Chapter 12

Having an arrow pointed at you point blank by the deadliest archers in middle earth isn't very fun. Especially when they think you are a danger to their beloved forest.

"The dwarf breathed so loud we could have shot him in the dark," said the blond guy disdainfully.

Ah, this must be Haldir.

(Haldir of Lorien, we come here for your help. We need your protection.)

"Aragorn," said Gimli, taken aback, "these woods are perilous. We should go back!"

Not a chance, shorty. Try to leave and you'd sprout feathers from your brain in 2 seconds flat.

Haldir thought along the same lines. "You have entered the realm of the Lady of the Wood. You cannot go back."

All paused, then they slowly lowered their arrows.

"Come… She is waiting."

Tolkien really knew how to put it— Lothlorien, I mean. It was gorgeous; the bark on the tree wasn't black, or brown. It was silver. The leaves weren't green, or even your run-of-the-mill autumn colors. They were gold. Each tree was so vibrant, so almost alive. Honestly, it's hard for anyone to stun me into silence, but I'm telling you it happened.

So we climbed the silver stars, to the big treehouse thing in the biggest tree I've ever seen. No wonder elves are so graceful. They have to be if they climb that many stairs every day.

In a moment of intensity a blinding white light appeared at the top of the stairs. It was them.

"Eight there are here yet nine there were set out from Rivendell," said the not-sounding-like-he-just-did-crack Celeborn. (Seriously, what was PJ thinking?) "Tell me where is Gandalf? For I much desire to speak with him."

I finally looked at the lady. She was no Cate Blanchett.

Not that I have anything against Cate…on the contrary, I thought she delivered. But this lady… she was almost something else entirely.

I won't say she looked youthful. She didn't— she looked so old I could almost compare her to the giant tree we were standing in. But she didn't look 'warped' by age, if it makes sense. The only allusions to her age were her eyes— like deep pools of blue-grey that held memories both wonderful and awful. Her pale face was framed by long golden hair, and she was robed in shimmering white that hurt my eyes with its brightness.

She began to speak with strong voice, firmer than you'd imagine hearing from this angelic-looking elf. But it was still smooth to hear.

"…he has fallen into shadow." She said softly, as though she'd seen it herself.

Then, I heard something quite different. Somehow I guessed that no one else could hear it. The voice was so close, like a thought in my head. How could anyone else hear?

'This journey was not meant for you.' Said Galadriel to me in my head. Her tone wasn't accusing— in fact, she sounded almost amused. 'But fate sees fit to bring you nonetheless.'

Then I made a mistake. To think, with someone else in my head.

'You wish it didn't?' she asked in reply to my open thoughts, 'Nothing is chance, Vinyaquén. Choices are made for a balance, be it for good…or ill.'

Then which is it? I asked myself.

'That,' she said somberly, 'I do not know.'

We were welcomed with the site of – yes- REAL COUCHES TO SLEEP ON.

I let out a small cry of surprise, then in a snap rushed to flop onto the one where my stuff was set. The hobbits followed suit, hugging the pillows like old friends they hadn't seen in years.

"Where have you been all my life?" I asked the pillow I was snuggling, letting out a breath of comfort.

"Really," said Boromir exasperatedly, "Only women and hobbits act like life on the road is the most horrible kind there is." Despite what he said, he flashed a grin.

"And leave it to men, elves, and dwarves to be the last to admit that they prefer a nice warm bed over the cold hard ground. What, do you guys think it tarnishes your toughness, to like to feel comfortable once in a while?" I asked, throwing a smirk over back at him.

"Nay," said Legolas, flopping (gracefully, I might add) onto his. "Only men and dwarves."

"Excuse me, Master Elf," said Gimli. "I believe you mean, men only." He put his axe down and pushed his way onto the couch with difficulty, finally getting up and chuckling gruffly. "Dwarves are a hardy breed, but home is where the heart lies."

Aragorn smiled for the first time in days.

"You are all wrong," he said, taking all the weapons from his belt, and settling down on his. "It is only some men."

"I believe," I said innocently, "You are outnnumbered, Lord Boromir."

"Very well," he replied, "Then I am forced to concede."

"Well that's a first," said Pippin loudly, leaving everyone laughing.

Lothlorien is really beautiful in the dead of night. It's weird, because you think it would be dark in a forest, but there is so much light here. The stars are— brighter, almost. Like they are when you go out to the country, away from all the buzz of the city. It's wonderful.

There are footsteps behind me, and I know because this time I hear them. Human steps, I mean.

It's Boromir. He comes to sit next to me. His face is tense, and I would swear on my life that there was something scaring him.

"Tell me about your family," he said, turning to face me.

"Why?" I ask.

He made a distinct movement, setting his eyes firmly ahead as though shutting some emotion out. "Because I don't want to think about mine," he said with a hint of bitterness in his voice.

I paused, thinking of what I should say about my family.

"I live with my dad," I began. "But I was going to move out before autumn to go to school. I don't have any siblings. Don't you have a brother?"

"Yes," he said, "What about your mother?"

"She left us when I was ten."

"She died?"

"No. She just left and never came back."

"Why would she do that?"

I had spent all of my childhood asking that very question, and I still couldn't figure it out. As far as I knew, she just didn't care enough to stay.

"I don't know," I said hesitantly. "I guess she didn't like the life she had with my dad and me."

"That's awful." Boromir murmured.

"It mattered when I was younger. It hurt. But I made the decision a while ago that if she didn't care about me then I wouldn't care about her."

"Sometimes the people that love you can't show it. Deep inside, they care the world for you and never choose to say it." His eyes glinted for a moment, but no tears fell. I knew who he was thinking of, and it made me hurt so much I wanted to cry. What would it be like to grow up the favorite, watching the brother or sister you love be hurt by the parent you love? It was a double-edged knife, to be torn between two people who you care for. He was in the middle.

I sat there for a moment, just thinking of what to do. And then I said to myself, 'There is nothing you can do. It's not your place. So don't get in the middle and screw things up.' Sometimes my mind is really hard on me. Your's would be too if you were like me.

"Listen," I said to him, my voice bouncing back to cheery, "You promised to teach me to fight, and I haven't learned one damn thing! If I don't learn how to disembowel an orc in the next 24 hours I am holding your word false."

"That, I cannot allow," he said, grinning again. "Though I must say I find your zeal for life absolutely irritating. Do you ever get tired of being the one who makes all the jokes?"

"Nope," I said, "It never gets old."

And it never did.