The Adventures of Frodo Gardner
Volume I Where Many Paths and Errands Meet By Dolores J. Nurss
Chapter 25, Part 25 On
the Road to Treegarth
"November 2,
1451--Sorry about yesterday's rant. Gimli shared brandy
last night. It seemed like a good idea at the time. This
morning Uncle Merry shared spicy-root. All is forgiven.
But yes, we do have a problem. Merry knows about
May."
(Evening notation) "Eowyn gave Legolas
willow-draughts twice today, morning and now in the
evening. Legolas having fits two days in a row worries
her; she fears the ring might be putting up a fight. It
can sense the changes in Legolas's body, apparently, and
guess what lies ahead, even if we can't-- for not even
Legolas knows for sure what Gimli and Treebeard have
concocted between them.
I don't know how that works,
exactly, since Legolas made the ring. How can it know
things that he doesn't? Unless it's not a thing at all, but
kind of like a child, a child of the hands and mind, if
that makes sense, being magic and all. The things we make
are less than us, but our children are another matter. No
offense, Papa, but there are some matters I know that you
don't know, and I'm sure you could've said the same on
your own account about the Gaffer. Oh heavens, that came
out all wrong! Please don't think I've been sneaking
around behind your back. At least not any more than's
normal for any son, if you take my meaning. Oh dear--I
bet you do take my meaning! Oh blast! And if I
blot out this entire section, you really will be
suspicious of me, won't you? I'll leave it in--you can
see, Papa, that I am reasonably honest. Never
mind--the ring's not like a child anyway, I'm sure. Maybe
more like art. Yes. Art always seems to go beyond the
artist, in some kind of way. That can be a beautiful
idea, when you think about it. Or, in the case of
something like this ring, scary."
"November 3, 1451--This madness business is a weird
thing. Obviously, you'd say, but not like I expected. The
strangest part is that it's not nearly as weird as I'd
assumed. Legolas is still Legolas--and Merry agrees, and
he'd know better than me. Long stretches at a time can go
by when Legolas seems perfectly reasonable--whole days,
like today. It's funny, but without even thinking about
it I guess I'd always assumed that if somebody cracked up
they'd turn into a different species or something. Well,
Legolas is a different species, technically, but
that's not what I meant. I mean turn into something not a
person, something you don't feel anything for anymore,
too alien for any kind of relationship. Maybe that
attitude's craziest of all, except so many people believe
it that it just seems normal to think that way. But each
turn of events reminds me that this is the same Legolas
in all of Papa's tales, just dragged through something
awful, all torn and bruised inside, maybe even dirty (if
that's not unfair to say) and he might be beyond repair,
and might not--but he's still the same hero, still
somebody I loved before I ever laid eyes on him. I know
him better, now, but love him no less. I hate that little
blowfly, Sauron, though, like bile!"
"November 4, 1451--I've pretty much taken back all
the cooking duties, even though it's six meals, now, not
three. One thing worse than having to prepare every meal
is having to eat food fixed by worse cooks than yourself.
Papa, I'm sure you understand exactly what I'm talking
about. Mama, too, of course. Legolas is still on the thin
side, but he's much improved from what he'd been in
Hollin; I think he really would have starved, if not for
us badgering him to eat. He always balks at the
suggestion of a meal, but once you put the food in front
of him, he remembers that he's famished and dives right
in. And me, I've never felt so hungry as I do these days.
Now I understand better, Papa, why you kept pushing my
namesake to eat your share of the food in Mordor--healing
is hard work! Did he feel this hungry after Shelob's
bite? Or did he even notice his own hunger, with the ring
and all, and needed you to remind him, just like Legolas?
Our unwell friend only seems aware of his body when the
ring magnifies a sensation--and then not with any
accuracy. Merry, at least, eats like a horse."
(Evening notation) "Well, I must say today was
interesting! Legolas could not hold his attention on
anything for minutes at a time, which did not stop him
from chattering himself hoarse, nonstop, all day
long--and at a rapid clip, too, as though his tongue
couldn't keep up with his thoughts but was bound and
determined to try anyway. You want a sample of his
conversation? 'Look at how the sunlight flickers on the
you know in my father's palace we have lanterns just like
oh, is that a squirrel? The tail reminds me of your
beard, Gimli! But it takes so long for an elf to grow a
beard that few although of course I prefer to braid my
hair myself, even if my cousin does insist but who trusts
her taste, anyway, when she wears garnets with beryls but
when I put the stone in the ring it smoked for a second
and I am so sorry, Meriadoc, that you have to suffer but
you know Elrond had pipes made for Bilbo merely out of
but the plum pudding is much better, would you not
agree?' We had to listen to stuff like that from
breakfast on till dinnertime. We had no trouble
whatsoever, though, in persuading Legolas to take a
sleeping draught after the meal, for his talking fit had
quite exhausted him, yet even then he could barely pause
enough to swallow food. I believe the poor fellow was as
anxious to shut himself up as we were to quiet him,
ourselves. Now he sleeps so deeply that his eyes have
closed the whole way--no 'blending of the living night
with dreams,' as he puts it, not for this elf, not after
an overloaded day like today! Now the rest of us sit
quietly beside the fire's last coals, listening to the
incredible silence of the open plain."
