August 5
The roots of the sorrel had worked their way into the snapdragons, and the snapdragons were getting choked. Lilac had pulled all the sorrel out that she could without lifting the snapdragons, but she could see that they were going to have to come out anyway. She sighed, sitting back on her heels, tapping her trowel on the stone edging with irritation. She hated sorrel. It was delicious in salads, but once it got somewhere it shouldn't be, it was all but impossible to remove.
The sun was setting anyway. She couldn't solve this today, and tomorrow she might be ready to rip everything out and start over. The snapdragons could not stay here; they'd never compete with the sorrel. She'd have to plant something else here, something vigorous and aggressive. More aggressive than sorrel. She sighed, pondering, and got up, and picked up her trowel.
She resented having to uproot the snapdragons. Realizing that, she smiled, because two weeks ago, she would have relished ripping them out, and might not have bothered replanting them. They reminded her too much of Bolco. But now, she thought, she would meticulously replant each and every one, in the best soil she could find, precisely because they reminded her of her long lost, wild, nocturnal elf-hunter.
Last night she had sat out in the plum tree, watching the stars, and hoping that Bolco would come and deliver her flowers while she was there. She wanted to see him. A friend of hers said that he rode out every other night at midnight, and she guessed that he must deliver the flowers then. But she had waited ‘til two, and he had not come, even though her friend had insisted that he had ridden past. Isembrand had frowned, knowing that if she did meet him, Isembrand would be long asleep by then, and it would not be seemly. Lilac had reluctantly agreed.
But tonight she was going out again. She reasoned that if he did not come straight here, then perhaps he was going out to watch the stars. She had been pondering Missus Pansy's words ever since she dropped off the vase price at the Furrow's.
Missus Pansy did not think that Bolco was still hunting elves. And when Lilac had asked, she had responded that that was between Bolco and Iluvatar.
She had pondered that. She had asked Master Peregrin who Iluvatar is. Master Peregrin had gotten a strange look on his face, and had been extremely reluctant to answer, and had asked her why she wanted to know. She had replied that Missus Pansy had mentioned Iluvatar when they were discussing Bolco. And then Peregrin had responded by saying the elves knew more about Iluvatar than Peregrin did, and he wasn't particularly ready to answer her. She had left dissatisfied.
"Well, Iluvatar, whoever you are," she murmured as she washed the dirt from her hands and her trowel, "I'd very much like to know who you are, and why Bolco is involved with you. So if you'd oblige, I'd like to find someone who can tell me more about you." She sighed, and smiled, and wondered why she was talking out loud to a perfect stranger. She stopped off at the stables, and checked all of Foggy's saddlery, and brushed him quickly, and washed her hands again and went to dinner.
After dinner, she said nothing, and simply retired as usual, and went to her room. But then she slipped out again, and went out through a side door down to the stables. She saddled Foggy, mounted, and turned him toward Green Hill Country. As soon as she was out of earshot of the Smials, she set him into a mile-eating gallop. When he tired of that she let him settle into a steady trot for a while, but when he seemed rested she pushed him on again. She was approaching Woody End by midnight.
She had never been this far west in Woody End, but Bolco had described it to her in detail. She knew where Master Baggins had given Bolco the slip time and time again, and it was to that place she was headed, on a hunch.
She walked Foggy the last two miles, and then dismounted and tethered him, loosening his girth, removing his bit and letting him graze. On an impulse, she checked his feet, since she had ridden him so hard. One foot had a pebble wedged in it. She gouged it out with a stick, and led him for a couple of steps, watching. He was still sound. She let him go, and turned eastward.
To her astonishment, there was a tall, golden person standing at the edge of the woods, watching her. She thought that the moonlight was reflecting off of the elf's clothing, but then realised the elf was standing in the shade. She stood still, astonished, and then curtsied, at a loss for words.
To her surprise, the elf returned the curtsey, with a lovely grace borne of many years of dancing under the stars. "Welcome," the elf-lady smiled. "I believe I am expecting you. I am Fearil, and tonight I walk under the stars alone. Join me."
