Chapter 3: Day Twelve: Fishing
The swan ship bound for Tol Eressea had been at sea for twelve days. Neither crew nor passengers knew how long they would remain there before finding the Undying Lands.
"If we ever find them," Frodo quietly grumbled.
"Oh, we shall find the path," Gandalf steadfastly replied. "Lord Cirdan has built many ships for the voyages to the Uttermost West. This ship is probably his best. Oh! I think there is something on my line."
"Reel it in and let's see," Bilbo said. "I'll get the net." Bilbo and Frodo adapted their Shire clothing for life at sea, shortening their waistcoats so that excess fabric did not become ensnared in the numerous lines, pulleys, blocks and ropes above deck. Gandalf, however, maintained his white robes intact, even when on active duty.
The Wizard and the two hobbits were in charge of the three trawling lines running along the starboard side out in the boat's wake. Bilbo grabbed a small net lashed to a hoop and pole. It was almost too large for the diminutive hobbit to handle. An officer of the ship clad only in a loose shirt and graceful knee-length pants ran over to help.
"Thank you very kindly, Caragil," Bilbo smiled as he directed the dark-haired Elf over to where the Wizard was hauling in the fishing line and becoming more and more soaked doing so.
"Another one of those blue fins with the sword on its head," Frodo said, watching the Wizard, Elf and hobbit attempt to snare the large fighting fish. "Watch out! The net will tear!" Caragil grabbed a nearby hook and managed to harpoon the oversized fish just as the net ripped, sending Bilbo backwards onto the deck with a resounding thunk. The Elf hauled the bloody fish and extra line past a sputtering Gandalf and onto the decking, spearing the heavy iron hook through the fish and into the wooden deck, then nimbly leaping out of the way to keep the thrashing fish from injuring himself in its death throes. Blood and saltwater splashed across the sanded wood and onto the Wizard's pristine robes.
"Bah!" Gandalf dropped the line and snorted in disgust as crimson and yellow fish guts spattered his clothes.
Frodo couldn't help himself and started giggling. "Gandalf the Messy," he chortled.
"No guts, no glory," the Wizard laughed. "I need some help cleaning up."
Frodo quickly turned and grabbed something large. "As you wish," he said. Gandalf barely had time to turn away as a bucket full of water hit him squarely across his backside.
"Well done!" Bilbo laughed, hauling the damaged net aboard ship. "Well done! He asked for it! I heard it! Well done, Frodo! Ah! What a supper! Is it dead? Let's take it to the galley, eh?"
Caragil shouldered the massive fish and followed the elderly hobbit down the steep stairway leading to the below decks, leaving an astounded soaking wet Wizard with a long, loose and quite smelly coil of fishing line at his feet. Frodo was on his hands and knees on the deck in a fit of laughter, holding onto a dripping empty bucket.
"Frodo Baggins!" Gandalf sputtered, "It's a good thing I like you!"
Frodo giggled. "You asked for it! I have witnesses!"
"Indeed, he did. But it is decidedly unwise to test an Istari's friendship." A rather stately, elegant female voice floated down from on top the forecastle's roof. Galadriel stood upon the upper deck, her long limbs clad in the same everyday work clothes favored by the crew, and her glorious golden hair bound into an elaborate braid. She looked quite young and lithesome, and rather androgynous to Frodo's eyes, unused to seeing a female garbed in male clothing. He blushed at the slight reprimand, and also at catching a glimpse of her naked calves and feet. He always felt rather shy in the Elf-Queen's presence, and now that they were all in close quarters on the ship, his bashfulness before her could not be avoided.
"I…I apologize, Gandalf," he stammered out. "And to you, Lady." He stood and began to coil up the fishing line.
"No apology needed, Frodo," Gandalf quietly laughed. "I really enjoy hobbits, you know. I still don't quite understand them, but then again, I've only been studying them for a thousand years now."
Frodo stood aghast. Gandalf's robes were sparkling white; as fresh as the day when Frodo first awoke from his tribulations in Mordor and beheld the reincarnate Gandalf the White. "Uh…" was all he could manage before he noticed the full bucket in Gandalf's hands. A virtual wall of water smote him directly in the chest, sending him butt first into his own empty bucket.
"Turn about is fair play, or so they say in the Shire," Gandalf chuckled. "If there is one thing I've learned from hobbits, it is the fine art of jesting."
Frodo got up and stood there, dripping from head to toe, his clothes clinging to his lean torso, groin and legs in a manner most ungentlemanly-like. Light and bright female laughter floated down from the forecastle. Without hesitation both hobbit and Wizard simultaneously picked up magically refilled buckets, and hit the Elf-Queen squarely mid-laugh with fresh water.
"Wha?" she sputtered as the water ran in rivers across the roof.
'Doesn't look androgynous now,' Frodo smugly thought. He couldn't help but admire the curves. 'Oh, heavens. That was an ungracious thought!'
The entire aboard deck crew and passengers roared in laughter. After a second, Galadriel also laughed. Lord Cirdan paused in his calculations inside his cabin to see what was causing such delight. Upon seeing the dripping hobbit and Elf-Queen, he simply frowned, shook his head, and returned to his work inside.