Creature Comforts

Chapter 7

Devastation of Gandalf’s loss has affected us all. I have
tried to keep us together moving us on quickly to the boarders of Lothlorien but
instead I have only created a hatred towards me from those that think me cold
hearted. Frodo has grown suddenly weak the wizards emotional relationship with
the little one causing the loss to be far greater in him than most of us. I
have never seen tears flow so freely as from the hobbits as we sit precariously
exposed on the outer edges of Lothlorien’s canopy. We must not linger so
exposed in the daylight but Boromir’s growling remarks towards my lack of
sympathy have stayed my arguments despite my concern. Standing from Frodo’s
side after offering what comfort I can in mere words I glance around and make a
headcount. Boromir cuddles Pippin and Merry to his side as both weep openly,
Sam is curled up in Frodo’s lap his own shivering the only sign of his grief.
The dwarf Gimli is pacing gruffly back and forth between two trees as he
mutters his anger. My attention does not stay upon the dwarf for long, instead
being drawn however to a tree a few yards apart from us.

 

Legolas stands immobile staring into space, his bow hanging
limply in his hand at his side. His face is devoid of any emotion, his pale
skin suddenly lacking its normally warm radiant glow. I sigh heavily; Legolas
grew up with tales of the great Gandalf the Grey as did many of us. Even though
he does not show it I see his pain and although I have respected his wishes so
far as to not discuss anything with him aside from what concerns the fellowship
directly I suddenly feel the need to comfort him. I make to move towards him
but stop mid step as the silver glittering of an arrows point appears before
me. Unmoving I glance around to see my fellow companions in much the same
predicament, elven archers braced steadily around us for action should any of
us move. Glancing across to Legolas I see that only he had seen them coming and
although having an arrow notched and drawn back ready to fire is far out
numbered by the Lothlorien elves and concedes defeat by lowering his bow.

 

“Haldir, of Lothlorien. We seek shelter in the wood by your
ladies grace.” A tall stoic elf appears in front of me his appearance much the
same as Legolas’ despite the regal Lorien dress of a inguinguished guardian of
the wood. I address him in common elvbowibowing to a respectable level before
watching as he glances back towards where Gimli is spouting stupidly about us
retreating. For the first time on our journey I curse the dwarfs loud mouth as
Haldir turns back to me and raises a curious but disgusted eyebrow in obvious
reply to the dwarf accompanying us.

 

“You will follow us, the lady is awaiting your arrival.” I
watch as Haldir turns from me and glances towards Legolas who stands almost awe
struck staring at Haldir. For a moment they stare at one another before a wide
smile breaks loose onto his face only to be mirrored in like upon Haldir’s.
Immediately Haldir waves away the guardians surrounding Legolas, who takes the
opportunity to clasp Haldir’s wrist in a warriors vice like greeting. It seems
they are old friends. The speak quietly to one another in the older tongue and
I become exceedingly uncomfortable at not knowing what they are saying.

 

“Aragorn these woods are perilous, we should not trust such
elves enchanted by devilry.” I curse to myself at Gimli’s worried banter as
more elven bows are aimed upon him at the insult. Haldir ceases his
lighthearted conversation with Legolas to glare at the dwarf with utter
disgust.

 

“I would mind your tongue master dwarf for it should be
ripped from your mouth if you speak again.” Immediately Gimli closes his mouth
allowing another insult to fall unheard from his lips as Haldir turns back to
me and gestures towards the wood. “Come let us not tarry, there are foreigners
that lurk on the edges of the wood after nightfall.” Bowing my head in
understanding I help the still distressed hobbits to their feet before
following Haldir and Legolas who are chatting quietly in elder elvish in the
lead. Boromir lingers with Gimli at the back of our party, the dwarf still
being guarded with keen eyes of suspicious guardians. Hopefully we will find
rest for a while under Lorien’s canopy to allow the hobbits to grieve and have
time to relax and in turn will allow me time to contemplate the great weight
that has now fallen upon my shoulders at the loss of Gandalf.

 

I lie
silently staring up into the forest canopy swilling the remains of the rose
petal wine at the bottom of my chalice. In the distance sweet elvish voices
sing a lament tohranhrandir. The haunting lyrics are unfamiliar but the depth
of grieving that has fallen like a veil over Lorien seems to be contained
within them. The hobbits are much confined to their small tent on the ground.
Hobbits are not fond of high places at the best of times without their present
state of grieving to add to their discomfort. Gimli has been the sole of discretion
with his words, not speaking lest someone inquires of him after Haldir’s
warning. Boromir I believe is at unease after earlier confessing an ill feeling
of the wood and it’s whispered words, however I will not be caressed into
moving on before the time is right. For
we are safe here for the moment and we must allow ourselves such a small
reprieve from the toils of the journey. The one person I have not seen for more
than a few mere moments put together is Legolas. Although it should not
surprise me he has spent most of his time with the guardians and more
particularly Haldir. He has hardly spoke two words in the common tongue to any
of us, except Frodo who he seems to favour above the rest of us at this present
time. It is infuriating to not have his undivided attention to the fellowship
but I have bitten my tongue in chastising him so, in case his deliberate
separation from us is so he may grieve privately with his own people for the
loss of Gandalf.

