XVII. Phantoms in the Hills
They followed the stream as it gleamed in the morning sun. The ponies, Violet and Starbuck, were still missing, but it was Sam's belief that they would head towards the water. As Rosie rode in front of Sam on his borrowed brown pony, she called for the horses by name. Poppy rode in front of Pippin and listened. Soon she heard rustling and the snapping of twigs on her right.
Frodo heard it, too. He held up his left hand to stop the company. They halted and listened. Sam shifted uneasily in his saddle and put an arm around Rosie. "That doesn't sound like horses to me," he whispered.
Pippin nodded in agreement. "Sounds like boots, not hooves."
Suspicion rose and Frodo drew Sting from its scabbard. It glowed with a pale blue luminescence. Seeing the glow, Merry and Pippin drew their swords as well. Poppy felt for the reassuring weight of her dagger under her bodice and found it. She palmed the dagger and slipped it into her sleeve.
Rosie gasped. "Sam," she whispered, "what's going on?"
"Orcs," said Sam. "Hush!"
The footsteps grew louder, then they suddenly stopped. A voice boomed through the trees, "Halt! Who travels here?"
The hobbits held their breath until Frodo spoke. "We are hobbits of the Shire. Who are you, and what business have you with orcs?"
The hobbits waited for an answer for a tense moment, and Sam whispered to Frodo, "How do you know that this fellow is not an orc? Why should he answer us?"
"I am called Feredir*; my business concerns you not!" Feredir growled through the trees. Suddenly his voice faltered. "How do you know that I travel with Yrch? I cannot see you, yet can you see me?"
"Show yourself and you will see how I know this," answered Frodo.
There was a pause, and then they heard rustling. The trees parted to reveal a strong, rough-looking man dressed in worn leather breeches, a torn black tunic, and a frayed black cape. The hobbits were at once reminded of Strider. The man had a thick rope coiled about his wrist, and a strong hand was clasped around the end of the rope. When he saw the hobbits, he stopped and stared at them. There were shadows still moving behind him, and hissing sounds in the bushes.
"Only a Ranger of the North would bear an Elvish name and be dressed so," Frodo said to him.
"And only a very important hobbit indeed would bear an enchanted Elvish blade," said Feredir. "Who are you? And who are your companions?"
"I am Frodo Baggins, called by the elves 'Iôrhael.' That is all that you shall know until you answer my question. Why do you bring evil with you?"
"They," Feredir began, tugging the thick rope coiled around his wrist, "are my prisoners. They were living in a cave in these hills after being driven out of the East." He tugged at the rope again, and three growling orcs were pulled from the bushes. They were bound about their wrists and their necks. When they saw the hobbits, they narrowed their yellow eyes at them and hissed, or at least, it sounded like hissing. They may have said "Halflings!" rather wretchedly.
Feredir continued, "I am taking them to Mirkwood, where they shall be judged by the elves."
"It is dangerous cargo you carry," said Frodo, sheathing Sting. "But, I am glad to know that the Rangers still protect these parts. Now I shall answer your question, since you have answered mine. You asked for the names of my companions. This is my friend, Samwise Gamgee, who rides next to me with his bride, Rose. Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took ride there, and with them the maiden Poppy Fairgoold-Took. We are travelling to Rivendell."
"Hobbits going to Rivendell!" exclaimed Feredir. "That is strange, for most hobbits do not trust the elves and rarely do they deal with them, but you are elf-friends, I see."
"Yes," said Merry, bowing awkwardly in his saddle, "and we are friends of the Rangers as well. Do you know of one called 'Strider'?"
"'Strider?'" Feredir mouthed the name, trying to conjure up any memories.
"I've also heard him called 'Longshanks' out here," Sam added helpfully.
"Ah, yes! Longshanks! Strange fellow, but I can see why you would know him. He travels around the Shire very often I hear, and he's stationed at The Pony in Bree."
"Yes, that's the fellow! A dear friend of ours. We're going to his wedding!" said Merry.
"Wedding!" exclaimed Feredir. "I can hardly picture ol' Longshanks marrying! I can only imagine the kind of girl who would want to marry him--a desperate girl with no other choices!" he said, laughing.
"Actually," said Frodo, "he's marrying Arwen Undómiel."
Feredir's jaw dropped. "The Evenstar of the Elves?" he gasped, "She that bears the likeness of Lúthien?"
"The very same," said Frodo, "and when they're married, she's going to be crowned-- the Queen of Gondor."
"But-- there is no King of Gondor," Feredir said dubiously.
"Yes, there is! It's Longshanks,"said Pippin.
Feredir broke into a broad grin. "If what you say is true," he said, "and I do mean 'If,' then you have lightened my heart. It is good that Gondor has a king, especially a man as experienced in the world as Longshanks." His bright smile faded as he heard a murmur behind him.
The orcs were sitting on the ground, talking in their ugly tongue. Feredir gave the ropes a tug and the orcs growled at him, but rose obediently to their feet. "I must leave you now," said Feredir, "Haste bids me to go quickly to Mirkwood, for I do not trust my captives and have not slept since I have come upon them. The longer I keep them, the more time they have to plot against me. I wish you well on your journey!"
"And we wish you well," said Frodo. "The Valar keep you safe until you reach Mirkwood! And then, if time permit you, come to Gondor and visit your old friend Longshanks!"
"I would very much like to see him enthroned. I shall try to come!" he said. Then Feredir said one last "Farewell!" and then disappeared into the hills, the orcs tramping single-file ahead of him.
