Chapter Twelve
Leaving Lorien
I woke early, not used to being on the ground. Everyone was already up around me, though no one was doing much. I visited the bathing pool, and then walked around saying silent goodbyes to the land of Lothlorien.
When I returned, sad but refreshed, I found the company packing, though no one seemed to have a great deal of baggage. A group of elves bearing gifts was also in attendance. The farewell presents seemed to be mostly in the form of food and clothing. I snuck a corner of the leaf-wrapped something Gimli was munching, listening to the elf who was telling him that the somethings were called lembas, and that he shouldn't eat them now, as they were for long journeys. The things looked and tasted for all the world like very expensive graham crackers.
The elves, whom, I noticed, all spoke the common tongue, had also brought each of us a hooded cloak, sized to fit. I hesitated to call their color camouflage, for it was not the mottled green-brown of fatigues; they were not really one color at all, but shifted to match light and background. Pippin beat me to asking if they were magical, which was fine, because he got smirked at.
I slung my not-magic cloak on, and immediately resolved never to take it off. It was light and soft, alternately warm and cool, like silk. I could well imagine that, as the elves told us before they disappeared, the fabric had been woven my Galadriel and her maidens themselves.
The fellowship breakfasted, and then the elf whom Legolas had beaten at archery appeared. Haldir, I remembered. He spoke what seemed to me random ill news, and then said he had come to take us south. So we went south, with me straggling after Boromir.
Caras Galadhon looked deserted, but unseen voices in the trees above us spoke and sang softly. We passed out through the great lamp-lit gates onto a road paved with white stones, and so left the city of the Galadhrim. Presently, Haldir led us off the road, through a cluster of mellyrn, and on down the gray-wooded hills. No one spoke.
We walked like this until the sun rose high in the cloudless heavens, something near ten miles, I supposed. For my part, I slogged along at the end, tired and bored, trying to ignore the piteous glances the hobbits were shooting at me. Boromir's dropping back with a quiet offer to carry my pack was the final straw. I stumped up to walk beside Haldir. He offered me only an aristocratic glance, and I saw that he wasn't even sweating. Perhaps elves didn't sweat. Musing on this, I doggedly kept pace, thumping my staff on the ground at each step.
I had my head down, which nearly caused me to run into the wall of greenery that rose in front of us. Another disdainful glance came my way as Haldir stepped through a gap in it. I followed, catching my breath at the pastoral landscape before us.
Grass so lush it begged to be rolled in spread longer than it was wide, studded with tiny yellow blossoms. I stooped to pick one, noticing the silvery eastern stream that vied for beauty with the mighty rolling river to the west. Trees spread beyond these watery borders, but they seem bare and dead, for no mellyrn grew among them.
On the bank of the stream was a little white cove, at its dock were moored many boats. Some of them were quite magnificent, painted in jewel-bright hues, but most were pale gray or white. All of them looked sturdy and light; well made things. I wondered which were to be ours.
The elves stowed our meager baggage in three wide, dove gray canoes. They also added coils of rope, which seemed for some reason to intrigue Sam.
When everything had been packed away, Haldir told us to get in, but to be careful. He told us that the boats would serve our purposes, but that they would not take kindly to mishandling. I hung back, waiting to see which of the hobbits would get the first bath. None of them did, though Aragorn narrowly saved Sam from a dunking while supervising the getting in and out practice.
I liked boating of all kinds, but preferred kayaks to canoes. Merry and Pippin seemed enthusiastic, as well, and they were bundled into the first boat to stop them scaring Sam with tales of their exploits on the Brandywine River, Boromir behind them. I noted that he seemed at ease in the boat, if not quite in his element.
This left Aragorn, Frodo, and a quivering, greenish Sam still in conversation with the elves, and Legolas trying to coerce Gimli into a boat. He was going about it all the wrong way, too: by hopping in himself and paddling about to show how easy it is. The dwarf held forth quite eloquently on the evils of water travel, but when I seated myself in the prow, he got in, grumbling. Legolas continued his deft strokes while I located a paddle. These were short, beautifully carved affairs, their blades made to look like leaves.
