Out on a Limb

By: Elemmírë

Summary: A tale in which Frodo remembers the first time he tried to climb a tree.

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings does not belong to me, nor am I making any profit off either its story or characters.

Author's Note: Written for Marigold's Challenge #27 in which each story had to include references to all four elements: earth, air, fire, and water. There was also a unique element for each author; a time of day in which the story should be set. Mine was Dusk.

As the others remaining in the Fellowship took their long-earned rest upon the cool grass, Frodo found himself looking around in wonder at the beauty of Lórien surrounding him. Sam came to stand beside them and both hobbits felt they were seeing the world anew. These cherished woods of the Elves were crisp and full of bright color and yet, were also timeless and did not appear to have faded or changed when compared to the rest of Middle-earth. Frodo felt a peace here that he had never known before and for the first time since the Fellowship’s arduous journey from Rivendell had begun, the burden of carrying the One Ring eased greatly.

When Sam proclaimed his marvel that he felt like he was inside of a song, Haldir smiled and bade the two small hobbits to follow him further up the hill. As the trio walked, Frodo suddenly came to a halt. The South Wind was blowing his curls and gently rocking the tree branches overhead, but what caught his attention were the distinctive sounds of the waves of the sea and the call of sea-birds.

Frodo frowned. If ever there had been a great sea here, its beaches were long since washed away and the race of sea-birds long gone as well. He remembered other times he had dreamed of the sea; he had heard the soothing sound of the waves, somehow knowing the water belonged to a vast ocean he had never set eye upon before. This time, however, the sounds felt more familiar to him and they were clear and distinct, making his dreams seem muted and washed-out.

As quickly as the South Wind had carried the sounds from what Frodo would later learn to be from far-distant shores, the cries of the sea-birds faded and Frodo hurried to catch up with Sam and Haldir. He knew without a doubt that Sam had not heard the sounds of the sea or the birds, for he did not question Haldir about them.

They walked through the two circles of trees surrounding the lush green hill, until the Elf came to a halt below a towering tree in the very center of the inner ring of golden mallorns. This tree was the tallest Frodo had ever seen. He craned his neck as far back as it could go, trying to see the topmost branches, and spied a gleaming white flet nestled securely more than two-thirds of the way up the great tree. Surely Haldir did not wish for them to follow him up there!

Haldir grabbed hold of the ladder integrated skillfully with the bark of the mallorn and began to climb in haste, as the sun headed into its final downward journey past the horizon.

Remembering the long climb the hobbits had made up the flet the night before (and how much they had all disliked it being their bedroom), Frodo sighed wearily but set himself to follow the lithe form of the Warden of the March, Sam climbing beneath him. Still looking up at the tree top, the Ringbearer accidentally placed his hand against the trunk of the tree instead of the sturdy, yet elegant ladder leading upward.

He had never noticed the trees of the Shire to have ever felt this way to him, he realized as he stroked the smooth bark. Not that he had ever really had the inclination to climb them, as hobbits generally did not like heights and so did not climb trees as a rule. Although, there had been that _one_ time, Frodo mused as he carefully followed Haldir up the ladder. It seemed rather silly now, of course, but at the time ....

* * * * *

"Frodo!" The voice of Bilbo Baggins echoed throughout the trees of the Bindbole Wood. Earlier that afternoon, he had given his young nephew permission to explore the edge of the tree line surrounding their campsite, while he prepared supper. It was now rapidly approaching dusk and Frodo was nowhere to be seen, despite his earlier promise to stay nearby.

"Oh, sticklebacks! Where is that boy?" Bilbo muttered, his ample stomach growling in hunger. He cupped his hands around his mouth to help amplify his voice. "Froo-doo!"

Meanwhile, Frodo frowned in consternation at his current indisposition. He hadn't meant to get stuck up in the large tree ... he had only been pretending after all. The nearly 22-year old hobbit lad looked down from his precarious perch, gulping when he saw how far below him the ground really was. He hadn't intended to climb up so high but now, he didn't have the slightest idea on how to get back down. "Oh, why did I do this?" he moaned, and silently cursed the Took blood in him.

Well, the situation could be worse, he thought. At least there were no orcs to set fire to the trees like in his uncle's adventure. Speaking of Bilbo, Frodo heard his uncle's summons and soon could see the elder hobbit walking amidst the trees far below him.

"Uncle Bilbo is going to be so upset with me for this." Frodo was convinced that Bilbo would never take him anywhere again until he came of age in eleven more years.

"Frodo?!" Bilbo was starting to become worried that there was no reply to his calls when suddenly, one came.

"I'm here, Uncle!"

