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 **