CHAPTER 7

On the sixth day out of Bree, after the group had stopped for luncheon, which was prepared by Freddy and Jolly that day, Poppy noticed Legolas having a word with Targon and Éothain. It looked like a fairly serious conversation, especially after the two commanders summoned Freddy, Beri and Leodwald (who was the oldest of the Riders) to join them.

Poppy looked at Gimli, who was enjoying a pipe as they waited to move on. “Master Gimli, do you know what is going on?”

He nodded, and looked over at them. “Yes. The Elf seems certain that we are in for a spell of rather rough weather. I have discovered that it’s as well to listen to him on that score. He usually knows what he’s talking about.”

So far, the travelling party had not encountered difficult weather. Any rain they had experienced so far had consisted of nothing worse than brief afternoon showers, rather pleasant actually, for cooling off during the heat of the summer. But there had been no gales or thunderstorms to plague them.

After a few moments, Freddy came back over to the group of hobbits. “It looks as though we could be in for a storm this evening. Targon and Éothain want us to stop about an hour early, and we will set up all the tents tonight, instead of just Mistress Poppy’s. And from the way Legolas and Leodwald spoke, we will probably not travel at all tomorrow, for they expect that the rain will last through the night and perhaps all day tomorrow. Legolas seems to think we are in for a deluge.”

They mounted up, and set as brisk a pace as possible for the rest of the afternoon, but they stopped two hours before sunset, and unloaded the tents from the pack animals. They very quickly had a snug little campsite set up. There was the small tent, shared by Mistress Poppy and Viola, and a large one, shared by the two captains, and two more large ones, shared in one by the Rohirrim, with Mosco, Rolly and Denny, as well as Clovis and Cado, and in the other by the Gondorians, with Freddy, Beri and Jolly, along with Clodio and Dago. Legolas and Gimli, who never bothered with a tent had been invited to ride out the nasty weather in the tent with the captains.

Freddy and Jolly hurried to prepare the evening meal, and it was as well that they had, for the group had barely finished eating when out of the darkening sky, the wind picked up briskly and the first large patters of raindrops began to hit.

Everyone rushed to get under cover of the tents, except poor Borondir, who had watch, and so had to huddle outside, beneath his oiled cloak.

There in the Gondorian tent, the hobbits huddled together, Freddy, Beri and Jolly, and in a miserable corner, Clodio and Dago. Clodio was trembling, and started at every clap of thunder. The sound of the rain on the canvas was a thunder of its own. It was really too loud for conversation.

Adrahil had lit a lantern and he and Artamir busied themselves with their weapons and armor, cleaning, sharpening and repairing any small thing that needed it. Bergil was mending one of Captain Targon’s surcoats. Jolly took out a shirt that needed mending, and Freddy wrote in a journal, while Beri worked on a letter to his father. He hoped to be able to send it when they reached Tharbad.

Clodio was too miserable to do anything but shiver, but Dago watched the Men. He had noticed that every time there was nothing else to do, all of the Men occupied themselves with their weapons and armor, as though those things were the most important things in the world to them. And he had begun to realize it was just about true. Soldiers depended on their weapons and armor to keep them alive, and so they took utmost care of them.

The only weapon a hobbit had was his wits.

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In their small tent, Mistress Poppy distracted the trembling Viola with questions, choosing to quiz her on the signs and symptoms of various illnesses. At first it had been difficult to keep her mind on the questions, but now the little apprentice began to answer a bit more confidently.

Poppy was pleased. A healer needed to be able to think under stress.

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As early as it was, the Rohirrim had chosen to sleep. Leodwald, Anwynd and Danulf had all stretched out in their bedrolls. The three hobbits of the embassy had huddled together in one little nest, more for comfort than warmth. Clovis and Cado were huddled together as well, but they were decidedly *uncomfortable*, and could not sleep. They never spoke together in the presence of any of their captors, Clovis out of fear of the gag, and Cado out of caution and uncertainty.

Cado’s mind was awhirl with so many of the things he had begun to hear since the journey began. The world was a much bigger and far more perilous place than he had ever imagined it to be.

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In the captain’s tent, Gimli’s snores were drowned out by the drumming of the rain on the canvas. Éothain was sharpening his sword by the light of a lantern, and Targon was attempting to work on his report of their mission so far.

Legolas sat cross-legged by the tent opening, watching the storm, and singing to himself. The storm would not have worried him--he had been out in worse, but he knew his companions would have fretted if he had not accepted their offer of shelter for the night.

Whether he could see them or not, he knew where the stars were.

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It was hard to judge the time in weather such as this, but when Borondir began to flag, he went to wake Anwynd for his watch, and then made his way to the Gondorian tent.

He was surprised to find the others yet awake and the lantern lit as late as it was, but he realized they had waited for him to finish his watch. Coming in wet, he would need to get into something dry before retiring, and that would waken everyone anyway.

Thankful, he peeled out of his armor and his sopping wet surcoat and tunic, laying them out flat in a corner to dry as best they could.

“Here,” said Artamir, handing him a dry tunic. “I dug it out for you.”

“Thank you,” Borondir responded.

Dago stared, fascinated.

On the Man’s upper arm was a picture of the tree that was on his surcoat.

Tattooed.

Interesting.