For the next few days, Frodo did his best to keep his promise. Sam constantly attended him, and showed himself to be ready and willing to fetch anything Frodo might ask for, but he also kept an eye on Frodo to see that he stayed in bed.
Frodo did not try to get up. He recognized that Sam was right: he could go no farther. Unless they discovered another book on the shelves, his investigation had come to a dead end. The most he could do was write to Bilbo in Rivendell to ask about these two translations. Even when he was out of bed, Frodo knew he wouldn't be well enough to journey so far to speak to Bilbo or Elrond, or research the library of Rivendell for himself.
While he rested, he read other stories to keep his mind off the Lady Aredhel's death, and off his own illness. He read of the creation of Middle-earth, of Luthien and Beren, and of Gil-Galad. But his efforts did not succeed either way, for the tales of the Elves were so intertwined that whatever he read led his thoughts back to the very things he was trying not to think of. Sauron's name came up often enough to remind him of the Ring and his own journey to Mount Doom, and the Silmaril that Beren had taken from Morgoth recalled not only Idril's son Earendil, to whom it was later given, but the light that the Lady Galadriel had given him and that he still kept as one of his treasured possessions. They were all part of the same story.
Even in reading of the first Elves who ventured to Middle-earth, he found a reference to a warning Turgon received from the Valar when he prepared to settle in his new city in the mountains:
"Love not too well the work of thy hands and the devices of thy heart, and remember that the true hope of the Noldor lieth in the West and cometh from the Sea."
Turgon was also said to be under "the Doom of Mandos." Frodo had no idea what that meant, but it sounded as if Gondolin's destruction had been foreseen at its creation, and the death of its king with it.
Although he knew Sam would not approve, Frodo read of the fall of Gondolin again. He was most interested in the events leading up to it, especially the activities of Maeglin.
If anyone had benefited by the deaths of his parents, it was Maeglin. For countless years, he had enjoyed the exalted position of a royal favorite, prince of the kingdom and Turgon's presumed heir. He was said to have his father's temperament, but no one had suspected him of any intentions more evil than desiring to marry his first cousin, before Idril's marriage to Tuor had forced him to leave the city, and he'd fallen into Morgoth's hands. Had he been blameless all that time, Frodo wondered, or had his treachery begun much earlier?
Was Maeglin meant to be the doom of the city? If Turgon had not adopted his sister's son, Gondolin might not have been destroyed. Had the king been nurturing his own downfall?
When Sam found him reading this book, he made Frodo set it aside, but ideas and theories were already forming in Frodo's mind.
By the end of the week, Frodo's health had noticeably improved. One afternoon, he sat up, propped against pillows with the dinner tray serving as a makeshift desk so he could work on his own book. He was writing of the first days of his and Sam's journey through the Emyn Muil, before they'd encountered Gollum, when he heard a knock on the front door. He knew that Sam would answer it, and turn away any neighbor or prospective client who asked for him. Sam was adamant that Frodo not be disturbed; only a few of his closest relatives had been admitted to see him since he'd been ill, and then only for a few minutes.
He heard low voices speaking in the entry hall, but didn't look up from his writing until Sam came to his bedroom door and announced, beaming, "You've got a visitor." Then he stepped aside to allow Gandalf to duck through the low doorway and enter the room.
"Gandalf!" Frodo held out both arms to him like a welcoming child.
The wizard bent down and gave him a hug, then held him back and brushed the mop of curls from his brow to study his face. "You're looking much better than I'd hoped to find you, when I learned that you were ill," he said.
"I'm feeling much better today," Frodo answered cheerfully. "I may get up for dinner, in honor of your being here, if Sam will let me." He smiled at Sam. "He's very strict with me, you know."
Sam returned the smile before going out and shutting the door, leaving the two to talk.
"How wonderful to see you, Gandalf," said Frodo. "We weren't expecting you at all. Will you be able to stay for Sam's wedding? He's going to be married to Rosie Cotton next week. Did he tell you?"
