The Elanor Bloom, part 2
Feb. 29th, 2008 02:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
claudia603Title: The Elanor Bloom
Author: Claudia
Rating: PG
Summary: A friendship between a Ranger from the North and a hobbit on a perilous quest is forged.
Disclaimer: The usual. Characters and places? Not mine
A/N:
Previous part:
Part 1
After the screeching horrors of the previous night, it seemed miraculous and wondrous that the sun could once again brighten the gray sky, that birds once again leaped from branch to rooftop, singing and chattering, and that the people of Bree could be scurrying about on regular business. Frodo peered outside through the crack in the curtain. Then he knelt beside his sword, which lay under the window, evidence that the night before had not been a dream. He picked it up and gingerly put it inside his pack.
“Come,” Strider beckoned to the hobbits. “I want to show you something before we leave.” The hobbits gathered their packs and followed Strider down the back stairs to the hobbit room into which the hobbits had originally checked into that night. They found Nob and Butterbur already there, fluttering their hands in dismay.
“I’ve never seen the like of this, never in my lifetime,” Butterbur said, shaking his head in misery. Frodo peeked around him into the hobbit guest room. His heart sped as he looked upon the ransacked beds, thrown about like they weighed nothing, pillows ripped apart, their feathers scattered all over the room, and the broken windows. Shattered glass twinkled in the early morning sunlight.
“I thought this might happen,” Strider said.
“If we hadn’t gone to your room--” Frodo started.
“And more bad news, I‘m afraid,” Nob added, speaking mostly to Merry. “The stable was raided last night. All the ponies are gone. Never heard nothing like that screaming last night.”
Merry and Frodo turned to each other in dismay. Frodo’s heart sank. All their ponies -- gone. How on earth would they make it to Rivendell now?
Butterbur nodded, clenching his fists in fury. “Those good-for-nothing men from the south are yammering about their horses being gone when they were the ones that welcomed those strangers. Take up with horse thieves and plunderers, what do they expect? They’ve already given poor Bob a tongue-lashing--” Butterbur broke off into a groan. “What a mess. What are we going to do? What have we come to?”
Frodo touched Butterbur’s elbow. “When we’re gone, they’ll bother you no more.” He looked up at Strider. “What are we going to do without the ponies? Are there any to be had in Bree?”
“We will have to carry more,” Strider said, clearly not encouraged by the thought. “But we shall need at least one pony for supplies.”
“Are there any ponies for sale in Bree?” Merry asked.
“I shall ask around for you,” Nob said. “I think I know of at least one, and his owner’s not likely to sell it for a fair price.”
Butterbur and Nob bustled away, Butterbur to deal with his awakening and discontent guests and Nob to find a pony.
“We’ll not get out of here before noon,” Frodo groaned under his breath.
“We’ll not get out of here unseen as it is,” Merry said. “The other guests seem to be awake, judging from all the racket.”
“At least we can have a proper breakfast while we wait,” Pippin said.
Frodo put his arm around him and squeezed. It was perhaps a selfish thought, but he was now glad that his cousins had stood strong and had not agreed to go home. Whatever would he do without Pippin’s cheerfulness and Merry‘s good sense?
Frodo released Pippin and whispered to Merry, “I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry about?”
“Asking you to go home.”
“I thought you might at some point. You can ask all you want, but it won’t ever happen.”
Frodo laughed and gave him a hug. He caught Strider‘s gaze. Frodo wondered if Strider had dear kinsmen that he could fall upon in the darkest of times.
Strider and the hobbits made their way to the now crowded Common Room. Just as they settled at their table, a group of surly men surrounded Butterbur.
“So,” one of them demanded. “What of it, Butterbur? What are you going to do about our horses?”
Frodo leaned over to whisper to Strider, “Do you suppose those men will cause trouble for Butterbur?”
“I suspect they’re merely hot air,” Strider said, but he was tense, his hand on the hilt of his sword. Frodo thought that Strider would be a dangerous enemy to have.
