After breakfast the next morning, Sam spent some time searching the shelves of the study and brought Frodo two books. The thicker one was a collection of stories taken from Elvish history, and the other, more slender, was an account of Gondolin's destruction.
"It's the same story as you told me last night, about Melkor and Maeglin and such," Sam said as he handed the second book to Frodo, "but it goes on a bit more at the end, and I thought as you'd like to see it."
"Yes, thank you. Did you find anything about Lady Galadriel?"
"She's mentioned now and again in that big book," Sam answered, "but there aren't any stories 'specially about her that I could see."
Frodo opened the larger book. Sam had marked the page which mentioned Eol with a strip of scrap paper, and he quickly found the pertinent passage in the midst of a tale of how the Elves had first encountered the Dwarves:
"The Elves were much astonished by the Dwarves, for they had not thought to meet other beings who had the power of language and the arts of craftmaking. They called them Naugrim, the Stunted Folk, for the form of the Dwarves was strange to them. The Dwarves dwelt in the lands of Belegost and Nogrod, upon the mountains. Few Elves would venture among them, save Eol, who scorned the company of Elven-kind and sought the solitude of the dark forests of Nan Elmoth.
"Eol became a friend to the Dwarves, for he saw that they had much to teach him in the crafting of swords and knives. He learnt the language of the Dwarves, which they guard jealously amongst themselves as the most precious of gemstones, and became a skilled ironsmith and maker of arms. These skills he taught to his son, Maeglin."
So, Eol had learned of metalwork crafts from the dwarves, but there was no mention of his learning how to make poisons from them. Dwarves, as far as Frodo knew, had no interest in herbal lore or poisons; if they crafted a deadly weapon, it was deadly for its strength and sharpness alone. If Eol had learned such arts, it must have been from some other source.
Frodo remembered the wound he'd received at Weathertop. That had been a minor injury too, but the icy tip of the Black Rider's knife had slowly worked its way toward his heart and had nearly killed him. Only the healing skills of Lord Elrond had saved him. His shoulder still ached from that old wound from time to time, and the bad spells he endured on the anniversary of that day were second only to the one he had just gone through.
Did Eol have knowledge of those same dark arts? Could he have sought out Morgoth, or Sauron, or some other lesser force of evil who would teach him such spellcraft? It was possible, but Frodo doubted it. For all he was called the Dark Elf, there was no indication that the other Elves counted Eol among their enemies. Surely Turgon's reception of him would have been immediately much more hostile if Eol were seen as an ally of Morgoth; the king wouldn't have waited for Eol to threaten anybody before having him killed. Nor would Turgon have adopted Maeglin if he believed that Eol's son had been corrupted by the same taint.
How then had Eol come by his knowledge of poisons?
An even more astounding idea occurred to Frodo: Was Eol's spear in fact poisoned, or was that simply assumed because the Lady had died after being injured by it? Could she have been poisoned by some other means? By some other person?
According to the story he'd read yesterday, Aredhel had "soon sickened and died" after taking her wound. Frodo wished he knew if a healer had attended her. Had she been given medicine, or had a poultice been applied to her wound? Had anyone brought her food or drink during her final hours? On these points, the tale was unhelpfully silent. He only knew that her brother Turgon had "tended her during the night."
Frodo shook his head. He had questions about the Lady's death, but he mustn't let his imagination fly away with him! At least, it would not be remarkable for Aredhel to plead for mercy for her husband, not if she hadn't known that her injury was fatal.
Having settled this question, Frodo turned to find out what he could of Galadriel. Sam, with his usual thoughtfulness, had also marked the passages he'd found that mentioned that Lady's whereabouts during the First Age. Frodo had known that Galadriel was old beyond reckoning, but he had not realized that she was one of the elder Elves who had rebelled against the Valar and made their way into the lands of Middle-earth to establish kingdoms for themselves. As far as he could determine, she had been living in the kingdom of Doriath, in the vast woods to the south of the mountains where Gondolin was hidden; she had met and married Celeborn there around the same time that Aredhel had gone out on her ride, wed Eol, and been killed, but it was impossible to say if Galadriel had known about any of it.
