Chapter 112. Swimming and Sailing and Flying, O my! 

All of us stand staring after the two, er, burrowers for a few moments. Somehow, I can sense that my Sam is still feeling disturbed about the idea that they might be swimming – as is the Master, into the bargain, for he suddenly claps my Sam upon the shoulder once more and declares, ‘I cannot for the life of me imagine how they are managing to plough through the snow as they are, and without even a morning bite of Supper-breakfast – or is it Breakfast-supper? I am all at S-S-s-sixes and sevenses, I fear, and do not know whether we are coming or going, as it were.’

If my ears are not deceiving me, the Master “changed horses midstream”, as I have heard it put, for I could swear he almost said “all at Sea” just now, something I heard many a time from Merrylegs, back in that beautiful pasture, when all of us would gather around a new arrival to hear news of the Outer World, considering that at some time or another, we ourselves would be leaving the Valley. When I’d ask the old pony what something meant, especially something fearsome-sounding, he’d shake his mane and mutter that he was “all at Sea” and did not know. At first I was too shy, but eventually I asked him what it meant, and he raised his head high and looked down his long nose at me. Then his look softened.

I forget how young you are, Youngster. You were so thin and worn when first I saw you, all bones and sunken hide, I thought you older than myself. 

I remember him whickering and shaking his head at himself and then going on, It’s something my old pet says when he’s perplexed or dismayed, and I don’t know where he got it, though I suspect it was from some Elf or other, from his talk at other times of the Elves sailing from the Havens and what a forlorn World it would be should they all choose to sail away...

I would have to agree with that thought, even from my limited experience of Elves. I cannot imagine the Fair One sailing away forever more, his merry face and voice fading from my memory, much as my Old Man’s, though I try my best to remember, and my old misery, whose fading I welcome. But then, I am only a pony, and so I have difficulty imagining anything other than the Nine (I am told we are Nine Walkers, not counting myself, but I cannot count as high as nine, nor do I know the number that would refer to Nine-and-one-more, and so I will stick to what I do know: Nine) of us here, and now, and travelling onward together. Forever more?

Nor do I understand the word forever, not even when I have heard one or another of my hobbits use the term on occasion, such as youngest hobbit’s This climb goes on forever! or the not-merry hobbit’s, Pip, you are forever going on about that... now leave off! For all I am able to gather, forever seems to be quite a long time.

I rub my head against the Fair One’s arm, seeking comfort from my disquieting thoughts, and he strokes my nose gently, smiling, as if he understands my confusion and dismay, whilst we watch the toiling Men below us creeping ever farther away from us down the Mountain's side. And with a final pat for my neck, he turns away from me to the others and speaks. I understand his reference to ploughing, but I toss my head at his talk of swimming – I thought we had put that behind us! – and then he mentions grass, which reminds me I am hungry... I have been hungry for as long as I can remember, with the peaceful valley seeming so far away, now. Two peaceful valleys, actually, that are becoming muddled in my mind. Merrylegs grazes in one of them, and the other one seemed peaceful but was not, if I am remembering right. 

But I forget about grass as the Fair One springs forth from our circle around the now-dead fire, to stand atop the piled snow, above our heads (even Tall Hat’s), laughing down at us.

‘Farewell!’ he says, looking down to meet Tall Hat’s upturned face. ‘I go to find the Sun!’ And I am suddenly reminded of Tall Hat’s earlier words about Elves flying over mountains and fetching the Sun, and now I realize he was not speaking in jest!

And then the Fair One flies over the snow in truth, down the mountain, swiftly overtaking Our Big Men and, without slowing or stopping, flashes past them, down, ever down the mountainside, until he vanishes round the rocky turn.

And I wonder if this means he has sailed away, forever more. But I am only a pony, and such things are beyond my understanding. 

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Author notes:

Some thoughts here are derived from “The Ring Goes South” from The Fellowship of the Ring by J.R.R. Tolkien.

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