* * *
The hobbits rode up and down many rolling hills until the sun began to fade. The hobbit-lads were quiet and sullen, for always in the distance loomed Weathertop, its domed crest looking skull-like in the shadows of the evening. The lasses darted nervous glances all around, looking for orcs and goblins, for they had not forgotten the cruel faces of the orcs they had seen in Feredir's company. Evening drew on, and the hobbits set up camp quickly, ate, and settled down to sleep.
Poppy unrolled the soft blankets that she had bound to her pack and lay down upon them. She stared up at the sky. It was black like a pit, and many stars where shining in its depths. She tired out her brain by trying to calculate how deeply the stars were set in the sky. She began to drift into the warmth of sleep.
Her eyes closed and the stars disappeared for a moment before their image returned to her in her dreams. The glimmering white stars transformed in her dream into falling snow. It was the same anxious dream as before. There was a battle between hobbits and ruffians in the blizzard as she waited inside her home in Staddle. In her dream, the clock chimed twelve times, and she left the house and went out into the snow. She saw hobbits returning from battle. She saw Freddy, and she saw the large bundle Freddy held wrapped in his beefy arms. She saw the red cape, and she knew who lay wrapped in it with his chest pierced through the heart. She ran to Freddy with a sob and took the heavy bundle from him, the weight of it dragging her to her knees. She held the motionless form in her arms and wept over it. Sobbing, she pulled back the hood of the red cape to see the sweet face again, one last time.
She cried out in shock when she saw the face of the dead hobbit in the cloak. It was not her love's pale face. It was the tan face of her brother, Faysal.
Poppy woke with a start, confused and upset. Tears ran down her face. What did the dream mean? Was her brother to die? She sat up on her blankets and pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs. She shook with the torment of unknowing.
Frodo had fallen asleep long ago, and he had also arrived in his dark dream world. In his dream, he was surrounded by his friends, their faces shadowed in the dark. They held swords, drawn and ready to defend him against the Ringwraiths. One by one they fell under the black swords of the Nazgyl. Then Frodo was left alone against the Witch King of the Ringwraiths. There was nowhere to run and no hope in fighting. He fell back under the weight of his own fear. He did not even know that he had put on the Ring until he saw the strange lights and spirits in the Shadow World. There was the corpse-like face of the Witch King above him, strips of ghostly flesh falling away from once-noble cheekbones. Dead eyes pierced his soul even as he felt the blade pierce his flesh.
Poppy heard him gasp as he woke in the dark. Frodo sat up and put a hand to his burning shoulder. She turned to him from where she sat on her bed roll a few feet away. He looked nervously around in the shadows until he met her gaze. She was the only other awake in the dead of night. He could see that she held tears in her eyes, for they shone like glass in the moonlight.
In a whisper that was surprisingly hoarse, he asked her, "Was it the same nightmare?"
"Yes, and no," she sighed, wiping the tears away. "It held old and new horrible things. . . But what about you? You had a nightmare, too; I think."
"Old fears," he said, and he shivered, but it was not from the chill of the night air.
The moonlight was weak, and Poppy came closer in order to see him in the darkness. "You look pale," she observed. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine. It's just an old pain. It will pass."
"Pain?" she whispered.
He put a hand to his shoulder protectively. "It's an old wound. It shouldn't hurt like this; I mean, I thought it had healed long ago." He rolled his shoulder and grimaced as the burning heat began to creep out of his wound. "It's these hills," he said. "We're very close to Weathertop."
"You purposefully avoided Weathertop on this journey. Is this pain...why you did so?'
With sad and distant eyes he said, "Among other things, yes."
"Something happened there," she murmured. "What was it?"
"Ringwraiths," he said. "They attacked me and my friends on Weathertop. . . I remember that night so clearly." He looked across the camp to the southern sky miles away. The glittering stars were blotted out on the horizon by a looming dome-like shape. "But what happened afterwards," he continued, "is a blur. I remember waking up in Rivendell with Gandalf and Sam at my bedside. Gandalf told me that the Wraiths had not only stabbed me, but that the blade had broken off in my shoulder and had been poisoning me slowly from the inside. It was Aragorn who carried me to Rivendell, and one other, though I may have dreamed it, carried me across the river Bruinen. Lord Elrond healed me," he said, then he added, " I owe them all so very much."
"You have incredible friends," said Poppy. She crossed her legs Indian-style and put her hands on her knees. "You're a very lucky hobbit; you know that?"
"Yes," said Frodo, "I guess I am."
"Very lucky," she said. "Maybe you should think of the good fortune that helped you out of that awful mess instead of- -well, the Mess."
"That's sage advice."
"I've had experience," she said, a bit sadly. She shifted on her blankets and pulled some covers over her legs and sighed. "We'd better get some rest. Sweeter dreams, Master Baggins."
"You too," he whispered.
With in moments of laying back down, Frodo was in a blissful slumber, but Poppy did not sleep that night. She lay in the dark worrying for Faysal.
NOTE:
* "Feredir" means "Hunter" in the Sindarin dialect of Elvish.
XVIII. Tolar a Imladris ~ They Come to Rivendell
The hobbits now had all of the six ponies. Starbuck and Violet had returned to them unexpectedly the night before as they slept in the Shaws under the statues of the trolls. Starbuck was nibbling at the grass around Rosie's head, and when she awoke to see the huge chomping mouth inches from her face, she had screamed, and the startled horse would have run off again if Sam had not grabbed his tattered harness and calmed him. Violet did not seem bothered by Rosie's scream; however, she did nicker impatiently until Samwise spotted her in the brush, without her saddle. Sam spent the rest of the night with the prodigal ponies, lovingly brushing sticks and leaves from their windblown manes and tails as he admonished them gently for running off like they did.