“And,” Butterbur was saying to the angry men, “you needn’t give my servant the tongue-lashing that you did, neither.”
A sneering man with dark, greasy hair said, “Well, if you didn’t use little dwarves to guard the stable, then maybe the stable wouldn’t have gotten raided.”
“Dwarves?” Sam practically spit.
Pippin glared at the men, and Merry put a restraining hand on him.
The men strode toward the door. A few gave Frodo dark looks but did not dare say anything with Strider staring at them. They muttered among themselves and left the inn.
“Well,” Frodo said. “Good riddance to them.” He dug out his pipe. “I think that a nice after breakfast smoke might do us all some good.”
“Now that’s a fine idea,” Merry said, digging through his pack. Before long, all four hobbits and the Ranger had lit their pipes. Pippin was attempting a smoke ring, but it came out as an amorphous blur.
“No, no,” Frodo said, blowing a perfect smoke ring. “How many times have we gone over this?”
“I just can’t do it,” Pippin said. “Never mind, I’ll just enjoy my smoke, if you don’t mind.”
Merry blew a rather lopsided ring into his face. “Too bad. Taller than you AND I can blow smoke rings.”
“You are not taller than me,” Pippin said.
“I’m taller than you both,” Frodo said. “Now listen, Pippin. Let me show you again.”
“May I listen in on this?” Strider asked. “I can’t blow smoke rings either.”
Frodo laughed. “You’ve been friends with Gandalf for years and you have never learned how to blow smoke rings?”
Just then Nob returned and trotted over to them. “Sirs,” he struggled to catch his breath. “We found one pony. He was all that could be found in all of Bree. He is owned by one Bill Ferny.” Nob winced. “It’s a poorly, skinny little animal and he asked far too much for it.”
“Ah, Bill Ferny. Of course. He’d sell anything to anyone for a bit of mischief,” Strider said under his breath.
“And,” Nob added. “I don’t appreciate being called a rat neither.”
“He called you a rat?” Frodo asked, appalled. “Nob, is that common here in Bree?”
“Not among decent folks, it’s not,” Nob said. “Most of the Big Folk here are kindly and hard-working. But Bill Ferny has been trouble since he was a youth. Watch yourself with him. Don’t let him see which way you’re going. Oh, the pony’s tied up out front.”
“Thank you, Nob. How much was it?” Merry asked.
Nob waved. “Nothing, of course. Your ponies were lost on our watch. It’s not much but it’s the least we can do for now.”
Strider and the hobbits stood outside looking at the pathetic scrawny pony that Nob had bought from Bill Ferny.
“Now that was a cheat,” Sam said, shaking his head. “There ain’t no way this pony’s worth that much.”
“Bill Ferny knew we were desperate for it,” Merry said, gritting his teeth.
Sam petted the pony. “Poor Bill.”
“Why are you feeling sorry for Bill Ferny?” Pippin asked. “He’s a wicked, wretched man.”
“Naw, not this Bill,” Sam said, scratching behind the pony’s ears.
“You’re going to name the pony Bill?” Frodo asked in disbelief.
“This is Bill the Pony, a far more intelligent Bill. And we‘re going to take good care of him, yes sirree.”
By mid afternoon they had left Bree far behind and the hobbits were weary. Sweat trickled down Frodo’s back and face, and his pack rubbed into his shoulder with blistering pain. The hobbits had grown overly accustomed to riding since Buckland, and although Sam, Pippin, and Frodo had indeed put in many hours of walking to get to Buckland, walking in the Shire could not be compared to this wild land in which paths were rocky and rough and sometimes inclined or declined with little warning.
Frodo’s ankle slammed into a root jutting out of the path, and he toppled to his knees.
Sam ran to him, the pots and pans on his pack clanging. Strider paused and looked back with concern, or possibly irritation. Frodo examined his ankle and saw a red blotch but no real harm done. Merry knelt beside him, his hand on Frodo’s shoulder.
“It’s not swelling at least,” he said.
