Chapter Five: Evening Ten: Dancing
The tenth day at sea was trying for all aboard ship. A wall of rain came screaming out of the north, driving the ship sideways and off their path westward. The gallant crew fought the relentless rain, struggling to maintain sails so that the captain could tack back northwestwards. Passengers were ordered below decks. For hours the crew stayed above, working the ropes, pulleys, blocks and canvas until their hands bled into the salty spray. Even the most nimble were secured by slender Elvish ropes to the railings for fear of being washed overboard in the rough seas.
Finally Cirdan called for all sails to be furled and for all hosts, save the helmsman and mate to repair below decks, and all hatches lashed secure. Shadowfax was the last to abandon the main deck. The great Meara finally condescended to the small stable box built for him in the forecastle, wedging himself inside with the store of hay and grain.
"Call out if you need us, my friend," Gandalf said as he closed the stall door and one of the Elvish crew secured it against the wind and driving rain. "I am directly below and will hear."
The white stallion snorted from within the small enclosure. Wizard and elf quickly descended the tiny stairwell in the fore which lead into the main hallway on the first deck below.
"Best to ride this out and then correct course than risk loosing someone," Cirdan said, securing the hatch behind him and joining the rest of the crew and passengers below. Most repaired to their cabins to dry off, tend their bruises and cuts, and eat something.
Frodo was dreadfully ill throughout the morning during the worst of the storm. He commandeered a small brass bucket to replace an open window during his bouts of seasickness. The ship lurched and moaned in the swells. Frodo hunkered down on Bilbo's lower bunk throughout the tempest, afraid to attempt the short climb to his own upper bunk.
"I might be dexterous and quite comfortable climbing trees on dry land, but doing the same thing on a swaying ladder against the unexpected bucking of a ship is quite another thing," he said.
Bilbo nodded his agreement. "Besides, you don't want to be sick all over your bed sheets."
The two hobbits stayed in their cabin for awhile, but Bilbo eventually left after Frodo threw up for the second time.
"I'll be in the mess hall if you need me," he quietly said before closing the door and staggering his way down the hall.
The rain relented of its fury by mid-afternoon, and quieted down to steady showers for the rest of the day. Cirdan allowed selected crew above to reset the sails and free Shadowfax from the confines of his stall. The captain took over helm duty and set a new course to correct their southerly drift. With the help of the constant winds, the ship was back on path by twilight.
Frodo was feeling well enough by dusk to venture out of the cabin. Since there was an abundance of rain water collected, he indulged himself in a bath before changing into fresh clothes. He selected a nice, warm chocolate-colored suit and subtle black and ruby vest, combed his dark wet hair, and went into the galley.
"You're looking a sight better than the last time I saw you." Bilbo smiled upon seeing a fresh-faced Frodo step across the raised door jam and enter the mess. "How are you feeling?"
"Much improved," Frodo smiled, "though I doubt if I shall be able to eat a full meal yet."
"I have just the thing to quiet an unsettled stomach, Young Mister Baggins," the cook said. The dark-haired elf reached under the countertop and pulled out a beautiful crystal bottle filled with golden liquid. The elf retrieved a sparkling cut-glass goblet and filled it half way with the wine. He added cool, fresh water to the goblet, then plopped in a couple of small fresh strawberries and mixed the concoction. He smiled and handed it to Frodo. "Enjoy. It's a bit sweet, but I think that is just what your stomach needs right now."
Frodo took a sip of the sparkling liquid. It was delightful and refreshing. Not at all cloyingly sweet as he had expected. "Thank you. This is wonderful. Do you think the captain will allow me to take this upstairs?"
"Certainly," the cook replied. "Take a couple of these honey rolls with you too. After a few sips of the wine, you might find your appetite has returned." The cook smiled.
Frodo thanked the elf and headed up the stairs towards mid-deck, mindful to not spill a drop of the delicious golden liqueur. He found the deck mostly deserted in the growing darkness. All the luminescent sails had been unfurled into the steady breeze, forming a pattern of soft silver against the passing black clouds within a deep cerulean sky.
Frodo settled himself into a soft coil of Elvish rope stored on top of small wooden crates lashed to the back wall of the forecastle stable. The rope was miraculously dry, although the crates were soaked. Frodo arranged the rope into a fabric chair, using part of it as a back and another part as the seat. He sat crossed-legged, contentedly munching the soft, fresh honey loaves and sipping the strawberry-decorated wine as stars began to appear intermixed with the clouds. He could see the line of weather which had brought the rain moving off, dragging the few remaining clouds with it into the south.
A lone elf dressed in flowing azure and pearl robes appeared at the aft cabins stairwell. Frodo barely recognized him as Arloth, one of the nimble-footed mariners whose main duty seemed to be taking care of the mizzen mast sail. He had spent the long day fighting the gale. Frodo guessed that he had spent the late afternoon and early evening hours resting below decks with the rest of the crew. Arloth silently climbed the stairs and moved to an area of assorted crates mounted starboard of the main mast. He spread the fabric of his tunic, sat down, tucked a violin under his chin, and began to play.