We held our boat against the current and had a great deal of fun watching the attempts to get Sam into the third boat. In the end, Strider sat in the stern with Frodo in front of him. Sam climbed laboriously in when Frodo called to him, nearly capsizing the vessel. He seemed to be willing to follow Frodo anywhere: I had gleaned from watching the hobbits that Sam was something of his servant, as well as his friend. But not even this could stop him clutching the sides of the boat for dear life.
Aragorn proposed that we take the boats up the silver stream to try them out. This struck me as dead boring, so I looked back at Legolas, who managed the boat like one born in the water. "Do you fancy a race?" I asked quietly in elvish.
The elves eyes lit with a near-frightening competitive gleam. He raised his voice in the common tongue: "Aragorn, Boromir! A race?"
Gimli and Sam's shouts of protest were drowned out by Boromir and the other hobbit as they shouted assent. We made a pretense of lining the boats up, and then one of the elves on the shore counted off for us.
At the signal, Legolas and I dug our paddles into the water beneath us, gaining the lead. It was hard going, for said water was swift-flowing, and we were paddling against it. Our boat did, however, have two rowers to the others' one. I also knew that Pippin's bouncing and Sam's shaking weren't helping them.
This unfair advantage got us to the elf marking the finish line half a boat's length before Aragorn or Boromir. However, we had agreed to a relay race, and they had wised up, so why our boat was celebrating, the two men simply removed their paddles from the water, letting their respective boats drift back to the dock. Gimli was the first to notice this tactic, but by the time Legolas and I got our acts together, Boromir's boat had bumped the bank, with Aragorn's a hairsbreadth behind. They waited for us to catch up before setting off down the Great River.
No paddling was really necessary, because the current was with us now. I followed Legolas' lead, though, stroking lazily to stay ahead. The three boats spread out in the wide water, ours nearest the eastern shore, Aragorn's in the middle with Boromir's toward the western bank. The day was crisp and clear, silent except for faint birdsong. There was no wind. Here and there in the gray-green water floated golden mallorn leaves, like water lilies.
I had made up my mind to try and make conversation with the elf and the dwarf when we rounded a sharp bend in the river, finding ourselves confronted with a giant swan.
Leaving Lorien
I woke early, not used to being on the ground. Everyone was already up around me, though no one was doing much. I visited the bathing pool, and then walked around saying silent goodbyes to the land of Lothlorien.
When I returned, sad but refreshed, I found the company packing, though no one seemed to have a great deal of baggage. A group of elves bearing gifts was also in attendance. The farewell presents seemed to be mostly in the form of food and clothing. I snuck a corner of the leaf-wrapped something Gimli was munching, listening to the elf who was telling him that the somethings were called lembas, and that he shouldn't eat them now, as they were for long journeys. The things looked and tasted for all the world like very expensive graham crackers.
The elves, whom, I noticed, all spoke the common tongue, had also brought each of us a hooded cloak, sized to fit. I hesitated to call their color camouflage, for it was not the mottled green-brown of fatigues; they were not really one color at all, but shifted to match light and background. Pippin beat me to asking if they were magical, which was fine, because he got smirked at.
I slung my not-magic cloak on, and immediately resolved never to take it off. It was light and soft, alternately warm and cool, like silk. I could well imagine that, as the elves told us before they disappeared, the fabric had been woven my Galadriel and her maidens themselves.
The fellowship breakfasted, and then the elf whom Legolas had beaten at archery appeared. Haldir, I remembered. He spoke what seemed to me random ill news, and then said he had come to take us south. So we went south, with me straggling after Boromir.
Caras Galadhon looked deserted, but unseen voices in the trees above us spoke and sang softly. We passed out through the great lamp-lit gates onto a road paved with white stones, and so left the city of the Galadhrim. Presently, Haldir led us off the road, through a cluster of mellyrn, and on down the gray-wooded hills. No one spoke.
We walked like this until the sun rose high in the cloudless heavens, something near ten miles, I supposed. For my part, I slogged along at the end, tired and bored, trying to ignore the piteous glances the hobbits were shooting at me. Boromir's dropping back with a quiet offer to carry my pack was the final straw. I stumped up to walk beside Haldir. He offered me only an aristocratic glance, and I saw that he wasn't even sweating. Perhaps elves didn't sweat. Musing on this, I doggedly kept pace, thumping my staff on the ground at each step.
