Chapter 20 - Evenings by Firelight
HAPPY 20TH CHAPTER GUYS! :D
2nd March, 3019 (Third Age)
Elanor gently drew Fundanár to a halt. The chestnut gelding responded promptly at her feather-light touch on the reins, and she patted him upon the neck. He had immense endurance, but was breathing heavily from the fast pace Halbarad had set.
"Well done, boy," she murmured, burying her hands in his coppery mane.
Darkness had fallen, draping the rolling countryside in soft dusk. They had entered the foothills of Dunland, having passed the Gate Stream of Moria several days before.
Elanor slipped her feet from the stirrups and raised one weary leg over Fundanár's rump. Clinging limply to the saddle, she dropped hard onto the grass, feeling the full impact of meeting the ground through her boots.
Wow, I'm tired… thank goodness this is nearly over… four days… or is it three, and one night… oh wow, I'll be glad to reach Edoras!
"Are you all right, Lady Elanor?" inquired Eärendur anxiously, jumping easily from his mare's back and stepping towards her. Taking a deep breath, Elanor turned to face him and smiled bravely.
"I'm fine, Eärendur. Just tired."
Nearly two weeks of riding from dawn till dusk… how do you expect me to feel, son of Mithon?
The young Ranger nodded, though he still appeared concerned. He had adopted Elladan and Elrohir's protective manner and taken to checking on her like a mother hen. She could not deny she rather enjoyed the attention; many of the Rangers treated her with quiet reservation, save for one or two who were close with Eärendur and Hithraur, the designated cook.
"Would you like me to unsaddle Fundanár? You should not over-exert yourself, my lady."
Elanor could not help laughing.
"Eärendur, I am not a china doll! I shall manage quite well. Thankyou, though," she added, smiling. He was kind, even if he was too chivalrous at times.
He frowned and turned to her like a curious child.
"What is a china doll?"
Elanor smiled at Elladan as he lowered himself to the ground beside her. It was fully dark, and Hithraur had lit a small yet merry fire in the centre of the campsite. The size of the company allowed them to indulge in the little cooking fire each night, and Elanor was glad for it's warmth and cheer.
As weary and hopeless as she might be at the end of the day, the campfire never failed to raise her spirits.
Somewhat, at least.
She was propped against a convenient stone which Elrohir had padded with a thick blanket. The aromatic scent of Hithraur's evening meal concoction was tantalising her nostrils, and her stomach growled in anticipation.
"Hungry, nethig?" laughed Elladan, taking his place on her right.
Elanor merely nodded, and Elrohir gave a dry chuckle.
"She has been pining for her meal since an hour after lunch."
Elladan gave her a gentle shove and threw back his head, his laughter echoing through the clear night. Elanor watched him with starlight in her eyes, for there was nothing more pleasant upon the ear than the laughter of Elves.
"You tease me, brother," she said, unable to keep the mirth from her voice. "Though I will admit, I am hungry."
Fortunately, it was not long before Hithraur gave a low whistle, and the Rangers gravitated towards the fire like moths to a flame. The cook slipped from amongst the crowd, balancing three bowls of stew upon his arms. With a grizzled smile, he handed them to Elanor and the sons of Elrond, who accepted them with grateful smiles.
"Thankyou, Hithraur," Elanor said, and the twins added their own thanks in quiet tones. She knew that, if not for her, Elladan and Elrohir would have been treated as the rest of the company. They had abandoned their finery, and were clad in grey as the Rangers. Instead, her presence meant that they were forced to play chaperone.
If it weren't for you, they would probably not stop at nightfall, but ride from dusk until dawn!
And yet I have never been so tired in all my life…
For some reason, the long days in the saddle wearied her more than her the long traipse through Cardolan with Boromir. The Rangers were tireless and swift, and Elladan and Elrohir were never subdued by physical exhaustion.
Perhaps too long in Rivendell has made me soft, she mused, her eyelids drooping closed. I have lived in the lap of luxury so long, that this is a shock to the system.
