DISCLAIMER: Of course. The characters don’t belong to me, I just get to think about them day and night.
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UNLIKELY COMFORT

Chapter 1 -- Twilight

Frodo walked blindly on and on, paying hardly any attention to the terrain or where he was putting his feet. More than once Sam or Legolas, concerned, held out a hand to steady him or steer him. He was scarcely aware of their presence. He was only aware of Gandalf’s face, voice, empty space, someone screaming… no

Aragorn led the grief-stricken company many miles from Moria’s eastern door before calling a halt in a secluded glade just before the sun began to set. It would have to do, as the hobbits could go no further. He looked around at the decimated group, filthy, hungry, exhausted, shocked. Shock. Frodo.

Upon stopping, Sam had tugged Frodo’s pack off his back and pulled out his bedroll, laying it out on the ground.

“Sit down, Mr. Frodo.” Nothing. “Frodo? Here, sit down.”

Sam’s gentle, worried voice finally penetrated the haze. Frodo sat down and hung his head. He had said nothing since Moria. He was aware of movement around him, hushed voices, setting up of camp. He should help. He should get up. He should never have left the Shire. He should have done something to save Gandalf. Gandalf. No. He felt so cold.

Someone sat down behind him, and Frodo was aware of long, gentle fingers massaging his neck, his back, his shoulders. He sighed as he grew a bit more aware of where he was and what was going on. He felt warmer, breathed easier. Legolas. Thank goodness.

Frodo looked up as Aragorn sat down before him, holding out a mug. “Frodo, drink this. It will help. I’m sorry we can’t risk a fire, I would rather give you something hot to drink. But this will do. Please, Frodo.” Aragorn looked into his pale face, concerned.

What was this? Frodo didn’t know and he didn’t care. Even through the haze he knew Aragorn would never do anything to harm him, would never give him anything dangerous. He took the mug in a shaking hand, and Aragorn helped him press it to his lips, drink the small amount of liquid down. A bitter, strange taste. It didn’t matter.

Sam nodded his thanks to Aragorn as the Ranger got up to leave. Aragorn nodded back, glad that Sam approved, and cast another worried look at Frodo. There was much to be decided and planned, but the wellbeing of the Ringbearer was uppermost in his thoughts.

Legolas spoke soothingly in Elvish, continuing to rub Frodo’s neck and back, after awhile feeling Frodo relax and begin to sag. Legolas guided Frodo to lean back against his chest as drowsiness slowly took him, wrapped his arms about the hobbit when the herbs took effect, sending him into a deep sleep.

Legolas looked around at who was closest. Sam, of course.

“Sam, will you take Sting and lay it on the ground near us? It will alert us if any Orcs are near perhaps sooner than we can see or hear them.”

Sam did so, then unbuckled Frodo’s scabbard and laid it aside. Dampening a cloth from his waterskin, he wiped his friend’s face and hands, unclasped Frodo’s Elven cloak and folded it neatly beside him. Frodo never stirred.

“Thank you, Sam. Will you tuck a blanket around him?” Legolas lay back on the bedroll taking the sleeping hobbit with him, letting Sam cover them both. Aragorn came over and pressed his fingers lightly to the inside of Frodo’s wrist, checking his pulse, then his breathing. The herbs Elrond had given him were having the desired effect. He was relieved that he had estimated the correct amount to give Frodo. Too potent a dose would be disastrous for someone so small.

“Thank you, Legolas. I think we can settle him down on his own. Sam can…”

Legolas shook his head, speaking softly. “I don’t mind, Aragorn. He’s comfortable, and someone should be with him should he wake.”

“I can…” Sam began, but Legolas shook his head again.

“I know, Sam. Frodo loves and trusts you. And Merry and Pippin. And Aragorn too, I suspect.” The Elf smiled at the Ranger hovering close. “He needs to trust the rest of us as well, for more than defense. He’s lost someone very dear, very important. I want him to realize that we all care for him, that he can turn to us in need. Any of us.”

Sam nodded, with a small smile, and hurried off to help Merry prepare a cold supper for the group.

Finally the camp settled down, Boromir and Gimli taking first watch. Aragorn had come by again to check on Frodo. Legolas lay in the darkness, cradling the small one in his arms, working his fingers through Frodo’s soft, tangled curls. The loss of Mithrandir was an arrow piercing the Elf’s heart, but his own grief and need for comfort would have to wait until another day. For Elves there was time. There was endless time.

** TBC **

UNLIKELY COMFORT

Chapter 2 -- Midnight

Sometime after midnight, Frodo awoke groggily to find someone beside him. He was curled in a ball, nestled tightly against someone’s side, with arms wrapped about him. He was so warm... it was nice to be held. But what had happened? Had he fallen ill? He was somewhat dizzy, and so tired.

The Elf’s gentle voice, “Little one, are you awake?”

“Legolas, what…” and then he remembered. Moria.

Legolas heard Frodo gasp, felt his arms grabbed tightly, felt Frodo’s small shoulders heave as sobs shook him, hot tears wetting the Elf’s tunic. Frodo hadn’t felt such grief since his parents died. It couldn’t be true, maybe it wasn’t true. He couldn’t stop crying; it was as if he was grieving for everyone he had ever lost. Safe in the darkness under the blankets, he wept and clung to Legolas, grateful for the Elf’s silence. He didn’t want to be told it would be all right, it wouldn’t be all right. He couldn’t be strong and brave anymore, not tonight. Maybe tomorrow.

After a time Legolas felt his small friend go quiet. Frodo wanted to talk, wanted to say thank you, but for some reason he was having trouble staying awake. He struggled against the dizziness that was overtaking him, but he felt himself spinning back into darkness. The Elf felt him relax as he slipped back into sleep, his breathing once more growing slow and steady.

Sam, nearby, had sat up, his heart breaking at the sound of Frodo sobbing so. He looked at Legolas, the Elf’s hair shining in the starlight, but said nothing.

“It’s all right,“ Legolas said softly, “he’s fallen back to sleep. I doubt that herb drink is quite out of his system yet. He probably won’t even remember waking.”

“I understand. I won’t mention that I heard him.” Sam lay back down, gazing up at the stars. “Thank you, sir.”

“It’s little enough, Sam. I think he’ll be all right.” Sam was almost asleep again when he heard Legolas say, almost to himself, “I see there is an advantage to the Secondborn after all.”

