Chapter Twelve: Of Bananas and Scarves
"And I use mouthwash, Sometimes I floss,
I've got a family, And I drink cups of tea,
I've got nostalgic pavements,
I've got familiar faces,
I've got a mixed-up memory,
And I've got favourite places."
- Kate Nash, Mouthwash.
It was indescribable. Well, not quite. Here are a few words to distinguish the next few weeks of walking; Horrible. Painful. So. Much. Walking. Boring. Glue. The last was one of Elizabeth's choosing. I didn't want to ask. They get to the Eregion Hills in good time. One could only describe that as rocky. When someone proposed to stop, no one argued. All she could do was try not to collapse on the ground and pant. Instead she sat on a rock, stretching out her legs and hear the joints click in response to the work they hadn't been accustomed to doing.
"Are we nearly there yet?" She sing-songed from her rock.
"Not even close." Called Aragorn, who was laying back on the only grassy bank in sight, smoking his pipe. He was in a good mood, for once, and not being all I m-second-in-command-so-I-must-put-on-a-good-face kind of pleasant, just a hey-guys-I'm-going-to-smoke-my-pipe-and-laugh- jovially kind of pleasant. It made a relaxing change.
"Get away from the blade, Pippin. On your toes, very good. I want you to react, not think." Boromir was giving Merry and Pippin sword tuition and, as far as she could tell, they were doing well. They were better than her, anyhow.
It had come to the point in the quest where things started to get serious. She knew perfectly well what was going to happen and was going to try her hardest to stop the negatives from occurring. She was only mildly jiggered that none of her travelling associates had wondered why she was always a few seconds ahead of time. Although, nothing very exiting has come about yet. I'm just hoping I get to shout, Crebain from Dunland! at the same time as Legolas. That should sufficiently freak them out.
"Can I ask something?" She sloped off the rock (She feeling a bit mermaid-y in the way she was sitting and really didn't want to start swooning all over the place. Or grow a tail. That would be just as bad.) and went to sit opposite Gandalf.
"Ask away." The Istari in question said, blowing smoke rings.
"You know," She sniggered, preoccupied by the fancy smoke rings. "You are what you eat. Before you know it, you'll guiding us as a wisp of smoke. I would never get to high five you again."
"When have you ever 'high fived' me, as you put it?"
"Um, never." She immediately leaned over and tapped her palm with his. Regrettably, he had been caught unaware and was so startled he dropped his pipe.
"Elizabeth!" Gaped Frodo. "Did you hit Gandalf?"
"Oh, God! No! I was trying to high five him!" She explained rapidly. The wizard in the background retrieved his pipe and muttered about how he was getting too old for this.
"What is a 'high five'?" Boromir asked, pausing his tutorial.
"I'll show you." Getting up once again, she demonstrated the subtle art of the 'high five'. It was safe to say that no one was very impressed.
"So, all you're doing is slapping hands?" asked Merry.
"Yeah, basically." Her brow crumpled. "It's a way of expressing accomplishment or happiness."
"We will make an effort to do it more often," stated Gandalf, dryly. "What was your question?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah. Why are we called the Fellowship of the Ring? Couldn't someone think of a better name?"
"What would you suggest?"
"How about...uh... The Fellowship of the Bling?"
"Eh?"
"It makes more sense. The Ring, although a little tacky in my opinion, is bling. Plus..." Boromir was back to giving Pip and Merry fighting tips, shaking his head, as if to say, 'Crazy girl.' and saying encouraging things such as 'Move your feet!' and so on and so forth. Gimli was trying to corner Gandalf. Legolas was playing look-out and was doing a very good job until Elizabeth stopped talking with Gandalf and started talking to him. "Hey, Legolas?"
"Yes?" His line of vision was on something far away. It's Crebain from Dunland!
"Why do you always keep your hair tied back?"
He tore his eyes from the horizon." It is traditional of my race and it is practical."
"That's boring. Watch this!" She shook out her hair from it's tie and the group watched, with the deepest surprise and horror, as she did something no one thought she would do. "I whip my hair back and forth, I whip my hair back and forth!" She tossed her hair from side to side.
"What's she doing, Merry?" Whispered Pippin, distracted from his sparring by Elizabeth's hair whipping technique.
"I don't know, Pip. Do you think we should help her?"
"Why?"
"She might be having a fit."
"Oh. What should we do?"
"Let's ask Strider..." Elizabeth was still doing her best to impersonate Willow Smith, but all she succeeded in doing was confirming all assumptions that she was a few threads short of a jumper and almost falling off the rock with her vigorous whipping.
"I'm telling you, you should just let your hair be freeeeeee!" She laughed.
"I think I'll pass." Legolas murmured, slowly edging away. He didn't want to be hit by a stray lock of hair travelling at around 40 miles per hour.
"You will make yourself ill." Warned Aragorn.
"I'll take my chances, Dad!" She giggled. Oi! Boromir! Come and- wow!" She tripped on an unforeseen stone, which she probably should have foreseen, with her being where she was and all. She fell hard, knee scraping painfully against the ground and grazing her knuckles in an effort to catch herself. Ow...
"Lady?" Boromir's voice floated by.
"Yeah?"
"Did you fall?"
"Nope. The wind pushed me." She groaned and stood up, wincing as her knee throbbed. Won't be whipping my hair again in a hurry. Aragorn watched with puzzlement. How did she manage to fall? He cast it out of his mind.