“Let me see it,” Sam said. “Just sit tight.” He took Frodo’s foot in his hands and said, “Wriggle it around.”
“Sam, I’m all right,” but he obeyed him. It stung a little, but there was no serious injury.
Strider started back to them, but Frodo waved him away. “I’m all right,” he said. Sam helped him to his feet and he wiped the dirt from his jacket. He nodded to Strider to show that he was ready to go on. Strider went on ahead. Frodo hobbled on. His ankle felt a little weak, and one of his knees stung.
“There are these roots, see, in the path,” Pippin said to Frodo with mock gravity. “And if you don’t watch where you’re going, they’ll trip you up.”
Frodo grinned and elbowed him in the ribs.
“There are disadvantages to being tall,” Merry said. “Wouldn’t you say so, Pip?
“He’s not that much taller than us,” Pippin said.
Two hours later, Pippin struggled to keep up with the others. “Surely we’ll stop to set up camp soon? The sun is getting quite low.” His normally merry face was sweaty and flushed, and he stumbled rather than walked.
Frodo’s lower back hurt terribly and the ankle that had hit the root had begun to throb. He longed to throw himself down in the cool grass off the side of the trail, but the more distance they covered before nightfall, the better. Whenever he imagined the Black Riders riding around in the heavy darkness of the wilderness, screeching, sniffing him out, he felt cold inside. He was afraid. He had never been so afraid in his life, and now he was truly vulnerable, far from home and aid and with Gandalf nowhere to be found.
Pippin tripped and stubbed his toe. “Oh, confound it,” he said, wiping sweat from his brow. “We can’t keep going and going like this. Tell Strider that we need to rest. He‘ll listen to you.”
“We must go on,” Frodo said under his breath. “I’m weary, too, but we must go on as long as Strider thinks we ought to.”
“Frodo’s right,” Merry said. Frodo startled at the hollow fear in his eyes, and he wondered again what had really happened to Merry when he encountered the Black Rider on the streets of Bree.
At last Strider led them off the path and behind the shield of a thicket. “We will rest here. I will take a brief nap, if you hobbits will keep watch.”
Pippin threw himself down on the ground. “If you can believe it, I’m too tired to eat!”
“No, I can’t believe that, Peregrin Took.” Frodo took out the sandwiches that Nob had packed for them that morning. “Come on, sit up.”
“Too…tired…” Pippin said.
Frodo set the sandwiches down. “Too tired for…this?” He tickled Pippin under his foot.
Pippin yelped and scuttled backwards like a crab, suddenly full of energy.
“Shhh,” Merry said, glancing at Strider, who already was snoring.
“Oh, he’d sleep through a raiding army right now, I think,” Pippin said, striking without warning to grab Frodo by the arms and flinging him to his back. “Hold him down, Merry!”
Merry grinned and held Frodo’s wrists down while Pippin tickled him mercilessly on his stomach. Gasping and determined not to collapse with laughter, Frodo twisted out of Merry’s grip and with one deft move, grabbed Pippin’s arm and twisted it behind his back. “Say uncle!”
“Uncle! Uncle!” Pippin yelled, laughing and gasping.
“I’m still your older cousin,” Frodo whispered in his ear with a mischievous grin. “Never forget it.”
Strider shifted in his sleep.
Sam said, “Come on, let’s eat before he gets up and gets us walking again.”
Frodo released Pippin and returned to his sandwiches. He passed them out, leaving one for Strider for when he woke up.
“My feet still hurt,” Pippin said, groaning. “They’ll probably never stop hurting. Not until we get to Rivendell, at least.”
Strider rolled over and sat up. He beckoned Frodo to him. “I shall be right back,” he said under his breath. “I am going to scout the immediate area and look for signs of the Black Riders. Be prepared to set off again in fifteen minutes.”
Frodo nodded, swallowing a lump of weariness. How nice it would be if there was no danger and they could just continue to rest in this happy clearing for the night .
“This is hard for you and your folk,” Strider said.
Frodo managed a smile. “It’s good for us.” He patted his belly. “Before too long, it will be difficult to distinguish me from the wraiths!”
