'What a day!' Frodo thought to himself as he stared into the dancing flames of the campfire. His legs were still exhausted from the long afternoon hike, and he imagined that they'd be sore for days to come. But at least tomorrow would be quiet as the class reps met to discuss their goals for the upcoming year.
And tonight was turning out quieter than he'd expected. The campfire was meant to be an all-council affair, where the representatives from ALL the classes could relax and enjoy themselves. But only fifteen minutes into
it, about the time that the fire really started going, Haldir insisted that the seniors return with him to their cabin to get a "jumpstart" on discussing "the senior agenda". Shortly thereafter, the hobbit freshmen ran off to see if the camp kitchen might reopen for another meal. And then, slowly but surely, the others left one by one, until now only the sophomores remained.
Frodo wondered if his fellow classmates would mind if he retired to their cabin as well. After all, he was in the middle of a fascinating essay on eternal truth by the hobbit philosopher Kierkegourd and he was anxious to
get back to it. And it wasn't as if he hadn't already spent hours last night talking to his fellow sophomores, so surely they wouldn't mind him turning in early.
He was just about to suggest it when Boromir said, "Now that it's just us, the REAL fun can begin." He set his backpack down in front of the log he was sitting on, and Frodo recognized the distinct sound of bottles knocking together.
"What've you got there, laddie?" Gimli asked, and Frodo could tell by the dwarf's eager tone that he too had recognized the noise.
Boromir grinned as he unzipped his backpack and grandly pulled out a six-pack of bottles. "No campfire is complete without ale," he announced, pulling a bottle opener from the backpack and starting to open the bottles.
"Thanks!" Frodo said as Gimli passed him a bottle. Taking a long swig, he realized the ale was lukewarm, but it still tasted refreshing.
As Boromir tried to pass an opened bottle to Legolas, the elf waved his hands in protest. "No thanks," Legolas explained. "I don't drink."
Boromir smiled, obviously in a good mood. "Don't worry about it -- Professor Halfelven won't care."
Legolas shook his head. "It's not that," he explained. "I just don't drink."
Boromir shrugged. "Suit yourself."
"That just means more for the rest of us," Gimli said, taking a large slug from his bottle.
"Hey!" Arwen said, reaching across her fellow elf and grabbing the open bottle from Boromir just as he was about to take a drink. "Just because LEGGY doesn't want one doesn't mean *I* don't."
Boromir relinquished the bottle to her and then grabbed another one for himself. Then, holding the bottle out towards the flames, he said, "Let's drink a toast -- to the sophomores!"
"To the sophomores!" the rest of the classmates cheered before each taking a swig.
"This would be perfect," Boromir said, staring into the flames, "if only we had the fixings for campwiches."
"What are campwiches?" Frodo asked, always eager to discuss food.
"Oh, campwiches are the BEST," Boromir said excitedly. "My brother and I always used to eat them on camping trips. What you do is you roast marshmallows and then stack them between graham crackers and chocolate."
"You mean s'mores," Frodo said.
"S'mores?" Boromir repeated.
Frodo nodded. "That's what we call them in the Shire, anyway. And I DO have the fixings for them -- or at least the marshmallows and the chocolate -- back in our cabin."
"Then what are you waiting for, laddie?" Gimli asked, anxious to try this new delicacy. "Go get 'em."
Frodo stood up quickly and was instantly reminded how tired his legs were. Luckily, the sophomores' cabin was nearby so he didn't have far to go. "I'll be right back," he said, heading off into the darkness.
Behind him he heard the conversation continue as Boromir asked, "But what should we use for the crackers. Campwiches aren't campwiches without graham crackers."
Legolas suggested, "We could always use Arwen's lembas," and Arwen immediately protested, causing Frodo to smile to himself.
It was a dark night, and Frodo got out his phial to help him find his way to the cabin. Seeing it glow reminded him of this afternoon in the cave, and he felt a shiver down the back of his neck just thinking about it. He still couldn't believe that he'd actually taken the dare to go in, and he swore to himself to never admit to his classmates how scared he'd really been.
Luckily, he hadn't seen any living creature inside the cave. But he'd seen several dead ones, trapped in the heavy spider webs that blocked all the passageways. And several times he thought he'd heard noises behind him, but he hadn't seen anything when he turned around to look. Of course, he hadn't looked too hard or held the phial out to see in the darkest corners. Maybe Legolas WAS right and a giant spider did exist, but Frodo didn't want to be the one to prove him right.
Frodo reached the cabin and hurried inside to grab the food. It had been Sam's idea to pack extra. "You never know when you'll be hungry," Sam had insisted, "and them other races generally have only three meals a day. You don't wanna starve this weekend, do ya?"
