaps that has been an oversight. I only hope I have not doomed your nephew and his friends by now correcting it.”
Bilbo was quiet a while. Though he could not see Frodo and his companions with his eyes as Elrond could, still his mind could conjure up images of possible fates as well as any Elf. He shook his head to banish the thoughts.
“Do Elves pray?”
“I would not call it such. We sing songs of praise and thanks to the Valar who shaped the lands and seas of Middle Earth, and to Iluvatar who first made us to be caretakers of the world when it was new. But we have little need to pray as mortals do.”
“Dwarves are the same, though they’re quite secretive about it. They can be as evasive as Elves when you start asking around about their maker.” Bilbo paused in thought – he had given much of it to the subject, and still had no answer. “We hobbits don’t know who made us, or when or why. Our history is lost to us, if it was ever known.”
“Does it trouble you?” asked Elrond.
“Not especially. We are a practical people, even in a world of magic, and we have no part of it as far as I’ve seen. It would be silly to speak of a Gift of Hobbits. Men may wonder about the hereafter, since they have been promised something they cannot help but question, but we have been promised nothing save the time we are given. Now is all we have, and so we must live in it.”
“Perhaps that is the Gift of Hobbits,” Elrond said gently.
Bilbo laughed with delight. “Then I’ve spent too long among Elves after all. I’ve forgotten how to be sensible about things.”
“You might spend a while longer with us should you choose,” said Elrond, with the diplomacy of his kind. “You have held a Ring of Power, and – with as much as I am given to foresee – you may sail with us when we go and live in peace for a time, if you wish to.”
The distant cry of gulls, far inland as they were, rang after his words like an echo. Bilbo, for the first time in his strangely long life, heard them too.
“I would like that, I think. This thinness – if it is at all the way Elves feel when they have lingered too long, then I don’t envy you your gift at all. I should like to be all myself again, at least for a little while. But not until it’s done. Either way, I’ll wait until it’s done.”
“As will I.”
Hobbit and Elf stood side by side in the shadow of the gates until even Elrond could no longer see the hopeful procession winding through the meadows and groves towards the East. Still, neither turned away.
“Perhaps that song again,” said Elrond after a time.
“I’ve sung all I know of it.”
Elrond frowned at the Hobbit. “You, who is so quick to make up songs for my guests?”
“Well, if I must,” said Bilbo. He began once again to sing.
pi firathon aen, firad nihin
cuio Frodo coi nin sennui
dameno na vardor adui, annin
He trailed into silence. “I can’t rhyme quite so easily in your tongue. But I suppose I’ll have to get used to it.”
“You have some time to practice yet.”
“Yes,” said Bilbo, as he gazed toward the East. “There is still time.”
“Now why have we halted?” said Gimli. “Elf, if you cannot keep up, you are welcome to stay behind.”
Legolas remained in place, head cocked to better hear something the others could not. “I have heard that song before. But not those words.”
“It is an old song from the days of Doriath and its king Thingol. It was a song of mourning and hope from a father to his wandering child. Someone now sings it to wish us on our way,” said Aragorn, for he, too, could hear the echoes of Bilbo’s song. He smiled. “And to wish one of us, especially, safely home.”