Disclaimer: Frankly, I'd be much more concerned about me plotting to take OVER the entire movie industry (four words: access to hot actors) rather than merely claiming to own something.
A/N: Well…I suppose an explanation is in order, since I've been incredibly inactive for like a month or so. I started school, so I've been really busy with work and extracurricular activities, and I've been trying to get my act together about this. I've got a super heavy course load this year and it's taking time to adjust. I had a huge summer assignment I had to finish too and all that jazz. So my nerves have been a little frayed for the past couple of weeks, but I'm home sick with a cold today, so I figured I'd better get some chapters written today. This has been close to finished for awhile now, but I had to revise and…argh. I'm tired.
OVER 400 REVIEWS!!! I LOVE YOU GUYS!!! (chocolates and gummy bears for all!)
Little Known Fact: There was actually a conflict in Canada called the Beaver Wars. My personal favorite is the War of Jenkins' Ear.
Guess what? I'm now the proud and deliriously happy owner of The Two Towers on DVD! I haven't really watched it yet—just a couple of scenes I needed to see in order to write this chapter along with the scene where Gollum talks to himself (one of my favorites).
I'd like to correct something from the last chapter: the dedication was supposed to be for everyone who's ever read and/or reviewed this story. Sorry about that.
In other news: The Truth About Elves has been online for one whole year, as of August 12, 2003. Anyway, I noticed that and decided to share it with you and distribute virtual birthday cake. (Throws cake and confetti into the air) Woo hoo!
Speaking of birthdays…(drum roll) I am now sixteen years old! YAY! My birthday was September 10. Anyway…
I also saw Rooney in concert this past Saturday. It was totally amazing. I took lotsa pictures, but unfortunately, I didn't get to meet them—you needed a VIP pass. But that's okay—they'll be back. PS. Check out their website…they're really great. Oh, if you've seen Princess Diaries, the guy who plays Michael Moscovitz is the leader of the band.
Chapter Thirty
(Whoa…big numbers!)
"I would kill for a cheeseburger right about now," I muttered to my plate as I poked at a particularly singed piece of toast. "With a large order of fries and a thick vanilla milkshake." I scraped a hunk of butter over the top with a knife, hoping that it would either soften the bread or improve the taste.
"What's that you're saying?" Celia inquired as she folded up one of the shirts I had left on the floor and placed it neatly in my pack. "And what on earth happened to this bed?" She abandoned the pack on the floor and hustled over to straighten out the mound of twisted sheets and blankets.
"Philosophical 'discussion,'" I replied through a mouthful of toast and butter, inwardly thinking Ha, I wish…
"You're sending me to an early grave, milady," Celia scolded, snapping a sheet into place with a little more force than necessary. "Where you pick up this language is beyond me—your companions are all very well spoken, perhaps with the exception of that Dwarf." I chuckled as I brushed a few stray crumbs from my shirt. "But even he knows when to mind himself—which is more than I can say for you, milady." She smoothed a blanket over the surface of the bed and stepped back to admire her handiwork.
"You set yourself up for these things," I shrugged, popping the last piece of crust into my mouth. She huffed in exasperation, retrieving another one of my shirts from the floor and folding it into a neat little rectangle. I rolled my eyes and selected another piece of toast.
"I had your clothes cleaned and mended," Celia announced as I spread a generous amount of jam onto my toast, wondering if it would taste better than the butter (which hadn't done much in terms of making the toast taste any less burnt). She pulled a shirt out of the laundry basket she had brought in earlier and smoothed it out on the bed. "Very good quality, these clothes, but the stitching was coming undone on the sleeve."
"Thank you," I mumbled, spraying crumbs all over the table and tray. I swallowed and swept them into my hand. "They're Elvish. Either from Rivendell or Lothlorien; I can't remember." Celia inspected the fabric with a little more curiosity.
"I thought there was something diff'rent about them," she stated, admiring the stitching at the collar. "They're quite beautiful, rare piece of work. You be sure to take care of 'em. It's a privilege indeed to own something like this." She gave me a reproving glance before delicately placing the shirt in my pack. "I found a couple other shirts and tunics that looked to be about your size and a pair of pants my boy used to wear. They may be a little big on you, but they'll do," she said, removing several folded shirts from the laundry basket.
