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 **