Chapter 31: Caras Galadhon
They walked for a while, led swiftly by the elves of the golden wood. The guards gave them instructions, and light touches if need be. But the ground was soft and even, and the smells enchanted their senses. There was a little dampness from the moss, and the strong scent of humus as scattered leaves crushed under their feet.
Frances was relieved that her silent companion made no attempt to keep a conversation for she was not in the mood. After what felt hours, she recognized a familiar smell of pinewood. Although his feet produced no sound, she knew that Legolas Greenleaf had fallen into step beside her. For a while he said nothing. Was he cross with her? He had every right to be. She had insulted him, and refrained to insult his father as well in the process. But in the end she could not take the silence anymore and asked:
- "Master Greenleaf, what brings you to my side?"
Although his eyes could not see, the elf had no difficulties walking around. The trees talked to him, preventing him from taking any wrong step. But the lady beside him did not share his talents; how did she know it was him? His inner musings were soon interrupted by the need to provide an answer. There were many things on his mind, like how the forest was radiating more and more the closer they got from Caras Galadhon, or how peaceful it became as they progressed deeper. But most of all, there was this rebuke on his mind, this silent judgment that she had thrown at them in her wrath. And truth be told, he had to admit that a part of it was right. The grudge he held against dwarves did not truly belong to him, it was passed along by his people. Wasn't it natural to mock their clumsiness and rudeness ?
- "I gave a lot of thought to what you said earlier", he started.
- "Oh, about that, I'm really sorry I yelled at you"
Now she felt bad. Her lack of diplomacy had really affected the company. But his smooth voice did not bring disapproval as he continued.
- "It is true that our people do not get along dwarrowmen. It was not so long ago, from an elven perspective, that Thorin Oakenshield insulted my father and thrashed his halls".
- "I remember that. I have been told of this tale, and Bilbo filled in the gaps. Far from me the idea to discuss this conflict, but from what I heard this was quite a consequence of a previous dislike..."
Legolas sighed. She was accusing no one, and yet he knew that his father had been at least discourteous. This strain in the relationship had started so long before he was born.
- "What about your people? Do the all get along well regardless of origins?"
Frances barked a derisive laugh; it wasn't merry at all and the elf frowned. She did that very often, saying something when her tone and posture said another. It could be disconcerting. Little did he know which kind of images he had called forth in the lady's mind. Frances recalled her history classes, the holocaust, second world war, the religion massacres and the day to day racism, the conditions of black people in the States only fifty years ago, all those countries were people were being hunted, discriminated and exterminated. But in the end, her answer was sincere.
- "No. We have stupid people too... I mean... not that I consider that you act foolishly... Crap, I'm sorry... it gets out all wrong"
Flustered, Frances tripped. Two hands came up at once to steady her, their grips strong but so different. One of them was cold and distant, the other warm and caressing.
- "Do not be upset my lady, and please enlighten me with the story of your people."
- "Very well, there was a war fifty years ago, and a lot of harm was done. So much that the earth would have bled out of sorrow..."
And she proceeded to tell him what she could without him guessing that she was from another world. She told him about the German invasion, and how they deported and killed so many people, and their horrendous exactions in France. In the end she was happy that he could not see her eyes, because a lone tear was making its way to her cheek.
- "And yet you do not hate them now, those enemies that killed so many of yours?", he asked in wonder.
- "In the family I was born, I was taught to never judge people out of their origins, or the actions of their ancestors. I strive on following those teachings, even if it never is easy. Those people are long gone, and now I am the age of their grandchildren. People change, life conditions too... »
- "Your elders certainly were wise. Even though time doesn't flow the same for us. Generations didn't pass for the eldar, and so we hold onto our grudges fiercely"
Frances nearly laughed at this statement, but she shrugged instead. Her mother was so prompt to anger, and yet she held a bit of wiseness for sure. Just a little. Would she see them again? What would happen if she died here? If she never came back? She needed to think about it. Maybe she could talk to her cousin, her most ancien and most reliable friend. She would keep her secret safe, and understand it without judging. Lost in her inner thoughts, the young lady lost her footing again. The cold grip of her guard prevented her from falling, and it seemed that Legolas was gone from her side.
They walked for hours, stopping only to grab some water and eat a few dried fruits provided by the elves. Frances didn't recognise any of those, but she enjoyed the sweet flavours anyway. Eventually, Haldir asked for a halt, and he removed their blindfolds. The whole company stood motionless in close proximity of a grassy hill. The scenery that greeted them was so grand that it took all of her strength to not whistle at the sight.