Sam had never heard the phrase ‘Secondborn’ before, but he assumed it meant anyone who wasn’t an Elf. He sat up again, eager to learn anything he could about the Elves. “What advantage is that, Legolas?”

Legolas eased Frodo into a more comfortable position, drying his tear-stained face with an edge of the blanket. He kept his voice low. “The lives of Elves are measured in ages, Sam, not years. We experience things slowly, and memory tends not to fade. I see value in experiencing grief in such a way as this, to release the pain and begin to heal. I will feel the same sharp grief for Mith-- for Gandalf, for a very long time, doubtless without such comfort as Frodo has tonight.” Legolas smiled. “Even if he doesn’t remember it.”

“Legolas,” Sam said softly.

“Yes?”

“I will remember it.”

** TBC **

UNLIKELY COMFORT

Chapter 3 -- Dawn

Frodo opened his eyes to the first rays of the sun filtering through the trees. He heard birdsong, the early morning sounds of the camp stirring, quiet voices. He sat up, a little lightheaded, and frowned at the sight of his cloak lying folded next to the blankets. He didn’t remember taking it off. He didn’t remember going to bed at all.

Sam and Legolas sat a little ways off, talking. Alerted to Frodo’s movement, Sam looked over and smiled at him, then started rummaging around in his pack. Pippin and Merry were still asleep, blanket-covered lumps nearby. Frodo looked around, a little disoriented.

Aragorn came over and held out his hand to the hobbit. “You must be starving, Frodo. You haven’t had anything to eat since yesterday afternoon.”

Frodo suddenly realized that he was very hungry. He reached up and grasped the Ranger’s large hand and rose. “Oh,” he gasped in a small voice, as a wave of dizziness came over him. Aragorn grabbed him and held him steady.

“Close your eyes, Frodo. Deep breaths. That’s it.” Frodo felt a little better, and opened his eyes. Where were they? Where was Gandalf? A deep sadness suddenly filled his whole being as he remembered.

“Oh Aragorn,” he sighed. “It really happened, didn’t it?”

“Yes, Frodo, it really happened.” Aragorn held him tightly. “After you’ve eaten, and we’ve woken up those sleepy cousins of yours,” he managed a small smile, “we’ll all have a talk. All right?”

“Yes,” Frodo said quietly. He straightened up and retrieved his cloak and Sting, then walked over to where Sam and Legolas sat. Sam had laid out some cheese and dried meats and fruit for him on a blanket. The three sat in silence together while Frodo ate and tried to piece together the previous night.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Legolas smiled. But before he could rise, Frodo’s small hand shot out, grabbing his arm. “What is it, Frodo?”

Frodo looked into the Elf’s fathomless eyes, trying to remember something. He let his hand drop. “Last night is a little blurry for some reason, I must have been in pretty bad shape. But I seem to remember…” He thought hard. “I remember you talking to me.  Were you… holding me?” Frodo looked down, a bit embarrassed. “Thank you.”

Legolas reached out and took Frodo’s hand, a rare gesture. “I, too, grieve for Gandalf, and what we have lost.” He brushed away a single tear that slid down Frodo’s cheek. “Gimli grieves for his people, for the loss of many dreams and hopes.” He looked around. “I suspect Merry and Pippin sleep so deeply because they, too, find it hard to face what has happened, and what may lie ahead.” He reached out his other hand and placed it gently under Frodo’s chin, bringing the hobbit’s sad eyes up to meet his. “We are here for you, Frodo. We are here for each other.”

“Thank you,” Frodo whispered again. Legolas rose and smiled at Sam, then left them alone.

When Pippin and Merry showed no signs of waking, Boromir and Aragorn finally each grabbed a sleeping hobbit and pulled them to their feet, where they stood blinking and confused. “Up, you two,” laughed Boromir, “or we’re leaving without you.”

Pippin and Merry scrambled to pack up their gear, and dig out some traveling food. Upon seeing that Frodo was feeling better, Pippin raced over and gave him a hug. Then he ran back to where Merry sat to continue eating. Frodo had to smile at his exuberance. Without Pippin, he thought, this would have been a dreary journey indeed. Thank goodness Elrond had relented and let his cousins come with him. Around them, Frodo felt less Ringbearer and more hobbit.

When everything was packed, the Company gravitated to where Aragorn was sitting, ringing themselves around him. Gimli was surprised to find Frodo on one side of him and Sam on the other. He looked down when Frodo’s hand slid shyly into his and gave a small squeeze.

“We’re so sorry, Gimli,” Frodo said quietly. “Moria was so awful, so…” he sighed. “We haven’t been able to tell you… We’re so sorry.”

Gimli was greatly moved. Of all people, Frodo had his own grief and burdens to deal with. The Dwarf had channeled his grief into a burning rage against the Orcs, had flown into battle with a fire that had surprised even him. It had helped, a little. The gentle comfort of the hobbits on each side of him helped a little more. He squeezed Frodo’s hand in return, and patted Sam on the shoulder. “Thank you, my friends. Indeed we have all lost much.”

“Gimli,” Frodo said, “The place where Gandalf… where Gandalf fell. What’s down there? Could he still be…” Frodo trailed off, unable to continue. Sam listened, his heart aching for his friend.

“I do not know the depth of the chasm into which Gandalf fell. I do not know if anyone has ever measured it. The powers of the Wizards seem mighty indeed, but I doubt…” Gimli stopped, unwilling to give false hope. “Frodo, I do not see how anyone, even an immortal, could survive such a fall.”

“I know,” Frodo whispered. “I know.” Frodo felt Gimli press his hand again gently and he leaned against the Dwarf, unaware that he was giving Gimli as much solace just by his presence as he was receiving. He looked up as Aragorn began to speak.

** TBC **

UNLIKELY COMFORT

Chapter 4 -- Morning

Aragorn addressed the Company.  “By no wish of my own, Gandalf put the well-being of this Fellowship in my care. If we keep to a steady pace we should reach the woods of Lothlórien by tomorrow, where we can take counsel with the Lord and Lady of the Wood. There are decisions ahead for us not to be made in exhaustion and grief.”

Frodo was startled to hear a hiss from Gimli at the mention of Lothlórien, a name he knew only from maps in Rivendell. Boromir, too, seemed uneasy, but said nothing. Looking at Frodo leaning wearily against Gimli, he sensed that this was not the time for argument or debate. Frodo would follow Aragorn, of this he was certain. There was yet time to persuade the Ringbearer as to the wisdom of coming with him to Gondor.

