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888 the two <strong>towers</strong><br />

‘You don’t say much in all your tales about the Elves, sir,’<br />

said Sam, suddenly plucking up courage. He had noted that<br />

Faramir seemed to refer to Elves with reverence, and this<br />

even more than his courtesy, and his food and wine, had won<br />

Sam’s respect and quieted his suspicions.<br />

‘No indeed, Master Samwise,’ said Faramir, ‘for I am not<br />

learned in Elven-lore. But there you touch upon another<br />

point in which we have changed, declining from Númenor<br />

to Middle-earth. For as you may know, if Mithrandir was<br />

your companion and you have spoken with Elrond, the<br />

Edain, the Fathers of the Númenóreans, fought beside the<br />

Elves in the first wars, and were rewarded by the gift of<br />

the kingdom in the midst of the Sea, within sight of Elvenhome.<br />

But in Middle-earth Men and Elves became estranged<br />

in the days of darkness, by the arts of the Enemy, and by the<br />

slow changes of time in which each kind walked further down<br />

their sundered roads. Men now fear and misdoubt the Elves,<br />

and yet know little of them. And we of Gondor grow like<br />

other Men, like the men of Rohan; for even they, who are<br />

foes of the Dark Lord, shun the Elves and speak of the<br />

Golden Wood with dread.<br />

‘Yet there are among us still some who have dealings with<br />

the Elves when they may, and ever and anon one will go in<br />

secret to Lórien, seldom to return. Not I. For I deem it<br />

perilous now for mortal man wilfully to seek out the Elder<br />

People. Yet I envy you that have spoken with the White<br />

Lady.’<br />

‘The Lady of Lórien! Galadriel!’ cried Sam. ‘You should<br />

see her, indeed you should, sir. I am only a hobbit, and<br />

gardening’s my job at home, sir, if you understand me, and<br />

I’m not much good at poetry – not at making it: a bit of a<br />

comic rhyme, perhaps, now and again, you know, but not<br />

real poetry – so I can’t tell you what I mean. It ought to be<br />

sung. You’d have to get Strider, Aragorn that is, or old Mr.<br />

Bilbo, for that. But I wish I could make a song about her.<br />

Beautiful she is, sir! Lovely! Sometimes like a great tree in<br />

flower, sometimes like a white daffadowndilly, small and

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