"Oh, yes, please," Lilac stuttered. Fearil smiled, and turned eastward, inviting Lilac with her starry eyes. Lilac hastened forward, feeling extremely shy. If she had known anything about elves, which she did not, Lilac would have thought this highly unusual-- that an elf was out alone in Woody End with nothing better to do than go walking with a mortal. In fact Fearil was part of a larger company and would rejoin them later, but for this evening, Lilac was all her focus.
They walked on, and Fearil spoke. "I believe that you have a question."
"Yes, Ma'am, " Lilac stuttered.
Fearil waited.
"Who is Iluvatar?"
The elf smiled, sunshine in the moonlight, and said, "Iluvatar is the Creator of all that is. And He is the father of elves and men."
That was a lot to ponder, and the elf-lady waited patiently as Lilac digested it. "W-what about hobbits?"
"Hobbits are a kindred of men," the elf replied, still smiling, a smile that seemed to radiate from deep within her. "Iluvatar is their father also. Iluvatar sang the song, in the beginning, and the Valar sang with him. And in their song, Arda was designed. By Iluvatar, Arda was made, and he made it according to the design sung, by himself and by the Valar."
Lilac pondered this, open-mouthed, for a while as they walked. She had no idea what further questions to ask and was quite overwhelmed. But her astonishment only deepened, as they walked, for the elf softly began to sing. Fearil sang, in the common tongue, the legend of the Ainulindale, and it sank deep into the soul of Lilac, and opened her.
The stars seemed to belong in the sky exactly where they were, the wind seemed to know exactly where it was and where it was going; the water belonged exactly where it was. The trees, from their roots to their leaves, belonged exactly where they were, growing exactly as they did. Fearil seemed to belong in the woods, exactly where she was, walking and singing.
Only Lilac seemed out of place. Suddenly she felt that she did not fit naturally into the plan, was not part of the melody, nor the harmony, nor the unity that all the rest of creation seemed to share. She felt that she was outside of nature. She was filled with longing to be a part of the harmony, to be a part of the purpose of Iluvatar for good, and not for ill. She longed-- what did she long for? She could not describe the desire to be in harmony with all of Iluvatar's creation, but she felt it. She wanted it deeply, and as Fearil sang, her longing only grew.
Fearil's song ended, and they walked in silence for a while. Lilac's conviction grew that there was something amiss with her. She thought back over the past several weeks, and suddenly several things surfaced. Peregrin's exasperation with her. The smashed vase. Daffodil's mistrust of her. Her dismissal, many weeks before that, of Bolco as he stood in Lilac's room; the way his eyes had grown more and more shocked and hunted until he had been driven from her room. She shook herself, hating the memory now.
"Something troubles you, " Fearil queried.
Lilac wasn't ready to discuss that yet. "Why did I find you?" she asked. Fearil smiled just a little. Lilac persisted. "I had a friend that looked for elves for years and years, and never found one. And yet as soon as I looked, I found you."
"Did you?"
"Well, you were right there when I turned--"
Fearil's smile widened a little.
"I suppose you found me," Lilac admitted. "You did say you were expecting me. Why?"
"I knew you would come," Fearil replied, suddenly solemn.
"Why?"
"And I knew I must sing about the Ainulindale."
"But why?"
Fearil smiled again. "Bolco would understand."
"You know him? Has he found you at last?"
"We know of him. And we have watched over him, sometimes. And sometimes we have known that he was watched over by another stronger than us. But we have never spoken to him."
"Why not?"
"We knew that we should not," Fearil said simply. "We knew that he was set aside."
"Set aside? For what? From what?"
"He was set aside," Fearil repeated. "He was not ours to teach."
"But you will talk to me."
"I talk to you tonight," Fearil replied. "Tomorrow may be different."
"Why?"
"I do not know."
"What do you know?" Lilac said, rather exasperated. "You speak in riddles." There was a very, very long pause, and then Fearil spoke.
"I know," Fearil said very softly, "that because of your great cruelty, Bolco suffers deeply."
Lilac found nothing to say.