Strider grabbed Frodo’s arm with bruising force, shocking a gasp from Frodo. His eyes were dark and grim, and Frodo’s heart thudded with alarm. He tried to pull his arm away but Strider’s grip was unyielding. “Do not ever speak of such things again.” Then, just as abruptly, he released Frodo, leaped to his feet, and set off into the woods.
Frodo wandered back to the others, feeling chastened. He rubbed his arm, newly impressed by Strider’s strength and confused by his fierce response to Frodo’s jest.
“Where did he go?” Pippin asked.
“He’ll be right back,” Frodo said. “Now get ready.” He looked into the woods where Strider had gone. Such a grim man and yet so deeply sad. Frodo wondered if all the Big People were like that.
“He’s a strange one and no mistake,” Sam said, shaking his head.
“Perhaps we should offer him some mushrooms,” Pippin said. “I bet we could find some tasty ones right here.”
“Maybe he doesn’t like mushrooms,” Merry said. “Big Folk have strange tastes. He isn’t very friendly today, is he?”
“I don’t think he’s much used to being around others.”
“I’ve still got two eyes on him,” Sam said.
Frodo smiled. “Don’t worry, Sam. If he had wanted to rob us or murder us, it would have been done already.”
When Strider returned he said, “I see no signs of the Black Riders, but that doesn’t mean they’re not around. I fear they’re waiting until nightfall. We must go on. Have you had enough rest?”
“Some of us did,” Merry said, looking at Pippin and Frodo in exasperation.
“Then let us go on,” Strider said without smiling.
“Strider.” Frodo struggled to meet Strider’s longer strides. “May I speak to you a moment?”
Strider nodded. “What is on your mind?”
“I am sorry about earlier, what I said.”
“I do not beg your forgiveness for being harsh,” Strider said. “I do not feel that you and your kinsmen fear these creatures enough.”
Frodo swallowed against a sharp response along the lines of there being no doubt that he feared them, that he should know, seeing how he was the one that had been pursued from the moment he had fled Bag End. “What worries you now?” he asked instead.
“We’ve more than a fortnight left to go until Rivendell. A lot can happen in that time.”
Frodo nodded, feeling new fear curl inside his stomach. “There’s no comfort in your words, but if a humble hobbit from the Shire may offer some hope, there’s nothing that can be done about it so all we can do is take it one day at a time. And we‘ve nearly made it through the first day.”
“It is not the days that worry me as much as the nights.”
“Well, one night at a time then.”
“The clouds are building, which makes me worry that it might rain tonight, and with rain, a fire is hard to keep going, and above all, we need to keep a fire burning. They fear fire.”
“Merry and Pippin are good at fires,” Frodo said. “I’ve seen them build a fire in the worst of circumstances.” He paused. “Well, for us, that would be a gentle rain in the Shire.”
Strider offered Frodo a heartfelt smile. “Thank you,” he said quietly. And Frodo perceived that Strider was thanking him for far more than just offering the aid of Pippin and Merry.
They walked in pleasant silence for a time. Frodo wondered at this wild land, and wondered who had lived in it in the past and who would live in it far in the future when the Shire and Breeland were long gone.
Finally the sun went down and started to set swiftly, and Strider beckoned for them to stop. “We will take cover in this cave.”
“It looks like a Barrow,” Merry said with a shiver.
“There’s a chill,” Sam said. “But it beats lying out in the open.”
Frodo shivered. There was indeed a shiver to the night, a chill that rose with the moon. He felt a terrible slithering fear inside his stomach that hadn’t been there in daylight. Merry and Pippin got the fire started.
“Will they not be attracted to the fire?” Frodo asked Strider.
“It’s possible, but never forget that it is you and what you bear that attracts them. Without a fire, we have little defense.”
Frodo nodded. This was only the first night out of many to come…it was difficult to imagine that he could safely get through this night, much less many others. He hunched forward, shivering.