And now he was particularly happy that he'd brought the food for it meant more relaxing time with his classmates. As he pulled the marshmallows and chocolate out of his bag, Frodo noticed his book lying open on his pillow and realized that philosophy would have to wait, for ale and s'mores were waiting.
Frodo heard the cabin door slam shut behind him as he exited into the darkness. Shoving the bag of marshmallows under his arm and grasping the entire stack of chocolate bars in one hand, he raised the glass phial aloft with his free hand to light the path ahead and the soft glow grew brighter, throwing the roots and stones covering the pathway into sharp relief.
He stepped carefully around the obstacles, mindful of the sharp rocks, as he made his way back to the stone circle. As he neared the warm glow of the fire, Frodo heard a surprising sound -- a sonorous male voice, singing a bawdy drinking song. Boromir stood on one of the log benches, extolling the dubious virtue of a pretty maiden from Osgiliath in a pleasant baritone.
Frodo cheered along with his classmates after Boromir finished the song. The hobbit brought the treats to the benches closest to the fire, where the rest of their group sat. Legolas, who sat whittling a few long sticks with his pocketknife, looked up and smiled as Frodo approached.
"I didn't know you could sing, Boromir," Arwen said, clearly impressed. She sat cross-legged on the bench nearest Frodo.
Boromir shrugged as he tore into the bag of marshmallows. "I don't know if I would call that singing, but it's good enough for the pub...and for our campfire."
Frodo sat next to Legolas, who handed him a smoothly whittled, pointed stick. It was absolutely perfect for roasting marshmallows. And, Frodo realized, Legolas had given him the longest stick to accommodate his shorter arms. Frodo grinned at the elf and took a swig of his ale.
"So what about you guys?" Boromir asked as he handed each person a marshmallow. "Does anyone else know any good campfire songs?"
"Are you kidding?" Arwen asked. "Leggy here spent years practically living on campfire songs."
Legolas said nothing in response and merely reached across Frodo to hand Arwen one of his skewers. However, Frodo could've sworn that Legolas deliberately gave her the SHORTEST one.
"'Living on campfire songs'?" Boromir asked, confused. "What does THAT mean?"
Legolas shrugged, obviously not wanting to make a big deal about it. "She means that I spent a couple years in the Rangers before university."
"The Rangers!" Gimli seemed impressed. "I guess I never pictured you as the masculine sleep-on-the-dirt type."
"Then you must know a LOT of campfire songs," Frodo said as he placed his skewer, with the marshmallow firmly attached, over the fire.
"Then sing us one," Boromir encouraged, stabbing three marshmallows precariously onto the end of his whittled stick.
"Well...let's see..." Legolas mumbled to himself, obviously trying to pick a good one. "There's always 'Pedin o in Tyss'."
Frodo chuckled. "'I Talk to the Trees'?!"
Boromir laughed heartily at the translation as Gimli teased, "What kind of fruity elf song is that?"
Legolas said nothing, and it took a moment for Frodo to realize that the elf was pouting. Frodo smiled to himself, suddenly wondering how many of Legolas's silences were actually unidentified pouts.
But Arwen quickly changed the subject, suggesting to him, "We could do 'U Celduín'." Legolas nodded in agreement, suddenly perking up, and Arwen continued, "You should start -- it's easier to find the harmony that way."
Legolas began singing the soulful ballad in a lyrical tenor voice, and soon Arwen came in with a lilting soprano descant. Something about the song seemed very familiar to Frodo, but he couldn't quite place it. The Elvish lyrics told of a traveler, far from home, longing to see his favorite river again. But the translation didn't really matter, for the harmonies themselves spoke of the rootlessness and longing of the singer. Frodo got so lost in the beauty of the song that he felt sad when it was over.
Apparently he wasn't the only one engrossed in the singing, for just as the song ended, Gimli suddenly exclaimed "Dammit!" as he pulled his flaming marshmallow from the fire. He blew out his unintentional torch, grumbling, "And it was almost perfectly golden, too." He stared pathetically at it for another moment before mumbling quietly to himself, "Bloody elves."
"Oh, I'll take the burnt one," Boromir said, grabbing up the charred blob from Gimli's stick and popping it into his mouth as he handed Gimli a new marshmallow.
Frodo, in the meantime, had toasted his own marshmallow to perfection and was ready to assemble his makeshift S'more. He grabbed a chocolate bar and two pieces of lembas and sandwiched the golden marshmallow off his skewer. He took a tentative bite, worried about how it would taste without the graham crackers. But he was pleasantly surprised -- the lembas gave it an interesting flavor that was actually quite delicious. 'I'll have to remember to tell Merry and Pippin.'
'Pippin!' Suddenly Frodo's mind clicked and he exclaimed outloud, "You sang that song in choir last year, didn't you?"
Legolas nodded. "We did it for the spring concert."
