Bilbo, kneeling on the brink and peering forward cried: "There is a boat on the far bank! Now why couldn't it have been this side!"
I have been tied to this bank for almost as long as I can remember. Almost, I said. There was a time long ago when I was not black, when I was used, when the woods were bright and I saw the sun on a daily basis. I was made by the elves of this kingdom, before the shadow fell on Mirkwood. Then it was called Greenwood the Great, and was filled with light and joy. The elves lived here, and their kingdom spanned many miles. They traded up and down the rivers and streams, and I was one of the boats they used. I was busy and happy, gliding up and down the smooth blue streams for many, many years. Then the shadow fell. A troop of elves was sent up this stream to investigate. They left me tied by a small bridge, and stepped out into the darkening shadows. They never came back. I have been sitting here in the water for almost 2,000 years, and I have not seen an elf in all that time. Sometimes I can feel them around me in the woods, but they have never come very near. I miss their presence, as elves have their own presence that I can feel in the air. I was so used to it, and now it is gone.
The bridge they left me next to eventually rotted away. Its planks sagged and dropped into the water one by one, to be swept away by the current of the stream. The stream turned blacker and blacker, as evil things infiltrated what was once so beautiful and light. It has an enchantment on it now. Whoever touches it, drinks it, or falls in goes to sleep, a sleep they will never want to wake up from. Perhaps that is why the old bridge tired and fell. It doesn't affect me, maybe because I am a boat. I am now used to such things, but it was wonderful to carry the elves and their goods once.
Sometimes I wish for the sun. Since there is no light in this forest, I would have to see the end of the stream before I could witness the light of day. But my timbers are strong, and I know that I am not going to rot away anytime soon. The rope here is elven-made, and has lasted already over two thousand years, so I am not likely to break away of my own accord either. I can only conclude that I shall sit here for a few more millennia, which is a rather sorrowful thought.
Fili picked up the hook when he had drawn it back, rather doubtfully all the same. This time he threw it with great strength. "Steady!" said Bilbo, "you have thrown it right into the wood on the other side now. Draw it back gently." Fili hauled the rope back slowly, and after a while Bilbo said: "Carefully! It is lying on the boat; let's hope the hook will catch."
Suddenly, as I was brooding, something which had not happened in two thousand years hit me: I was touched. Something cold and hard, and rather sharp hooked itself onto my bench like, well, like a hook. It sent all my senses reeling with surprise, as I had not been touched by anything other than cold, black water since the bridge collapsed. The hook pulled on my timbers, another sense I had not felt for millennia. I could feel that whatever was attached to the hook and the elven-rope at my bow straining, contesting against each other to see who was stronger. And then, I broke free.
They tugged and tugged, and suddenly they all fell over on their backs. Bilbo was on the look out, however, caught the rope, and with a piece of stick fended off the little black boat as it came rushing across the stream.
"It was tied after all," said Blain, looking at the snapped painter that was still dangling from it. "That was a good pull, my lads; and a good job that our rope was the stronger."
All of a sudden, I was swinging wildly across the stream that I had sat in for most of my life, caught by a rope, and hit with a stick. I stopped, and I heard voices. I remember the sound of voices. They were ever-changing, wild and free, used to express emotions, and belonged to the elves. But these were different. They did not sound elvish at all, but rougher. One was different from all the others, sort of high and cheeping to my wood. Soon living objects were loaded into my hull. They were so…. full of life. I had forgotten what it felt like to carry living beings. I thanked them, silently. About 14 of these different beings were ferried across the enchanted stream by none other than I, as I tried to adjust myself to all these new and different feelings I was having, which were so strange compared to 2 millennia of nothing but water.
After a while, the last two got out and I was anchored on the bank. There was a loud shout, and abruptly I was pushed away from the bank as something heavy fell into the water near me with a splash.
He had stumbled, thrusting the boat away from the bank, then toppled into the dark water, his hands slipping off the slimy roots at the edge, while the boat spun slowly off and disappeared.
I drifted away down the black stream, away from the trees that had sheltered me all these many, many years. There was no way to go back, and partially, I wasn't sure whether I wanted to. Part of me was so excited- I was leaving at last! I would see the sun! I would get out of the dark! - But part of me was distressed. I had been there so long- the trees by the bank I had watched grow from nut and acorn! I had left my mark on the sandy bank. I knew every sound, every movement that had ever happened there in my long reign as the lord of that bend. I was sad to leave it. But, I reminded myself, I should be happy to get away. I wonder what the sun looks like now?