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 **