"Aw…thank you…" I replied, at a loss for what to say. "You shouldn't have," I added for good measure. She shrugged good-naturedly
"I figure if you insist upon going out and fighting with the men, you ought to have a few more things to wear than what you've got," she explained. "And," she continued, raising her eyebrows in a gentle scold, "I have some personal belongings of yours that you left at the hands of our guards." She withdrew my sheathed sword from the basket, along with my quiver of arrows. "Do these look familiar?" she inquired, looking slightly dissatisfied with my lack of responsibility.
"My baby!" I exclaimed, dropping my toast on my plate as I rushed over and grabbed my sword. "I missed you so much!" I cooed, rubbing a smudge of dirt from the hilt.
"Yet apparently not enough to look after it properly," muttered Celia as I buckled it onto my waist.
"Don't you listen to her," I whispered loudly. Celia rolled her eyes and began strapping the quiver to my pack.
"Stop babbling and get your cloak on. The wind was quite nippy this morning; I don't want you catching a cold," she instructed, reaching for the bow.
I was just about to point out that I couldn't catch a cold because elves are immune to all pestilence, blah, blah, blah, when a soft knock sounded at the door.
"I'll get that, you get your cloak on," Celia said as I went to answer the door. I sighed and slouched back to the bathroom door where my cloak was hanging on a hook.
Celia opened the door to reveal a smallish boy of about eight with a freckle-spattered nose, standing on the threshold.
"G'morning, Corin*," Celia greeted warmly as I swept the cloak over my shoulders. "What's your errand?"
He grinned and dug in his pockets for a moment before producing a slightly wrinkled piece of parchment, folded and sealed.
"I'm sup'osed to deliver this to Miss Logan from a genl'man downstairs. 'E says 's urgent," he stated, looking rather proud of himself.
"Thank you, Corin," Celia said, accepting the note. "Mistress," she called over her shoulder, nodding to me. I approached her slowly, my hand automatically reaching inside my pocket. My fingers closed around the small scrap of paper and I breathed a sigh of relief. I took the note from her outstretched hands and inspected the seal. It was very elaborate, with big flourishes and several mysterious runes that looked to be some form of Elvish. After squinting at it for several minutes, I was able to make out what I thought resembled an 'a'. Making a mental note to tell Aragorn that he desperately needed a new seal (preferably one that was really obvious, like a big capital 'a' or something like "This is from Aragorn. AKA Estel, 'Gorny, and Pookie (to Arwen, of course)" in bold letters), I broke the seal with my thumb and unfolded the letter.
Dear Haley (or Duck, whichever you prefer), it read. I wrinkled my nose in annoyance and continued. Your presence is requested immediately (Gimli comments on your usual tardiness and advises you not to dawdle). We will be going to the stables soon, so please hurry (direct quote from our dear Dwarf: "What in all of Middle-earth is she doing up there?" (Legolas suggests that you might have retired and gone back to bed) "Well, whatever she's doing, she ought to take her own advice and 'move it.'") Corin will know where to take you. It would be advisable to retrieve your belongings now. Our journey begins today and we have little time to spare. Also, I ask that you please try to aggravate Gimli less than usual today. He is in a rather foul mood this morning. Regards, Aragorn. Underneath the Ranger's name, Legolas had written in his familiar neat script: (Fondly known as 'Gorny). Hurry. You're quite late.
"Since when is everyone so sarcastic?" I demanded, frowning at the paper before folding it up and cramming it into my pocket. "That's my job. Anyhow, I gotta go before that vein in Aragorn's forehead bursts or Gimli goes on a homicidal rage or something." I picked up my pack and grabbed my hunting knife from where it was nestled in the laundry basket, stuffing it into my boot as an afterthought. The next time we have to disarm, the Living Swiss Army Knives are not showing me up.
"Okay. I'm all set," I said, adjusting the straps on my shoulder. "Thank you very much for putting up with me," I said to Celia with a grin. "I appreciate it. And thank you for the clothes. That was really nice of you." She smiled softly.
"You're most welcome, milady."
"I guess I'll be seeing you around. But in case I don't, it's been really great hanging out with you and I'm really grateful for all you've done for me," I said, feeling slightly teary at the prospect of never seeing Celia again. Despite her tendency to nag and scold me till kingdom come, it was nice having a motherly figure in my life again.
"You're welcome, milady," she repeated with a smile.
"Puh-leez," I replied, rolling my eyes. "You can call me Haley, for God's sake. I've been meaning to tell you that. I'm hardly nobility and I definitely couldn't call someone 'my lady' if they were as sarcastic as me." She nodded and held back a laugh with the back of her hand.
