Two days of marching blindfolded had gotten on Stu’s last nerve. Nor was being blindfolded his only problem. The daily marches were a unique form of torture for Stu as he felt as though he were on display. This feeling was not helped when he constantly found his posterior to be the source of much speculation. Not to mention patting and pinching. Try as he might, he could not exactly say who was the one so infatuated, though he did have a suspicion or two. Nor were the nights much better. Each night the party had been lulled to sleep by elves singing in their native tongue, their voices rising and falling in intricate rhythms and harmonies that were punctuated by Argyle’s steady moans.
The half-lings, however, had figured out a way to break the monotony. Therefore, when they at last marched single file into Caras Galdhon, it was to a rousing rendition of “White Rabbit”, hobbit style.
Even the Lorien elves joined in. Hal-drear’s voice was the loudest of all; not to mention the most off key.
By the time the blindfolds were removed, a crowd had gathered and stood in shocked silence as the party was unveiled. The singing at last died and everyone blinked owlishly as they were greeted by failing sunlight and stern visages. Standing front and center were two elves, one male and one female. The male looked as though he’d swallowed a bug. The female seemed amused.
“Welcome, Ring Bearer,” the female elf stepped forward, nearly walking all over Frito in her haste to greet Su. “We have been expecting you.”
Stu stared in to he swirling green-blue of her eyes and tried to think of something suitable to say. “Uh.”
“Lady Galadriel,” Grandlaff came
forward, casually passing his blindfold to Hal-drear.
“Please allow me to present Steward of Wrangled Gorge and Fri-Frod-Oh,
fuck it. This is the hobbit with the other ring.”
Galadriel looked around briefly. “Yes, the Half-lings. How nice to meet all of you.” She linked arms with Stu and led him a little ways away from the others. “You have caused great consternation among us, for your presence here alters what we believe to be the prophecy of the rings.”
Stu felt uncomfortable with her closeness and even more uncomfortable with her talk of prophecy. “El Ron seemed to think that you could tell us why I am here and what my role is. Maybe you can even tell us who has the right ring? I sure would hate to loose my wedding band.”
Galadriel’s eyes sparkled merrily. “Galadriel’s Mirror holds all your answers, Steward of Wrangled Gorge. Come.”
The others watched as Galadriel practically dragged Steward off towards her private garden. As they turned back towards Celeborn, Legless quietly gathered his and Steward’s packs and crept after them.
“What was that song you were singing?” Celeborn turned away from his rather peculiar wife. Arwen had come by several weeks before and she and Galadriel had been locked away for hours. When they’d finally come out, Galadriel sent Arwen packing rather unceremoniously and her behavior became odd, even by her standards.
Hal-drear’s face reddened. “A song taught to us by the Steward of Wrangled Gorge, Lord Celeborn. A …marching tune.”
Celeborn nodded as if he understood how Frito combing his head helped the company march. “I am sure you are all tired and need rest. You are welcome to Lorien, Mithandir. I am sure Galadriel will be done with the Steward shortly and we can all talk then. In the meantime, let’s get you settled and fed and you can tell me of this second ring.”
Legless stood behind a tree and watched in consternation as Galadriel poured water from a giant silver pitcher into a shallow porcelain basin. Stu stood wearing only his boxers, which had grown faded and frayed a bit during the last few months of constant abuse.
“How does this work?”
Galadriel’s eyes fairly smoldered as she looked at him. “A ritual bath, Steward, to cleanse you.”
Stu looked around the open glade. Though he could see no one, he’d learned that elves had a way of creeping up on people. “Here?”
“Do not be afraid. Come, let me help you.”
“Stu, the half-ling, Frito, has taken ill. He needs you. Now.” Legless leapt from behind the tree and tossed his cloak around Stu’s shoulders. Without waiting, Legless gripped Stu’s shoulders and spun him around and pushed him violently towards the trees.
Behind them, Galadriel threw her pitcher down on the ground with a loud ‘harumph’.
They crashed through the trees and startled elves until the reached the base of a large tree where the party was settling in. Stu tripped over a protruding root and went sprawling and lost his cloak. Quickly he scrambled to his feet and looked around for Frito.
“Frito? What’s wrong?” He grabbed the small hobbit by the shoulders and squatted down beside him.
Frito stared into Stu’s worried face. “I don’t know?”
Legless heard a noise behind him and turned in time to see Rumil lick his lips. He turned back to Stu and realized why Rumil was licking his lips and snatched up the cloak.
“Whatever is that?” Asked Celeborn with some consternation.
“Tis a bit startling, is it not, Lord Celeborn?” Replied Boomer.
Celeborn’s face colored, realizing to what the Steward of Gondor referred. “Not that.”