The wizard's bushy eyebrows rose slightly at this news. "I wish that I could stay," he said, "but I can only stop for this day and night, and must go on in the morning." Finding the chairs in the room too small, Gandalf sat down at Frodo's bedside. "I have an errand that takes me into the western lands, but I couldn't pass so near the Shire without seeing you."
"I'm very glad you did! What have you been up to since we saw you last?"
"After we parted, I returned to Minas Tirith to counsel and advise the new King. I remained there until about a month ago, when I went to Rivendell to see Elrond, and Bilbo. After my business is finished, I must return to Gondor. I am expected back."
"You've been to Rivendell?" Frodo asked. "You've seen Bilbo--how is he?"
"He's at a great age, for a hobbit, and the destruction of the Ring has taken its toll on him, as it has on you." His eyes swept again over Frodo's pale face. "Rivendell is in a state of great preparation. It is the end of the Elven Times, Frodo. It may be one hundred years or more before the last Elf leaves these shores, but many will go sooner. Much sooner. Elrond already makes his plans to depart."
"To the Undying Lands," Frodo said wistfully. "It must be lovely, Gandalf--never to die, but find rest and peace. All wounds healed."
Gandalf gently cupped his face with a hand. "You mustn't give up hope, my dear hobbit. Your sacrifice has not been forgotten. I can't say more of it yet, but I will tell you that there has been a great deal of discussion about how you might be repaid."
"Repaid?" Frodo echoed. "How? What do you mean?"
But the wizard shook his head. "I've said too much already. There is much that is not settled. Wait." Then he changed the subject. "There's no need to ask what you've been doing. Writing a book, I see." He laid the tips of his fingers lightly on the top of the page Frodo had been working on, open on the tray between them. "I hope you'll allow me to read some of it while I'm here."
"Yes, certainly! I've worked quite hard on it, and I'd love to hear what you think."
"And it's not the only work you've been doing lately, is it? Sam has told me something of your career as an investigator, Frodo. I must say I'm surprised: I would have thought you'd had enough of adventures."
"I thought so myself," Frodo admitted. "When I came home, I only wanted peace and quiet, to spend the rest of my days at Bag End with Sam, minding my own business and writing my book. I didn't go looking for more adventures, Gandalf, not at first, but they seemed to find me all the same. Once they'd begun, I had to do what I could to help." He laughed, although some of his most important cases--the murder of his cousin Berilac, Lotho's disappearance, and the tragedy that had interrupted Melilot's and Everard's wedding--had been far from amusing. "Now that I've gained a reputation for solving other people's puzzles, they come to me for help. I can't turn them away. They all say I'm so clever, and I'm afraid it's gone to my head. And I do rather enjoy it."
He wasn't normally a vain creature, and disliked being praised undeservedly, but he did take pride in his intellectual abilities. He was more clever than most hobbits. Why shouldn't he put his intelligence to good use? He couldn't pretend that he didn't enjoy solving puzzles, nor that he wasn't flattered that he'd become famous throughout the Shire for it.
Perhaps that pride was why he was so keen to find a mystery in this ancient, Elvish story? Certainly the two different accounts of the death of Aredhel raised some interesting questions, but was the rest of it entirely his imagination? Maybe Sam was right and, in his illness, he had turned a minor literary puzzle into something greater. After all his successes, was it simply that he was anxious to prove he was still a capable investigator even if he couldn't get up out of bed to do it?
He wondered what Gandalf would say about it.
"As a matter of fact," Frodo ventured, "I've got an odd puzzle I'm working on now." He indicated the stack of books on his nightstand; the green-covered Elvish book was on top.
Gandalf took up the book and opened it. He spoke a few words in a tongue that Frodo did not recognize, but guessed from the cadence and tone that the wizard was reading from the first page.
"'The Tragic Death of the White Lady'..." Gandalf translated the title into the Common Speech. "I didn't know that you'd learned to read Quenya, Frodo."