Fearil waited, walking quietly under the stars. Lilac remained silent, hot with shame, angry, self-conscious, defensive. And then the elf began once again the song of the Ainulindale. From start to finish, the elf sang, softly, of the melodies and harmonies woven by Iluvatar and the Valar, and the discord sung by Melkor. The song once again penetrated Lilac's heart and soul, and she desired to be part of the harmony, and have nothing to do with the discord. She remembered the shards of the vase; she remembered the shards of soul and spirit, shards of trust and confidence and affection and hope, shattered, as Bolco left her room Midsummer's eve. She listened, torn between the beauty of the music and the horror she suddenly felt about herself.
You are a singer of discord, she said to herself. You sow evil. Fearil says you are cruel, and she is right.
How could she change? She desperately wanted to. As Fearil's song ended the second time, she turned to her.
"Please," she said. "What must I do to be part of the harmony? How can I change myself? How can I stop making discord and become part of the harmony?"
The elf considered this. "To be part of the harmony, " she said, "you must learn to sing Iluvatar's songs, and not your own. And for that you must learn more of Iluvatar himself. But to change yourself? That I do not know. Perhaps he must sing over you still."
"I want him to," Lilac said, earnestly.
"Perhaps he will, if your desire is true and real," Fearil replied. "And now we must part."
"But I want to stay with you!" Lilac cried. "I have so much to learn. Won't you teach me more about Iluvatar?"
"Tonight I have said what I must, and I must say no more. You must return to your pony, and ride home."
"But why?" Lilac cried.
Fearil simply gazed into Lilac's eyes, and Lilac thought of the harmony again.
"Fearil, is-- is harmony easy to be a part of?"
"Not at first, " Fearil smiled. "As you desire it more and more, it slowly becomes easier. But there are many times when it is not easy at all."
"Then I suppose," Lilac said, "my going home now is part of -- at least, not singing more discord. All right. I will go. I do so want to learn to be part of the harmony."
"Open your heart," Fearil said. "That much I may teach you now. Harmony with Iluvatar comes from the heart. Your pony is in that clearing, straight ahead. Ride home."
"I hope I see you again," Lilac said. "Goodbye."
"That, only Iluvatar knows," the elf smiled.
August 6
Lilac rode into the Smials as the sun rose. She rode straight to the Plum tree, and saw that the vase held fresh flowers. She dismounted there in the garden, and lifted the vase, and found that they were pink snapdragons. She kissed them.
She almost missed the note, but a gentle breeze fluttered it. Catching it up, she gazed at it, kissed that too, and then ran inside with them to her room. There she caught up a jar, pouring the water from Bolco's vase into it, and putting the new snapdragons into it. Then she selected one, and having first kissed it, she carefully shortened the stem, and tucked it into her bodice so that it was hidden, after first removing the one she had put there yesterday.
Then she put the jar of fresh snapdragons in a row of four others, removed and discarded several flowers that had gone by, stood back and enjoyed them for a moment, and then tucked the note into her pocket, and ran outside. She quickly refilled the vase to the brim, and set it on the bench. She led Foggy back to the stables (he was cool by now) and put him away, and then returned in time for first breakfast.
That morning she spent a good half hour patrolling all the gardens, looking for the perfect place to resettle those snapdragons. Nothing satisfied her. Finally she came back to the plum tree, and looked around. Nasturtiums, tired pansies, daisies gone by. The pansies she would rip out. The daisies she could move. The nasturtiums would be harder to move, but there were some sunflowers several beds over that they would go with if she could transplant plenty of soil with them. She smiled.
Several hours later, the beds surrounding the plum tree were completely replanted with snapdragons planted in deep compost. She had run out of plants, and had pirated large quantities from another bed. Alyssum bordered the front of the beds. Along the back wall she planted some cosmos, also pirated. She'd figure out what to replace them with later.
She now had a small handful of sky-blue pottery shards found among the nasturtiums. She washed them carefully, weeping just a little, and set them in a pile on the bench, wondering what to do with them. But she knew somehow that she should not throw them away.