Bilbo turned around in a circle, eyes searching in the dwindling sunlight. Oddly enough, it almost sounded like Frodo's voice had come from above him. "Now is not the time to be playing games, Frodo, not while our supper's growing cold. Now where are you, my boy?"

There was a rustling of branches from above.

"I'm up here, Bilbo," Frodo managed to squeak out. He hugged the bending tree limb tighter to himself, watching a few of the green leaves drift down ... down ... down at his shifting movement.

Bilbo glanced down at the swirling leaves that gathered at his feet, then looked upward.

"Oh my! Frodo, whatever are you doing up there, my lad?" he called out, knowing full well that hobbits do not like heights. He could attest to that himself after his journey with Gandalf and the Dwarves many years ago.

Bilbo shaded his eyes against the rays of the setting sun and surveyed the situation far overhead. Frodo was very high up indeed, almost in the topmost branches of the tree. The slight tweenager was sitting hunched over, perched far out on one thick bough, which seemingly looked sturdy enough. His arms and legs were wrapped around the tree limb, holding on tightly for dear life.

Frodo gave his guardian a sheepish smile. "Well, as I was walking, I found myself thinking about how tall the trees are here. Then I remembered part of your story about your adventure with the Dwarves--"

"Which part, Frodo? I've told you many," Bilbo pointed out. He had a feeling he knew exactly where this was heading to. He sighed, thinking he should have made it more abundantly clear to his young heir that he had most certainly not enjoyed his foray climbing either the overly tall trees bordering the Misty Mountains, or the oppressive forests of Mirkwood. After all, neither occurrence had been his choice exactly.

"The part when the Dwarves made you climb the trees in Mirkwood to look about .... I've never climbed a tree before and I was curious. ... I was pretending to be you on your adventure," Frodo explained, his voice rising in panic over his predicament. "One thing led to another ... and here I am. I didn't mean to climb up so high. I need help, Bilbo! I tried, but I cannot get back down!"

Bilbo forced himself not to chuckle at his spirited nephew's imagination. Instead, he held his hands up to placate the boy. "Calm yourself, Frodo-lad. Panicking won't help you any. Just climb down the same way you went up. That's how I did it, long ago."

Frodo glanced nervously at the branch below him. "I-I can't," he stammered. "It's too far. I cannot reach it."

"Nonsense," Bilbo admonished. "You were able to reach it in order to climb up that far. You just need to slide further back towards the trunk is all. Whatever possessed you to go so far out on a limb anyway?"

"I was wondering if there were any butterflies above the tree tops, like the ones you saw in Mirkwood. As I was climbing, I didn't realize how far I'd gotten ... anyway, I thought I might have seen what looked like a cocoon. It turned out to be just a dead leaf though. I really did not mean to climb up so high, Uncle," he apologized once more.

Berating himself for doing such a stupid thing in the first place, Frodo inched his way backwards until his bottom hit the thick trunk of the tree. At one point his breeches got hung up on the bark and he heard the fabric rip, much to his embarrassment. He felt the cooler air of early evening hit his hot, sweaty skin.

With encouragement from Bilbo, Frodo let one leg dangle below him, searching for the tree limb with his bare toes. He felt nothing but air beneath him and chanced a look downward. The branch was just beyond the reach of his foot and he grew dizzy when once again, he saw the ground far, far below. What had he been thinking? Hobbits didn't like heights! His panic increased once more. He was going to be stuck up in this tree for good.

"I can't, Bilbo. I'm going to fall!" Frodo clutched onto the tree limb with all his might. He vaguely wondered what the odds of the possibility of an Eagle flying overhead at that moment to rescue him were?

"No you won't Frodo," Bilbo said. "I'm not going to let you fall." He could see that Frodo was now shaking in true fear. He began to remove his weskit in case he was forced to climb up after his nephew. "Just calm yourself and listen to me, lad. I want you to do exactly as I say."

Via much coaxing and patience, Bilbo was able to direct Frodo to finally summon the courage to swing his left leg over the branch and dangle by his hands. Frodo let go to bring both furry feet to come to a rest on the branch below his former perch, hugging his small arms about the great trunk for balance. The young tween followed his uncle's instructions to the letter and the closer he got to the ground, the less frightened of falling he became. However, as Frodo was shimmying down the last few feet of the knobby trunk, his toes missed their foothold altogether in the dim light as the last rays of sunlight were setting. With a shriek, he tumbled downward, feeling the rough bark of the tree scrape his bare hands and legs, making them bleed.