“The Golden Wood is known to my people, Aragorn,” said Gimli. “I would not choose such a perilous path.”

“I choose it, Gimli,” said Aragorn. “We need rest, and supplies, and safe borders for a time. The Orcs seem not to have followed us, although I am not sure of the reason. Yet they may still be drawn to the Ring. Let us make haste and leave this danger behind us.”

Frodo sighed. “Danger. It seems so long since we were not running from peril toward yet more peril. I wonder how many times we have escaped death on this journey already,” he mused, not expecting an answer.

“Nine,” answered Pippin promptly.

Sam gasped and Merry opened his mouth to shush Pippin, but stopped when they heard Frodo burst out laughing.

“Oh Pip, leave it to you to be keeping track!” Frodo smiled fondly at his cousin. “How many, then?”

“Nine,” repeated Pippin. “There was the Old Forest with the willow tree that swallowed us up, and those awful Barrow-wights, then the Black Riders who almost slashed us up at the Prancing Pony, and…” He stopped.

“Go on, Pip,” said Frodo gently, “I really want to know.”

“Well,” Pippin said hesitantly, “Then Weathertop, you know.” He looked at Frodo uneasily, but Frodo was just nodding to himself, remembering.

“And then, and then the Black Riders at the Ford, and the snow, and that water creature and the Orcs and, and… and the Balrog…” Pippin’s voice trailed off, fairly awed at what they had been through.

Boromir and Gimli were staring at Pippin, open-mouthed. These fragile, vulnerable halflings had faced more peril before they even met them than most warriors faced in a lifetime.

Frodo took a deep breath and stood up, his hand on Gimli’s shoulder. “If we’ve survived all that,” he said softly, “I think we can survive the woods of Lothlórien. Don’t you agree, Gimli?” Frodo walked over to his pack, put it on, and faced the group.

Gimli looked at him, and then back to Pippin, and chuckled. “Indeed, Frodo, I doubt anyone can refute such an argument.” Aragorn smiled and hoisted his own pack, pulling the straps tightly about his shoulders. Frodo’s reserves of strength and resilience never ceased to amaze him.

Without another word, the rest of the group rose and gathered their gear.

Pippin wasn’t sure what had just happened, but it was nice when Merry gave him a hug and Legolas smiled at him. He felt lighter of heart than he had for longer than he could remember.

“Come, Pippin,” said Frodo, coming to his side with a smile. “Walk with me.”

*~*~*~*~*

The land slowly changed from rocky hills to a more grassy, meadow-like terrain. Aragorn and Boromir, some distance ahead, cast occasional worried glances at the rock-strewn hills growing less concentrated on the western side of the small valley. There could yet be Orcs somewhere near, planning… something. Even though Orcs were rarely seen except at night, a lust for battle or revenge after Moria could entice at least a few of them to track the Company. Gimli, at the rear, was equally vigilant.

The hobbits were enjoying walking on cool grass once again, and breathing the open air.

They had been traveling for several uneventful hours when Legolas slowed a bit to wait for Frodo and Pippin, who were still walking together and talking lightly in quiet voices off and on, about everything and nothing.

“It does my heart good to see you in better spirits, Frodo,” said Legolas.

Frodo looked at the Elf gratefully. “I regret I cannot remember everything from last night, Legolas, but I will never forget your kindness to me. I am sad, and weary, but I am able to bear the grief somewhat better this morning.” Frodo turned to his cousin. “And you, you scamp, you helped too.”

Pippin beamed at him, still not entirely sure what he had done, but happy that he had done it.

Legolas stayed with them, and Frodo sensed that there was something else the Elf wanted to say to him. “Legolas, what is it?”

“If this is a private matter I trust you will tell me, but…” Legolas hesitated, then went on. “Frodo, what in Middle-earth are you wearing?”

Frodo’s jaw dropped at the strange question. “What do you mean?”

The Elf almost seemed embarrassed. “Last night, when I was easing your neck and back, I felt the strangest garment underneath your shirt. Is it typical hobbit attire? It seemed quite…” he thought about it. “Quite unusual.”

“Oh. That.”

Pippin was staring at Frodo, his curiosity in high gear. What was he wearing under his shirt?

Just then Legolas’ brow furrowed in concentration as he heard… something…

“It’s just something Bilbo gave me before we left,” Frodo continued hesitantly. “When he gave me Sting…” He absently fingered the hilt of his Elven sword, drawing Pippin’s eyes downward. A flash of blue.

Pippin only had time to gasp, “Frodo!” before the attack came.

** TBC **

UNLIKELY COMFORT

Chapter 5 -- A Secret Revealed

Legolas whirled to face the rocky hill to their right, as Gimli, Aragorn, and Boromir all seemed to shout at once. Only their constant vigilance had given them the precious few seconds they needed to shout a warning as the movement of two Orcs was seen among the rocks. Two black arrows flew through the air toward the front and rear of the Company, one hitting Gimli’s sturdy helm and bouncing back. The second arrow embedded itself in Boromir’s hastily-raised shield as Legolas, watching intently, shot one of his arrows directly at the source of the attack. There was a yell from the direction of the rocks. The Elf herded the hobbits behind him as best he could. There was nowhere to run.

“I believe there is but one left, Aragorn,” Legolas yelled, turning towards the Ranger far to his left. “We should---“ His words died in his throat as an arrow flew past his right hip and hit Frodo in the chest. Sam let out a scream as his friend crashed to the ground.

Gimli, enraged, leaped up the hill, his axe whirling over his head, unmindful of his own safety. An arrow narrowly missed him as he ran, ducking and weaving. Reaching the lone Orc before he could nock another arrow to his bow, Gimli gave a thunderous shout, severed the Orc’s head with a mighty blow, and stood panting over the body which lay now sprawled on top of his companion’s -- Legolas’ arrow in his heart. There were no others. Gimli yelled down to his friends to let them know they were no longer in danger of attack.

Everyone raced to where Frodo lay, unmoving, Sam sitting shaken and yet puzzled at his side, an Orc arrow in his hand. “There’s no blood, Strider,” he whispered, white-faced, when Aragorn dropped to his knees beside him. “And the arrow didn’t, didn’t…?”

Frodo suddenly took a gasping breath and opened his eyes to six amazed faces. “What happ--- oh,” he moaned, clutching his chest. He grimaced in pain. “Just got…my breath…knocked out of me…” He tried to sit up but fell back weakly, every breath an effort.