"Goodbye, mil—Haley," she corrected herself. I smiled.
"Bye Celia," I said, shutting the door behind me. "Okay," I said, turning to Corin, who had been picking at his fingernails for the last couple of minutes. "Where to?"
"This way," he instructed, suddenly becoming uninterested in the state of his nails. He took off down the hall and I had to speed walk to keep up with him.
"Why're you wearin' men's clothes?" he asked as we turned a corner. He had evidently been waiting until we were out of Celia's earshot to ask this question—it would definitely had been a breach of etiquette in her book. Not that I minded; I was usually the one asking inane questions that weren't exactly appropriate.
"Well…I have the privilege of riding a horse, and trying to do that in a dress would not only be stupid, it'd be dangerous because they'd make me ride sidesaddle. I can barely stay on a horse when I'm riding astride; I'd break my neck if I even tried to ride sidesaddle. I'm also going to be fighting, and if I tried that in a dress, it'd get in the way and I'd fall flat on my face. And lastly, dresses are a major pain in the ass, especially since you have to sit with your legs crossed and your feet start to fall asleep after awhile," I explained, adjusting my sword as I talked. Corin looked at me in disbelief—I think it might have had something to do with the fact that I used 'ass' in a sentence without referring to a donkey. The women around here definitely need to learn how to swear. "And if I keep talking, we're going to be even later and then Aragorn will chew me out, Gimli will bitch about it until he finds something else wrong with me and then he'll complain about that AND the fact that I was late, and Legolas will give me that superior look of his and make me diagram sentences. Consequently, I'll have to be a smart-ass for the rest of the day, but then again, I'm normally a smart-ass anyway, so I guess it doesn't matter." I took a deep breath and smiled at Corin to show that I wasn't nearly as insane as I sounded.
"Do you always talk this much?" he asked after a moment.
"Nope. Usually more."
"Oh."
We continued on in silence, interrupted only when Corin found it necessary to ask me another question ("Is tha' an Elvish sword?") to which I would give a complicated five-minute explanation.
I started to feel like Anne from Anne of Green Gables when she first arrives at Green Gables. Her responses lasted pages…
Corin eventually led me to surprise, surprise, the Great Hall. You would think that after all the time I had spent in there, I would at least know how to get there. However, my sense of direction (if I even have one) had eluded me so far, so I had to be led around by an eight-year-old boy, like a dog on a leash.
Oh well.
Aragorn was standing with his back facing toward me and shifting impatiently, occasionally leaning over to talk to Gandalf. Gimli was standing next to Gandalf, leaning on his axe, and looking grumpy while complaining to Legolas, who obviously wasn't listening. I walked into the Hall, followed closely by Corin, and stood between Gandalf and Aragorn.
"Good," said Aragorn once he took note of my presence. "Where were you?" He said this almost accusingly, like he suspected that I had been out smoking by the outhouse or something. "Thank you, Corin," he said to the boy, handing him a silver coin. The boy looked at the coin in amazement, his face glowing with excitement.
"You're welcome, milord," he replied after a moment, grinning so I could see nearly all of his teeth. He gave a clumsy bow before scampering off with his newly gained treasure.
"Good morning to you, too," I returned sarcastically once Corin had disappeared through one of the many doors leading from the hall. "I was eating my breakfast in my room, which, last time I checked, is perfectly permissible. Unless it's been strictly forbidden in the last half-hour, that is." Aragorn sighed.
"Well, it should be, for all the time you've wasted up there," grumbled Gimli.
"Excuse me for living," I retorted, completely ignoring the warning look Aragorn was giving me (which was extremely lacking in subtlety). Gandalf cleared his throat and smiled at me in greeting, most likely to discourage any future Dwarf-Elf hand-to-axe combat. It was just like the old times, as hokey as that sounds.
"We should be going," Aragorn advised, using this rare moment of peace to his advantage. "It is growing late."
"Indeed it is," Gandalf said, looking up at one of the high windows, almost as if he were searching for some sort of invisible clock. "Come," he instructed, turning on his heal and walking briskly across the hall, his staff clacking against the floor with every step.
"Thank you Mr. Sarcasm," I said under my breath, falling into step with Legolas. I instinctively reached inside my pocket, my fingers closing around the note. It was still safe. I breathed a small sigh of relief. He smiled softly and shrugged.
"It seemed appropriate."
