A/N: You really have to forgive me. We got slammed by the hurricane this past week, and we've been out of power and clearing tree branches out of our living room. But our power is back, thank goodness, and we have new windows!
Four silver boats bobbed gently in the water, their smooth flaxen tethers tied firmly to sharp, sturdy branches. Small ponies, laden with food, were ferrying fresh clothes, full waterskins, and havversacks of lembas bread, or waybread as Aragorn called it. Amy was sitting tiredly on a log, her thick red hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, with only limited success of keeping it away from her face. She was constantly blowing the thick curls out of her eyes with an annoyed look on her face. After recovering from her brief stint in the infirmary, she emerged tired and pale, but otherwise right as rain. The elves who had tended to her had given her fresh clothes, and they were similar to Sam's; a tunic that went almost to her knees - although hers was sleeveless - and dark leggings. She stretched, popping the ligaments in her shoulders and back, then yawned. Most of the morning had been spent saying goodbye to Galadriel and Celeborn, exchanging hugs and well-wishes. Sam nearly had a meltdown when confronted with the cool, handsome Marchwarden; the two of them left growling obscenities under their breath, wishing they each had a sword in their fist. Amy watched the two of them clash with amusement, but said nothing; she knew better than to interfere with Sam's relationships. Lizzie, on the other hand, immediately peppered Sam with questions about "that tall silver-haired dude", making Boromir look very upset. Sam had gritted her teeth and said nothing except that Haldir was "a sexist jerk". That was enough to keep Lizzie quiet and make Amy roll her eyes.
The Fellowship dragged their feet as they left, unwilling to leave the beautiful splendor of Lothlorien and the safe comforts. Galadriel was there, her stunning features creating a silvery glow around her. Her cerulean eyes swept over the Fellowship, and she approached Aragorn, her gorgeous eyes alive and dancing. Out of nowhere, she presented an intricately carved sheath for his sword. The gold sheath shimmered in the sunlight, winking brightly, the silver embroidery adding minute decorations of swirling trees and spirals. "For you, Good Aragorn," Galadriel said softly. "May it always keep Anduril sharp." she said. Aragorn bowed.
"Thank you, my lady," he murmured, unbuckling his swordbelt to slip the amazing sheath along it. He couldn't resist swinging his sword several times, flipping it and watching the blade gleam. Galadriel took a small item out of her sleeve, and Amy gasped as the brooch caught the light. A brilliant green stone, facets twinkling and sending sparks of green light across every surface. It was set wonderfully in a twisting silver brooch, and Galadriel pinned it onto Aragorn's cloak with great solemnity. With no further words, she moved onto Merry and Pippin, who were shuffling their feet and looking bashful.
"My dearest Hobbits. These belts are for you. May they keep you safe and remind you of the merry times you spent here in Lothlorien." she said sweetly. Merry and Pippin looked agog at the two beautiful belts, the silver thread rippling among the stout leather. A similar belt, with gold embroidery, was given to Boromir, who accepted it with a slight flush. A small wooden box, filled with dirt, was given to Samwise, who did a little dance when Galadriel told him what it would do. "Scatter this wherever you see something dead, Samwise. Your cheerful spirit and these seeds will burst into bloom." She smiled prettily at Sam, who beamed. Galadriel gave a smooth, honey-colored bow to Legolas, along with a quiver full of arrows, flighted with blue feathers. The elf looked as though he were about to pass out as he strung his new bow and sighted along the arrow. The weapon was perfectly balanced, and light as goose down.
Galadriel knelt down in front of Frodo, whose dark eyes were watching his friend's with a mixture of grief and love. She whispered something in his ear, stirring his curls, and pressed something into his hand. Sam strained to see what it was; there was a brief flash of light as whatever object Galadriel had given him winked in the sun, and then Frodo had tucked it into his pocket. Galadriel's quiet blue eyes turned to Sam first, who was undoubtedly the leader of the three girls. Galadriel's eyes roamed over Sam's willowy frame, striking profile and chocolate eyes, flecked with gold. Galadriel turned to Celeborn, who handed a peculiar looking weapon to his wife. Galadriel presented it to Sam. "This is a double edged dirk, a weapon that would suit you well. It is a sophisticated weapon that will take a great deal of skill to use. Ultimately I believe it will serve you well in battle." she said. Sam hefted the weapon, gauging it silently. Her dark eyes narrowed with satisfaction, and a little grin flickered on her face. She picked it up in both hands, twirling it experimentally. It distantly resembled a short sword, roughly the length of Sam's forearm with two very sharp edges. She twisted it, eyes running up and down its length.