Frodo set this book aside, and took up the other one to read of the fall of Gondolin. He had read this book before, and the tale was as he remembered it: When the Elf-reared Tuor had come to Gondolin, Turgon favored him over Maeglin, which made the latter jealous and resentful. When the king granted Tuor his daughter's hand in marriage, it was more than Maeglin could bear. He'd left the city to delve into the mountains for, like his father Eol, he had a smith's skills and interest in working precious metals. He tunneled too deeply into the mountains, and was captured by orcs, who brought him to their Master. Through a combination of torture and false promises, Melkor had forced his prisoner to reveal the pathways into Gondolin. Then the Great Enemy had sent Maeglin back to the city to work further treachery from within.
Seven years later, Melkor dispatched his forces upon Gondolin: orcs, wolves, balrogs, and even dragons. Though the Elves of the city fought valiantly, they had been caught unprepared and could not stand long before such an attack. Many died and only a few, led by Idril and Tuor through a secret passage in the mountains, escaped.
But there was one small detail Frodo had forgotten that seemed important to him now: when Gondolin had been besieged, Turgon sent for aid from his kinsmen in Doriath... and his plea had gone unanswered. These same kinsmen, however, had welcomed and sheltered Idril and Tuor, their small son, and other refugees from Gondolin. Had that plea for aid been ignored, or was it never received? The messenger might easily have been waylaid. Doriath had been having its own troubles at the same time, beset by Dwarves in an assault that would be recalled bitterly by both races for millennia. The surviving Elves of both kingdoms would eventually settle together by the sea.
What had actually happened in those long-ago days? Would he ever know? The stories of Elves and Men from the First and Second Age were based in true events, but their telling and retelling had become so stylized and wrapped in the mythos of time that they seemed more like fairytales than historical accounts. And, as Sam had observed, the actions of Elves were sometimes so contrary to the commonsensical hobbit point of view that they seemed unfathomable and made the stories about them seem even more unreal.
That he must try to find the truth through Bilbo's translations only made the matter more difficult. What a pity that he didn't have the original Elvish to compare this with!
During the years that Bilbo had worked on translating the stories of the Elves into the Common Speech, he had regularly received packages of books from Elrond's library in Rivendell. He always sent them back when he'd finished his copies and, as far as Frodo knew, had taken the last with him when he'd left the Shire on his eleventy-first birthday... or had he? Could Bilbo have left any Elvish books behind?
It was a tiny chance, but Frodo had to know.
If Sam had been in the house, Frodo wouldn't have dared to break his promise to stay in bed--but Sam had gone out into the garden. With the coming spring, the ground and new plants required a lot of work that he had neglected since Frodo had fallen ill. Frodo decided to risk it.
Quickly pulling on his dressing gown, he went down the long, curving hallway to his study at the other end of the house. He began by searching the lowest shelves, then the corners, then the books tucked behind the foremost neat rows of spines. While he found a few interesting items he hadn't known were there, and would have to examine later, none were the Elvish text he hoped to find.
As he dragged his desk chair closer to stand on and check the highest shelves, he thought: What about the tops of the shelves? There was a gap of a few inches between the upper boards and the ceiling; Uncle Bilbo had often tucked things away up there for safekeeping, and then forgotten about them.
Frodo reached up into the gap over his head. His fingers touched something soft, sagging, and dust-covered, and he drew it out to see what it could it be: an old pipeweed-pouch with some stale remnants of crumbled leaf inside. He set it down and reached up again to find more of Bilbo's forgotten treasures: ragged notebooks; a small wooden box containing desiccated quill-pens denuded of their feathers and a dried-up inkpot; and, at the very back, a large, flat parcel wrapped in paper.
As he brought the parcel down, he heard sounds in the kitchen. Sam had returned, and Frodo knew that the first thing his friend would do was check on him.
Tucking the parcel beneath one arm, Frodo raced back to his room. He stripped off his dressing gown, tossed it onto the fireside chair, and leapt into bed mere seconds before Sam came in.
"Are you ready for your lunch, Frodo-" Sam looked over his face and frowned with concern. "Here--what's wrong? You're all flushed." He touched Frodo's cheeks and forehead to see if he was feverish. "You are a bit warm, and your breath's coming short, almost like you'd been running. Are you feeling all right?"