Bilbo caught him and set him down upon the grass. Never before had Frodo so much enjoyed the feel of good solid earth under his bare hobbit feet. Not for the first time that evening, the little hobbit wondered how Bilbo had managed to cope with being forced to climb the giant trees of Mirkwood at the Dwarves' insistence. His uncle had made it sound so easy in his stories despite admitting he too, had been scared of heights like any other hobbit.

As Frodo pondered this new curiosity, Bilbo checked over his cuts and bruises, wrapping the worst of the bloody scrapes in clean pocket handkerchiefs, before hugging the lad close to him.

"I'm sorry, Uncle," Frodo cried, burying his head into his uncle's shirt.

Bilbo patted the small back gently. "There, there," he reassured. "It's all right, Frodo-lad. You're safe now and I'm so proud of you."

Frodo looked up, wiping away his tears with one handkerchief-wrapped hand. "Y-you are? Why?"

After all, Frodo thought to himself, I'm not very brave like you, Bilbo.

* * * * *

Frodo took a short break in climbing up the ladder after Haldir. He tightened his grip around the rung he was currently holding onto and risked looking back down at the ground. It was now far below him and he swallowed nervously before resuming his ascent, Sam following him ever faithfully.

Twenty-eight years later, as he continued to ascend the giant mallorn, Frodo could still easily remember Bilbo’s words to him in the Bindbole Wood, just as if the old hobbit had said them yesterday.

Bilbo had smiled at him and had given a firm nod of his curly head. "I am proud of you,” he had said. “It takes a special hobbit to face a fear. You will find, Frodo my lad, that there is a seed of courage hidden in even the most fattest and timid of hobbits. It is often buried very deeply, just waiting for some final and desperate danger to make it grow. You are not a timid hobbit by any means, lad, and your seed of courage is not buried as deeply as others ... nor are you very fat at all," Bilbo had chuckled, giving his nephew's flat tummy a poke.

"Even though you were scared of the height, as most hobbits are, you climbed the tree anyway to see what you could. But in the end, you also had the courage to try to come back down again.”

Frodo grasped the next elegant rung and pulled himself up, smiling. Oh, if Bilbo could only see him now, climbing a tree that was easily twice the height of any in the Shire.

Despite his uncle’s well-meaning words, Frodo had come to the conclusion that he really hadn’t liked being up so high up after his one-time foray into tree climbing after all. He somehow had found (and still did) that attribute to be reassuring, as he was often very different from a normal hobbit in many other aspects and characteristics.

Looking eastward out over the land of Lórien, Frodo and Sam took pleasure in the refreshingly cool air that breezed against their faces and ruffled their curly hair. Frodo felt like he was in a wooded hall made from the purest of gold. The warm golden rays of the setting sun washed over the land and the surrounding mallorn trees, bathing their already golden leaves in such pure light. The rustling of the leaves was like music to his and Sam's ears. In the distance, the hobbits could see the sparkle of water where the peaceful, soothing waters of the Nimrodel met the mighty Anduin River.

Frodo’s gaze fell to the land beyond the river and all of the golden light vanished suddenly, leaving him in the Middle-earth that he knew. The land was flat and empty until it rose in a dark, dreary wall. The sun that lay on Lothlorien had no power to enlighten the shadow of that distant height.*

Mirkwood. All his childhood, Frodo had listened to his uncle’s tales and dreamed of taking his own journey someday. Looking out at the legend of old, Frodo was suddenly glad that the Fellowship had not traveled to such a dark-looking, ominous place, although Moria had been just that and more. A question from Sam broke his contemplation.

“What are you thinking about, Mister Frodo?”

Frodo turned to look at his long-time gardener and friend. “I found myself wondering if during his adventure, Bilbo had been able to see the beauty of the Lothlórien wood from his perch in the trees of Mirkwood … if he was able to see the light from the darkness that resides there.”

The two hobbits stood atop the flet with Haldir and continued to revel in the pristine, clear beauty around them, until the last rays of the sun disappeared as she sank below the skyline. Somehow they knew that they would never see such a sight in all of Middle-earth ever again. Even the Elven realm of Rivendell had not felt as such to them during their stay there. Haldir was content to let the hobbits stay atop the flet as long as they desired, not minding if their arrival to the city of Galadhrim was now delayed until after dusk.

"I wish one of these mallorns could grow in the Shire, Mister Frodo," Sam remarked quietly. "It's ... it's just so different from any type o' tree we've got growin' there. It feels so much more ... alive. Like when life first began and the whole world was brand new ... and everything was still good in it."

"I know, Sam. I know." Frodo replied, reaching his hand out to lay it against the smooth bark once more before they descended back down the ladder to the soft earth waiting below.

The End

* Direct quote from J.R.R. Tolkien's, The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, "Lothlórien"