After three days of traveling through the hills of the Trollshaws and the woods fed by the waters of the Bruinen, the hobbits reached the borders of Rivendell. The woods around them became more lush, more green, and the birds sang with unearthly sweetness, their evening songs trailing in the mists rising from rushing waters. The hobbits, not wishing to disturb the beauty of the wood, were silent but for the tramping of their ponies' hooves. They rode slowly towards the sound of the river Bruinen, called the "Loudwater."
"Halt!" commanded a pleasant yet commanding voice. "What travelers seek passage into the sacred Imladris?"
Frodo turned towards the sound of the voice and answered in the flowing Grey Elven Tongue with his clear voice, "Iôrhael aen estar nin, a Frodo en-Drann im. Nîn mellyn a nim periannath a elvellyn aen." ('Wise-one' I am called, and I am Frodo of the Shire. My friends and myself are halflings and elf-friends.)
"Ah, tithen brannon!" (Oh, little lord!) exclaimed the voice, and suddenly a tall male elf, the bearer of the kind voice, appeared by Frodo's pony. Bowing very low and then straightening, he said, "Istannen le ammen! Le a mhellyn lîn bein, Tolo! Tolo!" (You are known to us! You and all of your friends, Come! Come!) So the hobbits followed him as he darted through the trees. He led them to a beautifully carved bridge that spread over the rushing water like an ornate rainbow, and he crossed it with them, his mocassins making no sound.
Rosie and Poppy stared in awe of the faded grandeur that they saw before them: beautiful peaked roofs with spiraling carvings, ornate and delicate; mature trees that grew right out of the center of homes and palaces; and little streams and gardens in open courtyards guarded only by tall white trees as their fences. The whole city seemed to echo with music and laughter, and the light there seemingly came from no source but the gardens and the people themselves. This was one of the last pure places in the world.
* * *
Four Days Ago:
Faysal Fairgoold-Took and his companions, Jorin Smallbeck and Falco "Rooster" Moss, were on a hunt. Not for game birds or deer, but for orcs. They had heard in Bree that three orcs had attacked travelers passing near the Weather Hills. So far, the hobbit-lads had not experienced any luck in finding them, though they had searched the Weather Hills for days. The only clue was a small campfire in a down, but it had been prepared with very carefully stacked wood, as was the manner of a hobbit cooking fire. Faysal would never have guessed that his sister, Poppy, had sat by this fire with her new friends only a night before he came, nor would he have guessed that she had dreamt a horrible dream by this fire that revealed his coming death.
In the dry, rocky ground, Faysal saw the hoofprints of several hobbit-ponies. But no sign of orcs.
They went a few miles south, and Falco and Jorin made camp in the hills. Faysal decided to head farther south and climb Weathertop to get a better scope of his surroundings or possibly to see some evidence of evil-doing from the aerial view. It took him an hour to climb the rocky slope alone, but when he reached the flat summit, he was rewarded with a beautiful view of bright rolling hills and dark valleys shadowed and highlighted by the setting sun. He raised his emerald eyes northward, and he could see a faint glimmer behind a hill. That was Jorin and Falco's campfire. Turning around to the south, he saw a long dusty line running horizontally in the distance that was barren of all greenery. That was the East Road, and it seemed to go on forever. He wondered if the roads were safe enough for travel, as they once had been when he was a boy. He looked down and around him at the ruined stone wall that ran around the circular summit of Weathertop like a ring. His clever eyes noticed the weathered stone steps on which the Ringwraiths had once ascended to the summit to attack the Ringbearer and his friends. He did not know, looking around him, that he was standing at the site of an incredible and painful historical event.
He listened to the wind whistling through the cracks in the stone. The sun began to set, but he knew he could find his way down in the dark. He closed his eyes and let the soft night wind cool his face. He heard the singing of the wind in his ears. The sun sank behind the horizon, and the moon rose. The wind picked up, and the sound in Faysal's ears increased. The whistling sounds became louder and more clear. There was a--- song--- on the wind. He realized this when he felt a definite rhythm and melody being carried to him. It sounded like the instruments of the elves, only brighter-sounding, and more wonderful. The wind blew harder and he was almost knocked off of his feet. He sat down on the rocky ground and turned his face to the music. He could hear words. Beautiful, musical, rhyming words that he did not understand. The wind blew much harder and his eyes began to water and mist in the force of its blow. He knew that he should climb down before the wind would endanger his descent down the slopes....but the music.....ah.....the music was so lovely. It was so enchanting that he did not know that he had been swept away in the magical wind until he saw Weathertop and the hills shrinking beneath him........
Farther north, Jorin heard the wind-music too. And so did Falco. The two hobbits looked around themselves confusedly. It sounded like there was a band of marvelous musicians all around them, yet they saw nothing. They looked up to the sky, and then at the Moon. They saw a shape that looked suspiciously like Faysal flying across its white face.
* * *
The hobbits reached the Last Homely House in the late afternoon. As the weary travellers entered the gates, the elf who had guided them thus far summoned two attendants with a gesture. The hobbits dismounted and un buckled their ponies' saddles and saddle packs. The attendants spoke softly to the animals as they led them away. The hobbits then took the packs off of the saddles, and the attendants took the empty saddles away. Their guide smiled at the hobbits as they hefted their packs onto their shoulders.