Frodo nodded. "I thought it sounded familiar. My cousin was always humming it last year -- he practically drove us all crazy!"
Legolas considered Frodo for a moment. "By any chance is Pippin your cousin?"
"Yeah! How'd you guess?"
"Oh, you know," Legolas teased dryly. "He seems to have a talent for driving everyone crazy."
Arwen reached around Frodo to playfully shove her fellow elf. "You be nice, Leggy. Pippin's a dear."
"He's also my chem lab partner," Boromir cheerfully offered.
Frodo smiled, shaking his head. "Small world."
"Oh!" Arwen exclaimed excitedly. "THAT'S what we could sing -- 'It's a Small World'!"
"NO!" the other four shouted in unison.
"Okay, okay," Arwen said, quickly backing off. "So what SHOULD we sing?"
"Something fun," Frodo suggested.
"Something RAUNCHY," Boromir said with a wink.
"Oh, I know JUST the song," Arwen said, grinning mischievously.
"Which one?" Legolas asked.
"The one about Beren and Luthien."
Legolas squinted his eyes doubtfully as Frodo asked, "But isn't that a mournful Elvish love ballad?"
Arwen laughed. "This is what you might call a slightly different version."
"So let's hear it," Boromir encouraged.
Arwen cleared her throat dramatically and began:
"Have you heard about Beren and Luthien,
The love of an elf and a hu-mien?
And although Beren's life was short short short
Other parts of him were quite La La La La La La La."
The boys all laughed heartily as Arwen continued. By the third verse they were all singing along with the "La's", but by the sixth they were laughing so hard they couldn't even get the "La's" out.
"Bravo!" Boromir cheered, applauding wildly as Arwen finished.
"That was WAY better than some mournful Elvish ballad," Gimli agreed.
Legolas grinned. "Maybe we can convince Tom to let us sing it in choir."
Arwen laughed. "Who do you think TAUGHT it to me?" she asked, winking as she took a long swig of her ale.
“Why, Frodo, I do believe you’re blushing!” Arwen teased when she lowered her bottle. “Not exactly the kind of poetry you’d see in ‘The Ring’, is it?”
“The ring?” Boromir spoke up quickly. “What’s that?”
Frodo was beginning to show his exhaustion from the day now as his body reacted to the alcohol. “Oh, it’s just a college publication that I edit,” he answered with a yawn as he set down his empty ale bottle.
“You’re the editor?” Boromir blurted out, causing Frodo to look up uncomfortably and the rest of the group to bristle slightly at the patronizing tone of the question. Noticing the looks, Boromir quickly added, “I was just surprised because you’re so young. I mean, you’d think that a senior would hold a position like editor.” Taking a swig of ale, Boromir added casually, “No offense intended, Frodo.”
“None taken,” Frodo answered wearily.
“Hey!” Boromir suddenly interjected, startling Frodo. “I remember now. When I saw you at Activities Week, you were running a booth for ‘The Ring’, right?”
“Yeah,” Frodo agreed.
“This is sure good luck that this came up,” Boromir continued excitedly. “My frat has been looking for a new place to advertise our fundraisers; we've been wanting to reach out to a more diverse group. Is ‘The Ring’ a monthly publication?”
“Well, yes,“ Frodo began, not liking the turn this conversation was taking, "but we're STRICTLY a literary magazine. 'The Ring' doesn't print adverts or articles."
"But there are other ways, Frodo," Boromir suggested. "Other paths that 'The Ring' might take.
Frodo was quite unnerved by the man's intensity. "I know what you would say. And it would seem like wisdom but for the warning in my heart."
"Warning?" Boromir asked, clearly not comprehending Frodo's unease. "Against what?"
Before Frodo could answer, Arwen interrupted, leaning forward and looking pointedly at Boromir. “No fair discussing MEN business at a StuCo retreat.”
Frodo sighed with relief, not even realizing he'd been holding his breath whilst under the man's intense scrutiny.
“The lass has a point,” Gimli cut in. “You wouldn’t want to neglect your duties as Class President,” and here he tossed a second empty bottle down at his feet as he held out his hand toward Boromir for a third, “now would you?”
Boromir laughed heartily as he dug out another ale for Gimli, “I certainly wouldn’t want that!”
Gimli took a long pull at the new ale and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Noticing Legolas grimace in disgust, Gimli gave a mischievious grin and launched into an appalling account of a dwarf drinking party.
“…and that’s why you should never mix orc spirits with Lucky Charms,” Gimli finished, shaking his head in regret at the memory.
“Uhhhggggg!” the rest of the group groaned with feeling.
“And I thought that MEN Rush Week parties got out of control,” Boromir added, raising his ale bottle in a respectful salute. “We’ve got nothing on you dwarves.”
"That's right," Gimli said proudly. "Dwarf drinking games are definitely in a league of their own."
