The Shadow Walker

28. Okay. I Don't Spelunk.

I didn't run into anyone else on my way down, but the moment I reached the bottom, I spotted Bilbo. He was embracing Sir Glòin, and chuckling, he said, "You're shorter and wider than last we met."

"Wider," the old white-haired Dwarf said, chuckling sadly. "Not shorter." Off to the side stood another Dwarf with red hair and a bushy beard, looking around warily and holding his axe at the ready.

"You are in no danger here, master Dwarf," I said, approaching.

His eyes shifted to me, and widened in surprise. "By my beard," he exclaimed in a gruff, deep voice, "this is hardly a place one would expect to meet such a lovely Dwarven lady!"

I trained back a snicker.

"Unless..." He scowled. "Ye aren't an extra-short version of these pointy-ears, are ye?"

"No," I replied, frowning and smoothing my hair behind one of my ears.

"Good," he replied. "Because it would be a grand disappointment to my father if I found a pointy-eared Elf wench attractive." He shuddered visibly.

I laughed nervously, unsure what else to do.

"Are ye here for the council, lass?" he asked.

"Uhh...no," I answered. "Just visiting for awhile."

The clatter of many horses running drew my attention to the gate, as a small company of Elves rode into Rivendell. They were dressed similarly to the ellon I'd...bumped into. Though perhaps not as nicely. And not as good-looking. They dismounted and tied their horses beside a single white mare. Then, shooting the four of us disdainful glances, they left the courtyard.

"Disrespectful, dishonest, disgusting, despicable pointy-ears!" the Dwarf muttered, scowling. He turned back to me, and his barely-visible expression softened. "So, lass, can ye grow a beard?"

The question caught me off guard, and I laughed. "I...no, I can't."

"Ahh. A pity. Most Dwarven women can. But, let it never be said that Gimli, son of Glòin, couldn't overlook a flaw or two." He winked.

I had to choke back more laughter. I didn't find him attractive in that way at all, but I found his attempts amusing.

"So, lass, what's yer name, and where are ye from?"

I glance at Glòin, who was still talking with Bilbo. Gimli thought I was a Dwarf...and if he found out I wasn't, he'd demand the details—Dwarves are all the same—so a truthful answer was altogether out of the question. Mordor, he'd probably heard of me.

"My name is Eda," I replied, crossing my fingers behind my back and hoping he didn't recognize that much. "And I'm from...Moria." I bit my lip. I knew nothing of Moria or its history—just that it was a Dwarvish kingdom. But I sighed in relief when Gimli's eyes lit up.

"Moria! My father tells me that my cousin, Balin, is a fine ruler. I've yet to meet him, or visit Moria, but I am very eager to. Tell me, young Eda, what is Moria like?"

"Uhh...busy," I said. Moria was one of few places I hadn't been. "The mines have been running a little dry, so Balin opened some new ones a few years back." It was quite possible I found lying a little too easy.

"Ahh," Gimli said, nodding. "That is good to hear. I particularly have a passion for sweet-talking dry mines into a little more metal."

I frowned. The way I figured it, once a mine ran dry, it was dry. And not particularly inclined to change its mind. But maybe that's just a girl thing.

"Do you have any passions?" Gimli urged, smiling. At least, I think he was smiling. Hard to tell under the facial hair.

I shrugged and gave him a grin. "Nothing much. Just spelunking."

Gimli's abundant eyebrows shot up. "Really!? I'll admit, lass—you struck me as more an above-ground type of girl."

I frowned. "Wait..." I definitely was the above-ground type.

Gimli sighed. "A spelunker is someone who explores caves for fun," he said gently.

"Oh." I frowned, a flush crawling up my neck. "That's...embarrassing."

Chuckling, Gimli said, "It's quite alright, lass. Here—let me introduce ye to my father."

I froze. "I, uhh..." What if Glòin recognized me? Oh Illùvatar, that would be bad. "I actually have to go," I said.

"Ye only just arrived," Gimli protested.

"Yes," I said, smiling apologetically. "I came to get Bilbo."

"Oh," he said, his countenance .

"Bilbo," I called, wincing as I caught Glòin's attention as well.

"Yes?" he replied.

"We should be getting back," I said, hoping he'd just agree and go with it.

He frowned a little, searching my expression, then he nodded. "Aye, I suppose we should," he said finally. Turning back to Glòin, he said, "A pleasure to see you again, my friend."

"Aye, aye," shouted Glòin, nodding. "A real pleasure."

Nearly-deaf, then. With any luck, he'd be blind, too. Eru knew he'd had a prime front seat for my humiliating debut in the Court of Erebor.

Bilbo patted the Dwarf's shoulder, then waddled over to me, his steps a bit unsure. I took his elbow, supporting him, and with a farewell nod Gimli, I walked Bilbo to the stairs. Slowly, we began making our way up. Truly, it was a miracle Bilbo had made it down here on his own without falling. He was so shaky that I said, "Bilbo, see to it you don't have to come up or down any stairs without help, okay?"

"I don't know what's wrong with me," he said, puffing for breath. "I walked all the way from the Shire without any help—ran a good part of the way! Now all of a sudden I can scarcely walk across the courtyard."

I smiled at him sadly. Eru, I hated mortality. Forcing a happier expression and a light tone, I said, "You're on a holiday, remember? You're allowed to rest more often."

Bilbo chuckled somberly; he wasn't comforted in the slightest. But neither of us gave a second attempt at rationalizing his sudden show of age.

We continued up the winding staircase, Bilbo leaning on me more and more. We were rounding the last corner before reaching the straight walkway leading to Bilbo's room, when someone came of nowhere and ran into us.

I caught Bilbo before he could fall, then glared at—guess who. "You may want to get your nose out of the clouds," I quipped. "It would be a pity if you chipped your pedicure."

The blonde ellon glared back but said nothing. He moved to pass us, but Bilbo reached out and caught his arm. "Legolas?" he said, squinting up into the ellon's face.

Legolas.

Crown prince of Mirkwood.

Whom I had just insulted.

He didn't brush Bilbo's hand away, but the disgust on his face made it clear he wanted to. "What business have you with me, halfling?"

Crown prince or no, I wanted to stuff his eyeballs down his trousers.

"I am Bilbo Baggins," Bilbo said, a ghost of a smile appearing on his lips.

The ellon gazed down at Bilbo with utter disdain. Finally, he decided to grace us with his words. "Age has not treated you kindly."

Unfazed, Bilbo replied in his fatherly tone, "Nor has bitterness to you."

Legolas's upper lip curled back in a sneer. "You know nothing." With that, he brushed past us and began trotting down the stairs.

Oh, how I wished I had my swords with me.

Bilbo gazed after the ellon, not with anger or resentment—but with pity. "He is but a shadow of the Elf he used to be," he said quietly.

"Are you sure it's him?" I asked, tugging Bilbo toward his room once more.

"Oh yes," he said, his face still lined with sadness. "That was Legolas Greenleaf, of Mirkwood."