Aragorn was dumbfounded. “You should be dead. How can this be?” Gimli joined them, as astonished as the rest of them. He had charged up the hill certain that his brave hobbit friend lay dead at his feet.

Sam was almost fainting with relief, and Merry and Pippin stood next to him hugging each other in joy. Legolas, however, looked grim.

“I blame myself for this. Naturally the Orc would take aim at the person who shot his companion. If I had not turned…”

Boromir was looking around warily, the arrow still protruding from his shield. “You might be dead now, Legolas. Elves are not impervious to arrows.” He looked down at Frodo. “Although I am beginning to think that hobbits might be. Aragorn, let us get up into the shelter of those rocks ourselves. We can tend to Frodo and be in a better defensive position.”

“That’s a good idea, Boromir. Could you take Frodo’s pack?” Aragorn, still shaking his head in disbelief, slipped Frodo’s pack off and handed it to Boromir. He then slid his arms gently under Frodo’s shoulders and knees and, ignoring the hobbit’s faint protests, carried him as gently as he could up the hill to a sheltered area a good distance away from the bodies of the Orcs. Sam retrieved Sting, which had fallen from Frodo’s hand when he was struck. There was no longer even a faint flicker of blue on the blade.

Aragorn lay Frodo on a level, grassy area and practically tore the fastening of Frodo’s cloak in half in his haste to undo it. Ignoring the small hands hands trying weakly to stop him, he removed the worn vest and unbuttoned Frodo’s shirt to view the wound. “What... what is this?” The Ranger stared at the glittering sight before him before bursting in relieved laughter. “Now I understand. Let’s get this marvel off you, Frodo.”

Legolas lifted and supported Frodo slightly as Aragorn gently pulled Frodo’s shirt off, and peeled the mithril shirt up and off. He did the same for the leather shirt beneath it, and Legolas eased Frodo back down again. “So this is the mysterious garment, Frodo. Is this what Mithrandir was talking about? It was well given!” The Elf stood, holding the soft, glittering shirt in his hands.

Gimli, returning from retrieving Legolas’ arrow and making a quick scan of the surrounding area, saw what Legolas was holding and dropped the arrow in the grass. He covered the distance between himself and the Elf in quick strides.

“Mithril!” he gasped. “I have never seen such workmanship. Was this the coat given to Bilbo?” He reached out a hand to touch it, reverently. “Gandalf undervalued it.”

“Frodo, would you please move the Ring to the back of your neck?” Frodo looked up into Aragorn’s eyes for a moment and nodded, then reached up to the Ring and pushed it aside. Aragorn laid his hand on the angry red, swollen area of Frodo’s chest and probed very gently. Frodo winced at the slightest touch.

“Amazing,” Aragorn sighed. “I don’t think that arrow even broke any ribs. We still cannot risk a fire, but I will make a compress of one of the athelas leaves crushed into a small amount of water, and bind some pads of cloth to your chest for some added protection. The pain should soon fade quite a bit, but you will no doubt feel stiff and sore for several days.” He examined Frodo’s chest for any other injuries, found none. “This should make quite a colorful bruise in a few days!”

“Thank you, Aragorn.” Frodo relaxed a bit, relieved that he was relatively uninjured. He was breathing much easier already. Bless Bilbo and his gifts! Frodo’s eyes met Sam’s, which were beaming with joy at such good news.

*~*~*~*~*

After Aragorn finished binding the athelas compress and some soft pads of cloth to Frodo’s chest, he insisted on gently easing the leather shirt and mithril coat back on him, followed by his cloth shirt and vest for warmth. “It eases me greatly to know you wear this, Frodo,” said Aragorn. “That dear old hobbit.” He helped Frodo sit up a bit as comfortably as possible against one of the packs.

Pippin, who had been remarkably silent during all this, sat down next to Aragorn and bent his mouth down to Frodo’s ear, an impish grin on his face. “Ten,” he whispered.

“Oh Pippin,” Frodo gasped, “Don’t make me laugh you, you…”

Pippin felt a hand on his shoulder, looked up to see Aragorn biting his lip to keep from smiling. “Not now, Pippin,” he said. Pippin started to rise, but Aragorn’s hand restrained him. “But soon, Peregrin Took, as soon as Frodo is healed, you have my permission to make him laugh as often and as loud as you wish.” Frodo groaned in mock despair as Pippin grinned at him, stood up, and walked away to help Merry dig out a bit of second breakfast.

** TBC **

UNLIKELY COMFORT

Chapter 6 -- A Secret Kept

An hour passed during which Frodo rested, everyone took some food, and Aragorn and Legolas scoured the land around them for signs of any more Orcs. They found nothing.

Merry walked over to where Boromir was standing, scanning the valley below. “Boromir, could you please take that arrow out of your shield?”

Boromir looked down at Merry, amused. “Of course, Merry. Do you want it?” He went over to where his shield lay next to his pack, pulled the black arrow out with some effort, and held it out out.

Merry grew a bit pale and stepped back. “No, no. I just didn’t want to see it…sticking out like that.”

The warrior tossed the arrow aside and knelt down in front of the hobbit, puzzled. “What is it? Is something wrong?”

Merry looked at him with troubled eyes. “I’m sorry Frodo got hurt, but if he hadn’t been standing there…” He bit his lip. “Well, Pippin was right behind him. Pippin would have been…”

“Oh.” Boromir nodded. He sat down and Merry sat beside him. Boromir realized that Merry had been picturing Pippin with an arrow sticking out of him. “I’m sorry, Merry, I wasn’t thinking.” They sat in silence for awhile. “You know,” Boromir continued, “I have a younger brother back home. I know how it feels to be looking out for someone, trying to keep someone you care about out of trouble. But Merry…”

Merry looked up as Boromir started chuckling.

“I think it would take more than an arrow to kill that one, my friend.” They both smiled at the sight of Pippin, practically upside down, pulling things out of one of the packs. “If Aragorn doesn’t toss him to the Orcs himself, he might just make it through all this just fine.” He felt better when Merry started to laugh a little. And then a lot.

*~*~*~*~*

Aragorn came over to Frodo and sat down. “Those two Orcs seem to have been alone, Frodo, but I don’t think any of us want to spend much more time near them. Wild animals may be drawn to them, or worse. Do you think you can walk, slowly, for a few hours until we can find a better place to camp?”

“Yes,” Frodo said, firmly. “Or at least, I think so. Help me up and I’ll see if I can manage it.” He held his hand up, and Aragorn helped him rise slowly to his feet.

