The Dunedain and horses were gone when Bilbo awoke. Frodo was up and packing his bedroll in the dappled sunlight of the little glade in front of the rock shelter.

“Good morning, Uncle Bilbo,” Frodo smiled. “Care for some left-over venison? The Numenorians gave us some in exchange for our dried peaches. I didn’t think you would mind. We can always get more peaches on the way back home.”

“Call them Dunedain or Rangers, Frodo,” Bilbo instructed as he also rolled his bedroll away and put on Sting. “The Numenorians died out a long time ago.” Bilbo shouldered his pack into place.

“They looked like Numenorians to me,” Frodo said. “I never met any of the Big Folk from Bree who have grey eyes or carry long swords like these people do. I think they’re Numenorians, like out of the history books. Maybe one of them was a King in disguise!”

“Frodo,” Bilbo sighed, “you really must curb your imagination somewhat. I ask you. Did any of those hungry, dirty, skinny Rangers look like a King to you?”

“Well, no,” Frodo had to admit, “but the Elf was real! I never met a Elf before.”

“And the next time you meet one, if you ever meet another, I do hope he is not pulling you out of a pit full of swirling brown water.” Bilbo adjusted Sting’s scabbard. “No more running down trails without looking before you run. Understood?”

Frodo blushed. “Understood.” Frodo glanced around. “Uh, Uncle Bilbo? Have you seen my sword?”

Bilbo sighed. “No. Where was the last place you remember having it?”

“In the pit? Maybe?” Frodo sheepishly said.

“Seems you must have lost it in yesterday’s excitement.” Bilbo picked up their walking sticks. “Let this be a lesson to you, Frodo Baggins. You’ll have to figure out a way to pay for a new sword when we return home. Adventures are dangerous business and there will not always be a group of warriors conveniently hanging around to rescue you. Now come along and let’s be on our way. I still wish to do a little fishing before we return to Hobbiton.”

“We’re not going to find the lost city?” Frodo couldn’t hide the disappointment in his voice.

“You may look while I fish,” Bilbo said as he started downhill, “but sharing last night’s dinner with nine hungry Rangers has seriously depleted our food supplies. We shall have to start back tomorrow.”

Frodo sighed and followed in his Uncle’s footsteps. They had only walked a few paces when something shiny caught Frodo’s attention. “Uncle Bilbo! Hold up! I’ve found another sign of the King.”

Bilbo pulled up short and turned around. Frodo stood beside a tall pine tree, grinning from ear to ear. A small sword was jabbed into its bark holding a piece of paper. It read:

Hold onto your sword.
Keep it sharp, Frodo Baggins.
You never know when you will need it.
- Elessar of the Dunedain –

The sign of a tree crowned with seven stars was inked in under the message.

They experienced no more hazardous trails on their way down to the rocky lakeshore. Along the way Frodo noticed what he thought were faint outlines of buildings set back from the shoreline. Bilbo thought they were no more than the natural landscape, but Frodo was convinced they were seeing a village.

The waters of Lake Evendim stretched into the distance, its shores rimmed with eons of granite pebbles worn down by time and erosion. The normally dark, still waters of the lake were a bit brown from the previous day’s thunderstorm runoff, but the center of the lake remained as black and fathomless as when they first spied it from atop the Emyn Uial.

Bilbo noticed a large boulder jutting into the lake which suited his purposes. A giant willow tree shaded the boulder from the already-fierce sun. He and Frodo left their backpacks under the shade of a stand of hoary oak trees where they decided to camp for the evening. Bilbo carefully assembled his new fishing gear and leaded down to the lakeside boulder. After tying one of the new lures to the twine and arranging his bedroll against the trunk of the willow tree as his pillow, he settled in for a quiet day of fishing.