“Remember,” Strider said, putting his hand on Frodo‘s shoulder. “One night at a time.”
Author: Claudia
Rating: PG
Summary: A friendship between a Ranger from the North and a hobbit on a perilous quest is forged.
Disclaimer: The usual. Characters and places? Not mine
A/N:
Previous part:
Part 1
After the screeching horrors of the previous night, it seemed miraculous and wondrous that the sun could once again brighten the gray sky, that birds once again leaped from branch to rooftop, singing and chattering, and that the people of Bree could be scurrying about on regular business. Frodo peered outside through the crack in the curtain. Then he knelt beside his sword, which lay under the window, evidence that the night before had not been a dream. He picked it up and gingerly put it inside his pack.
“Come,” Strider beckoned to the hobbits. “I want to show you something before we leave.” The hobbits gathered their packs and followed Strider down the back stairs to the hobbit room into which the hobbits had originally checked into that night. They found Nob and Butterbur already there, fluttering their hands in dismay.
“I’ve never seen the like of this, never in my lifetime,” Butterbur said, shaking his head in misery. Frodo peeked around him into the hobbit guest room. His heart sped as he looked upon the ransacked beds, thrown about like they weighed nothing, pillows ripped apart, their feathers scattered all over the room, and the broken windows. Shattered glass twinkled in the early morning sunlight.
“I thought this might happen,” Strider said.
“If we hadn’t gone to your room--” Frodo started.
“And more bad news, I‘m afraid,” Nob added, speaking mostly to Merry. “The stable was raided last night. All the ponies are gone. Never heard nothing like that screaming last night.”
Merry and Frodo turned to each other in dismay. Frodo’s heart sank. All their ponies -- gone. How on earth would they make it to Rivendell now?
Butterbur nodded, clenching his fists in fury. “Those good-for-nothing men from the south are yammering about their horses being gone when they were the ones that welcomed those strangers. Take up with horse thieves and plunderers, what do they expect? They’ve already given poor Bob a tongue-lashing--” Butterbur broke off into a groan. “What a mess. What are we going to do? What have we come to?”
Frodo touched Butterbur’s elbow. “When we’re gone, they’ll bother you no more.” He looked up at Strider. “What are we going to do without the ponies? Are there any to be had in Bree?”
“We will have to carry more,” Strider said, clearly not encouraged by the thought. “But we shall need at least one pony for supplies.”
“Are there any ponies for sale in Bree?” Merry asked.
“I shall ask around for you,” Nob said. “I think I know of at least one, and his owner’s not likely to sell it for a fair price.”
Butterbur and Nob bustled away, Butterbur to deal with his awakening and discontent guests and Nob to find a pony.
“We’ll not get out of here before noon,” Frodo groaned under his breath.
“We’ll not get out of here unseen as it is,” Merry said. “The other guests seem to be awake, judging from all the racket.”
“At least we can have a proper breakfast while we wait,” Pippin said.
Frodo put his arm around him and squeezed. It was perhaps a selfish thought, but he was now glad that his cousins had stood strong and had not agreed to go home. Whatever would he do without Pippin’s cheerfulness and Merry‘s good sense?
Frodo released Pippin and whispered to Merry, “I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry about?”
“Asking you to go home.”
“I thought you might at some point. You can ask all you want, but it won’t ever happen.”
Frodo laughed and gave him a hug. He caught Strider‘s gaze. Frodo wondered if Strider had dear kinsmen that he could fall upon in the darkest of times.
Strider and the hobbits made their way to the now crowded Common Room. Just as they settled at their table, a group of surly men surrounded Butterbur.
“So,” one of them demanded. “What of it, Butterbur? What are you going to do about our horses?”
Frodo leaned over to whisper to Strider, “Do you suppose those men will cause trouble for Butterbur?”
“I suspect they’re merely hot air,” Strider said, but he was tense, his hand on the hilt of his sword. Frodo thought that Strider would be a dangerous enemy to have.
“And,” Butterbur was saying to the angry men, “you needn’t give my servant the tongue-lashing that you did, neither.”