By the end of the day she was completely exhausted, and despite plans to wait up and look for Bolco, she fell asleep in her room after supper. She slept like a rock.
August 7
The next morning, the shards were gone. In their place was another note, and the vase held a single lily.
As she considered the lily she smelled pipe-smoke, and half turned. Pippin was watching her from the next garden over. She considered him for a moment, and suddenly thinking of Fearil, turned towards him and gave him as elegant a curtsey as she could. His eyebrows shot up.
"Good morning, Master Peregrin," she said, without the least hint of sarcasm, irony, or ire.
"Good morning, Miss Lilac," Pippin responded, wondering what on earth had happened, but glad of it, whatever it was.
"Might I ask you something, sir?" Lilac asked, looking down at the note still in her hand, and Pippin nodded, and joined her. They sat down together on the bench, and were deep in discussion for the next half hour. Pippin left deeply content.
At midmorning, Pippin rode away from The Smials and headed for Crickhollow. That evening, Lilac ate an extra-hearty dinner, saddled Foggy and rode hard to Woody End. Fearil was expecting her.
Shortly after she left, Bolco rode up to the plum tree and looked around. Dismounting, he tied Stormy to the plum tree, and looked around at all the snapdragons, wondering; and then quietly went inside the Smials. He knocked on Pippin's door, and when there was no answer, he checked the dining room and several parlors. Then he proceeded, nervously, to Lilac's door, and knocked there.
No answer.
With a heavy sigh, he went back out to the plum tree, and put the flowers in the vase, and left the note beside them, weighed down with a stone. Then he mounted, and on an impulse, headed for the Green Dragon.
Neither Strider nor Bill was in the courtyard, to Stormy's and Bolco's disappointment. Bolco tied Stormy and went inside. He saw Tom Cotton, who happily waved him over. Bolco bought two beers on the way past the bar and brought one to Tom, who had just started the one he was on, and held the other in store for him. Tom's eyes bugged a little, and he shared a smile with Bolco. They chatted about harvest schedules and other town news, Bolco kept Tom in beer for several hours, and then Tom was suddenly inspired to make a request of Bolco.
"Bolco. I've heard you have a nice voice. Sing something."
"I'm not sure I should," Bolco evaded.
A few other hobbits thought this sounded interesting. "Come now, Bolco, let's have a song! Something new." Hands thumped his shoulder, and then a few hands started thumping tables.
"I'd rather not," Bolco demurred.
"Something old then! Come, lad, let's have a song!"
The pressure grew with the number of hobbits adding their voices to the general shouting, and Bolco knew he couldn't dodge it. Blushing, he raised his hands. "All right. All right, then. Something old."
His mouth was suddenly dry, and in desperation he took a swig of beer, but the wry expression on his face brought general laughter. "Water!" he shouted, laughing with them; "Somebody give me a glass of plain water!"
The water was produced, with more laughter and clapping of shoulders, and he stood, blushing even more. "Something old. All right, the oldest song I know... I don't know many old ones, you know."
"A new one then!"
"No. Old. I'll sing something old." He had a vague sense that the older songs would be somehow safer. He had learned a handful. Hymns, they were called, although he didn't know why.
He chose "Great is Thy Faithfulness." He closed his eyes, and as the room quieted, he retreated into the center of his being, and softly sang all the verses he knew. When he finished, he realised he was holding his fists at his stomach, as if he had been sitting cross-legged alone at the river. He slowly opened his eyes, and nervously looked around.
The room remained quiet for another few seconds, and then he saw some nods. A few lads clapped, but others simply watched him. He returned their stares, waiting.
"Let's have another," said a gaffer, quietly, and several others nodded. "Aye. One more, lad."
"I-- I can't think of another," Bolco replied, but they waited, watching him.
Finally he thought of "Take My Life," which he really wasn't in the mood to sing, but he couldn't think of another. He hesitated for several moments more, but it was all he had. He started it, closing his eyes, but it wasn't coming out right, and he faltered and stopped, blushing hard, hands clenched again. Maybe he should just sit down.