"Come!" he said, "The Lady awaits you within."
"The Lady?" wondered Frodo.
Sensing Frodo's confusion, the elf answered, "She is the Stewardess of the House of Elrond; our Lord is away with his daughter."
"Ah, so he journeys with her to her new kingdom. Minas Tirith will once again be called a blessed city when she comes there to wed the king," said Frodo, smiling. Then he turned to his companions and beckoned to them, "Come, let us meet the lady of the house."
XIX. Ned Bair Na Elrond ~ In the House of Elrond
Together they entered, and at once they were swept away by the splendor of the great hall. The walked slowly, reverentially, down the smooth marble halls taking in the glory of the vaulted, carved ceiling above them and the splendidly delicate tapestries around them. On the steps of Elrond's dais, but not on the throne, sat the Lady of the House, Elrond's trusted Stewardess. She rose to greet them as they approached, and she smiled at them with a warm light in her beautiful grey-blue eyes. She was elegantly robed in a long white dress embroidered delicately in lavender thread with flowers and winding vines. Her face was as lovely as a new dawn, and her head was crowned with chestnut hair that, to the surprise of the hobbits, fell down her back in tumbling curls like their own.
"Welcome to the House of Elrond, you who are smallest of the Great, and greatest of the Small. I am Rhînanloess*, Stewardess of my Lord Elrond's house," she said in a voice like mist. She looked upon each of the hobbits before her with an ever-widening smile. "Long it has been since I have last seen your people, and the elves of this house have spoken most highly of you and your kind. We have been expecting you." She spread her arms in the direction of the stairs that spiraled into the ceiling to her right. "Come, your rooms are prepared."
She ushered them upstairs, her graceful figure seeming to float as they ascended into the hall. And as she moved into the hall, her silk-slippered feet made no sound on the smooth floor. She opened a door. "Should you gentlemen desire to bathe before the meal, this room shall serve you well." The hobbits felt the warm, fragrant steam rising from the chamber on their faces, and the hobbit-lads expressed that they indeed would enjoy a bath.
"Ah, then," replied Rhînanloess, suppressing a smile. She clapped her hands, then added, "I shall send my maids to attend you."
The broad gins on Merry and Pippins faces could not be contained when four beautiful maidens came swiftly and curtsied before them. "A bath, and being bathed by these beauties!" thought Pippin. He smiled at the maids as they disappeared to prepare the bath.
"Come, I will show you your chambers first," Rhînanloess said, and the sound of her voice was as merry as a laugh. She led the hobbits down the hallway, pausing occasionally before the great tall doors. She ushered the male hobbits into their respective rooms and left them there when they seemed content, and they began happily exploring their spacious chambers. Then she led the hobbit-lasses across the hall. "Ladies," she said, pausing at a richly carved walnut-wood door, "this was the Lady Arwen's favorite place: her private bath."
She opened the door, and Rosie squealed with delight when she saw the great tiled pool that was fed by what appeared to be a natural hot-water spring. The room was full of lovely steam, and jars and jars of precious oils, lotions, and soaps stood ready around the water's edge. Green, steam-loving plants and flowers grew up the white walls and stretched towards a crystal-paned skylight.
"I can see why it was her favorite place," murmured Poppy, breathing in the soothing steam.
"Your rooms are adjoined to the bath," said Rhînanloess. "They also belonged to Lady Arwen, yet she used them little. I think that you will like them." She led Poppy and Rosie through a thick door to their right. It opened into a spacious room flush with furniture and soft rugs, including a positively huge bed and an even larger closet. A gentle breeze blew through the room through an open doorway that led to small balcony. They could see that the balcony looked out onto the gardens. Rosie and Poppy were enchanted by the beautiful room, and would have been content to explore it, but Rhînanloess led them back out of it and to the other side of the bath chamber.
Another great door was opened, revealing a room that seemed to glow. On closer examination, the room only appeared to glow because of the soft cream color that the walls had been painted. The room was just as large as the last one, but the bed was more elaborate than the one before. A canopy arched above the smooth frame, veiling it with long, trailing curtains of cloth so thin and fine that the bed could still be seen through it. The bed itself was covered in cream silk comforters that were embroidered around the edges with gold. Wind fluttered through this room also, yet the doorway through which the breeze blew held no balcony on the other side, but a stairway that led down to the gardens. Rosie was breathless.
"Oh! It's like a dream!" gasped Rosie. "Everything is so wonderfully soft in this room! Even the air feels like silk!"
"Yes," murmured Rhînanloess, "Arwen lived in this room as a young child, and she loved it dearly. She wanted it to be just like the room she had when she stayed in Lothlorien with her grandmother. She covered everything with silk and feathers!"
"Why don't you take this room, Rosie? It suits you so!" said Poppy.
"Oh, I should dearly love it, Poppy, if you don't mind."
"Of course I don't mind!" said Poppy. "This room fits you!" She looked the whole room over and turned to Rosie with a smile.
"Well, little ladies," said the she-elf, "If you are content, then unpack! I shall send my handmaidens in to prepare you for your bath and for dinner."
The hobbit-lasses thanked her profusely for her help and kindness. But Rhînanloess begged them to think little of it, for she was overjoyed to have such happiness again in the House of Elrond. It seemed that since the Lord of the house had left with the Lady Arwen, sadness had fallen on all who dwelt there. But now that the friendly hobbit-folk had come again, the House was once more full of laughter. She left them with a warm smile, and softly closed the door.
