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It was time to leave Rivendell.
I hate early starts, but it was looking to be a long
day, followed by an even longer night.
I laid my clothing out on the bed, and was tempted by
the green number with the mallorn leaf embroidery and
drop-sleeves, but decided on the forest tunic instead
- it wasn't the warmest attire, but it was more important
that nothing got in the way of me drawing my bow, should
things go bad.
My pale fawn leggings would complement the outfit best,
but I decided against wearing the matching heels - they
might have looked better, but where I was going nobody
was going to care - and let's face it, running in heels
is never easy.
So I settled for my old gymslippers. Raggy bits of leather
and cloth, but practical.
I brushed my hair fifty times - my one vanity - said
goodbye to the stuffed pengins on the bed, and joined
the rest of them outside.
Elrond saw us off. He was trying to keep his mouth serious,
but the gleam in his eyes gave it away - you could tell
there was serious money involved in this task.
I don't think I've ever seen the boss turn down anything
that clinked - I couldn't imagine what the ring was
worth, but clearly there was a bigger better deal going
on somewhere, and Elrond is drawn to profit like flies
to a fresh corpse.
Sometimes I wonder why I even volunteered for this fellowship.
But someone's gotta do the dirty work. I ony hope I
can keep this set of clothing blood-free - the stains
come out but the clothes are never the same afterward.
I was seriously irritated by the hobbits - they were
going to make everything slow.
Civilians should never be allowed to tag along - they
only get in the way. Heck, if they annoy me enough I'd
be tempted to shoot them myself!
Gandalf says he'll keep an eye on them - both eyes even.
I told him they'd be the death of him, and he raised
his freaky eyebrows at me.
It gave me the shivers. That's the problem with being
around the supernatural - you can never tell what's
going on in their minds.
At least I can look him in the eyes and not be taken
in by the sound of his voice.
One of the few advantages about being an elf in a man's
world.
Although he still dresses like a bag-end lady, at least
Aragorn knows what he's doing - it's good to have the
chief of rangers at to call on, when things go pear-shaped.
I trust Aragorn - his department has been a great help
to me in the past.
Boromir may have been better dressed than Aragorn, with
his blue padded velvet and gold embroidered red undersleeves,
but he seems to have an inferiority complex or something.
He's been whining ever since we started.
His chainmaille though, was a surprisingly practical
choice of attire that complimented the garment.
However, I don't trust his eyes. They're shifty.
I was even polite to him at the council - Elrond would
have been proud - but it's not going to be easy on this
trip. Bully for me.
But although we've barely gotten started, the Dwarf
is seriously getting on my nerves. If there's one thing
I can't stand, it's a little *man* who thinks he can
do a whole lot better than a "girly elf".
I didn't like the way this trip was starting, and I
was already regretting not choosing my longsleeved green
tunic with embroidery. It wasn't about the cold so much,
but I could have concealed my knives inconspicuously
in the sleeves.
Still, I guess bow access will be more important than
appearance for this mission.
Hopefully we won't meet anyone I know.