"November 5, 1451Legolas woke up with a sore
throat--no surprise there--but Eowyn managed to concoct a
soothing tea from Uncle Merry's seasonings that have
fixed him up proper. Our friend the elf is drowsy today,
but otherwise himself--no more talking frenzy.
Well,
there is one odd thing that I can't help but notice. His
face has taken on a greenish cast all the time, now, and
I'd swear it's getting worse. He does not look well. I
pointed it out to Eowyn, but she says not to worry; she
understands his condition and everything will work out in
the end. Gimli has noticed it, too--I can tell by the way
he studies his friend. But he won't say a thing about it.
I keep wondering what a dwarf's idea of
"drastic" treatment is, anyway? Ah well, at
least Legolas is finally starting to fill out properly
with regular feeding.
As for me, my scar itches like
bugbites on top of bugbites--it's driving me crazy! Eowyn
says that if she catches me scratching at it one more
time, she's going to tie my hands behind my back. She
mixed up a pinkish salve for the itch but it does not
work very well."
"November 6, 1451Today we entered a small
wood--one of the scattered outposts, Gimli says, of
Treegarth. Legolas studied the trees around us with the
keenest interest--and growing keener by the minute, till
I felt sure one of his fits had come on him again. Sure
enough, he begged for a halt. He just had to touch a
tree, commune with it, he said. So Eowyn called a halt
and Gimli led him to the nearest oak, which he shinnied
up as far as his chain would go. Then he stretched out on
a bough, so close he could have been the bough itself. I
couldn't tell if he'd fallen asleep up there or not--you
know how it is with elves, hard to say. Gimli just
settled himself amid the roots without complaint, and we
set up camp around them. I thought Eowyn would look on
this as yet another set-back (I know I did!) but she
nodded like she approved and said, "Good--the
medicine is working."
"November 7, 1451The thickets grow thicker as
we go (so to speak) wider and longer and more dense, and
they begin to run together. Gimli says it's not far now.
We all have our different reactions, I guess. Gimli looks
tense, but determined. Legolas has so many emotions, I
think, that he doesn't dare speak; I can't say whether
his face shows more hope or fear, more shame or wonder at
the trees all around him, as though he'd never seen a
tree before in his life--him, an elf of Mirkwood! Eowyn
tries not to show any emotion at all, but schools herself
to give off this motherly sense of calm, even though I
can sense some tension in her; I think the Rohirrim will
always have some misgivings about Fangorn and all its
colonies. Merry looks about him with this nostalgic smile
and a certain eagerness, in contrast to the rest of us.
Me, I have no idea what feelings might show on my face,
because I'm not sure what I feel. This is all so new to
me it's hard to form an opinion, or even guess what lies
ahead."
"November 8, 1451--All day I had this prickly
feeling of somebody watching me. I thought I kept
catching shadowy glimpses out of the corner of my eye, of
people--people moving through the trees, to our left and
our right, or sometimes overhead in the branches. For a
long while I told myself that my imagination ran away
with me. Then I took a firm grip on May's magnifying
glass in my pocket, and stared straight to the side of my
pony--it felt hard to do, like I knew precisely where to
look by which direction I had to push against to turn
that way--and for just an instant I saw the most
beautiful face! Then it vanished, behind a curtain of
leaves, so fast I almost doubted I'd seen anything at
all.
I asked Legolas, 'Are there elves in this wood?'
'Yes,' he said. 'Many elves.' 'And are they flanking us?'
I asked. 'Yes,' said Legolas. 'They have come to witness
my healing.' I wondered why I had a much harder time
seeing them than seeing Legolas. He seemed to think it
was because of your stories, Papa, like the old tales
gave me a kind of grip on him. And it's stories, even
more than the glass, that makes me catch even glimpses of
elves now.
I can't write much more; the fire has died
down to embers and I can hardly see the page before me.
But I hear whispering all around the camp, and maybe even
faint wisps of tunes. Tomorrow we reach Treegarth, Papa,
that you once knew as Isengard."
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