Rosie and Poppy turned to each other and grinned broadly. What an adventure! What a palace! They helped each other to unpack, and Poppy was relieved to find that the bag that she had put on Bill the packhorse held another dress and more underthings for her to wear--all of her other clothing was in Violet's saddle pack, who had lost her saddle during her days in the wilderness. She lovingly hung her yellow dress in the closet next to the clothes that she had borrowed from Frodo to wear while her green traveling-dress was drying. Just then, a soft knock sounded on the thick bath-chamber door, and Poppy and Rosie both ran out of their rooms to answer it. There stood two slender elf-maidens, dressed in white with long blonde hair. When the elf-maids saw the hobbit-lasses, they seemed a bit amazed, but they recovered and curtsied to them.
"Soolad,"said Rosie. She had been practicing her Elvish on the way there, but she had yet to perfect it.
The elf-maidens laughed musically at Rosie's clumsy Elvish, then the taller of the two said, "Suilad! I beg of thee thine forgiveness. My Westron-tongue is not practiced, and my companion speaks even less. It has been long since we have needed speak to Hobbits or to Men."
The shorter, but still very tall she-elf came forth and said shyly, "We have been told to help thee bathe, and prepare thee for feasting with guests."
"So have we been told. Is it time yet for feasting?" asked Poppy, forcing the frozen grammar. She was trying to copy the elves' olden-manner of Westron.
"Two hours yet we wait," said the taller maiden. "And haste we need to make, for my Lady makes for thee dresses for a gift, and they will be prepared anon."
The elf-maids went straight to work then. They readied the water by carefully measuring in oils and soap, and then they brought towels. Rosie and Poppy came out of their rooms again, wrapped in the robes the elf-maids had given them. Poppy unpinned her bun so that her hair could be washed. Her hair fell about her like a wavy, tumbling red curtain of fire. When the handmaidens saw her hair, they gasped and came to touch it, for they had never seen red hair before in their lives.
"Loess tîn caran aen!" (Her hair is red!) said the taller elf.
"Be lacha..." (Like flame..) said the shorter elf.
Rosie stood puzzled, and she really didn't understand their behavior or their words. "What did you say?" she asked.
The elves suddenly mastered themselves, and returned to neutrality with a hint of embarrassment. Poppy supplied Rosie with the answer. "I suppose they've never seen red hair before," she said.
"We have not," said the taller elf. "We have read of peoples that are blessed with it before, but never have we seen it."
The shorter elf touched a red curl dreamily and said, "Estan len 'Naureniel', brennil berianeg." (I call you "Lady of Fire," hafling-lady.)
Poppy smiled at the elf, as though she knew what the maiden had said. Her smile grew broader as her face lightened with a sudden recollection.
"A si ú-bennin man i aen estar nin," (As yet I have not told what I am named) said Poppy. "Im Poppy, a nîn mellon Rosie estar aen." (I am Poppy, and my friend is called Rosie.)
Rosie was shocked. Poppy spoke Elvish?
The maidens were a bit surprised as well. They complimented Poppy on her Elvish, and introduced themselves. They were sisters. The tall elf was Halfiel*, the shorter elf was Aeriel*, and neither had ever seen hobbit-lasses before. They talked long with Poppy and Rosie throughout the bath, for it was a very relaxing setting in which chatter floated freely about like bubbles of soap. The steam swirled around them all, and their laughter echoed long in the chamber. After a half-hour attending the ladies in the bath, the elf-maids excused themselves to go and fetch the dresses for dinner, and they left Rosie and Poppy alone as they dried off by the pool.
"You never told me that you could speak Elvish," said Rosie.
"I had forgotten that I could, actually," said Poppy. She rubbed her hair with her towel thoughtfully. "It's a buried language from my childhood, I suppose."
"Hmm," said Rosie, thoughtfully. She dipped her toe in the water and watched the ripples.
* * *
Down the hall, the hobbit-lads had finished their bath, and they all came out of the bathing chamber blushing. The elf-maids were very good at giving baths it seemed.
* * *
The handmaidens came back to Poppy and Rosie's chambers. Halfiel held hairbrushes, pins, and decorative combs, and Aeriel held two dark dresses that she set down on a little wrought-iron stool. Halfiel and Aeriel at once began to comb, fluff, and braid Poppy and Rosie's hair. As they worked, the girls chattered about the goings-on downstairs. They talked about the guests that had arrived, and neither Poppy or Rosie recognized their names, which were Legolas, son of Thranduil, and Gimli, son of Gloin. The maidens chattered on about how handsome young Legolas was and how funny but charming his dwarf friend was, and Rosie and Poppy listened with amusement as the maidens compared various bits of Legolas' anatomy to that of an elf called Haldir. Several times all four of the girls broke out in noisy giggles that echoed off the walls. But finally the laughter died down, and the maidens finished the lasses' hair. The elves clothed Rosie in a violet silk dress, long to the floor, and though it was made quickly, it fit her perfectly.
"The Lady Rhînanloess made this?" Rosie gasped, awed, twirling in front of a polished looking glass. Rosie looked like royalty. Her dress was cut so that a seam ran under her bosom, and the rest of the fabric draped elegantly over her figure. A long golden braid had been wrapped around the top of her head in a circle, and it looked like a crown.
