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 **