[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Gilly

Less than a handful of days after the crowd dispersed, leaving the great hall to resume its quiet repose, a small company was found leaving it surrounds. Wending their way back along the familiar path, one by one the company emerged from the High Pass, as if emerging from a dream. And a blackbird perched high in one of the many trees that grew there, interrupted its survey of the former battlefield to observe them with interest. The casual onlooker might well have assumed that they had sprung from the earth, so well concealed was the path leading from the refuge of the elves to that ancient road of dwarves and men, the road that led west, and to the Shire.

The first of the travelers to enter into view was small and slight in form. Pausing, she briefly checked on the progress of her companions before leading her pony past the tree where the bird still sat, carefully examining the hobbit with bead-like eyes. But Gilly was unaware of the attentive inspection above her, for she was wading through the rather deep waters of her own emotions. True, she was exceedingly happy to be heading home at last, but she found her joy unexpectedly tempered by gloominess. After their departure was delayed to allow Toby full recovery from his indulgences, she had bid farewell to the elves with a reluctance she found quite astonishing. And now that it was becoming clear that she must soon also say goodbye to the unvarnished, rootless life she had adopted, one where duty and friendship seemed described by a less tentative hand, she found herself unwilling to put it behind her. And her thoughts along these lines, while she gingerly picked her way down the hillside, had proved as troublesome to her as the fly that now buzzed around her ears in the golden light of the early morning.

Waving her hand about her head, to brush the nuisance aside, Gilly guided her pack pony further off the rocky pathway that led from Rivendell. Beneath her feet, the churned turf held a chill that promised an early fall, as it sloped gently away before her, only to drop off sharply at the water’s edge. She stopped, overtaken by an odd sensation. Shutting her eyes, she breathed deeply. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought she was in Bywater in the springtime and not on a battlefield. The scent of the air immediately threw her mind back to her youth, and her father's field, well tilled and ready for planting. The hobbit arched her feet, opening her eyes again. No this was the field where Kaldir had nearly been overcome by orcs, and they were closer now to autumn then to spring. Fighting the impulse to search the ground for his familiar footprint, she raised her head and squinted at the glinting river in the distance, it was the same river that would have swept her away to drown, but for her having been plucked out of it's current by the ranger. ‘Course that would have been a bit further upstream, she reminded herself.

A gentle voice spoke next to her, stilling her turbulent thoughts. “So much has changed since we last saw this place,” Benia sighed as she looked out over the vale. Gilly nodded. The picturesque landscape that spread out before the two of them might have been an altogether different place now that it was peaceful. It seemed so empty. Fierce and desperate as the struggle against Naiore’s orcs had been, little sign was now left of it, and only the scuffed earth under foot lent credence to Gilly’s vivid memories. She felt it as a pang in her heart, for she knew that in the same way, once they reached the Shire Carl might find his wife strangely different. At first he would think her a little tanner and perhaps thinner. But that didn't worry her so much for soon enough she, like this place, would appear just the same as she had before; like the day Benia's letter first arrived at her doorstep. No, the real history, the real work wrought through all this, would stem from the burgeoning storehouse of memories inside her head. The ones that even now, were impinging on the simplest of thoughts. That was a far messier affair, for it would take more than a good broom or stiff brush to set it in order. And at the moment, they seemed just as likely as that river to whisk her away!

“To be sure it has,” the hobbit spoke at last. “And it looks like they have done a thorough job tidying up here. But I am afraid that even though the elves have swept all trace of those orcs from their doorstep, there is still that river!”

“Are you afraid then, that there might be a band of orcs left on the other side of it?” Benia asked.

“Oh my! No, I hadn’t thought of that,” Gilly said frowning at the grey ribbon of water in the distance. “But try as I might I cannot forget how the last time we attempted it, that river came closer to being the end of me than any orc.” She paused briefly; drawing up her courage like an efficient hen gathers her adventurous offspring. Then seeking to nudge the conversation to a more comfortable subject, she continued. “And what of Mr. Longholes?” she ventured, twisting around to search behind them for a glimpse of the hobbit. “Do you think he is yet up to such a crossing?”

Now both Miss Nightshade and the hobbit knew full well that the elves had taken great care to heal Toby of his injury, and that he had quickly mended, but being made aware of Gilly's doubts regarding the river, the southern woman sought to dispel them. “Oh Gilly, that was a frightful day" she said, her face expressive. "But remember that we had no other option but to traverse the water were we would. Now that we have our choice of crossings, apparently we will find the river a great deal easier to ford. Dúlrain has said that we will easily ride across,” she said reassuringly. “Toby need not even get his feet wet.”

