Of Dwarves and Men {Boromir/LOTR}

Chapter 10: "Sitting in a tree"

Chapter 10:

"Sitting in a tree"

    You would think, with the amount of times I've been awoken by my hosts at any hour of the morning, that I would be used to it.  You would also think that I would learn to be friendly in the morning, after such a rude awakening.  And you would think that the others would learn to not mess with me at this time.

    But that is not the case.

    Frerin awakes me from unconsciousness with a bucket of water to the head...followed quickly by a bucket to the head.  To say that prompts a deep hatred of life within me might be an understatement as I push through the laughing Fellowship and jump into a prepared, and warm bath.  Normally, this would be the cure to such a cruel morning, but in its extremity, I continue my stint of anger with each pang of pain upon my forehead where the pail hit me.

    Gathering upon the majestic Anduin River, at the Eastern border of Lothlorien, I grumpily watch as Galadriel stands upon a swan-like boat of great beauty and craftsmanship.  A beautiful smile paints her face, illustrating the notion that she woke up peacefully this morning.  I'd give anything to be an elf...I'd give anything not to have a rambunctious brother.

    Farther down the shoreline, and moving my gaze from a posing Galadriel, the Fellowship stands at the dock, adorned in green cloaks and clipped with Lothlorien leaf pendant.  To be blunt, the cloaks are nothing special, but they serve the purpose of keeping us warm.  The elves, however, think this gift to be one of spectacular intentions, nevermind a simple piece of cloth.

"Never before have we clad strangers in the garb of our own people. May these cloaks help shield you from unfriendly eyes," Celeborn remarks with a massive grin to exemplify my previous point.  I turn away from him, his eyes dismissing us, as we go to gather our supplies within our row boats.  Elves move gracefully through our rushing figures, launching parcels into the awaiting vessels of the water, Legolas in aid of them.  Then there are Merry and Pippin, who help by sitting in a boat and "sneakily" nibbling at lembas.  But, of course, the elf prince of Mirkwood fails to see this, lifting up the cracker-like bread so that the two hobbits can see.

"Lembas! Elvish Waybread.  One small bite is enough to fill the stomach of a grown man," Legolas exclaims, his expression far too excited to be appropriate in this situation.  He acts as if the One Ring was destroyed while he slept last night, rather than simply looking upon a cracker that he ate every day for the past three-thousand years.  Don't get me wrong, I'm a carboholic, but that does not mean that I do a jig at the sight of croissants.

"You're way too excited about this, having grown up on such food," Ruelin replies as she walks past the four of us, speaking in line with my own thoughts.  This catches Legolas' attention, his eyes following her figure before he chases after her.  I chuckle at the sight of this, seeing as Ruelin's attraction to the elf is no longer a one-way street.  Oh, the magic of love.

"How many did you eat?" Merry asks Pippin, effectively snapping me out of my thoughts.  Looking back at the two, I look at the humoured expression of Merry, knowing his friend and practical-brother better than he knows himself.  Pippin just look shameless at the questioning, not containing the maturity of knowing his faults.

"Four," Pippin responds, in sync with a burp.  I grimace at his words, knowing lembas well enough to recognize that this is a lot of food.  If I didn't know any better, I'd place a bet with Frerin over when Pippin will blow up from this intake.  Just thinking about it makes me nauseous.

"Hobbits," I mutter, rolling my eyes as I move away from them before they can admit to any more ridiculous feats of digestion.  Moving South along the shoreline, seeing little preparation to be made, I peek my head around a thick Oak tree to look upon a conversing Aragorn and Celeborn.  And from what I can tell, Frerin stands on the opposite side of their forms, readying himself to make one of his grand entrances.