"I feel fine... perhaps a little tired." The exertion of his visit to the study had taxed him more than he'd thought it would. "I've had a most exciting morning's reading. A cup of tea before lunch might be nice."
Once Sam had gone to fetch his tea, Frodo brought the parcel out from beneath the blankets, where he had hidden it, and carefully unwrapped the paper. To his delight, the set of thin books inside appeared to be bound in Elvish-fashion, with soft green covers bearing a delicately veined pattern, almost as if they were made of large leaves. There were no titles. He opened one eagerly...
And found he couldn't read it.
The writing was Elvish, but not a kind that he knew. There were several variants of the Elvish language; Bilbo had taught him how to read and speak Sindarin, but he knew no more than fragments of the others. At best, he could manage a few basic root-elements common to all Elvish tongues.
Frodo huffed in exasperation as he turned through page after page of elegant script. Yes, they were all the same.
In the second book, he found two lovely illustrations in gilt paint and colored ink, so much like those in Bilbo's book that Frodo was sure these were the ones he had copied. This text, therefore, must also be the original Bilbo had used. His search had been successful, but virtually useless. How could he confirm the accuracy of Bilbo's translation when he couldn't translate it himself?
But he had stumbled onto something most curious.
Frodo remembered now where he had read the story of Eol and Aredhel before; he had found it in Lord Elrond's library during his days of recovery before the Fellowship had set out on the quest, and it was definitely not the same book as the one he held in his hands. That book had been in an Elvish he could read, and there were no illustrations.
"Maybe I shouldn't be giving you more books if it's going to fret you like this," Sam said when he returned with Frodo's tea a few minutes later. "Did the things I found help you?"
"Yes, very much!" Frodo hastily set down the slender leaf-green volumes, and took the tea-mug. "You did a splendid job."
"You got the answers to your questions?"
"Some of them, but not all I'd hoped for. Was there nothing else on Eol?"
"Only that same story as you read to me."
"Same story?" Frodo sat upright, understanding. "In this book?" He lay his free hand on the thick book Sam had brought him that morning.
Sam nodded. "A few pages after that bit I marked for you. I didn't mark it too, as you'd already seen it. Do you want your lunch now? I've got a bit of beef-broth left from last night's supper."
"That'll be fine," Frodo answered distractedly, for he was still staring at the book beneath his hand. "Blast me for a fool..." he murmured.
Once Sam had gone back to the kitchen, Frodo picked up the book and quickly found the place Sam had marked. He turned a few pages beyond this, scanning until he found what he was looking for.
It was the same story, but not quite. There was more detail on the Lady Aredhel's travels before she had come to Nan Elmoth and been ensnared by Eol's enchantments. 'Ensnared' seemed the perfect word, for the story as it was told here made it seem as if the Lady had been a prisoner rather than a willing wife, and that she had escaped with her child at the first opportunity. When Eol came to Gondolin and demanded their return, Aredhel agreed to go back with him; her acquiescence had the tone of a sacrifice made to save her son.
The account of the Lady's death was also distinctly different:
"When Eol was refused, his wrath was unbounded. 'My son you shall not withhold from me. Maeglin will come with me!'
"And Turgon replied, 'I will not debate thee, Dark Elf. I am King of this land, and my will is law. This choice alone is given thee: abide here and be subject to me, and thy son with thee, or else die.'"
"But Eol was undaunted, and brought forth a spear that he had kept hidden beneath his cloak. 'The second choice, I take--and for my son with me. You shall never have what is mine!'
"Swift as a serpent, he struck, flinging his spear at Maeglin. But the blow did not land true, for the Lady Aredhel leapt into its path, and was wounded in the shoulder.
"The King's guard then seized Eol and bore him away in bondage. Turgon would judge upon this matter the next day. The Lady Aredhel pled for mercy for Eol, and Turgon's heart might have been swayed by her words, if Aredhel had not sickened and died in the night, for the point of the spear had been poisoned and none knew it until it was too late."
He couldn't attribute these egregious discrepancies to a faulty translation; Bilbo could never have done so bad a job. There were obviously two versions of the tale: the one he had read in Rivendell, and the other he had just found in the study.
How had this second version come into Bilbo's possession, if it hadn't come from Rivendell? And which one was correct?
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