“Surely that is more welcome than Lalia Took’s dinner!” Gilly burst out, glad that this rather weighty worry had been banished. She turned just in time to see Toby and his pony appearing from behind the brush, the ranger close behind them. “What do you think of that, Mr. Longholes?” she shouted. “It seems there’s no swimming required of us today!”

“I think I’ll wait to tell you what I think, at least until we are on the other side,” he replied without hesitation. But hazarding a glance at Mrs. Banks, he saw that she appeared crestfallen at his lack of enthusiasm, and so he straightened up, pulling down the edges of his waistcoat, adding, “I’m not disappointed, that much I’ll say. But you’d be better off asking your pony there how he feels about taking to the stream again,” he said looking toward the little pack pony fairly blossoming with cuttings and herbs, colorful tokens that Gilly sought to bring home. Following his gaze, the petite matron turned to the animal that she had learned to appreciate all the more for her walking trip over the mountains. Looking at the beast with fondness, she took hold of its bridle searching the doleful eyes. How dearly she would miss him if she had to follow the Great East Road on foot. “I had quite forgotten that this fellow might have his own misgivings!” she admitted.

By that time, Dúlrain was near enough to follow the exchange. “Ah, but do not let his looks deceive you Master Longholes. Like his mistress this pony is capable of the most courageous feats, though you would not know it from his current appearance,” he said. “And even from here I have no doubt that as he waits; he listens, gauging the rumor of the water. That sound is good news for both horses and their riders. The river is running slow and shallow in its banks; we’ll have no need of ropes.”

Thoughtfully running her hand over the side of the animal waiting patiently beside her, Gilly searched for a new topic that might occupy her thoughts, regretting that they had exhausted so many promising topics on their way to Rivendell.
But nevertheless one must still exist that was sufficiently interesting to everyone, at least enough so to fuel the kind of longish sort of conversation needed to keep her mind off the river. But before she could come up with something suitable, the creak of leather and jangling stirrups told her that her companions were climbing astride their mounts, and she felt pressed to follow suit.

Deciding that her pony would brave the river well after all, even if she wouldn't, the hobbit hopped on one foot in an effort to catch the stirrup with the other. Once she was firmly perched in the midst of her bundles, the pony hurriedly toddled after the others, Gilly calling out after them, “What ever came of those book covers you brought back to Rivendell, Mr. Dúlrain? With all the excitement of the past few days, I never did find out if they were important after all.”

“Ah yes, the books,” Benia echoed. And seeing that the hobbit was looking for distraction, she joined in encouraging Dúlrain to tell them what he had found out about them. Truly it had seemed unaccountably strange that such important works had been burned. Surely they were of more value whole.

Dúlrain obliged them, guiding his horse closer to the two friends while Toby lagged behind. “Well...as you no doubt recall, at the time we arrived there, no one in Rivendell had knowledge of them, though they bore the device of Imladris. It was a mystery, even to the current masters of that place. But fortunately after she arrived, the Lady Léspheria who is a respected source as well as an emissary for her kindred spoke of seeing them at the ranger Tallas' abode. And Menecin was able to shed some light on the matter when asked about them, though he said he had not seen these particular books himself.”

“Menecin you say? Now there's a first class busybody if ever I saw one, elf or no!” Toby piped up from behind them. “He would know now, wouldn’t he!”

“A busybody, is he?” Dúlrain declared, with raised eyebrows. “But I suppose even busybodies can prove helpful. This one at least has been.”

“And well respected he is,” Benia laughed, “But before you speak disparagingly of him Mr. Longholes, it might behoove you to know that you have been thoroughly immortalized in a song of his!”

Toby's head shot up at the remark. “That confounded elf!” he exclaimed hotly. “I told him to leave me out of it when he came around to visit my sick bed with his bundle of questions! I suppose I was painted as Naiore's miserable henchman in his blasted poetry. And shall be thought of as such, for all time!”

“Quite the contrary,” Dúlrain assured him. “Toward the end you were shown in a very favorable light.”

“Then mind you don't say another word, or I will think him all the less credible for it!” Toby joked, his indignation softened considerably. “Charitable was he, in his opinion of me? Imagine that will you.... But I'm steering us off course here, aren't I? What did that elf have to say about the books then, Dúlrain?”

“It seems that his kindred, the branch of elven-folk who call themselves the Noldor, have through the ages kept written notes - accounts of many things, as well as themselves and their people,” the ranger explained. “These were two of such books.”

“Is that the honest truth of it?” Gilly murmured. “After hearing all those songs the other night, I thought for sure that everything must be put into verse.”

“Yes, I would have thought the same and a great deal has been to be sure, quite beautifully so.”

“But then how do you suppose the old man came by them?” Toby wondered aloud.