She danced around, much to the amusement of the handmaidens. They chuckled at Rosie's child-like excitement as they dressed Poppy in a dress so blue that it looked like the deep Sea. It was cut similarly to Rosie's. Poppy's thick hair was left long, and three tiny braids on each side of her head were tied together at the back of her head like a bow, and under the knot, her hair fell long and curly down her back. When Poppy saw herself in the mirror, she did not recognize herself, except for her long red hair, which was as it had always been.
"We look like princesses," said Poppy, looking from herself to Rosie.
"I know!" exclaimed Rosie, excitedly. "Those fellas won't believe their eyes!"
Rosie and Poppy thanked the maidens very much for their work, and then they headed downstairs to meet the other hobbits in the Great Hall.
NOTES:
*Rhînanloess means "Crowned with curls" in Sindarin. This name is inspired from the English name of my curly-haired friend, Laura, whose normal name means "Crowned with Laurel Leaves." Laura, a fellow elvellon (elf-friend), calls herself 'Rhînanlass,' which is "Crowned with Leaves" in Sindarin-Elvish, which closely resembles the English meaning of her given name.
*Halfiel means "Daughter/Lady of the Seashell"in Sindarin. Its equivalent in today's modern English could be either Pearl or Margaret.
*Aeriel, likewise a Sindarin name, means "Lady of the Sea." Its equivalent may be Ariel, Marissa, or Marisa.
XX. I Beth e-Dhúath ~ The Words of Darkness
The hobbit-lads waited impatiently in the Great Hall. Sam hummed and whistled to entertain himself, and Merry and Pippin joked with each other. Frodo stood quietly, leaning on the staircase, feeling very uncomfortable in his grey-blue silk vest and white silk party shirt. He wondered where Bilbo was. His aging cousin was not to be found in his room. Perhaps the Hall of Fire? He listened for sounds of music, then wondered distantly why he thought he heard Gimli's voice grumbling in one of the chambers.
Merry and Pippin continued their jolly racket until, finally, announced only by whispers of silk, the hobbit-lasses descended the stairs, and at once, the eyes of the hobbit-lads were drawn upwards and all sound in the room was silenced. Rosie and Poppy exchanged satisfied smiles as they reached the last few steps.
"Rosie," breathed Sam, "You look, you're so - - Wow."
Rosie kissed his cheek and laughed as she took his proffered arm. "Why thank-you, Sam," she said.
For once, Pippin and Merry were without words in the presence of a lass. And perhaps 'lass' is not the proper word for Poppy; at the moment, she looked nothing like a country hobbit-lass, but very much like a lady of noble birth-- possibly even royal birth. Pippin and Merry really weren't sure how to handle themselves, for they were suddenly struck with awkwardness in the sight of such beauty; it was as if Galadriel or some other beautiful elf-maiden of high esteem stood before them. And so, at this moment, it was Frodo who responded to the need for courtly behavior. He bowed low, much to Poppy's delight, then offered her his hand, extended palm down and level with his heart, in the manner of the nobles of Gondor. She placed her hand on top of his and allowed herself to be escorted to the Dining Hall. Merry and Pippin followed, and soon the sights and sounds of the Dining Hall filled all of their senses: the rich smell of elven foods from the kitchen, the soft elven voices, and the merry soft music of the elves were enough to overwhelm them.
They reached the long, dark dining table, and Rhînanloess, seated at the head of the table, rose to greet them. "Ah, Good Hobbits!" she said, "Come and sit, for I know of the appetites of your kind! Our other guests will not mind if we begin the meal without them," she assured.
"We would not want to offend these 'other guests,'" said Frodo, guiding Poppy to her seat. "We will wait for them."
"There's no need to wait. We are here!" said a gruff voice from behind the hobbits.
"Gimli!" said Pippin, recognizing the voice and turning around. When he saw Gimli's companion, he added with even more excitement, "And Legolas!"
"Yes, yes, we are here," grumbled Gimli, as the hobbits gathered around him and Legolas excitedly, giving greetings and asking questions. The questions were mostly of curiosity about where they had been, and whether they had gone on any more adventures.
"We have been in Fangorn, visiting the Ents, because Legolas --insisted--- that we do so," Gimli explained, irritatedly. Although his voice would say otherwise, Gimli had truthfully grown very fond of the Ents. He liked their deep voices and their long stories, and also their long beards. They reminded him of dwarves.
"And before that, Gimli decided that we ---must--- see the Glittering Caves," added Legolas sourly.
"What? I thought that you loved the Caves!" said Gimli, his voice rising. He had reason for his confusion. Legolas really did love the Caves; in fact, he had been silenced in awe by their dark beauty.
Legolas laughed merrily and said, "I was merely returning your sarcasm."
"Well, do not return it!" growled Gimli.
"Then do not give it!" retorted Legolas.
The reunited Fellowship members shared a few smiles at Legolas' and Gimli's good-natured bickering, and they led their two friends, still brimming with arguments, towards the table. Once Legolas and Gimli stopped exchanging challenging glances and remarks, Frodo introduced them to Rosie and Poppy. The ladies rose from their seats and curtsied as they were introduced. Rosie was particularly awed by the warm strangeness of the dwarf and the pure masculine beauty of the elf, for she had never seen either race in her life. She blushed in their presence as Sam had done upon meeting the elves for the first time.
Gimli and Legolas were pleasantly surprised by the presence of the lady-hobbits as well, and Legolas was quick to congratulate Sam on his marriage to Rosie.
"Ah, Samwise Hamfastson! A lovely wife you have chosen!" exclaimed Legolas. He bent and kissed Rosie's little hand, much to her astonishment and delight.