“It’s not…too bad,” said Frodo, experimenting with walking around a bit. “The athelas has helped a lot. I’m not sure I can manage a pack, though.”

Aragorn looked at him closely. Frodo seemed a bit pale, but otherwise all right. “Very well,” he said. “I think by the time we stop, though, you may be ready for another dose of that herb drink. At least I can promise you a night’s sleep without pain.”

“Herb drink,” Frodo looked puzzled. “What…oh.” He suddenly had a vague memory of drinking something fairly vile the night before. He looked at Aragorn so mournfully that the Ranger burst out laughing.

Aragorn insisted on carrying Frodo back down the hill, then they set off again at a gentler pace. Gimli, invigorated by his encounter with the Orcs and Frodo’s recovery, had insisted on carrying Frodo’s pack. The Company walked more warily now, and a little closer together. Aragorn and Boromir stayed out in front followed by Gimli, Pippin and Frodo, with Sam, Merry and Legolas in the rear. After awhile they began to pass occasional trees and tiny, sparkling streams.

Sam couldn’t relax, casting worried glances all around. “The sooner we get to that Lórien Aragorn is talking about, the better I’ll like it. I hope it’s like Rivendell,” he said to Merry.

Legolas heard them and came up to join the pair. “Lothlórien is unlike Rivendell, Sam, but I think you’ll feel just as safe there. My people speak of a power there unmatched anywhere else in Middle-earth. I, too, long to reach the Golden Wood.” Legolas was quiet for awhile, thinking of all he had heard about the realm of the Lord and Lady of the Wood.

To distract himself, Sam amused himself by listening to Gimli patiently trying to answer Pippin’s endless questions about mithril. Frodo occasionally added something Bilbo had told him. Sam suddenly realized that Frodo had stopped speaking in the middle of a sentence. He hurried up to him.

“Mr. Frodo? Are you all right?”

Frodo stopped walking and grasped Sam’s shoulder, trying to steady himself. “Sam…I think…I’m going to…faint…” He seemed to be having trouble breathing. Sam could feel Frodo’s hand shaking.

Legolas and Merry rushed up, and with one look at Frodo’s pale face the Elf guided him down to a sitting position, drew the hobbit’s knees up, and pushed Frodo’s head between them. “Breathe, Frodo. Breathe as deeply as you can. I know it hurts. Breathe.” He looked up. “Pippin, run and tell Aragorn we need him. No shouting, though.” Pippin nodded, and raced ahead as fast as he could.

Frodo concentrated on taking one breath after another, trying to ignore the soreness in his chest. He still felt lightheaded, but not as badly as before. Legolas was rubbing the back of his neck, which seemed to be helping as well.

“Frodo?” Aragorn knelt down beside him.

“I’m sorry, Aragorn,” Frodo said. “Just…couldn’t catch my breath for a minute. I feel much better now.” He took a another deep breath, feeling the shakiness start to subside.

“Hmm. I think the bindings may be too tight about your chest, I apologize. We should…”

“Aragorn, no,” Frodo sighed. “I can’t be the cause of us stopping every few hours. We’ll never get anywhere.”

The Ranger smiled at him, giving the hobbit more time to just breathe and relax a little. “Your tenacity is admirable, but there certainly isn’t any point in us ‘getting anywhere’ at all, if you’re not with us. Elrond gave you companions for a reason, my friend.” He looked up as Merry pointed to where Boromir, some distance ahead, was waving to the group from a tree- shadowed glade. He waved back.

“I asked Boromir to find a sheltered spot to rest. Come, it’s not far. I’ll be able to loosen the bindings a bit and Pippin can have a snack. I don’t want him fainting too.” Aragorn was relieved to see Frodo manage a small smile.

Pippin, now that he knew Frodo was all right, clearly found the thought of a snack a marvelous idea. He ran ahead with Merry while Aragorn helped Frodo to his feet.

As they walked slowly to the glade, Frodo looked up at Aragorn. “Pippin’s grown a lot, Aragorn. He’s truly been so courageous. Hobbits, especially hobbits Pippin’s age, are used to so much more. More comfort, more rest, more food…”

“I know,” Aragorn smiled at him. “And he’s good for you, Frodo, I know that.”

Aragorn’s smile faded as his thoughts returned to their close call with the Orcs, and the time it was taking him to get the Company safely to Lórien. He meant for the group to put more distance between themselves and Moria before sunset.

Frodo needed more than a brief rest, he knew, but not because of the reason he had told him. Aragorn knew the bandages were not tight enough to restrict breathing; he suspected that Frodo’s system was reacting to having had a second shock in as many days. Not to mention the burden of the Ring. Lórien was a place of peace and healing, as he well knew. He just had to get them there.

His own shock and grief at Gandalf’s death he kept to himself; the full burden of leadership also weighed heavily on him. But Frodo needed him now. They all needed him. Everything else must wait.

** TBC **

UNLIKELY COMFORT

Chapter 7 -- A Secret Shared

Aragorn allowed everyone a half-hour rest, during which time he unwound the cloths from Frodo’s chest and checked his pulse and breathing. The swelling had already gone down quite a bit, he noted with relief. He placed a fresh athelas compress on the bruise and rewound the bandage around the soft protective pads.

Frodo had been a bit frightened by the shortness of breath, but it seemed to have passed. He insisted he was fine and that they continue on. They kept to a good pace all afternoon, finally stopping amid a circle of trees just as the sun was going down.

“We may still make the borders of Lórien tomorrow,” Aragorn said, settling Frodo down on a blanket. “We’ve done well today.”

Sam and Merry bustled around pulling out food and supplies, and Aragorn pushed Frodo back down when he tried to rise to help.

“No, Frodo, not tonight. The less you move around the better.” Frodo sighed and relaxed, a bit relieved to just sit and watch for a change. After awhile his thoughts began to wander over the past few days, and an uncontrollable wave of sadness and loss started to descend on him again. He was silent during their evening meal, although he nodded his head when Sam asked if he was all right. Aragorn was concerned, but unsure what to do.

When everyone was unrolling their blankets and preparing for the night, Aragorn brought over a mug containing the herbal drink and handed it to Frodo. Frodo looked at it and sighed, putting it down on the ground. “What’s the matter, Frodo?”

Frodo looked up, an expression of great sadness on his face. “Aragorn, you knew Gandalf a very long time, did you not?”

“Yes I did.”

“Well,” Frodo said quietly, “don’t you miss him at all?”