 

Closing my eyes I let the sounds of the wood envelope me
into sweet relaxation. There is no use dwelling on things that have happened
and things that might be. Instead of my morbid thoughts of Gandalf and my exile
from my heritage, I find myself drawn to certain images of Legolas from our
journey. The most prevalent that stays in my mind is the hint of a blush that
crept to the tips of his ears when we sat side by side waiting for Gandalf’s
directions in Moria. I had not said anything and nor had he, it seemed the
silence caused him embarrassment but it was a welcome change from the stoic
exterior he’d portrayed up until then. Once again I question my thoughts I
should be thinking of Arwen at this time instead of an elf that cares little
for me. My solitude is broken as the hurried patter of feet upon the ground
becomes apparent. I open my eyes and sit up, concerned somewhat as Sam stops
and attempts to catch his breath in front of me.

 

“Mr Strider……I….we….Pippin……Legolas…….contest.” Between his
panting Sam’s words are mere gibberish and I place a concerned hand on his
shoulder in an effort to calm his flustered manner.

 

“Try it again S Sam Sam takes a deep breath and swallows
before pointing in the direction from which he has just run from.

 

“Mr Strider you must come quickly. Pippin has bet Legolas’
reputation and his own in a stupid contest of archery between Legolas and the
Guardians, without Legolas consent. He is furious and threatens Pippin’s
life.” Heavily I sigh at the stupidity
of the meddlesome Peregrin Took, his antics the cause for much concern. With an
insistent tug on my tunic from Sam I rise to my feet and follow his lead. This
will certainly not be an uneventful evening.

 

The scene
that I arrive to is that of complete chaos. There is a sea of gathered
onlookers, of those including the lady of the wood and her husband who watch
with keen interest from a balcony above the archery field. Pushing my way to
the front of the crowd I sigh as I watch Pippin dragging a very reluctant and
angry looking Legolas towards where three guardians of the wood stand in the
centre of the field. Not surprisingly Merry is following close behind clutching
Legolas’s bow, quiver and hunting leathers, all items relatively larger than
the young hobbit.

 

“Eye’,
may this contest be ended peacefully.” My muttered prayer to the valaes nes not
go unnoticed by Boromir who huffs contemptibly at my side.

 

“That is not all you should pray for Aragorn, for if Legolas
looses he will be but a little disgruntled with Pippin. May we pray for
Pippin’s safety after the contest instead.” Nodding understandingly I take a
seat against a large tree root, with Gimli, Sam, Frodo and Boromir as a hushed
silence falls over the crowd as a neutral judge begins reading out the terms of
contest.

 

“Do you think he will win Aragorn?” Frodo looks at me
hopefully well aware of what this contest might mean.

 

“I have confidence in the Prince’s talents, let us just
watch and see.” Frodo accepts my answer although outwardly portraying
confidence, on the inside I have serious doubts. While the youngest Prince of
Mirkwood has the talents of an archer twice his years the Guardians of the wood
have experience in wars of many an age, the odds are stacked firmly in their
favour. To my own silent surprise I see Haldir standing off to the side
observing proceedings but obviously not taking part. My curiosity for Legolas
and Haldir’s friendship has continued to grow as I see more and more of them
together and witness just how well they do actually get on for elves so vastly
separated by many miles of land between their homes. Jealousy seems to rise for
a moment within me for some reason but I quell it instantly. Such a
preposterous notion will only make things difficult. At the cheering of the
crowd I draw my attention back to the field of play where several archers and
Legolas are lining up to make their first shot. Legolas looks out of place to
say the least amidst the contenders, the only fair haired one, among them, but
the prettiest by far. Merry and Pippin are fusing around him as he continues to
obviously protest. There is a clapping as the first archer releases his arrow
with a deadly aim, it’s point just off centre of the closest target. I see
Legolas phylly lly cringe at the accuracy before turning back to Merry and
Pippin to more firmly protest.

 

Along the line of archers the contest continues until at
last it is Legolas’s turn. Already the arrows gone before him have been with
the same accuracy of the first if not better. There is a hush from the crowd as
Legolas swats away Merry and Pippin and notches an arrow upon the lightweight,
handcrafted bow. The determination and concentration that immediately covers
the anger he’d previous been directing to the hobbits is an amazing sight to
behold. Instinctively I hold my breath as the high pitch hum of the bow echoes
around the crowd. For a moment I’m taken back to the incident in Rivendell and
I flinch instinctively waiting for the pain as it hits me but there is no pain.
There is a unanimous gasp among the gathers and all of us stand and stare down
the field at the target and what sight it will hold.

TBC.................