Frodo was free to explore the intriguing bits of stone he had noticed on their way down. There were subtle patterns in the layout of the land which might have been overlooked by a less-observant person. But Frodo had always paid attention to the details of things; trying to not only figure out what something was, but how it worked and why it worked the way it did. When he and his Brandybuck cousins used to sneak into the Old Forest, Frodo was always the first to spot the wildlife against the tangled confusion of tree limbs, hanging moss and gnarled roots. He wasn’t terribly good at hunting, but he was an excellent tracker and navigator. And Frodo had also paid attention to Mister Gamgee and the workings of the Bag End gardens. He knew how plants were supposed to look during all seasons.

What might have appeared to the average hobbit as a tangled web of wild roses and spent springtime greenery indicated to his trained eyes the outline of a missing house. The cluster of tumbled field stones in one corner might have been a chimney. Stalks of now-withering daffodilly and narcissus leaves in too-straight a line to be the work of nature. A stand of overgrown bay laurel bushes located too close to a patch of sage run wild. The lack of tall trees in one area of the grounds. It was the outlines of somebody’s cottage, though the actual beams and thatched roof which must have once stood there had long ago gone back to the earth.

Frodo pulled out his sketch pad and went to work, noting down what he observed and how each item was related to the next. If he saw a curiously shaped stone which didn’t look quite natural, he sketched that too. He followed one slight clue to the next, always heading towards the western end of the lake, and making sure he could see Bilbo at all times. The last thing in the world he wanted to do was to ruin his Uncle’s quiet fishing.

Upon reaching a little cold spring bubbling down from a weed-filled track, he turned aside. Something was unusual about the stream. Instead of finding the normal slime, cattails and overgrown algae, he found trumpet vines, honeysuckle and coppery-colored ferns lining the small trickle of water. Tiny jeweled hummingbirds and brightly colored butterflies were busy at work amongst the flowers. Frodo followed the stream up to its source in the shadow of an overhanging slab of grey rock. The little brook cascaded in a thin waterfall across the center of the rock slab; mosses and ferns clinging to the rock face and even hanging over into the waterfall itself. Beneath the slab and behind the waterfall was a shallow cave tall enough for someone of considerable height to stand upright. Frodo gently pushed aside the ferns and peered inside.

The afternoon sun pierced the darkness and illumined a stunning spectacle. In the back of the grotto, beneath a layer of thick moss, stood a statue. It was a woman carved into the rock wall itself, holding something aloft in her upraised cupped hands. Water dripped and echoed inside the dank grotto and spider webs sparkled in the spray. Frodo stepped back from the waterfall and into the sunshine. He ran to get Bilbo.

Bilbo already had their supper dangling off a line into a little backwater pool behind the willow tree. He could see Frodo running towards him, but relaxed when the younger hobbit slowed down to a less-alarming walk.

“You must have found something quite interesting, as you’ve missed lunch,” the elder hobbit teased. “But not to worry. At least I’ve made this trip worthwhile.” He pulled up the line, showing off a pair of the largest and most colorful trout Frodo had ever seen. Their scales appeared to be made up of all the colors of the rainbow; first sparkling silver, and now gold or fiery red or even deep greens and blues.

Frodo smiled and his stomach suddenly growled in appreciation of the anticipated feast. Bilbo heard it and laughed. “And what, my boy, have you discovered?”

“You will have to come see it before we loose the light,” Frodo said. Bilbo returned the fish to their little pool and followed Frodo to the hidden grotto. The sun was still in position to reveal the secret bas relief as Frodo pulled back the fern cover. Bilbo was stunned.

“Well, well, well, my boy,” Bilbo said, “you’ve done it. Definite proof that someone once lived here, that’s for sure. Hold those ferns back while I take a closer look.” Bilbo approached the statue, his toes squishing through the sodden moss.

“Careful, Uncle Bilbo,” Frodo almost whispered. “There are spiders back there.” He pulled a fern back some more to allow as much light as he could inside. “I wonder who she was?”

Bilbo was almost touching the statue. “What her name is may be a mystery forever, but one thing is clear,” he said. “She was an Elf. See? The pointed ears?”

“What is she holding?” Frodo asked.