Dúlrain winked quickly at Gilly before he turned to answer Toby’s question, his saddle creaking once again as his horse plodded on. “Before I tell you that Mr. Longholes, I must assure you that any market for such books would be quite small, so you've missed your best opportunity for reclaiming your former ways profitably. Menecin has said that these were the first mithril covers he had seen on such books.”

With an exaggerated indignation befitting the poorest of actors, Toby playfully feigned offense at the presumption, and succeeded in making his companions laugh at his antics. But he concluded his speech in a more serious tone. “Rest yourself easy, I have no plans on going back to that wretched excuse for life I had in Bree. Even so, you should not tell me if you think it better. I understand.”

“I am glad to once again be reassured of your resolve,” the ranger said, growing serious as well. “For it might also do much harm, if you were to speak freely of mithril books in one of the Shire's many alehouses.”

“Don't you ever fear it!" Toby answered him. "I had more than my share of keeping quiet, and have proved better at it than most. Anyway, they'd just think I'm off my nut! And if they don't, I could rattle on about that bucketful of elven jewels I've found scattered about the banks of the Brandywine.”

Dúlrain smiled warmly. And as Gilly took the warning to heart, thinking herself far more likely than Toby to mention the books, the ranger said, “Well then, with that assurance!”

Reaching over to catch Dúlrain's sleeve, Gilly leaned toward him, whispering urgently, "Perhaps you shouldn't." And seeing the ranger concerned how Toby might react to this, she hurriedly explained that she seemed to have this habit of rambling on about the worst things. “I don’t see that I’m up to my neck in it, until I find myself wishing I might disappear altogether!”

"Mrs. Banks, though your neighbors will no doubt make many claims that you been cavorting with all manner of outlandish people of late, myself included among them, I have it on good authority that you have a proven and spotless reputation for guarding the secrets of others.” He said glancing toward Benia. “So I charge you also without hesitation, to keep this to yourself, knowing that you will guard it closer than any dragon would, if you but firmly set your mind to it."

Her courage suddenly renewed by this confidence, Gilly bowed slightly, "And gladly too!" she promised him most earnestly.

By this time the small group had neared the river's edge, but none moved to enter it. Instead they gathered about the ranger, listening closely to his words.

“Then to continue... At some point and to what purpose I'm not certain, the authors of these books deemed it unwise to keep all of the volumes together in Imladris, for the Noldor's past has been a troubled one, and not all of their history is deemed worthy of song. And so the books were entrusted to others, several falling into the hands of the Dúnedain for their safe keeping. But if there was a reason why Tallas was chosen to be the guardian of these particular ones, I have not yet discovered it. ”

"The Noldor have not been the only people with a troubled past. Perhaps the books were given for others to study,” Benia suggested. “Could these books have held some observations or wisdom from ages past?”

“Perhaps,” the ranger agreed. “In all honesty, news of this transfer came as a surprised to me, as I have come to think that only we Dúnedain were apt to keep our most treasured relics safely in the hands of friends! But it would indeed be of value to study, for the history of the elves and that of men are intertwined, and our stumbling blocks similar, though we may see them from differing vantage points.”

“But haven't their songs traveled west with them? I know that I haven’t a life or memory long enough to pass that sort of history on forever, however long I may carry it in my heart. Perhaps they simply did not want to be forgotten,” Gilly offered. “And as for entrusting others with things of worth, it shouldn't surprise you that hobbits do that as well as men and elves. As you have seen, I am only too happy to have my good friend here in your safe keeping, Master Dúnadan!” the hobbit reminded him. Then looking to Benia she added, “And our ranger friend here in your dear hands, as well!”

“So have I become a relic then Gilly?” Benia said. “A relic of what, do tell?”

“No, no! Of course not!” the hobbit laughed. “Not a relic, but certainly a treasure! And because of you I have found many new friends, like Mr. Longholes for example!” Toby agreed, conceding that she had indeed made at least one friend to his knowledge, and perhaps many others.

As the conversation slowed, Benia brought up the remark Gilly had made. “Gilly, before when you mentioned Lalia Took's dinner, I admit you left me rather curious who she is, and why you would use her name. Is she a friend of yours?”

Toby's grin was full of mischief as he waited to see how Mrs. Banks would respond. But Gilly avoided meeting her fellow hobbit's gaze, and she fidgeted uncomfortably.

“Who she was, for she died a few years back,” Gilly answered carefully, her tone formal. “Lalia the Great was a much revered matriarch of the Took family, almost as famous as Old Took himself. She was a great lady, great in wisdom, great in age and ...”

“And great in girth!” Toby blurted out, unable to contain himself. “Did you really say that? I wouldn't have thought it of you, Mrs. Banks!”

“Oh hush now,” Gilly said with a barely repressed smile. “That won't do at all, even if it is true!”