"Drinking games?" Legolas repeated with more than a hint of disdain.
Boromir laughed. "You're a college student, Legolas! Haven't you ever been in a drinking game?"
The elf shook his head. "I don't like to drink," he answered matter-of-factly.
"Why not?" Gimli asked. "Are you TOO GOOD for drinking?"
Frodo thought he saw an affirmative answer in the elf's eyes, but Legolas merely said, "I don't like the feeling of being out-of-control."
Boromir laughed. "I can see that."
Arwen agreed. "You always HAVE been the controlling type, Leggy."
"I guess, to a certain extent, we ALL are." When everyone turned and looked blankly at Frodo, the hobbit explained, "If each of us didn't care a little about being in control, we never would've run for StuCo in the first place. Being a student officer is one of the few ways we can TAKE control of our lives at university."
Legolas nodded. "As well as being an editor or working on the Greek Council," he said, looking in turn at Frodo and then Arwen and Boromir.
"And I'm a volunteer for the Redhorn Riders," Gimli added, clearly not wanting to be outdone.
Boromir nodded. "I guess we are all interested in control. Though I think some of us are MORE interested than others," he said, looking pointedly at Arwen.
For once, Arwen's serene exterior seemed disrupted. "What do you mean by that?" she asked in an almost meek voice.
"You know exactly what I mean," Boromir answered. "You're always trying to get your own way on the Greek Council. And you constantly try to bend the rules so that you can get what you want."
There was an uncomfortable silence around the campfire as Boromir’s words hung in the air. Strangely, Arwen didn’t look as angry as Frodo thought she would. For a moment she seemed almost shaken, but then she squared her shoulders and glared back at Boromir.
“Maybe I do bend some of the rules…some of the time,” Arwen replied sharply. “But it’s not like I have the option of failure. Being the only daughter of the ‘respected Professor Halfelven’ carries its responsibilities. I have to be perfect, and I have to succeed.”
“I hate to be the one ta tell ya this, lassie, but those expectations are a wee bit unrealistic,” Gimli said shrewdly as he took another long swig and then burped.
Stifling a laugh at Gimli’s strange manners, Frodo cleared his throat and looked up at Arwen. “I think what Gimli is trying to say is that you don’t have to try and be something you’re not, even if your dad is—“
“The scariest, goddamn professor in the whole of Middle Earth,” Gimli added loudly, interrupting Frodo’s train of thought.
“Gimli!” everyone spoke at once, “Keep your voice down!”
Gimli just chuckled and took another swig of ale.
“I know what you're trying to say, Frodo, but never mind that,” Arwen said while looking at Boromir. “The important thing is whether our class president and I can get along smoothly enough so that we can ALL be successful this year. Right, Boromir?”
“Hear, hear,” Boromir answered guardedly as he inclined his head in Arwen’s direction.
The group once again descended into an awkward silence. Frodo's weariness returned once again, and he absently rubbed the back of his neck, wondering how late it was. Stifling a yawn, he broke the silence by pointing out, "The fire seems to be dying. Maybe we could sing another song or two and then head in to bed."
There was an audible collective sigh at Frodo's suggestion.
"What shall we sing?" Legolas asked.
Boromir shrugged. "Is there something that we ALL know?"
"How about 'Tolnasee'?" Gimli suggested.
"YOU know 'Tol Na Sí'?" Arwen exclaimed.
Gimli shot her a weird look. "Of course! EVERYONE knows 'Tolnasee'. It's the quintessential campfire song."
"It is," Legolas agreed. "But I'm surprised that you'd admit to knowing an Elvish song."
Even in the orange light of the dying campfire, Frodo could see the dwarf blanch at the comment.
"'Tolnasee' is Elvish?" Gimli asked, clearly horrified at the suggestion.
Boromir laughed. "Of course!"
Arwen nodded, explaining, "It's an old missionary song, sung by the Elves throughout Middle Earth back in the Second Age."
"It means 'Come by here'," Frodo added helpfully.
Gimli just sat shaking his head, still unable to comprehend. "An Elvish song," he mumbled to himself. "Well, I never."
Legolas smiled smugly but said nothing.
"And look at it this way, Gimli," Boromir added, still chuckling. "The sophomore class is gonna totally rule this year. After all, not only did we beat the seniors in the relay race AND have the best damn speeches at this retreat, but we actually managed to teach a dwarf some Elvish in just one weekend."
Before Gimli could retort, Frodo quickly burst into a loud rendition of "Tol Na Sí", and the others immediately joined in, their friendly voices filling the darkened campsite:
"Tol na sí, nîn hîr, tol na sí.
Tol na sí, nîn hîr, tol na sí.
Tol na sí, nîn hîr, tol na sí.
U hîr, tol na sí."
***
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