I had my head down, which nearly caused me to run into the wall of greenery that rose in front of us. Another disdainful glance came my way as Haldir stepped through a gap in it. I followed, catching my breath at the pastoral landscape before us.
Grass so lush it begged to be rolled in spread longer than it was wide, studded with tiny yellow blossoms. I stooped to pick one, noticing the silvery eastern stream that vied for beauty with the mighty rolling river to the west. Trees spread beyond these watery borders, but they seem bare and dead, for no mellyrn grew among them.
On the bank of the stream was a little white cove, at its dock were moored many boats. Some of them were quite magnificent, painted in jewel-bright hues, but most were pale gray or white. All of them looked sturdy and light; well made things. I wondered which were to be ours.
The elves stowed our meager baggage in three wide, dove gray canoes. They also added coils of rope, which seemed for some reason to intrigue Sam.
When everything had been packed away, Haldir told us to get in, but to be careful. He told us that the boats would serve our purposes, but that they would not take kindly to mishandling. I hung back, waiting to see which of the hobbits would get the first bath. None of them did, though Aragorn narrowly saved Sam from a dunking while supervising the getting in and out practice.
I liked boating of all kinds, but preferred kayaks to canoes. Merry and Pippin seemed enthusiastic, as well, and they were bundled into the first boat to stop them scaring Sam with tales of their exploits on the Brandywine River, Boromir behind them. I noted that he seemed at ease in the boat, if not quite in his element.
This left Aragorn, Frodo, and a quivering, greenish Sam still in conversation with the elves, and Legolas trying to coerce Gimli into a boat. He was going about it all the wrong way, too: by hopping in himself and paddling about to show how easy it is. The dwarf held forth quite eloquently on the evils of water travel, but when I seated myself in the prow, he got in, grumbling. Legolas continued his deft strokes while I located a paddle. These were short, beautifully carved affairs, their blades made to look like leaves.
We held our boat against the current and had a great deal of fun watching the attempts to get Sam into the third boat. In the end, Strider sat in the stern with Frodo in front of him. Sam climbed laboriously in when Frodo called to him, nearly capsizing the vessel. He seemed to be willing to follow Frodo anywhere: I had gleaned from watching the hobbits that Sam was something of his servant, as well as his friend. But not even this could stop him clutching the sides of the boat for dear life.
Aragorn proposed that we take the boats up the silver stream to try them out. This struck me as dead boring, so I looked back at Legolas, who managed the boat like one born in the water. "Do you fancy a race?" I asked quietly in elvish.
The elves eyes lit with a near-frightening competitive gleam. He raised his voice in the common tongue: "Aragorn, Boromir! A race?"
Gimli and Sam's shouts of protest were drowned out by Boromir and the other hobbit as they shouted assent. We made a pretense of lining the boats up, and then one of the elves on the shore counted off for us.
At the signal, Legolas and I dug our paddles into the water beneath us, gaining the lead. It was hard going, for said water was swift-flowing, and we were paddling against it. Our boat did, however, have two rowers to the others' one. I also knew that Pippin's bouncing and Sam's shaking weren't helping them.
This unfair advantage got us to the elf marking the finish line half a boat's length before Aragorn or Boromir. However, we had agreed to a relay race, and they had wised up, so why our boat was celebrating, the two men simply removed their paddles from the water, letting their respective boats drift back to the dock. Gimli was the first to notice this tactic, but by the time Legolas and I got our acts together, Boromir's boat had bumped the bank, with Aragorn's a hairsbreadth behind. They waited for us to catch up before setting off down the Great River.
No paddling was really necessary, because the current was with us now. I followed Legolas' lead, though, stroking lazily to stay ahead. The three boats spread out in the wide water, ours nearest the eastern shore, Aragorn's in the middle with Boromir's toward the western bank. The day was crisp and clear, silent except for faint birdsong. There was no wind. Here and there in the gray-green water floated golden mallorn leaves, like water lilies.
I had made up my mind to try and make conversation with the elf and the dwarf when we rounded a sharp bend in the river, finding ourselves confronted with a giant swan.