Aragorn was astonished. “Of course I do.”

“Oh.” Frodo’s gaze dropped back down at the ground. “You just don’t seem to, that’s all.”

So that was it. Frodo needed someone to grieve with, someone who missed Gandalf as much as he did.

“Come.”

Frodo looked up at the hand Aragorn was offering him.

“Come, bring your blanket.” Frodo slowly took the Ranger’s hand and rose, uncertain what was happening. Aragorn motioned to Legolas where they were going, and then led the hobbit a short distance away from the camp and had Frodo spread his blanket at the foot of a large tree. They both sat down. Aragorn put his right arm around him and pulled him close. He could feel the hobbit’s heart racing.

“Breathe deeply, Frodo. You’ve been through much in the past few days. We all have. Just breathe deeply for a minute, in and out.” He waited until he felt Frodo relax against him. “I miss Gandalf very much. It would help me to talk about it with someone.”

“It would help me, too,” Frodo whispered.

Aragorn thought about where to begin. “I met Gandalf when I was just 25 years old, very young for my people. I was so amazed that someone like him had taken an interest in me. It made me feel very special. It helped me to be special.” He looked down at Frodo. “He took an interest in you, too, Frodo. He saw that you were special too.”

Frodo frowned. “Because of the Ring.”

“No. Gandalf took an interest in Bilbo long before he found the Ring, and he felt the same about you. I traveled far with him. We spoke of many things, and I know this to be true.” He was silent for awhile. “I’ve now traveled far with you as well, Frodo. With or without the Ring, you are a remarkable person.”

“Thank you,” said Frodo quietly.

Aragorn went on. “I undertook many deeds because he asked me to -- or simply because I believed he would want me to.” He looked down at the curly head. “Perhaps you have done the same.” He felt Frodo nod slightly against his chest. “I miss his voice and his laugh and even that ridiculous hat he wore.” Aragorn smiled just a little. “I always meant to ask him where he got that hat.”

“He was so strong, so wise. His loss is so unimaginable that I cannot even put it into words. There is so much we will never know.” Aragorn reached down and gently tilted Frodo’s head up so their eyes met. Both sets of eyes were shining with unshed tears. “But I know he was proud of you, Frodo. He was proud of me, too, I think. He believed in what we are doing.” He stopped, then added, “And he believed we could do it.”

They were silent for awhile, then Frodo took a deep breath, sat up, and wiped his eyes. “Thank you, Aragorn,” he said softly. “I believe we can do it as well.” He looked up at the Ranger and sighed. “I suppose we had better get back.”

Aragorn smiled. “I suppose we should.” He stood up, then Frodo picked up the blanket and got to his feet a bit stiffly.

“You’ll be a bit stiff and sore for a few days yet, I’m afraid,” said Aragorn. “I’m still amazed that you’re alive at all.”

Feeling better, Frodo looked up at him mischievously. “Someone else would have had to be Ringbearer, then. Maybe Pippin. By the time you reached Mount Doom you might have been tempted to destroy the Ring by throwing it in while still around his neck!”

“Hmmm. That would have been tempting. That is, if he hadn’t lost it somewhere by then.”

“He wouldn’t lose it, Aragorn,” said Frodo seriously.

“I know he wouldn’t, Frodo. I know.”

They walked back to camp, neither having been aware of the eyes staring down at them from the very tree they had chosen.

Aragorn took the blanket and spread it out, and helped Frodo to sit down near Merry and Pippin. “You don’t have to drink that,” he said, pointing to the mug, “but it will help you to sleep more deeply. As I said before, the less you move around tonight the better.”

Frodo picked up the mug and eyed the contents distastefully.

“You don’t have to worry, Frodo,” said Merry. “If there’s something you need we’ll get it for you. You won’t have to get up.”

“Thanks, Mer,” said Frodo. He held his breath and drank the herbal brew down. He looked up. “That is truly awful, Aragorn.”

The Ranger just smiled, took the mug and walked away. He shook out his bedroll and sat down. Sam and Legolas had volunteered to take the first watch, and they would wake him and Merry for the second. He was surprised to find that he felt lighter somehow. He hadn’t realized that talking with Frodo would be so healing for him as well.

The camp settled down, only faint forest noises to be heard. Frodo felt Pippin shift closer to him, a comforting hand just touching his shoulder. As the herbs took effect he began to lose consciousness…the soreness faded, sounds faded, waves of drowsiness overpowering him. Everything spinning and sinking…the faintest hiss from off in the trees… precioussss………then darkness.

** TBC **

UNLIKELY COMFORT

Chapter 8 -- Shadows

The Precious was so close. We were right next to them and they never knew, no they didn’t. The Man, we remember him. And the nasty Elf with bright eyes who prisoned us, we remember him too. Baggins travels with them. Why, we wonders? Baggins is asleep, the Man gave him something to make him sleepy. Foolish. The Precious is awake, where are they taking it? So close. We hate Baggins. The Precious is awake. Precioussss.

*~*~*~*~*

Aragorn lay quietly, tired but still alert. Time passed and he was thinking about his youth, and Gandalf, when an almost imperceptible, muffled sound caught his attention. He opened his eyes and saw a movement, something dark and low to the ground near the hobbits. It didn’t move like a wolf, or an Orc, more like… a brief glimpse of glowing eyes, then darkness again. He grabbed the knife hidden in his boot. Suddenly he realized the faint sound he had heard was not from the shadowy form; it was from Frodo.

He leaped up with a shout, flinging himself forward and missing the dark shadow by inches. There was a loud hiss as it seemed to melt back into the trees and disappear. Merry sat upright, his eyes wide at the sight of Aragorn lying on the ground next to him holding his knife.

“What---?” Merry looked around wildly. “Strider, is it Orcs?”

Hearing the shout, Legolas and Sam had burst into the clearing from opposite sides of the camp, Legolas with an arrow fitted to his bow, Sam running to where Frodo lay. Boromir and Gimli were on their feet in an instant.

Sam suddenly pulled the blanket off Frodo. “Strider, I don’t think he’s breathing!” he gasped. “What’s happened?”

“Merry, make sure Pippin is unharmed,” Aragorn said. He knelt next to Frodo and saw that Sam was right, he wasn’t breathing. The Ranger was relieved to find a weak pulse, and he quickly tilted Frodo’s head back and blew three slow, even breaths into his mouth. He waited, then did it again. Sam and Merry had practically stopped breathing themselves, and Legolas was searching the surrounding area for any sign of whatever Aragorn had chased away.