“Well, how was I to know? Everyone else seems to be obsessed with it,” Boomer snapped.
“Those.”
“Those go with that. Just ask Legless.”
“The covering.” Celeborn growled, wishing Boomer would get over his obsession.
“What covering?” Boomer muttered.
Fortunately for Celeborn (and maybe Boomer, as well) Legless was able to get his cloak back around Stu’s shoulders.
“He is ill, Steward. Trust me.” Legless gave Frito a look that would have easily felled an Orc and the half-ling swallowed.
“Yes, I do suddenly feel faint.”
“So do I,” moaned Rumil.
Hal-drear cast his eyes near Argyle’s crotch. “Are all men so—“
“Shut up, Dreary,” the park ranger snarled.
“Here, Mr. Frito, come and sit down. The trip has worn you down.”
Frito allowed Sam to help him sit against the tree. “Not really, Sam. I’m fine, I promise.” He met Legless’ cold gaze and immediately grew pale and groaned.
“Now that we are all here,” Grandlaff said as Stu rose. “We should discuss the world outside. We have been without news for many months. Celeborn, obviously you have had contact with El Ron. What can you tell us?”
Stu sat beside Boomer and felt Legless sit behind him. He turned with his mouth open to snap at his companion and met Rumil’s gaze. He sighed heavily and turned back around.
Celeborn, unable to take his eyes off the unusual man the wizard had brought to his realm, and made himself comfortable. “Saruman has begun marshalling forces near the Rohirrim’s borders. War is imminent in that realm.”
“Theoden’s kingdom will fall, if the rumors are true,” observed Argyle.
“They are not rumors; I can testify that Theoden’s ear is full of Wormtongue’s lies.”
Stu sucked his teeth as a mental image of an extraordinarily large tongue invading a disembodied ear drifted through his mind. He shook his head to clear it. He had to quit hanging around Legless, he thought to himself.
“Worm tongue? What is that?”
“One of Sorry Man’s foul git,” answered Grandlaff. “He whispers lies against in the King’s ear and keeps the Rohirrim in danger for his troubles.”
“The Council believes you should go to Rohan, now that Theordred is dead, and try to wean the King from Wormtongue’s influence.”
All the Theo’s were confusing Stu and then adding a wormed tongue to the mix only made matters worse. He was on the verge of zoning out when Grandlaff said something that was so unexpected that he looked up startled.
“What?”
“I said,” Grandlaff repeated rather loudly. “That I’d just as soon bed an Ent as help that stodgy old Theoden.”
Pip finally paused in his stuffing of his face with Lembas. “What is an Ent?”
“The Treehearders of Fangorn forest. They are …giant walking trees.” Argyle supplied. “For lack of a better description.”
“Hell, that gives a whole new meaning to leaf blowing doesn’t it?” Stu fell back laughing at the image.
Everyone stared at Stu as he lay on the ground chortling happily about leaf blowing and weed whacking. None of them new exactly what he was talking about and suspected he did not either. In fact, as far as Boomer was concerned, the man must have finally cracked.
After a few minutes, Stu sat up and wiped his streaming eyes. “Sorry.”
“If Rohan falls, so does Gondor,” Boomer reminded Grandlaff. “We are allies, though we have not done much for each other in recent years as each as been involved with their own worries.”
Argyle shook his head. “Our only mission is the destruction of the rings, Boomer.”
“Argyle is right. We cannot be side tracked, regardless of how much we’d like to help. Raw Hahn will have to fend for itself. As I understand the situation, Sorry Man is in league with Sorrow Man and they both want the ring. Remove the ring, remove the threat.”
Celeborn frowned. “Who are Sorry Man and Sorrow Man?”
Grandlaff waved his hand. “Long story old friend. Steward is correct. We have to concentrate on destroying the rings first.”
“Very well, if that is your decision. I will send word to Lord Elrond.” Celeborn rose to his feet. “I will leave you to rest and refresh yourselves now.”
Orophin entered the glade as the party discussed their options. Nothing was said about Stu’s departure with Galadriel or his abrupt return, though Frito did begin to look much better as Legless found someone else to receive his cold stares.
“I have brought some wine for you. I thought you would enjoy the change.” Orophin held up several large skins. “Arwen brought it when she came to visit Lady Galadriel.”
Stu grew pale beneath his tan and beard. Looking around in near panic, he raised his hands defensively. “None for me, thanks. I’m on the wagon.”
“You are on a tree root.” Perhaps the strain of the rings was becoming too much for his human and he would have to keep a closer eye on him.
“That’s—No, I mean. It’s an expression that means you are swearing off alcohol.”
“Oh.”
No one else objected to the wine, however, and the bottles were freely passed around. Even the hobbits, who preferred beer to wine, partook since they had no beer. Soon enough the company was laughing and swapping jokes. The hobbits started dancing. Grandlaff’s pipe was lit and Stu sneezed, as usual.