"You're weird," I countered. He murmured something in Sindarin that sounded suspiciously like an insult. Gandalf looked rather amused and Aragorn looked back at us and chuckled. I glared at both Legolas and Aragorn. "Legolas Greenleaf, you will rue the day that I finally figure out what the hell you're saying. Until then, vous êtes une personne folle avec les cheveux parfaits et votre chat est verte et très polie,"** I replied, desperately trying to remember tenth grade French. Nina, the girl who sat next to me, had once taught me several useful French swear words, but I could neither remember nor pronounce them correctly, so I settled for "you are a crazy person with perfect hair and your cat is green and very polite." It didn't have to make sense; it just had to confuse them.
"What?" Aragorn inquired after a moment of complete silence. I simply laughed and sang, "I know something you don't know…" under my breath.
***
"By order of the King, the city must empty!" shouted a guard as we made our way to the stables. Flocks of peasants bedecked in rags gathered around him curiously. "We make for the refuge of Helm's Deep." There was a collective gasp within the group and many faces became stony and quiet. "Do not burden yourself with treasures. Take only what provisions you need."
"Helm's Deep!" exclaimed Gimli with disgust. "They flee to the mountains when they should stand and fight! Who will defend them if not their king?"
"See, this is why you aren't in a position of political power," I told Gimli, narrowly avoiding a large pile of manure. "All of your solutions involve hacking people up into tiny bits."
"He is only doing what he thinks is best for his people," interjected Aragorn, giving me a warning look. I smiled innocently. "Helm's Deep has saved them in the past." We walked through a large open doorway into what I assumed were the stables. The mingling scents of hay, manure, and horse wafted into my nostrils and I had the feeling that I would smell like a horse for several days, which isn't a good thing if you're trying to get a guy to notice you.
"There is no way out of that ravine," Gandalf said bitterly as we walked across the hay-strewn floor, passing a beautiful black horse with a thick shiny mane and sweet brown eyes. "Théoden is walking into a trap."
"I want one," I informed Legolas, pointing at the horse. He ignored me and held his hand out to a small grey one in the adjacent stall.
"He thinks he's leading them to safety," continued Gandalf in a low, worried tone as Aragorn opened the gate to Shadowfax's stall for him, "but what he'll get is a massacre." I shivered involuntarily. Legolas was murmuring softly to the grey horse and rubbing its nose softly. "Théoden has a strong will, but I fear for him. I fear for the survival of Rohan." Another chill went up and down my spine. If Gandalf, a wise wizard with Lord knows how many powers, was getting freaked out, then there was definitely something to worry about. The solid comfort I always found in Gandalf's words was slowly slipping away into a stream of fear and doubt. "He will need you before the end, Aragorn," he said to the Ranger quietly and seriously. "The people of Rohan will need you." Aragorn looked back solemnly, his feelings hidden beneath his emotionless countenance. "The defenses have to hold," Gandalf said, looking intensely into Aragorn's eyes. Aragorn nodded softly
"They will hold," he replied. Gandalf looked at him for a moment, seeming slightly confident at Aragorn's words, the faintest shadow of worry lingering upon his face. He finally turned to Shadowfax (who had remained completely silent for the entire conversation) and placed a hand on his broad back.
"The Grey Pilgrim," he said, stroking the horse's silky white coat. "That's what they used to call me." He paused. "Three hundred lives of Men I've walked this earth and now I have no time." His gaze became distant, seeming to focus on something invisible to the rest of us. "With luck," he said as Aragorn began to open the stall door, "my search will not be in vain." He climbed upon the Shadowfax's back in one fluid motion.
"Hey, wait a minute…" I said, crossing my arms across my chest. "Just where do you think you're going? You just got here…we need you…" His eyes twinkled momentarily and a smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
"With all hope I will not be gone long…look to my coming at the first light on the fifth day…"
"FIVE days?" I asked incredulously, my jaw dropping.
"At dawn, look to the east," he instructed, politely ignoring my little outburst.
"Go," said Aragorn quietly, tilting his head slightly toward the door.
"What?" I demanded indignantly. Gandalf took a deep breath and exhaled sharply and Shadowfax took off like a bat out of hell, causing Legolas and Gimli to quickly press themselves against the stalls in order to avoid being trampled.
"What the—give a guy a staff and suddenly he gets to run all over without telling people where the heck he's going…" I muttered as Gandalf and Shadowfax disappeared from sight.
"If you hadn't been so late…" Gimli began smugly.
I rolled my eyes and chose to ignore him.
A/N: New chapter to follow very shortly, I promise. Exciting-ness…heh heh…