"If anyone were to ask for my opinion which, I note, they have not, I would say we are taking the long way round. Gandalf, we can pass through the Mines of Moria. My cousin Balin would give us a royal welcome." Elizabeth sat back on the original rock, letting the familiar conversation drift over her and glaring at the pebble that had rudely tripped her up.
"No, Gimli. I would not take the road through Moria unless I had no other choice." I could just tell him it's the path we take anyway. But, then again, I want to make snowmen.
"What is that?"
She supplied the answer. "Crebain from Dunland."
"Nothing, it's just a wisp of cloud." Said Gimli.
"No." Said Elizabeth, calmly. "That's Crebain from Dunland. We should hide." In an equally calm manner, she got her rucksack and crouched beneath an overhanging rock.
"It is moving fast against the wind." Said Boromir.
"I know. It's Crebain from Dunland!" She was getting rather frustrated.
"Crebain from Dunland!" Shouted Legolas.
"Sure! When I say it, nobody believes me. When the Elf says it, everyone panics!" She huffed indigently as they rush around putting out fires and hiding behind rocks. Maybe I should practice my loud voice... She wondered. Boromir slid in beside her, hunching down to fit himself next to her. "Hey. What you up to?" She inquired. No answer. Fine, if you want to be rude, consider you off the friendship list, buddy. Even you do smell good... Gah, inappropriate thoughts, inappropriate thoughts. She could practically feel the birds as they flew past. The sound of beating wings and cawing was enough to make her shudder and imagine tiny claws in her hair. "So, Lizzie, what did you do today?" She grumbled to herself. "Oh, nothing much. I hid from birds with a man who refused to talk to me, but other than that, everything's going swimmingly."
The croaking subsided as they flew over distant land and Gandalf staggered to his feet. "Spies of Saruman. The passage south is being watched."
"Really? Because-"
"We must take the pass of Caradhras!"
The camp that night was hastily made. Dinner was cooked, utensils were washed, firewood was collected, what was becoming everyday tasks were done. All members of the fellowship were tired, no doubt about it. The time had come in the journey where the novelty had worn off. When they set off from Rivendell, a sense of pleasant adventure was instilled in each and every heart. Now, the illusion of this being a daring escapade bled away like wet calligraphy, and the paper underneath wasn't pretty. They sat round the small fire in an attempt to retain warmth in the extremities. Her eyelids kept drooping as she stared into the flames. It was soothing. On the other side of the fire, Boromir was talking to Gandalf.
"What do you think it wrong with her?"
"Who?"
"Lady Elizabeth."
"Nothing is wrong with her, Boromir."
"But she is so... quiet."
"Yes, albeit rare, it sometimes happens."
"You know things about her, do you not?"
The Grey Pilgrim nodded. "I will not deny she has told me of her life. It is nothing she would not tell you, if you asked courteously."
In mind's eye (Look out for the tumble weeds. Her consciousness is a dangerous place.), she pictured Legolas in a pirate costume. What were you expecting? Deep, meaningful reflections about her inner-self? Seriously? Oh, now she's imagining Boromir singing 'Banana Phone.' That was your fault, Reader. Ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring BANANA PHONE! Hahaha! After all, one does not simply Banana Phone into Gondor. She visualized a very camp Boromir swaggering up to the White City, talking on his banana phone.
What she didn't realize, was that she had been making the appropriate facial expressions to go with her daydreams. Boromir, who had been watching, saw only this: Elizabeth with her normal expression. Elizabeth making a daydream face. Elizabeth trying to contain her laughter. Elizabeth with eyebrow quirked. Elizabeth smiling. Elizabeth with a normal expression.
It was all very disorienting for the Gondorian.
Stupid snow, stupid snow, stupid snow. She thought, knee-deep in the stuff. I thought you wanted to make a snowman? Her inner voice sniggered at her. Shut up or I'll punch you. You're going to punch yourself in the face? That's normal, that is.
Elizabeth never pictured Caradhras quite so... snowy. It was far too powdery to make a snowman and too crumbly to make a decent snowball. They were at the foot of the great mountain, the sky a clear blue. Under normal circumstances, she would be overjoyed at the prospect of skipping mirthfully through the snow, lobbing snow at others. However, as much as she used to dream about being in Middle Earth, the scene wasn't quite how she expected it. For example, in her assorted imaginings, she had never been freezing. It had always been merely nippy. She never thought she would be making a half-hearted snow angel, yet here she was. Making a half-hearted snow angel.
"What are you doing?"
"Hi Pippin!" She said. "Nice scarf."
"Oh. Thank you."
"You okay?"
Pippin sat down beside her. "Yes." She waited. Eventually, he mumbled, "Is Frodo going to be okay?" while staring down at his clasped hands.
"Of course! He's tough, he'll be alright." She reassured. She tried not to think of that vile ring and the way it had called to her on several occasions.
"That's what Aragorn said."
"And you don't believe him?"
"No, I believe him.. I just want to be sure." He looked up her expectantly.
"What?"
"You told us you were a seer."
"Oh, Pip. I was only joking." She said, gently. His face fell. "But," She quipped. "Frodo's strong. He'll be able to do this." I'm not good at this pep-talk thing, am I? It was very disconcerting for her to see Pippin in such a mood. He was happy about 99% of the time and she hated seeing him so downcast. "Hey." She whispered. "Want to see me annoy Legolas?"
He smiled and nodded. She finished her snow angel and hopped up, determined to get the Hobbit cheered up. Legolas was situated an estimated ten metres away. Target located. "Leggy-bear?"
"You said you would never call me that."
She observed him for a moment, then, very seriously, said, "Why is rum gone?"