A sneering man with dark, greasy hair said, “Well, if you didn’t use little dwarves to guard the stable, then maybe the stable wouldn’t have gotten raided.”
“Dwarves?” Sam practically spit.
Pippin glared at the men, and Merry put a restraining hand on him.
The men strode toward the door. A few gave Frodo dark looks but did not dare say anything with Strider staring at them. They muttered among themselves and left the inn.
“Well,” Frodo said. “Good riddance to them.” He dug out his pipe. “I think that a nice after breakfast smoke might do us all some good.”
“Now that’s a fine idea,” Merry said, digging through his pack. Before long, all four hobbits and the Ranger had lit their pipes. Pippin was attempting a smoke ring, but it came out as an amorphous blur.
“No, no,” Frodo said, blowing a perfect smoke ring. “How many times have we gone over this?”
“I just can’t do it,” Pippin said. “Never mind, I’ll just enjoy my smoke, if you don’t mind.”
Merry blew a rather lopsided ring into his face. “Too bad. Taller than you AND I can blow smoke rings.”
“You are not taller than me,” Pippin said.
“I’m taller than you both,” Frodo said. “Now listen, Pippin. Let me show you again.”
“May I listen in on this?” Strider asked. “I can’t blow smoke rings either.”
Frodo laughed. “You’ve been friends with Gandalf for years and you have never learned how to blow smoke rings?”
Just then Nob returned and trotted over to them. “Sirs,” he struggled to catch his breath. “We found one pony. He was all that could be found in all of Bree. He is owned by one Bill Ferny.” Nob winced. “It’s a poorly, skinny little animal and he asked far too much for it.”
“Ah, Bill Ferny. Of course. He’d sell anything to anyone for a bit of mischief,” Strider said under his breath.
“And,” Nob added. “I don’t appreciate being called a rat neither.”
“He called you a rat?” Frodo asked, appalled. “Nob, is that common here in Bree?”
“Not among decent folks, it’s not,” Nob said. “Most of the Big Folk here are kindly and hard-working. But Bill Ferny has been trouble since he was a youth. Watch yourself with him. Don’t let him see which way you’re going. Oh, the pony’s tied up out front.”
“Thank you, Nob. How much was it?” Merry asked.
Nob waved. “Nothing, of course. Your ponies were lost on our watch. It’s not much but it’s the least we can do for now.”
Strider and the hobbits stood outside looking at the pathetic scrawny pony that Nob had bought from Bill Ferny.
“Now that was a cheat,” Sam said, shaking his head. “There ain’t no way this pony’s worth that much.”
“Bill Ferny knew we were desperate for it,” Merry said, gritting his teeth.
Sam petted the pony. “Poor Bill.”
“Why are you feeling sorry for Bill Ferny?” Pippin asked. “He’s a wicked, wretched man.”
“Naw, not this Bill,” Sam said, scratching behind the pony’s ears.
“You’re going to name the pony Bill?” Frodo asked in disbelief.
“This is Bill the Pony, a far more intelligent Bill. And we‘re going to take good care of him, yes sirree.”
By mid afternoon they had left Bree far behind and the hobbits were weary. Sweat trickled down Frodo’s back and face, and his pack rubbed into his shoulder with blistering pain. The hobbits had grown overly accustomed to riding since Buckland, and although Sam, Pippin, and Frodo had indeed put in many hours of walking to get to Buckland, walking in the Shire could not be compared to this wild land in which paths were rocky and rough and sometimes inclined or declined with little warning.
Frodo’s ankle slammed into a root jutting out of the path, and he toppled to his knees.
Sam ran to him, the pots and pans on his pack clanging. Strider paused and looked back with concern, or possibly irritation. Frodo examined his ankle and saw a red blotch but no real harm done. Merry knelt beside him, his hand on Frodo’s shoulder.
“It’s not swelling at least,” he said.
“Let me see it,” Sam said. “Just sit tight.” He took Frodo’s foot in his hands and said, “Wriggle it around.”