Suddenly Frodo took a breath, then another, and Aragorn sighed in relief as the Frodo’s breathing became regular and even. Aragorn shook him a bit and called his name, and was reassured when Frodo came awake just enough to murmur something and move a bit before sinking back into the drugged sleep. Aragorn checked for injuries and found none, and he felt gently to make sure the Ring still lay safely beneath Frodo’s shirt. He then looked around, realizing everyone was still sitting or standing in a state of shock and confusion. Legolas had returned after finding nothing. Aragorn checked Frodo’s pulse once more then stood up. He was angry.

“It was Gollum. I think he pressed the blanket over Frodo’s face and tried to smother him so he could search him for the Ring without him resisting. He senses Frodo carries it, but he doesn’t know where.”

Sam could hardly speak. “That, that murderous…we didn’t hear a thing, Strider, I promise,” he said, close to tears. He turned to Legolas, wide eyed. Merry looked equally stricken.

“I know, it wasn’t your fault,” Aragorn assured them. “I didn’t hear him either. That blasted creature is like a serpent in the grass. Frodo must have been able to struggle a bit even in such a deep sleep. If I had been asleep…if I hadn’t heard him…” He looked off into the trees, getting angry again. “Somehow that creature followed us straight through Moria and every mile since. He knew Frodo wouldn’t wake too easily, he must have been watching us.” Aragorn made up his mind. “We must reach Lórien tomorrow, whatever it takes. I don’t think Frodo will have any difficulties, but if he does, we’ll have to carry him. We need more protection. The borders are well patrolled, and the Elves will not let anything through.”

Gimli looked at him, giving voice to something that had been concerning him. “They may not let me through, Aragorn.”

“Gimli son of Glóin, if you are denied admittance to Lothlórien I will not enter the Golden Wood either.” Gimli stared, open-mouthed, as Legolas continued. “We are a Fellowship and we stand together.”

“Strider,” Merry asked, pointing to Pippin and Frodo, “should we tell them about Gollum? When they wake up, I mean.”

“Yes, Merry, we’ll tell them. Legolas is right. We are a Fellowship and we stand together.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “We were very lucky.” Aragorn looked down at the two sleeping forms and shook his head in amazement. “How Pippin slept through this I will never know.”

“Well,” Merry said hesitantly, “He might have had a sip out of that mug Frodo left out. He didn’t drink much, though, since he said it tasted like---”

“I understand,” Aragorn said with a weary smile. “I never thought of knocking him unconscious before,” he mused. “I wonder why?”

“Aragorn,” said Boromir, “You have had no rest. Gimli and I can start our watch early and wake you later, if you wish.” Gimli nodded, already fingering his axe.

“Wake me as well,” said Merry. “Assuming I’m asleep, which I doubt.”

“All right,” said Aragorn. “Stay closer to camp. A lot closer. I doubt that Gollum will return tonight though, or anytime soon, now that we’ve been alerted.” Merry and Sam returned to their bedrolls, and Aragorn brought his closer to them. Sam sat on his blanket, one hand resting protectively on Frodo’s chest. He stared into the forest, reassured by his friend’s deep, even breaths. Merry pulled his bedroll closer to Pippin and lay down.

Boromir had been looking thoughtful, and he took Legolas aside. “It’s possible that Orc did not miss you after all. Perhaps he hit exactly what he was aiming at.”

Legolas stared at him. “Are you suggesting that arrow was actually meant for Frodo?” He thought about it. “You could be right, it was too low to have killed me. That would mean…that creature Gollum was directing them. There would be no other reason to aim at one of the hobbits.” The Elf looked grim. “Aragorn is right. We must reach the Golden Wood without delay.”

** TBC **

UNLIKELY COMFORT

Chapter 9 -- Healing

“Frodo, wake up. Wake up, now.” Frodo opened his eyes to find Legolas sitting next to him, the Elf’s hand on his shoulder. He looked around and noticed that it was barely dawn, the light just beginning to brighten the clearing. He sighed. “An early start, then?”

“Yes, Aragorn wants us to reach Lórien today.” Legolas looked at him closely. “How do you feel?”

“Much better. Is something wrong, Legolas?” Frodo thought he looked quite serious.

“We had a bit of excitement last night. Aragorn will tell you about it while we eat.” He then turned to Pippin’s blanket-covered form, called his name and shook him a little.

Frodo lay still and took some deep breaths, remembering his dizziness the previous morning when he had sat up too quickly. He felt his chest -- not nearly as sore. “It’s all right, Legolas. We’ll get him up.”

The Elf smiled at him and rose. “Merry says he took a sip of that herb drink Aragorn made for you. Don’t be too rough with him.”

Frodo turned over and shook Pippin gently, then a little more. “C’mon Pip, wake up. Wake up.” Finally Pippin groaned and opened his eyes, then quickly shut them again.

“Just take deep breaths, and the dizziness will go away. Pip, how could you drink something voluntarily that tasted that awful?” Frodo sat up slowly, then got to his feet. He felt just a little stiff and sore like Aragorn had said.

After the third person had asked him if he was all right, Frodo grew anxious to know what had happened. Sam was hovering even closer than usual. During a quick breakfast, Aragorn filled Frodo and Pippin in on Gollum’s nocturnal visit and the need for haste. Frodo nodded, looking grim and bringing his hand up to his throat reflexively, fingering the Ring. Aragorn noted that Pippin looked a bit pale, and wasn’t eating much. He thought it could be fright from their close call, but more likely the young hobbit had had more than a sip from Frodo’s mug the night before and was still a bit woozy. Pippin should recover quickly, he thought, and maybe a lesson would be learned. He checked Frodo’s bruise before they packed up, which looked and felt much better. Frodo seemed to have no ill effects from the night before, of which he remembered nothing.

They set out, Frodo and Merry walking on either side of Pippin. They exchanged looks, somewhat worried about their cousin, who seemed to be having a bit of trouble walking in a straight line. The Company hadn’t gone far when Pippin suddenly sank to his knees.

“Strider! There’s something wrong with Pippin!”

Aragorn strode over and knelt down to where Pippin was trying to rise with little success.

“Pippin, look at me. Follow my finger.” Aragorn waved his forefinger before the hobbit’s eyes, and noted that he had a bit of difficulty focusing on it. “How do you feel?”

“Really dizzy and, and…sleepy.” Pippin looked a bit scared. “Am I getting sick?”