She reached blindly for the end of her blonde plait, which had been braided since the morning before. The golden curls now reached almost to her waist, the longest she had ever grown it. Unfortunately, she did not manage to appear effortlessly immaculate like her foster-brothers, and the ringlets were full of grease, dust and painful tangles.
A bath would be bliss right now…
Almost two weeks without bathing did not bear thinking of.
If the Rohirrim don't bathe as often as the Elves, I doubt I will be able to survive…
Would the woman who has walked halfway across Middle Earth, and then ridden back the way she has come, left a twenty-first century existence behind, lost her family, and learned a new language really quail at the lack of a bath?
"Hmph," she snorted quietly, forcing her eyelids open. Her stew was cooling fast upon her lap; the air was warmer than in the north, but still brisk after her Queenslander upbringing. The steam from her dinner was swiftly dissipating into the chilly air.
"Are you alright?" Elrohir inquired softly, in a low undertone. He had cleaned every last scrap from his bowl, and his dark brows were knitted as he searched her face. In these moments, she saw his father's quiet concern mirrored upon his features as if Elrond sat beside her.
Elrond in his youth, perhaps.
"Yes," she whispered, working to finish her meal. "Just very tired. I'm glad we're nearly there."
Elrohir nodded curtly. "Let me know when you wish to retire. You ought to sleep as much as you can."
"Soon," she smiled. "Thankyou, hanar."
He fell silent then, turning to watch the Rangers settling themselves around to eat. Elanor watched his profile for a time, admiring the clean-cut nose and jaw. The sons of Elrond were both beautiful and proud, and were again reminiscent of her foster-father.
I shall be unbelievably glad to see him again…
The sound of Elladan speaking broke through her sleepy stupor.
"Shall we share a tale about the fire?" he called, drawing the gaze of the company of Dúnedain.
"Aye, Elladan," nodded Halbarad, nodding in approval. "Hádhon?"
A nondescript Ranger, with a thin noble face and raven hair, cleared his throat before raising his voice to speak:
An Elven-maid there was of old,
A shining star by day:
Her mantle white was hemmed with gold,
Her shoes of silver-grey.
A star was bound upon her brows,
A light was on her hair
As sun upon the golden boughs
In Lórien the fair.
Her hair was long, her limbs were white,
And fair she was and free;
And in the wind she went as light
As leaf of linden-tree.
Beside the falls of Nimrodel,
By water clear and cool,
Her voice as falling silver fell
Into the shining pool.
Where now she wanders none can tell,
In sunlight or in shade;
For lost of yore was Nimrodel
And in the mountains strayed.
The elven-ship in haven grey
Beneath the mountain-lee
Awaited her for many a day
Beside the roaring sea.
A wind by night in Northern lands
Arose,and loud it cried,
And drove the ship from elven-strands
Across the streaming tide.
When dawn came dim the land was lost,
The mountains sinking grey
Beyond the heaving waves that tossed
Their plumes of blinding spray.
Amroth beheld the fading shore
Now low beyond the swell,
And cursed the faithless ship that bore
Him far from Nimrodel.
Of old he was an Elven-king,
A lord of tree and glen,
When golden were the boughs in spring
In fair Lothlórien.
From helm to sea they saw him leap,
As arrow from the string,
And dive into the water deep,
As mew upon the wing.
The wind was in his flowing hair,
The foam about him shone;
Afar they saw him strong and fair
Go riding like a swan.
But from the West has come no word,
And on the Hither Shore
No tidings Elven-folk have heard
Of Amroth evermore.
As the final words echoed into silence, Elanor released a pent-up breath. She had scarcely noticed that Hádhon spoke Sindarin, so accustomed had she become to switching between English and the language of the Elves. Even her weariness did not prevent her from understanding the language.
"That was beautiful," she whispered.
Elladan glanced down at her, stars glinting in his clear grey eyes. "Aye, nethig."
Then he was called upon to recite the Song of Beren and Lúthien, and Elanor was once again caught in the spell of the lilting tongue of the Elves. She was beginning to grow drowsy once more when Eärendur spoke from several metres to her left.