"I haven't. That book was left behind by Bilbo, but I've been reading his translation of it. I was curious to compare Bilbo's copy to the original, only I'm afraid I'm not up to it. Can you do it, please, Gandalf? Will you tell me what exactly what the Elvish says?"
"Yes, of course."
Once Frodo had found Bilbo's copy of the tale and pointed out the questionable passages, Gandalf translated the Quenya for him. It confirmed what Frodo suspected: Bilbo had made no error.
"Were you there, Gandalf?" he asked. "Did you know them?"
The wizard shook his head. "Gondolin was before my time." Then he glanced up from the pages to regard Frodo with a twinkle in his eye. "How old do you believe I am?"
"I couldn't begin to guess," Frodo rejoined. While Gandalf might look like a very old Man, Frodo knew certainly that he was not a Man at all... but he had no idea what the wizard actually was. "You might not be as old as the eldest Elves, but you've lived well beyond the oldest of Men and the oldest of hobbits. Bilbo once told me that you haven't changed since he was a boy. I've heard how you used to be a friend of my great-grandfather, Old Gerontius Took, and of my grandmother and her sisters when they were girls."
Gandalf smiled. "Yes, Bella, Donna, and little Mira. I remember them well. I always thought I could see Mira in you. You have something of her spirit, Frodo. They all three longed to go on adventures."
"And did they go?" Frodo asked, intrigued. He knew that two of the Old Took's sons had gone away, one to sea and the other to who-knows-where and never returned, but he hadn't heard about the daughters. His grandmother Mirabella had died when he was very small, and she'd never spoken of any adventures that he could recall. At most, from Bilbo's tale of his own travels, Frodo inferred that Gandalf had sought Bilbo out to accompany the dwarves because he was Belladonna Took's son.
"Oh, yes. Nothing so dangerous as the perils you've faced, nor even a dragon. I will tell you the tale over supper tonight. But first..." Frodo found himself fixed by a piercing gaze, "you haven't told me why this story holds so much interest for you."
"Perhaps it's only my imagination playing tricks," Frodo began reluctantly. "Sam seems to think so. But it looks very odd to me." He explained to Gandalf about his discovery of the two versions of the story and the marked differences between them, particularly regarding the hows and whys of the Lady Aredhel's death; the oddities of the story itself; and that there was no indication that Eol knew anything about poisons. Then he put forth the incredible theory: "What would you say if I told you I don't believe that Eol killed his wife?"
The wizard's brows shot up to join his hairline at this statement.
"Is it only my imagination, Gandalf?" At least, Frodo observed, Gandalf appeared to give the idea serious consideration instead of dismissing it outright.
"Don't discount your imagination, Frodo. It is a very valuable tool--it allows you to see all the possibilities. That's how you solve these puzzles of yours, isn't it? You imagine what might have happened, and then try to confirm whether or not it did"
"Yes," said Frodo. "Yes, I do. Do you think that there might be something in this?"
"I think that it warrants further examination," Gandalf answered. "You've considered the possibilities. How will you confirm them?"
"Rivendell seems like the place to begin. I can't go there myself. Will you help me?" Frodo requested. "When you go back, will you ask Bilbo where he found this book, the one written in Quenya? I think he must have gotten it from Lord Elrond's library, but I'm curious to know how it came to be there, and why Elrond would keep two different copies of the same tale."
"I will ask, but I can guess how it came into Elrond's possession." Gandalf was turning the slender green volume over in his hands. "I have seen books with such bindings in Lothlorien, and would say that this book came to the library at Rivendell in one of two ways: the Lady Celebrian brought it with her at the time of her marriage to Elrond, or else Arwen carried it back with her from one of her visits to her grandparents."
"And the other story, the one that declares in no uncertain terms that Eol threw the spear that struck and poisoned his wife-?"
"Has been in Elrond's house for much longer, preserved perhaps for as long as Rivendell has stood. Remember his ancestry, Frodo, and from whom he would first hear the tale."