“Not having any trouble breathing? Nothing hurts? That’s good.” Aragorn felt Pippin’s forehead and pulse, then rose, lifting the young hobbit into his arms. “I don’t think you’re getting sick. I think you’re sensitive to the herbs in the drink I gave Frodo last night. Are you sure you had just a little bit?” Pippin nodded. “Good, I’m glad.” Very glad, Aragorn thought to himself. “Let’s see how you feel in a little while.”

The Company resumed their march. After a few minutes Pippin looked up at Aragorn. “I’m sorry, Strider,” he said quietly.

“At least I know now never to give you those herbs. Your system doesn’t shake off their effects very quickly.” Aragorn smiled at him. “Don’t worry about it, you didn’t know what you were drinking.”

A pause. “Yes I did.”

The Ranger gave the hobbit his full attention. “What do you mean?”

Pippin sighed. “When Frodo drank that stuff the other night when he was so sad, he wasn’t as sad when he woke up. So I thought if I drank some…”

“…you wouldn’t be so sad. Pippin, are you feeling sad about Gandalf too? You haven’t said anything.”

“I know. Everyone’s been so busy, and then we got attacked and Frodo got hurt, and I didn’t want to bother anyone.” Pippin lay his head against the Ranger’s chest and closed his eyes. “I didn’t know it would make everything start spin... spinning…” Even though he knew the Ranger had a good hold on him, he felt like everything was tilting sideways.

Aragorn sighed, feeling a bit guilty for not paying enough attention to their youngest member. “Does it help to know that Frodo is still sad, and so is Legolas, and so am I?” Pippin nodded. “It doesn’t go away this quickly for any of us, Pippin, it takes time.”

“You never complain, and I’m very proud of you. Gandalf was proud of you too. I know he sounded cross sometimes, but I think that was because he knew, more than anyone, how important our quest is. He wanted all of us to take it seriously.” The Ranger chuckled a little. “But I like it when you’re not so serious. It’s good for Frodo to have you here.”

“Do you mean that?” Pippin whispered.

“Don’t make me say it twice, you scamp.” Pippin smiled. “And don’t keep everything inside, all right? If you’re sad or scared come talk to one of us anytime you want to, all right? Promise?” Another nod.

Aragorn saw that Pippin still had his eyes closed, and he cradled him more securely in his arms. “It’s all right if you need to sleep a little more. Shhh now, just relax.” It was only seconds, it seemed, before his small charge went limp in his arms. Aragorn shifted a bit so he could once again check the pulse in Pippin’s throat, which seemed strong enough, just a bit slow. Merry was watching him.

“Will he be all right, Strider?” Aragorn looked down into Merry’s worried eyes.

“He should be fine, Merry. I can’t ever let him near that drink again, though. Thank goodness he didn’t have much of it. He was lucky this time. Not even hobbits…not even this hobbit, can consume everything in sight with no consequences!”

“Aragorn,” said Frodo, “Thank you for what you said to Pip. That was really wonderful.”

“Hmmmph. Anything for a little peace and quiet.”

Frodo grinned up at him, not fooled. Aragorn kept a straight face for as long as he could, which wasn’t very long.

*~*~*~*~*

When Pippin awoke he was being carried by Legolas. The sun was nearly overhead and they were traveling through a valley that would bloom lush and green come Spring.

“Are you feeling better, little one?”

“A lot better. Did I sleep all day?”

“Quite a few hours. You must have known we were about to stop for a rest and some food.”

“Oh, I’m starving, Legolas.” He squirmed, trying to look around. “I think I can walk now.”

Legolas stopped and lowered Pippin to the ground, where he wavered a bit.

“Merry,” the Elf called him over. “Could you take Pippin’s hand?” Legolas walked ahead to join Aragorn and Gimli, leaving the hobbits alone.

“Merry, did, did Gollum come back? Or Orcs or anything?”

Merry smiled. “No, Pip. You didn’t miss a thing. And this valley is so wide open nothing can sneak up on us.”

Merry took one hand and Sam came up and took the other. After a few minutes Pippin felt wonderful, just like himself again. Merry and Sam could hardly keep hold of him.

“If you have that much energy, Peregrin Took, you can carry your own pack after lunch.” Boromir strode by and tousled Pippin’s hair.

The four hobbits talked together quietly for a time. When Aragorn turned around to see how they were doing, Pippin asked, “Frodo, are you feeling better too?” He looked innocently at his cousin.

“Yes, Pip, I am,” Frodo smiled.

“Interesting,” said Pippin. “Glad to hear it.” He pulled his hands free of Merry and Sam’s, and launched himself at Frodo’s legs, bringing him crashing to the ground. Frodo groaned and grabbed his chest. Aragorn raced over and knelt down, horrified at what he had witnessed.

“Frodo, are you all right? That was…” The Ranger was confused when Frodo sat up, seemingly unhurt.

“I’m fine, Aragorn. You might want to run, though.”

“What?” Aragorn followed Frodo’s gaze behind him to where Sam, Merry, and Pippin were approaching from different directions with determined looks on their faces. He looked back at Frodo, who had stood up and was viewing him calmly. He was surrounded.

Legolas, Gimli, and Boromir stood at a distance and watched as Aragorn fought to stand up, nearly covered in hobbits.

“Hardly a fair fight. Do you think you should rescue him, Boromir?” asked Gimli doubtfully.

“I don’t know, Gimli,” said Boromir with a grin. “Those four haven’t had lunch yet. I’m not sure I’d want to take on that many hungry hobbits. Maybe one Man will satisfy them, I wouldn’t want to offer them a second one.”

“True, true. Legolas, how about you?”

“I think if we walked fast we could be safely within the borders of Lothlórien before they knew we were gone.”

They sat down.

“Aragorn needs some incentive. We could tell him a herd of Balrogs have come over the hill,” said Gimli.

Boromir shook his head. “He’s laughing too hard; he’ll never hear us.” He could hardly keep from laughing himself. He tried to get serious. “Do you suppose we should try to extricate Frodo at least from that tangle? He is likely to get re-injured.” He started to rise, but Legolas smiled and put out his arm to stop him.

“Let them be, Boromir.”

Legolas marveled at how the hobbits seemed to be able to put the horrors of the past days temporarily behind them for a few moments of playful abandonment. He suspected it would do Aragorn a world of good as well. He closed his eyes, his keen ears picking out the sound of Frodo’s laughter from the rest. When would he hear such sweet music again?

“Let them be.”

** END **