"I have never seen the ladies of your kind, and I have only heard something of them from my father," said Gimli. "He said that they possessed marvelous spirits and voices, but ---Alas! Never did he mention their radiant beauty!" He took off his helmet and reverently bent in a sweeping bow; so low was it that his beard touched the floor. "I speak for both Legolas and myself when I say that we are honored by your presence, ladies of the Shire!" he said, as he straightened and again adorned his favored helmet.
"As we are honored by yours!" answered Poppy. She and Rosie rose again from their seats and curtsied to the dwarf and the elf, careful not to scatter the cushions piled on their chairs. At that moment, a chorus of bells chimed excitedly throughout the hall, and Rosie and Poppy exchanged alarmed glances.
"I do not wish to interrupt," said Rhînanloess, with a touch of humor in her voice, "but those bells signify that dinner is ready to be served."
As was their custom, the hobbits came to their seats with astonishing quickness at the announcement of a meal. And when all was set, the feast began. Food and wine flowed as freely as their conversation. The reunited members of the Fellowship shared much news with each other concerning the recovery of their peoples and their lands. Rosie and Poppy delighted in the elvish food, and Rhînanloess was quick to answer their questions concerning elvish spices and cooking techniques. She was a good and gracious hostess, and when she had eaten as she wished, she left the hobbits and their friends so that they could enjoy each other's company. It was then that Poppy and Rosie first heard Legolas and Gimli recount their contest at Helm's Deep: a deadly game they played during the heat of battle; it was won by Gimli, who killed the most orcs.
Rhînanloess returned an hour later with two hobbits, and when Poppy saw them, she recognized them immediately. "Jorin! Falco!" she exclaimed, rising from her seat and grinning. "What a surprise!"
The hobbits, the elf, and the dwarf turned to see the guests that Poppy had greeted. Jorin Smallbeck and Falco Moss came towards the table, but did not sit down, and Poppy saw at once that distress and exhaustion lay upon their anxious faces. This unsettled her a bit, and her voice shook as she introduced them quickly to her friends. Jorin and Falco also seemed a bit distracted as they politely responded to their introductions with: "Jorin Smallbeck and Falco Moss--at your service and your families'." It was plainly obvious that something was amiss.
Falco felt rather uncomfortable under the gaze of the hobbits, elf, and dwarf, and he clutched his hat nervously in his hand as he spoke. "Begging all of your pardons," he said, addressing those in the hall, "but we--" he gave Jorin an anxious glance, then continued, "we need to talk to you, Poppy."
Poppy paled. "Please excuse me," she said, softly. She slipped down from her seat and curtsied to those dining, and then quickly went with Falco and Jorin into the courtyard. When they reached the shadows of the garden, Falco and Jorin looked at each other, both of them reluctant to unveil the bad news.
"I already know why you and Falco are here. You don't have to explain," she said. She was shaking, she realized, and she tried to steady her voice. "It's Faysal, isn't it?"
"Yes," said Jorin, and he gave her an odd look that asked, 'How did you know that?' Poppy shook her head and didn't answer.
"We think he's been 'napped," Falco put in, then added hastily, "and I think it was by means of magic."
"Magic?" muttered Poppy.
Falco gave her the account of the strange things they witnessed while camping near Weathertop, and Poppy's face gradually grew paler as her suspicions rose and her thoughts became darker. Because Falco said that they had heard unearthly music and felt powerful winds, she thought perhaps that dark Faery Magic was involved.
"We--we didn't know where to turn; we thought the Elves could help, seein' as they know most magics, so we came here... "stammered Jorin.
"And then we heard that hobbits were here, and Lo and Behold! we find you!" said Falco. "And since you're acquainted with these elves and their wisdom, do you think that they could help?"
"Yes, but, what can be done after they tell us what we already know?" she asked. "If it's fae magic, there is little that we mortals can do!"
She paced about and swallowed the nervous lump in her throat. She was remembering her dream of Faysal's death, and her mind raced with dark and depressing thoughts that she wished would go away. She suddenly felt the need for some form of action so painfully that her head ached. She stopped pacing and she turned to Jorin and Falco. "Indeed," she said, "the elves possess knowledge of all magics, and they know where most of them originate. Oh, if we could only find the source of this magic! Perhaps, then, there would be hope of finding Faysal." She suddenly brightened. "I just met a very educated elf tonight. He may be just the one to help us!" she said.
* * *
"Of old," said Legolas, searching through the great stores of books and scrolls in the library of Rivendell, "the Faeries were the friends of the Elves. We were all alike in that we were the immortal children of the Lord of All, the Great Ilúvatar, and there was peace between us. And then, Mankind was created by the Valar, and their presence was a source of contention between us," he sighed, and he pulled out a great moldering tome from a carved shelf. He looked at the writings of the cover, then put it back and continued, "The Faeries argued that we, the ancient children of the Great One, were above Mankind, and deserved the worship of Man. The Faeries desired for us to rule the race of men, and their greediness for this power overtook them. Without the approval of the High Council of the Wise, they created a land all their own, to be like Ilúvatar and have a Heaven that mortals would both covet and revere."
Legolas found the book he was looking for, and he pulled it down from the book case. "Ah, here it is," he said. He strode to the great study table and cleared away some of Elrond's dusty papers and scrolls. Poppy, Jorin, and Falco gathered around to see the book as Legolas flipped gingerly through the yellowed pages. He selected a page with a beautifully drawn map on it. He pressed the book's binding flat on the table and pointed to a spot on the map that had ancient, Feanorian runes written beside a drawing that closely resembled Weathertop. "You said that the wind came from the South East of the Watchtower of Amon Sul?"