The silvery light was even more diffracted than earlier, indicating that the day was finally ending. Huge trees with golden leaves were scattered everywhere, the hills green with grass even though it was winter. Everywhere suspended lanterns gave a soft glow, granting light to the wandering elves. Everything was grayish, harmonious and yet a little ghostly. In the center of the improvised city lay a giant tree, its bark so wide that it could fit Frances' house inside of it. It grew tall and proud, and its high branches were probably several hundred feet above the ground. Never in her life had she seen such a tree.
As much as she disapproved Gimli's words spreading the beliefs that described Lothlórien as a cursed place, Frances could not help but feel uneasy in those woods. As Aragorn took a few steps towards the mount and seemed to marvel at a whitish pretty flower, Frodo joined him, his face haggard from the effort of the last few days. Those two never really talked a lot; much of it was silent communication. Perhaps because they shared a burden.
As elf and hobbits alike opened eyes bigger than flying saucers at the marvels of the scenery, Frances tried to pinpoint the reason for her uneasiness. It would have been insincere to denigrate the beauty of the woods surrounding her. Golden leaves created strands of light filtered by the huge trees, their branches scattered high above their heads and creating a living canopee that seemed to protect the surrounding area from any external element. Here and there, rays of pure light descended in the woods, falling like a curtain of sweet warmth falling upon the living beings of Lothlórien. Was it the sun's or the moon's? She honestly could not say.
Haldir motioned for them to follow, and they penetrated deep in the heart of Caras Galadhon. Everything they set eyes upon was a wonder but they could not linger. The Lady of the wood had asked that they be presented to her on their arrival. This is how they started the long ascent of the great tree. The wooden stairs were soft under their feet, and yet there were far too many. Several times they had to pause for a rest except for Legolas whose eyes were so mesmerized by the wonders of the place that he forgot the wariness of his companions.
Eventually, they were ushered into an audience room of branches and leaves. They did not get time to let they eyes wander for the Lord and Lady of the wood came forth. If Celeborn's noble poise and silvery hair was a sight to behold, Galadriel's pure light definitely beat it. Her long golden hair fell way past her waist, and her immaculate dress seemed to radiate. Frances had never seen such a glow, and her own limbs were practically vibrating from the lady's power. But instead of being soothed by her light, she felt strangely unnerved.
Greetings and warnings were exchanged, and when the subject came to Gandalf the lady's eyes opened wide. Her irises were like crystal, so pale and so deep in the same time. Frances could not help but stare as she told her husband of her vision, her voice so far away. There it was, the thing that made Frances feel uneasy, this strange connection to something far beyond her reach. Would the Lady know something about her role in this quest? And more important would she be willing to share?
As she pondered those questions in her mind, a presence seemed to penetrate her thoughts. Galadriel's voice echoed in her head, clear and carefully neutral. Welcome to you, Keeper of Time. Put your mind at rest for now, and before long we will discuss your presence in our world. Frances locked eyes with the Lady, tempted to gaze down but resisting the urge to be freed from her hold. She understood now Gimli's appellation, he had said she was a witch. Well then, this certainly was a witchy trick !
Frances should have trembled with fear, but the strange aloofness of the place soothed her sore body. Before she could answer, the Lady of the wood focused her attention on Boromir whose uneasiness was radiating. The strong warrior who used to have his way on any subject was now struggling to keep his gaze steady. What sorcery is this !, he thought as his mind was violated by the elf's presence. But the words she spoke were even worse that her intrusion, and had he been a lesser man Boromir would have collapsed on the floor.
Celeborn and Aragorn exchanged in Westron, agreeing to discuss in the near future. But most of the company was not listening. They were far too weary to even acknowledge the conversation. Thoughts freed from immediate danger, hobbits, dwarf and human were free to contemplate Gandalf's fate. Frances' eyes were unfocused; she was half sleeping on her feet. Sweet voices were rising and falling in the air like the winds sweeps around grassy hills, but she way too tired to care.