And so went their banter as Benia and Dúlrain eased their horses into the river to test it. The ranger proved as good as his word, for despite its position at the foot of the Misty Mountains, the river was broad and easy to cross at this point, and so the promise held true. They wouldn't experience any of the trials that had faced them before.

Finding her fears all but evaporated, Gilly paused on the shore, her pony alongside Toby's. Turning back to look at the mountains, she half thought she might see her worries sitting there dark and foreboding, like a Mewlip watching her from afar, but instead she saw a quite a different thing, a fair and lonely figure standing on the hillside. A slender wisp of a person was watching them from the heights, her long hair trailing in the breeze. Spontaneously, Gilly waved, alarming not only the bird who had followed them and took to the air scolding the hobbit as it went, but Mr. Longholes as well. Toby grabbed hold of Gilly's arm gently, and firmly guided it back to her side. “It may look like Vanwe has come to see us off,” he whispered gravely, “But then she's the spitting image of her mother, now isn't she?”

“You know that she isn't her mother, by a long shot." Gilly said lightly, patting Toby's shoulder. "Anyway, you need not worry yourself about her mother anymore.”

“Oh but Naiore was so cold hearted a person, if the fire went out in her, it's hard to believe it would have made a bit of difference!” Toby said with a shutter. “Elves, they're not like you and me, you know. And Avanill was sure that if we killed her, she would torment us to the end of our days. Out of sheer malice, he said!” Raising her glance Gilly looked to see if the elf waved back at them, but it was too far for her aging eyes, and she missed seeing the slender arm that gracefully bid them farewell. She only saw the elf turn to go, disappearing from view.

It wasn't that she hadn't heard what Toby said, but she dismissed it easily, thinking it just the sort of tactic the old women in Bywater would use to keep children from doing something they thought inadvisable. Still it didn't fit what she had learned of Avanill’s character. Mulling it over she thought that perhaps in a way there was a kernel of truth to it, no matter how superstitious it seemed. “Well, I suppose Avanill was right in his way. It looks as though she's haunting you already!” she said sympathetically. “But still I think you should ask Dúlrain for his opinion. It's an honest shame that you missed that song! I think you'd be far less worried if you heard it. Even if Naiore did manage to stay on after her death, I think she had larger goals set for herself then to trouble over a single hobbit.”

“Let's hope so,” Toby said. “But she impressed me as being a thorough sort, and vengeful. She didn't leave Kaldir or Léspheria or Menecin alone now, did she? And it's not like she has bigger turncoats like Avanill to take care of, before looking to me now, is it? So if you don't mind, Mrs. Banks, I rather not bring any unnecessary attention to myself. I've had far too much excitement in the past few months, and it will last me quite long enough!”

“So have I, so have I," Gilly agreed. "It's time to brave a quieter life now isn't it? Though I imagine it will be more difficult for you than me, at least at first.”

A faint grin spread across Toby's face. "Well I admit, it IS good to know that I won't be the only person in the Shire to have heard of Naiore. I'm bound to be viewed as some mad Breelander as it is, but to be one that is worried about a dead elf sneaking up on him!" He shook his head in frustration, “I'll be lucky to get a job mucking out stables!"

"A very vengeful elf," Gilly corrected him, "who just happens to be dead. But never mind, don't worry about the job, we will take care of that. And if ever you have reason to suspect that Naiore is still around somehow, and that you are in danger, day or night you come right to me! I won't think you at all mad."

"But the danger to your family..." Toby protested.

"We'll just have to cross that bridge if ever we get to it!" Gilly said firmly. "But right now it feels like I can't see my dear boys and Mr. Banks soon enough! And if we spend any more time here, gracious, but I think we'll end up growing roots on this very bank, like a pair of scrub willows!"

"Then by all means, on we go!" Toby said.

Pulling their ponies noses around toward the river once again, the hobbits guided them cautiously down the steep bank and into the water. Benia and Dúlrain were already a third of the way across; their mounts poised side by side waiting, as the water bent in smooth arcs about the horses' legs. Benia's tattooed hand rested lightly on the ranger's forearm, as if to stay him from needlessly helping or hurrying Gilly and Toby. "They will do well without our help," she whispered, raising her eyes momentarily to smile warmly at him.

"Indeed, they will," the ranger said returning her smile. But both Dúlrain and Benia continued to remain motionless, their eyes riveted on the progress of the ponies. It was not until the two hobbits reached them, that they continued on, their horses finally stepping out of the river and on to the stony shingle of the far bank.

From there the small group of travelers headed West, up the grassy slopes. No orcs met them there on that far side of the river, no merchants or other travelers of any sort. But the Great East Road lay before them, ancient and wordless, promising to lead them across the Wilds toward the horizon. The fruit of skilled hands long since withered, those of Men and dwarves in ages long gone, it would guide them still and unerringly, on that long road toward home.