The melody started out low and melancholy. The violinist played without vibrato at first, letting the lower strings fully resonate within the gleaming polished maple. He began with a haunting, sustained line full of sadness at its own loneliness under the endless night sky. As the melody rose, Arloth added the barest touch of vibrato, causing the instrument to cry as a voice to the stars. The song echoed against the wooden shell of the ship, producing a surprising resonance in the crystalline open air.
Frodo stopped eating, entranced by the magical music. He did not notice at first the other elves quietly joining him at the forecastle or silently spreading out all across the main deck. When a soft, low drum began to keep rhythm to the violinist's melody, Frodo shook his head and glanced about. The deck was filled with elves arrayed in long, formal robes in somber colors. Some sat. Some stood. Some gathered in a circle about the main mast.
The addition of the drum indicated a change in the music. Hopefulness and longing replaced melancholy and sadness. The line rose and changed tonalities. The song of the violin played with the rhythm of the drum in a complicated dance of form and intensity.
A female clad in a long, elegant gossamer green dress with threads of shiny black woven in a pattern of swallows in flight began dancing. Frodo had witnessed formal couple and line dancing by elves and men at King Elessar and Queen Arwen's wedding, and had also seen the free dancing by individuals in sheltered woodland glades surrounding Rivendell. This dancing reminded him of the uninhibited woodland dances. She danced unshod upon the simple wooden deck, her long cascading black hair unbound save for a sensuous silver circlet upon her milk-white brow.
She danced in circles about the main mast, the embroidered sleeves of both pale overlay and ivory under dress thrown back to reveal the graceful gestures of her bare arms and hands. She was surrounded by others who sat at her feet. A tall chestnut haired male stepped through the seated circle to join the lone dancer as the tender sounds of lute and pipe joined the instrumental chorus.
Again, the dance shifted to accommodate a change in the music. A complex triple meter replaced the duple, and the drum was abandoned for the sparkling tinkle of a triangle. A flute was added to the consort, acting as a lover to the violin; playing sweet harmony and counterpoint to the lilting song. The two dancers took their cue from the orchestra as their hands joined together and they stepped into a formal courtly dance Frodo had seen at the wedding.
The hobbit took another sip of his wine and settled back into the rope chair. Blessed darkness, enchanting music and poetry in lithe limbs had enveloped the ship in a mysterious cocoon of sweet nostalgia.
Other couples rose from their places on the deck and joined the dance. They formed a ring around the main mast and joined hands, facing center. Three steps to the right; RLR. Twirl about towards the left; LRL. Rejoin hands and again face the center; RLR. A large forward step with two smaller swaying in-place steps; LRL. Back again and the two smaller in-place steps; LRL. The pattern repeated; the circle slowly advancing to the right with every iteration. Frodo was mesmerized by the subtle shifting pattern and the always modulating music.
The flutist began a solemn march, and the circle of dancers broke apart. The tempo quickened as drum and lute followed the flute's lead. All the females sat down in a circle. The males formed a connected line inside the circle facing the center; left hand on the right shoulder of the person to their left. Frodo had a difficult time following the quick movements. The march consisted of a confusing pattern of stomps, dips and twists in unison.
"Thank goodness they know what they're doing, or else someone would end up inadvertently kicking their neighbor."
Frodo quietly chucked and took a sip as Bilbo joined him on the ropes.
"Care for a strawberry?" Frodo whispered, fishing out the wine-laced fruit with his fingers.
Bilbo opened his mouth like a baby bird, and Frodo plopped the strawberry in. Bilbo's right hand held a matching crystal goblet filled with golden wine, and the left clasped a full decanter. "Ummm….. Very nice. Care for a refill?"
Frodo nodded and they both settled in to watch the dancing. The march was over and the males had joined their companions in sitting around the circle. A slender elf-maid began singing. Frodo recognized the lay as part of the Song of Praise to Elbereth. He really did not comprehend all of the Sindarin words yet, but understood far more now than he had the last time he heard the song sung in Rivendell.
The vocalist and flutist took turns voicing the melody. Each musician added their own subtle interpretation and variation to the familiar tome. Sometimes it was a solo. Sometimes it was a duet. Always it was hypnotic.
The effects of the wine and soft music, swaying bodies and tender darkness took their toll on the sleepy hobbits. The last thing Frodo remembered before slipping into quiet slumber was a tall, golden figure clad in purest white. She floated into the circle and began to dance. Her long, wavy gold and silver hair was loose, and the slight wind kissed it into animation. A few left-over raindrops fell from the sky, but they dispersed about her in a thousand midnight rainbows. The Lady of the Golden Wood danced to the blessed stars, and Frodo closed his eyes.