When the meeting came to an end, she snapped to attention. She contemplated the idea of curtseying to the Lord and Lady of the woods, but without a dress this could prove very awkward. Frances settled for a respectful bow before rushing to follow her company down the stairs. Unfortunately, a she-elf stood in her way, her gaze stern. She spoke a few words of Sindarin as Frances tried to catch sight of the fellowship over her shoulder, panic suddenly filling her. She knew she was being rude, but the maid prevented her from leaving and she feared getting lost. The blond elf finally sighed, and tried to catch her attention in a different way.
- "My lady. I was asked to care for you. Follow me."
The voice was soft, and the words laced with a strange accent. But you could not mistake her speech for a request; it was an order. Frances glared at the she-elf from her lowly height of five feet and four inches. In a reflex, her hand flew to the weapon hanging at her hip.
- "I will not part from my company"
Her voice carried the protestation through the stairs, and suddenly the whole fellowship had stopped in their tracks. Had she not been so cross Frances would have cried at the sight of this, all seven of them frozen in place to wait for her. From the corner of her eyes, she could see Boromir's worried gaze. But it was Strider who climbed back, and spoke a few quiet words to the elven maid before turning back to her.
- "The Lady of the woods wishes to grant you one of the rooms in the trees to ensure your privacy. As a lady, it is most befitting."
He left out the part were having a maiden sleep alongside seven men was a breach of propriety in the elven society, but she caught on the meaning. In Lord Elrond's dwellings she used to have a room for herself, and Aragorn knew it. She searched his grey eyes for an answer. In truth, she was just too frightened to be left alone so early after loosing Gandalf. But she could not afford to insult their hostess nor the legendary hospitality of the elves. Frances gulped down the fear, and answered in an even voice.
- "Tomorrow I will be a lady, and do whatever is required from a maiden. But this evening I will share your accommodation as a member of this company. It is too soon after we lost one of us to afford it."
Strider sighed, and bowed his head.
- "Very well. If such is your choice then so be it."
The elven maiden, her lovely face controrted in disappointment, did not oppose them. Frances left her with a smile.
- "Hannad le", she said. (Thank you)
They made their way down the stairs, feet growing heavy. At last they would rest, and for once nobody would take the night watch as they shared dinner. Frances tried to apologize for going against propriety, but Aragorn cut her gently.
- "I am glad that you decided to stay with us tonight. Your presence will soothe many a mind this evening, and your presence always brings us joy."
Speechless, Frances wondered to whom his words referred to. The bond had become very tight between the members of the company, and she knew that Pippin, at least, had grown very attached to her. Would Boromir be pleased? Certainly not !
Said warrior was angrily stomping off a few steps in front of them, clearly displeased with the situation. His stiff posture spoke of fear and anger. She could relate to him. If Aragorn was probably used to the golden woods, Frances could not prevent from feeling watched. Galadriel's power filled everything, from the air they breathed to the earth they walked on. Frances hesitantly reached for Boromir, gently touching his arm as the fell into step beside him. The steward's son paused for a second, his eyes haunted by something uncertain.
- "Come", he said, "Let us have some food, and tend to our wounds."
Frances nodded, reassured that it was not her outburst that had called such anger in him. But the look in his eyes left her wondering. The wounds he spoke of were not only physical. They walked shoulder to shoulder for a while, until they came upon a few tents. Inside, there were cots, blankets and even some pillows. Heaven ! The air was warm enough, so unlike the coldness of the outside world. As Sam marveled at the settings, digging out of his pack a saucepan, the fellowship very soon settled into their old routine.
Dinner was a quiet affair; they were way too exhausted to swallow a banquet. Well all except for Pippin. The loss of the wizard felt heavy on their minds. Frances tried to lighten the mood a little. She even managed to make fun of the situation as they ate in the makeshift camp, making the hobbits laugh as she mimicked the distress of a young lady forced to sleep amongst men. She told tales of Elrond's twins and how they always found a way to place her in the worst situations. She even got a smile from Aragorn. But at some point fatigue threatened to take over, and as their energy depleted a sorrowful mood gained them.
A song started to fill the air, the notes smooth and clear, strangely dissonant. Even Legolas, the ever-cheerful elven prince, started to pace back and forth. He told them that it was a mourning song, but had no heart to translate it. Beside him, only Aragorn and Frodo could understand its meaning. There were no tears in the prince's eyes, but his whole posture spoke of despondency. Sam tried to put together a few verses, and Frances found them beautiful. Never had she heard something so lovely composed in such haste. Not long after, the young lady fell asleep at the sound of elvish voices. Her head had not even touched the pillow that her mind went blank.
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