"Awesome," she muttered. Her eyes glanced up, and Galadriel saw a rueful kind of forgiveness. "Thanks." Sam said briskly, still examining her weapon. Galadriel moved on to Lizzie, who was shifting her weight from foot to foot. Lizzie passed a blonde lock of hair over her shoulder, twirling one lock around her finger and batting her eyelashes. Inwardly, she was fuming. How dare this elf prance over here with her flawless skin and her deep blue eyes? Was she trying to imitate Lizzie's style, or something? There was a frostiness in Galadriel's eyes when she appraised Lizzie that the blonde didn't exactly like. Galadriel took something out of a hidden pocket in her elaborate gown.
"Elizabeth, take this so you may remember what is most important," Galadriel said. She passed something small to Lizzie, who turned it over in her hand. It was a small ring of hammered bronze, the surface carefully scalloped with tiny ridges and grooves. It was very simple, with no stone or design, but as Lizzie turned it, the bronze color caught the sunlight. It turned a bewildering green, then blue, as the faceted surface dazzled and shifted in the glaring sunlight. Sam whistled under her breath, but Lizzie tried her best to appear nonchalant.
"Pretty," she admitted. Was it bronze, then? How could bronze turn so many colors? "Thanks." Her voice was flatter and sharper than she intended, and for a split second she wondered what was coming over her. It had been stealing over her for weeks, like an infection or a disease; she was almost always waspish and crabby. She unconsciously flicked a strand of hair out of her eyes. Being crabby was Sam's job. She was supposed to be beautiful and stunning, Amy was supposed to be nice and weird, and Sam was supposed to be...well, Sam. Lizzie's attention was turned to Amy as Galadriel moved along to the redhead. Galadriel cupped Amy's chin in her cool hands and gazed gently into Amy's worried green eyes.
"Little Amy," she whispered. "When you use this, help will come of some sort. Do not forget the beasts of the field and the birds of the air; they will lend you courage." Galadriel took a necklace, the chain fine as a strand of silk, and fastened it around Amy's neck. Hanging in the fork of the chain was a tiny seashell, cleverly worked into a sort of whistle. The chain looked thin and fragile, but as Amy tugged on it she marveled at its strength. A kind of comprehension dawned slowly over Amy as she met Galadriel's eyes. Galadriel was telling her to be strong and courageous; Amy privately thought that people couldn't go against their nature.
"Thank you," she responded, giving Galadriel a little smile. "It's beautiful." She fingered the shell again and stroked it gently. Amy moved closer to Sam, who was sliding her knife into her belt sheath, and grinned. Sam shot her trademark Cheshire-cat grin - the unfurling, lazy kind that she only used when she was very pleased - and allowed the knife to reflect a bit of sunlight and dance it across the tree tops. Galadriel was talking in a low voice to Aragorn, who was evidently thanking the Lord Celeborn and the Lady Galadriel for all their hospitality.
Amy took one last look at the silvery woods of Lothlorien and the stunning beauty of the Lord and Lady, then followed the Fellowship to the water's edge. Her new leather boots - the color of dull copper - crunched in the gritty sand, and Aragorn began organizing them. Amy couldn't help but think that he took the leadership position very well; he was going to make an excellent king. "There needs to be one proficient rower per boat," he said firmly. "I shall captain a boat, along with Legolas and Boromir. Lady Samantha and Lady Amy can ride with Legolas; Merry, Pippin and Elizabeth may ride with Boromir. Gimli, the Ringbearer, and Sam, shall ride in my boat. The fourth boat shall hold supplies. We will not stop until the moon has risen fully; I wish to continue down the river as swiftly as possible. Are there any questions?" There was a general silence. Aragorn clapped his hands. "Then, let us be off!"
There was the usual last-minute scramble for small items, but it was really a longing to stay as long as possible in the safety of Lothlorien. Sam and Amy tumbled into the boat, settling themselves in the smoothly carved bow, making themselves as comfortable as possible in the narrow confines. Legolas adjusted the fine oars and flexed his arms, steadying himself for a long day of rowing. Amy touched her seashell necklace again, making sure it was there, and then relaxed next to Sam. Sam gave her another catlike grin and closed her eyes. With one powerful stroke, Legolas sent them shooting into the swift current, the waves curling liquid edges around the boat and propelling it downstream. They drifted in relative silence down the river, the only noises coming from the gentle lapping of the water against the smooth sides of the boat. Amy opened one eye and gazed at the river, stroking the light-soaked surface with her fingertips. The drag of the water tugged at her fingers with a fluid caress, trying to pull them with the river. The crests of the wavelets were dappled with sunlight from the golden leaves, and Amy felt a little contented smile flirt with the edges of her mouth. She was safe, warm, and well fed, next to one of her best friends and a very handsome elf. Life was good.