Stu felt a soft touch on his arm and nearly climbed out of his skin. Turning, he met Galadriel’s gaze. “Gladiola.”
Galadriel frowned slightly. “Galadriel.”
“Right, That’s what I said.”
Hal-drear hiccoughed softly. “Give it up, Lady.”
Galadriel turned to her March Warden and prepared to give him a tongue-lashing. She stopped when she realized he was quite drunk on Rivendell wine. “Come, Steward of Wrangled Gorge, and we will see what Galadriel’s mirror has to tell you.”
Stu hesitated. Something in the way she eyed him made his flesh creep. She was beautiful to look at and he was immensely attracted to her, but she reminded him too much of Arwen. “Is there no other way? The way everyone talked, you are like some kind of psychic hotline.”
“Trust me,” she said.
Oh, how Stu knew he’d regret those words. He rose from his place and followed her. As usual, Legless followed Stu.
Hal-drear hiccoughed again. He turned and grinned wickedly at Argyle. “Wanna see my ..flet?”
“Yeah, gimme the grand tour.”
Once again in the garden, Stu stripped down to his boxers. This time it was much easier, as all he had to remove was Legless’ cloak. He’d forgotten his clothes in his haste to get back to Frito. He stood in his boxers and idly scratched his ass, a nervous habit he’d had since he was a kid.
Galadriel poured water from the silver pitcher in to the basin. She smiled at Stu warmly. Her mouth opened and the shut in a grim line.
“What are you doing?”
Stu looked around and realized Legless was, again, standing behind him. “We have got to talk, my friend.”
Legless only smiled serenely.
“Is the Half-Ling ill again?” Galadriel asked venomously.
“Not at the moment, though I suspect he will be come morning. I’ve come to help Stu.”
Galadriel’s hand tightened on the pitcher. “He needs no help, Prince of Mirkwood. I am looking after him.”
“Mr. Steward?” Sam crept from beneath a shrub. “Begging your pardon, Mr. Steward, Lady Galadriel, but I was having a bit of trouble getting to sleep and then I realized you and Master Legless were gone. I got worried. No offense to you, Lady Galadriel.”
“Is there anyone else hiding in the bushes?” Galadriel spat.
“Not that I know of, Lady Galadriel,” Sam answered, giving her a puzzled and hurt look.
Stu reached down and put his arm around Sam’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, Sam, I did not mean to frighten you. Come along, I’ll walk you back to the others. Thank you, Lady Gladiola, but I really don’t think I need your mirror, after all. I used to worry why I was here, but it’s really ceased to matter. In fact, I think I know why I’m here.”
He turned and walked back with Sam to the rest of the company.
Galadriel threw her silver pitcher at the nearest tree. The pitcher bounced off the hard tree and ricocheted back towards Galadriel. Before she could react, the large pitcher slammed into her forehead and she staggered.
“Lady Gladiola, I believe you have dented your pretty silver pitcher,” Legless said as he scooped up Stu’s abandoned clothing and walked away.
Her enraged scream echoed through out the golden wood.
The first rays of the morning light teased not so gently at Stu’s closed eyes and he sniffed loudly and grunted, scrunching down more comfortably in his bedroll. The warmth of Brenda’s calloused fingers stroking the hair on his chest combined with the feel of his daughter’s wooly hair beneath his chin made him loathe to come completely awake. The scent of tobacco and sweat rising from his daughter’s wool nightdress tickled his nose.
Stu inhaled deeply and held his breath for the count of ten. Another person would have jumped to his feet screaming “Whaddafuck?” at the top of their lungs. Someone else might have allowed the too-often used phrase “Oh, God,” to roll from their lips and end in a soft, heart-felt groan. Stu did none of those things.
Rather, he reached inside his tunic and pulled free the hand stroking his flat nipples. He cautiously peeled back an eyelid and examined the hand closely. Sighing, he dropped the hand back on his chest.
“We have got to talk.”
Frito shifted in his sleep and his large blue eyes opened. “hmm?”
Stu patted Frito gently. “Not you. Go back to sleep.”
He turned over until he faced the owner of the calloused fingers. “You.”
“Me?”
“Listen, my friend,” Stu began cautiously. He was uncertain how best to explain his unusual situation. Try as he might, he’d never been able to remember with any clarity the last night at Rivendell. After a time, he’d quit trying. “I’m not gay,” he blurted.
“I have noticed this.”
“Good.”
“Many of us have discussed your lack of gaiety and have wondered.”
“…Right…”
“I have assured them that once you and I return to Mirkwood, I will take every measure within my power to change that for you.”
“Wrong.”