"Yes, course." Frodo understood what the wizard was implying, and it was a remarkable new idea for him. He had always thought of the Elves of Rivendell and Lothlorien as one family, but they were really two separate branches, distantly related, and had only been united with the marriage of Elrond and Galadriel's daughter, Celebrian. It was not so odd that each took a different view of the matter.
Elrond's family would have preserved the official version from Gondolin: King Turgon had judged Eol guilty of the crime, and the story that supported that judgment had been handed down from his daughter to his grandson to his great-grandson. Maeglin's later betrayal would only be seen as further proof of Eol's evil--the son had taken after his father.
The Elves of Lothlorien would have received the more ambiguous version of events from Doriath, bringing it with them when Galadriel and Celeborn left that land and made their kingdom in the golden wood. But where had the Doriath Elves gotten that story?
"You have thought, haven't you, Frodo, who might have killed Aredhel if not Eol?" Gandalf asked.
"Yes, I have." Even when he had tried most to set his thoughts of it aside, ideas had been turning in his mind. "I think it must be either Maeglin or King Turgon. I first believed that Maeglin was the more likely, but now I'm not so sure. If it were Maeglin, I can't think of any reason why the Elves wouldn't come right out and say so. He's already known as a villain and traitor. Why shouldn't they say he killed his mother, unless he didn't and no one ever thought he did? But Turgon..."
Turgon was a powerful king with a reputation for justice. To say that he poisoned his sister and had her husband put to death for it would be a monstrous accusation unless there was proof... and there was no proof, only a tale hinting that Eol's guilt was not so conclusive as the official story would have it be, and cast doubt upon Turgon's judgement.
He lifted wide eyes to Gandalf, wondering what the wizard made of his reasoning. "Could it have been King Turgon?"
"I don't know that it is so," Gandalf answered. "I know no more of the matter than you do. I do not mean to suggest that there's been a deliberate deception on Elrond's part, or an effort to conceal the truth--only that it is easier to believe in the guilt of a dead line than a living one, particularly for the descendants of that line."
Frodo thought of that warning from the Valar, foretelling Turgon's fate centuries before his kingdom had fallen. "What is the Doom of Mandos, Gandalf?" he asked. "Do you know?"
"It is the fate of Elves who fall here in Middle-earth before they can journey to the Grey Havens. Their bodies remain in this earth, and their spirits reside in the Halls of Mandos. They never return to the West."
"You mean they die."
Gandalf nodded.
Frodo had one last question. "Is it the same for the rest of us, Gandalf--hobbits, Men, dwarves? Do you know if we go there when we die as well?" After all, Gandalf would know better than anyone else; he had died, and come back.
The wizard considered him solemnly, and a little sadly, before he answered, "I was never there, Frodo. But I promise you that, wherever you go, you will find nothing you need to be afraid of."
This was comforting. If Gandalf said he had nothing to fear, then Frodo believed it was true.
He dressed for dinner, for the first time in a week. Over dinner, Gandalf told the tale of the Took girls' adventures and afterward, Frodo sat up as late as Sam would let him to hear news of their old friends in faraway places, and to tell Gandalf about his most interesting investigations--with Sam adding details that showed how cleverly Frodo had solved each mystery. Late in the evening, just before he went to bed, Frodo told Gandalf what had become of Saruman and Grima Wormtongue; he knew it would pain Gandalf to hear of his fellow-wizard's tragic end, but thought that he ought to know.
They did not discuss the mystery of Aredhel's death further, until the next morning. Frodo rose to have breakfast with Gandalf and to see him off. He had written a message for Gandalf to give to Bilbo, and gave it to him as they walked together to Bag End's front gate.
"You will ask him about that book, won't you?" he requested. "You might even ask Elrond, if you think it wise."
"I will," Gandalf assured him. "I must admit that you've made me curious to learn the truth of it myself."
Frodo smiled. "Then may I beg one last favor of you? Are you going by way of Lothlorien when you return to Gondor?" He had also written a second note; he held it up for Gandalf to take. "Will you give this to the Lady for me?"
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