Her serene thoughts were interrupted by a huge gasp from Sam's end of the boat. "Oh my God!" she whispered, still unwilling to break the glassy dome of silence that had settled over the group. Sam pointed, her finger rigid, to the opposite bank. "Look!" she said, her voice awed and rough. "Isn't he beautiful?" Amy looked, following Sam's finger, but all she could see was a blank inlet. The small space was fringed prettily with willows, and thick green moss carpeted the ground, but other than the scenery, Amy couldn't see what Sam was talking about. Amy's brow wrinkled.
"What?" she asked. Sam whacked her on the shoulder, her brown eyes never leaving the space.
"Don't play dumb. The stag. The silver one. Don't you see him?" Sam snapped, still pointing. Amy shook her head once. Sam closed her eyes once, then opened them again. The stag was still there, proud and dignified. His broad, massive chest was pure white in the hot sunlight, and his silver flanks gleamed with a glossy sheen. His horns, still sharp and finely pointed, stretched to the azure sky. His dark eyes, simultaneously haughty and wild, surveyed the Fellowship coldly. Then he dipped his nose, as if in farewell, and stalked gracefully through the bushes. Sam remained frozen, the echo of those dark eyes resonating in her mind. It was only until she was jerked back to earth by Amy did she stir. "You didn't see him?" Sam asked in disbelief. "But he was standing right there, in broad daylight!"
"Um, no, I didn't see him," Amy said, squinting at the place where Sam had been staring. "So you saw a silver stag?" Amy asked, trying not to sound skeptical. Sam wasn't prone to seeing things, but maybe she had eaten too much lembas bread, or something. Sam sank back down in the boat, rubbing her eyes hard and blinking fiercely.
"Yes, I did. I saw him." she said stubbornly. Legolas remained silent, watching Sam curiously. He, too, thought that Sam had been overtired; both he and Amy had stared hard at the spot, and seen nothing. Still, there were too many legends of prophecies and animals that linked together, so he turned to Sam.
"What did it look like?" he asked quietly, not wanting the others to overhear their conversation. Sam shrugged, trying to place the details in her mind. How could she explain the regality of the stag, the shining silver hindquarters, the dignified eyes that had pierced her so fully? She shook her head bemusedly.
"He was big," she began, then faltered. "Well, he might have been the usual size. I've never seen a buck before," she admitted. "But he was silvery white, kind of, and he had huge horns. Five points, I think, so he must have been big. And, well, he looked beautiful. He had a white chest, and..." she trailed off. She couldn't explain herself properly, and Amy was scrutinizing her.
"Sam, do you think you need some rest?" Amy asked timidly. "I mean, I didn't see it, and neither did Legolas..." She was cut off as Sam whacked her again on the arm.
"I'm not crazy," Sam insisted. "I've seen him once before too, just before I met with Galadriel. I hope nobody shoots him." She said, looking off into the distance. She was half-hoping that the buck would reappear and prove her right.
"Well, all right," Amy said kindly. "I'm going to sleep now. Wake me up if you see him again." Amy curled up in the bow of the boat, using her elbow as a pillow. The sun tucked a warm invisible blanket around her chin, and she felt herself beginning to drift off with the rocking of the boat. Somewhere ahead of them, one of the Hobbits began singing a sea shanty, and it acted as a lullaby. The musical notes of a bird twittering in the trees accompanied the strong tenor of Merry, and Amy soon felt herself slip into oblivion.
Legolas watched Amy sleep. She was pretty, really, when she was sleeping. Her face was relaxed and peaceful, not knotted with worry or fear as it usually was. The sun was igniting her red hair, highlighting the copper tinges that streaked the deep russet braid. Her lashes curled sweetly against her freckled, sun-blushed cheeks, and a few little curls were hanging in her eyes. Legolas had to look away after a moment. He had work to do, and two oars to manipulate around boulders and branches. There was no time to be studying a human when the weight of Middle Earth rested on his shoulders. But he couldn't resist stealing one last look at the slumbering girl, drinking in the detail of her relaxed body and burning it into his memory. Whatever happened, whatever became of this quest, he would always remember that. His mind shifted to other things, and soon he was carefully organizing the rest of the trip, wondering what would become of them. Somehow or other, his mind would always touch upon Amy, and he shoved the image of her sleeping away angrily. Middle Earth was depending on him to transport Frodo safely to Mount Doom and destroy the One Ring.
So why were his thoughts lingering on a slender redheaded human?