“Sam, I’m all right,” but he obeyed him. It stung a little, but there was no serious injury.
Strider started back to them, but Frodo waved him away. “I’m all right,” he said. Sam helped him to his feet and he wiped the dirt from his jacket. He nodded to Strider to show that he was ready to go on. Strider went on ahead. Frodo hobbled on. His ankle felt a little weak, and one of his knees stung.
“There are these roots, see, in the path,” Pippin said to Frodo with mock gravity. “And if you don’t watch where you’re going, they’ll trip you up.”
Frodo grinned and elbowed him in the ribs.
“There are disadvantages to being tall,” Merry said. “Wouldn’t you say so, Pip?
“He’s not that much taller than us,” Pippin said.
Two hours later, Pippin struggled to keep up with the others. “Surely we’ll stop to set up camp soon? The sun is getting quite low.” His normally merry face was sweaty and flushed, and he stumbled rather than walked.
Frodo’s lower back hurt terribly and the ankle that had hit the root had begun to throb. He longed to throw himself down in the cool grass off the side of the trail, but the more distance they covered before nightfall, the better. Whenever he imagined the Black Riders riding around in the heavy darkness of the wilderness, screeching, sniffing him out, he felt cold inside. He was afraid. He had never been so afraid in his life, and now he was truly vulnerable, far from home and aid and with Gandalf nowhere to be found.
Pippin tripped and stubbed his toe. “Oh, confound it,” he said, wiping sweat from his brow. “We can’t keep going and going like this. Tell Strider that we need to rest. He‘ll listen to you.”
“We must go on,” Frodo said under his breath. “I’m weary, too, but we must go on as long as Strider thinks we ought to.”
“Frodo’s right,” Merry said. Frodo startled at the hollow fear in his eyes, and he wondered again what had really happened to Merry when he encountered the Black Rider on the streets of Bree.
At last Strider led them off the path and behind the shield of a thicket. “We will rest here. I will take a brief nap, if you hobbits will keep watch.”
Pippin threw himself down on the ground. “If you can believe it, I’m too tired to eat!”
“No, I can’t believe that, Peregrin Took.” Frodo took out the sandwiches that Nob had packed for them that morning. “Come on, sit up.”
“Too…tired…” Pippin said.
Frodo set the sandwiches down. “Too tired for…this?” He tickled Pippin under his foot.
Pippin yelped and scuttled backwards like a crab, suddenly full of energy.
“Shhh,” Merry said, glancing at Strider, who already was snoring.
“Oh, he’d sleep through a raiding army right now, I think,” Pippin said, striking without warning to grab Frodo by the arms and flinging him to his back. “Hold him down, Merry!”
Merry grinned and held Frodo’s wrists down while Pippin tickled him mercilessly on his stomach. Gasping and determined not to collapse with laughter, Frodo twisted out of Merry’s grip and with one deft move, grabbed Pippin’s arm and twisted it behind his back. “Say uncle!”
“Uncle! Uncle!” Pippin yelled, laughing and gasping.
“I’m still your older cousin,” Frodo whispered in his ear with a mischievous grin. “Never forget it.”
Strider shifted in his sleep.
Sam said, “Come on, let’s eat before he gets up and gets us walking again.”
Frodo released Pippin and returned to his sandwiches. He passed them out, leaving one for Strider for when he woke up.
“My feet still hurt,” Pippin said, groaning. “They’ll probably never stop hurting. Not until we get to Rivendell, at least.”
Strider rolled over and sat up. He beckoned Frodo to him. “I shall be right back,” he said under his breath. “I am going to scout the immediate area and look for signs of the Black Riders. Be prepared to set off again in fifteen minutes.”
Frodo nodded, swallowing a lump of weariness. How nice it would be if there was no danger and they could just continue to rest in this happy clearing for the night .
“This is hard for you and your folk,” Strider said.
Frodo managed a smile. “It’s good for us.” He patted his belly. “Before too long, it will be difficult to distinguish me from the wraiths!”