"And what of you, Lady Elanor? Have you a song of your people to share with us?" he asked, the firelight flickering on his clean-cut features.
Elanor blinked stupidly for half a moment, her sleepy brain moving slowly.
"A song!" cried someone, and a few others echoed his call.
Elanor had only sung a handful of times since arriving in Middle Earth, and then only after a great deal of urging. Most songs she could recall—apart from the odd hymn—were far too conspicuous to present to the people of Arda.
"Do you wish to sing, Ellie?" Elrohir whispered low, his lips scarcely moving. She knew he would quench the demands if she desired it, but she shook her head.
"I will sing," she whispered, then raised her voice and repeated, "I shall sing."
Several of the Rangers cheered, and Elanor shifted until she was sitting forward, setting her bowl of stew aside.
Oh dear, what am I going to sing…
She thought furiously for a minute, wasting time as she tucked her hair behind her ears and cleared her throat. After half a second, she sighed in resignation and hoped she would not come to regret her decision later.
And goodness, I hope I don't forget the words…
Clearing her throat one more time and climbing slowly to her feet, she began:
Once a jolly swagman camped by a billabong,
Under the shade of a Coollabah tree,
And he sang as he watched and waited till his billy boil,
You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me.
Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda,
You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me,
And he sang as he watched and waited till his billy boil
You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me.
Down came a jumbuck to drink at that billabong
Up jumped the swagman and grabbed him with glee,
And he sang as he shoved that jumbuck in his tucker bag
You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me.
Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda,
You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me,
And he sang as he shoved that jumbuck in his tucker bag,
You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me.
Up rode the squatter mounted on his thoroughbred,
Down came the troopers One Two Three
"Whose that jolly jumbuck you've got in your tucker bag?
You'll come a Waltzing Matilda."
Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda,
You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me,
"Whose that jolly jumbuck you've got in your tucker bag?
You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me."
Up jumped the swagman and sprang into the billabong,
"You'll never catch me alive," said he,
And his ghost may be heard as you pass by that billabong,
"You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me."
Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda,
You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me,
And his ghost may be heard as you pass by that billabong,
"You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me."
Silence.
Elanor felt her cheeks flush hotly. She was very tired, and her legs felt as if they would collapse beneath her. Elrohir reached out a hand to steady her, one arm behind her back as she returned to her seat before the rock.
The world swam.
No one spoke for a time, before Halbarad called upon another Ranger who recited a cheerful poem that Elanor had heard one of the hobbits sing in Rivendell.
"Come to bed," Elladan whispered, rising cat-like and offering her a hand. His twin also stood and took her other wrist, and they pulled her gently to her feet.
Elanor allowed herself to be led away from the group, feeling exhausted from top to toe. Her limbs were heavy, and the thought of rising to ride again the following day filled her with dread.
"Was I alright?" she asked, glancing between the twins and hoping she had not committed some dreadful breach of propriety by quoting A.B. Patterson.
Elladan laughed quietly. "You were very good, in fact. The poems of your world are peculiar, though I wish now I had heard you sing more, nethig." He squeezed her shoulder affectionately, and Elanor smiled.
Elrohir released her shoulder, moving to prepare her pallet for sleep. Elladan guided her to the blankets, and despite the hard ground it was blissful to lie with her eyes closed.
"Would you like me to stay with her?" Elladan whispered, in Sindarin.
Elanor opened one heavy eye, watching the elder of the twins framed by starlight as he stood before his brother.
Elrohir shook his head silently. "I am weary also; return, for I know you wish to speak with Halbarad."
Elanor's eyes drifted closed and she found she could not prevent it this time. Still, she heard Elladan give a soft laugh.
"Weary, brother? If you say so."
She imagined she would have heard his retreating footsteps, save that the Elves walked in perfect silence.
Camping time with Elanor and her brothers!
I had a reader mention Elanor singing "Waltzing Matilda" to the people of Middle Earth because of her Australian background, and I thought it was time for her to whip that old ditty out. ;)
Hope you enjoyed it! ^_^
Finwe.