"Yes," said Falco, "As nearly as I could tell it."
"There is a Faery Mound--- here," Legolas said, as he pointed to a circle located in the fork of the Brunien and the Mitheithel rivers, directly south of the Trollshaws; it was also southeast of Weathertop. "It may be a gateway into the Land of the Faeries." Poppy looked over his hand at the drawing, and saw within the circle that a number of spindly runes were written in a spiral curve.
"Ah-A gateway?" squeaked Jorin. "You mean, we go in there?"
"You want to find Faysal, don't you?" asked Poppy.
"Well, yes, but--"
"You're not afraid, are you?" challenged Falco.
"Well, to be honest, yes," said Jorin.
"Good, it's settled then. We set out tonight," said Poppy. "The more time we waste, the more time Faysal has to get into trouble." Legolas came forward and placed the book which held the map, now closed, into her small hands.
"I will guide you to the mound, though I dare not enter, for the Fae have put an enmity between my people and their's. Should I be discovered in your company, all that you wish to accomplish will be lost," said Legolas.
"We cannot thank you enough," said Poppy. "You have done much to help us, your Highness," she said, as she curtsied low to him out of respect and thanks. She barely had time to rise when she was startled by a gruff voice.
"Legolas!" called Gimli's voice from the hall. "Where are you hiding yourself, Elf? Speak!" Gimli's round, bearded face appeared in the doorframe. "Aha! There you are! What's this? Hmm? You have the look of battle about you!" he observed, excitedly. "To what war do we ride now? You know that whither you go, thither I ride!"
"Ho, Gimli! We ride to the Fairy Mound at Water-Meet to rescue a hostage hobbit," said Legolas.
"Hostage hobbit?" repeated Gimli, then he puffed up his barrel-like chest. "Well, then! His captors shall be hewn down!" He rubbed the blade of his axe with his thumb in a loving manner, and said, "It has been too long since you have seen battle, Axe of Azad!"
"I will not go into battle," said Legolas sadly, "for we go to a land that despises my race. But Gimli, I would have you go in my stead."
"Do I sense fear in your voice, my friend?" inquired Gimli. He lifted his bearded chin and said, "This is utter nonsense! If we must do battle, three hobbits and a dwarf, great though my battle-strength is, would not be enough! We would need your bow!"
"He is right," said Poppy, paling, "Should we have to face the wrath of a faery lord, four mortals, even four of the greatest warriors, would not have the strength to prevail!"
"Ah," said Legolas, "That is a matter in which no elf can aid you, I fear. And there are no human warriors for many leagues all around. We must make do with what we have."
"And we have you!" said Gimli, still not willing to go without Legolas. "You must come with us!"
"Alas! If you knew the Faeries, you would know that I cannot!" sighed Legolas, with despair. He knelt down to Gimli's height and put a hand on his shoulder. "You know that I truly wish to go with you, for I, too, seek adventure, Gimli."
Poppy's face suddenly brightened with a thought. "Would the Faeries be fooled by a disguise, my Lord?" she wondered.
"The lesser of them may be, but the greater Fae would easily recognize my elven light," replied Legolas.
"We could dress you in the manner of a man from Gondor!" said Poppy, "A helmet would hide your wondrous ears, and we would have to cut your hair at the shoulders, but--"
"Cut my hair?" said Legolas.
"Good luck getting him to do that!" muttered Gimli.
"Well--" said Poppy, seeing the distress on the elf's fair face, "maybe we won't have to. You could wear a hooded cloak instead."
Legolas nodded, then smiled. "It shall be dangerous, but I am no coward. I shall guide your way!" he said. "Get ready! We leave at midnight!"
"Leave?" whispered a voice in the door. "So soon? And to where?" The voice was Sam's, and those gathered in the library turned to see him. "Begging your pardons!" said Sam, a bit alarmed, for he had not wished for them to hear him musing to himself. "I was just passing by--I was looking for Mr. Frodo and Mr. Bilbo, see--And now I hear you're all leaving. . .?"
"And begging your pardon, Master Samwise," said Poppy, a bit ruefully, "but I just realized that in my haste, I have neglected to tell neither you, nor Master Baggins, about this dire emergency!"
"Emergency?" said Sam.
"You remember my brother, Faysal, from the Farlands?" Poppy asked. Sam nodded. "Well," she said, "It's a bit unbelievable, but he's been taken, napped!-- by the faeries!"
"Oh, Miss Poppy!" cried Sam. "Why didn't you tell us? We'd 'a organized a rescue party straight-away!"
"This is a dangerous mission, Master Samwise, and I guess why I didn't say anything was because I'd like to put as few lives in danger as possible," said Poppy, with fear in her voice.
"Mr. Frodo's not afraid of dangerous missions," said Sam, "and neither are Mr. Pippin or Mr. Merry! Fairies aren't nothing compared to orcs and cave trolls!"
"Orcs and cave trolls?" said Falco, amazed.
"Seein' as we've dealt with worse before, I don't see why you shouldn't let us help you! We've got quite a bit of experience in these matters," said Sam, with conviction.
"You did say that even 'four of the greatest warriors' could not stand before a faery lord," said Legolas. "Perhaps ten with willing hearts, bearing elvish weapons and Imladris' blessing, would suffice?"
Poppy smiled, for hope rose in her for the first time that evening. "Indeed," she said, "if their hearts be willing, then it may be so."