"Sing the river-song, Bolco."
It sounded like Sam. His eyes flew open, and he saw Sam, with Mayor Baggins, standing just inside the door. He grew hot with surprise and embarrassment.
Mayor Baggins agreed with Sam. "Go on, lad. Sing it."
"But--" Bolco fought hard. That one was far too personal, and he was afraid that he would cry; no, he was certain of it. "I can't. Not that one. I can't do it, sir."
"It's all right, Bolco," said the gaffer. "We'll hear it. Won't we, lads?"
Oh, Creator, Bolco pleaded, don't let me cry. Don't let me embarrass myself even more than I already am.
There was nothing for it but to sing. Everyone was waiting, and he knew that he couldn't back down. So he took several deep breaths, thought of Jake, Josh, James; took one look at Sam, another at the Mayor, who nodded-- clamped his eyes shut, turned inward to the Creator, and started to sing.
This one was far harder for the hobbits to hear, and as the song progressed, they gaped, turning to Baggins and Gamgee with wide eyes. Drinking was fine, wading was odd, swimming was very scary, and drowning was-- well, drowning! And here this lad was singing about it as if it was actually pleasant! But the attentive, gentle smiles on Gamgee's and Baggins' face gave them all pause, and they shook their heads, traded wide-eyed and baffled glances all around, and then relaxed a bit, determining to ask Gamgee or Baggins about it later. Even the gaffer was quite a bit puzzled.
Sam and Frodo waited for Bolco to finish. Being very self-conscious, Bolco went through the song just once, start to finish. Dry-eyed and thankful about it, Bolco met the Mayor's eyes, who came forward and shook his hand. Sam followed. Bolco drank the support.
Sam went to buy beer for the Mayor and himself, and they joined Tom Cotton at his now-crowded table. Plenty of room was made. The gaffer quietly moved his chair near to Tom's table.
"Bolco, I've been meaning to ask you," the Mayor said softly, "what the river means, and what the drinking, wading, swimming and drowning mean."
Ezekiel and Revelations, Bolco's mind responded automatically; but I can't just blurt that out at him. Simplify, simplify. He thought a bit, and then responded quietly, "Well, the river is his presence, and the song describes four stages, or levels, of entering more deeply into his presence."
"So-- drinking is the first stage? Then wading, swimming... what does drowning mean?"
"Well, I-- I think it means letting go of the way that you think life ought to be, and accepting the life he offers you," Bolco answered, and the Mayor nodded, pondering.
Sam arrived with the beer in the middle of Frodo's second question. He distributed the beer, sat down and leaned forward. "How do you find Iluvatar's river? The one that you sing about, I mean."
"He's everywhere," shrugged Bolco. "I just ask him to bring me to him, and open my heart to him. And then the river is all around me."
"You mean, the river is Iluvatar himself?"
Bolco considered that. "His presence. Himself. Yes. Yes, I suppose it is."
"Sam," the Mayor said, with wide, wondering eyes, deeply pleased by the question.
Sam blushed. "Mr. Bilbo's Translations made me wonder. The lore says that the music of the Ainur can best still be heard in the waters."
"It does say that, Sam, you're quite right," said Frodo softly; he was thinking Bilbo would be delighted. Sam knew his heart had suddenly flown to Rivendell, to Bilbo.
Frodo remained far away after that, and conversation drifted to other things. Bolco watched the Mayor, who said no more. Not long after that, Frodo stood, leaving his mug half-full, and excused himself, telling Sam to stay and enjoy Tom and the rest of the company. But Bolco likewise excused himself, citing the late hour, and followed him out.
The Mayor clearly did not want company, and Bolco bade him goodnight and watched him walk towards Bag End for as long as he could keep him in sight. Then Bolco mounted and rode home.
August 8
Early the next morning, Bolco got up for his swim. He half expected Frodo's company, but the Mayor did not come. He had delivered his flowers already that night, so he went back home after his swim. Daffodil was up early and glad to see him. They rode out to the blueberry fields and filled several baskets, chatting merrily.
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