“It’s difficult to tell, with all this covering of moss and ferns,” Bilbo said, “and I don’t want to destroy them in order to get to the rock itself. So let’s leave it hidden. Whatever it is, this is definitely Elvish work. Very graceful and elongated, with long wavy hair.” Bilbo backed out of the grotto. “Excellent work, Frodo! But now the lost city of Annuminas is more of a mystery than ever.”

“I think mysteries can wait for awhile, Uncle Bilbo,” Frodo said. “At least until after dinner. I’m famished!”

Multi-colored trout in fresh wild herbs gathered by Frodo and pan fried over their modest campfire by the lake finally satisfied their hunger. The two settled down to smoke a pipe and watch the stars come out in the clear, still twilight. Even though there was no moon, enough starlight flooded the sky to make walking about safe and secure. Bilbo and Frodo moved up onto a high wedge of rock in order to get a better view of the water as twilight faded into night. They were not disappointed.

Stars glinted a bright reflection in the deep, still waters. There was an illusion that they were not looking at the lake’s surface, but down into a hole through the earth and were seeing stars on the other side. Or perhaps they were looking into an enchanted mirror reflecting the way the Middle Earth was long before Moon and Sun arrived.

“Uncle Bilbo,” Frodo whispered into the stillness, “no wonder this lake is called Evendim. I don’t think it’s referring to the best time to view the lake at all. I think it’s referring back to a time before the First Age. Back in the Twilight of the Eldar, when they lived here under starlight.”

“Look, Frodo,” Bilbo whispered back, clutching the ring in his right hand. “What do you see in the waters?”

Frodo stared into the lake. “Stars. Just the stars. Why?”

Bilbo passed the ring over to Frodo. “Let it rest in the palm of your hand. Relax your gaze and let your imagination wander,” Bilbo quietly instructed, placing his own hand over Frodo’s open palm and over the ring.

Frodo took a deep, long breath and slowly let it out, trying to not think of anything. In a moment he realized the waters showed more than just the stars. “I … I think I see a … a boat? Is there a boat sunk in the lake? Wait. It’s larger than a boat. It’s a ship! How could a ship that large get into an inland lake?”

“It’s a ship from the past. A Numenorian tall ship with its great timbers and sails.” Bilbo was transfixed. “All intermixed with the eternal stars. I think what we are seeing is not sunk into the lake at all. There is something very Elvish and otherworldly about this place.”

As they watched, the stars intensified and the ghost ship faded. Frodo tore his gaze away from the lake and looked up into the heavens themselves. The evening star was rising high into the sky. When he turned his attention back to the enchanted waters, the reflection did not quite match what he had just glimpsed in the sky.

“Bilbo,” Frodo whispered in awe, “it’s a different boat now.”

“Describe what you see, Frodo,” Bilbo instructed, closing his eyes.

“It’s a shimmery grey boat. Not as tall or as mighty as the last one. And this one has a swan carved into the figurehead, and a white swan emblazoned into a silver mainsail. It’s so bright!” Frodo’s eyes were dazzled by the sight.

“You’re seeing Elendil’s vessel as it travels the heavens,” Bilbo replied. He took the ring from Frodo’s hand and returned it to his coat pocket. “Seems the lake reflects legend as well as real starlight.”

The evening’s stargazing came to an end as a mist began to creep over the surface of the waters. The ghost ships disappeared first, then the stars. Frodo and Bilbo returned to their campfire before all starlight faded into the growing mists.

“Was that real, or did we imagine it?” Frodo quietly asked as he settled into his bedroll.

“Both,” Bilbo replied as he banked the campfire for the night.

“Could we try it again in the morning, Uncle Bilbo?” Frodo asked. “Use your magic ring again to see the ships?”

“I don’t think so, Frodo,” Bilbo mused. “Gandalf once told me that magic rings are not to be trusted. I thought he was saying that just so that I wouldn’t be tempted to disappear too often and cause a ruckus. But now I’m not so sure that he’s not right. I don’t know why, but I don’t trust the ring any more. I think it best if we let it be and return home tomorrow.” Bilbo arranged the bedroll and climbed in. “Good night, Frodo.”

“Good night, Uncle Bilbo.”