Strider grabbed Frodo’s arm with bruising force, shocking a gasp from Frodo. His eyes were dark and grim, and Frodo’s heart thudded with alarm. He tried to pull his arm away but Strider’s grip was unyielding. “Do not ever speak of such things again.” Then, just as abruptly, he released Frodo, leaped to his feet, and set off into the woods.
Frodo wandered back to the others, feeling chastened. He rubbed his arm, newly impressed by Strider’s strength and confused by his fierce response to Frodo’s jest.
“Where did he go?” Pippin asked.
“He’ll be right back,” Frodo said. “Now get ready.” He looked into the woods where Strider had gone. Such a grim man and yet so deeply sad. Frodo wondered if all the Big People were like that.
“He’s a strange one and no mistake,” Sam said, shaking his head.
“Perhaps we should offer him some mushrooms,” Pippin said. “I bet we could find some tasty ones right here.”
“Maybe he doesn’t like mushrooms,” Merry said. “Big Folk have strange tastes. He isn’t very friendly today, is he?”
“I don’t think he’s much used to being around others.”
“I’ve still got two eyes on him,” Sam said.
Frodo smiled. “Don’t worry, Sam. If he had wanted to rob us or murder us, it would have been done already.”
When Strider returned he said, “I see no signs of the Black Riders, but that doesn’t mean they’re not around. I fear they’re waiting until nightfall. We must go on. Have you had enough rest?”
“Some of us did,” Merry said, looking at Pippin and Frodo in exasperation.
“Then let us go on,” Strider said without smiling.
“Strider.” Frodo struggled to meet Strider’s longer strides. “May I speak to you a moment?”
Strider nodded. “What is on your mind?”
“I am sorry about earlier, what I said.”
“I do not beg your forgiveness for being harsh,” Strider said. “I do not feel that you and your kinsmen fear these creatures enough.”
Frodo swallowed against a sharp response along the lines of there being no doubt that he feared them, that he should know, seeing how he was the one that had been pursued from the moment he had fled Bag End. “What worries you now?” he asked instead.
“We’ve more than a fortnight left to go until Rivendell. A lot can happen in that time.”
Frodo nodded, feeling new fear curl inside his stomach. “There’s no comfort in your words, but if a humble hobbit from the Shire may offer some hope, there’s nothing that can be done about it so all we can do is take it one day at a time. And we‘ve nearly made it through the first day.”
“It is not the days that worry me as much as the nights.”
“Well, one night at a time then.”
“The clouds are building, which makes me worry that it might rain tonight, and with rain, a fire is hard to keep going, and above all, we need to keep a fire burning. They fear fire.”
“Merry and Pippin are good at fires,” Frodo said. “I’ve seen them build a fire in the worst of circumstances.” He paused. “Well, for us, that would be a gentle rain in the Shire.”
Strider offered Frodo a heartfelt smile. “Thank you,” he said quietly. And Frodo perceived that Strider was thanking him for far more than just offering the aid of Pippin and Merry.
They walked in pleasant silence for a time. Frodo wondered at this wild land, and wondered who had lived in it in the past and who would live in it far in the future when the Shire and Breeland were long gone.
Finally the sun went down and started to set swiftly, and Strider beckoned for them to stop. “We will take cover in this cave.”
“It looks like a Barrow,” Merry said with a shiver.
“There’s a chill,” Sam said. “But it beats lying out in the open.”
Frodo shivered. There was indeed a shiver to the night, a chill that rose with the moon. He felt a terrible slithering fear inside his stomach that hadn’t been there in daylight. Merry and Pippin got the fire started.
“Will they not be attracted to the fire?” Frodo asked Strider.
“It’s possible, but never forget that it is you and what you bear that attracts them. Without a fire, we have little defense.”
Frodo nodded. This was only the first night out of many to come…it was difficult to imagine that he could safely get through this night, much less many others. He hunched forward, shivering.
“Remember,” Strider said, putting his hand on Frodo‘s shoulder. “One night at a time.”