PART 3: GIMLI

Gimli’s feet thudded against the ground in time with the pounding of his heart. He had needed the rest they had taken the night before, though he knew that the Elf--that Legolas--had not wished to stop their pursuit. But he had to admit to himself, he could not have continued for much longer.

Now they had to try to make up the time they had lost. If they were too late to save young Merry and Pippin because of that, he would never forgive himself. And yet, somehow, he held on to hope.

Hobbits were tough. That was what he had learned from his father. Gloín had never forgotten the role that Bilbo had played in helping to free the Lonely Mountain of the Dragon, and he had often talked about it to his son.

“I will never forget, my son, that the small creature who seemed to be soft as butter, was the true hero of the entire expedition. Everyone seemed to underestimate him. It was, of course, largely his own fault--he was modest, and never seemed to take credit for all he did. But he never backed down once he set himself upon a course of action, and he never once considered abandoning the rest of us, though there were many occasions when he would have been far safer to do so. Not,” Gloín had added ruefully, “something that could have been said of the rest of us. We did not always treat him as honorably as he treated us.”

And when Gimli had finally met Bilbo Baggins, on the hobbit’s last visit to the Lonely Mountain, he had to admit that he would scarcely have believed his father’s tales of this mild-mannered little being who seemed only concerned about his next meal, had he not seen the honor in which all his elders and kin held Master Baggins. Truly the Dwarves of the Lonely Mountain held Bilbo Baggins in the highest of esteem.

He had been honored to meet Bilbo once more, and Frodo had impressed him at the Council. It was clear that Bilbo had chosen one very worthy to be his heir, and that Frodo--if anyone could--would be up to the task he had offered to undertake. He was also impressed with Sam’s level-headed devotion.

He’d been less impressed with the younger hobbits. He had not really met them to speak with, other than merest introductions, but he had observed them--constantly joking and bantering and playing the fools, and seemingly concerned for nothing more than their next meal. More than once he had heard Gandalf reprimanding Pippin for speaking too lightly.

It was not until they came to see his father one afternoon, to ask advice about how to prepare themselves to fight on the journey, that he realized they had far more sense than he had given them credit for.* He realized he had fallen into the same trap as his father once had regarding Bilbo: He had underestimated them.

Still it was not until a few days later that Gimli had begun to understand their true depth of feeling. Gloín had asked him to find Bilbo and invite him to their chambers for refreshment, a reciprocation for Bilbo having them to tea a few days earlier. Not finding the old hobbit in his small apartment, nor in the kitchens nor in the Hall of Fire, he had begun to wander the grounds in hopes of finding Bilbo taking the sun on one of the many benches. Sure enough, there he was. He was not alone--his two younger kinfolk were with him--but Gimli started to approach anyway.

Until something in their posture made him think perhaps the conversation was a private one. He stopped where he was, and hung back, near one of the many pillars carved to look like a living tree. And then he realized he was not out of earshot.

Pippin had burst into tears, and Bilbo had put a comforting arm about his young cousin. “Cousin Bilbo, I was so frightened…”

Ah, thought Gimli, he must be speaking of their encounter with the Nine on their journey here.

But Pippin’s voice continued, “I was so certain Lord Elrond was going to send us--or at least me--back to the Shire! I couldn’t have borne it, Cousin Bilbo.”

“There now, my lad! No need for tears now--the decision’s been made, and Master Elrond will not go back on his word once given!”

Pippin leaned into Bilbo’s side, accepting the comfort offered, and on Bilbo’s other side, Merry leaned forward. “We have to thank you, Bilbo! We know you spoke for us.”

Bilbo shook his head. “Gandalf’s opinion was the important one. But as your senior family member here, I felt entitled to give my own opinion.” He drew out a large white handkerchief, and handed it to Pippin, who blew his nose loudly and sat back up.

“What did you tell him, Bilbo?” Merry asked.

“The truth: that it would do no good to forbid you a place in the Company, because as soon as you could, you would slip away and follow; that you are both steadfast and brave; and that Frodo would need the companionship of Family on the journey. Frodo has never been as solitary a hobbit as I was. That *was* the truth, was it not?”

“Well,” said Merry, “I *had* begun to make plans for our escape.”

Bilbo nodded. “I thought as much.” His voice was a bit smug. “But the two of you will be far safer among the Company than trailing behind them in the Wild.” He placed an arm around each of them in a proud embrace. “I know I can trust you to help Sam take care of Frodo.”

“We’ll stick with him, Bilbo, we will,” said Merry earnestly.

“They’ll have to drag us off kicking and screaming to get us away from him!” said Pippin, with not a hint of humor in his tone.

“Well, I hope it shan’t come to that! But I’ve every confidence in the both of you, and I am uncommonly proud to have a chance to see what kind of hobbits the two of you have grown into. Frodo could not ask for better friends.”

The two younger hobbits had thanked Bilbo once more, and then taken their leave, and Gimli had approached to tender his father’s invitation, with a good deal to think upon…

Well, young Master Pippin had been right. It had taken a horde of Orcs to drag them kicking and screaming away from where their cousin had headed. Gimli had no doubts whatsoever that if the two of them had not been captured, they would even now be attempting to follow Frodo and Sam, somehow.

And now they were being carried further and further into peril, and away from the side of the cousin whom they so dearly loved.

Dwarves were by and large a cynical and pessimistic race--but Gimli held on to the thought that they would find the two young hobbits. Alive. And well. They had to.

To fail was unthinkable…

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*In my story “Never Give Up”, in the “Twice Twenty” anthology, here at Stories of Arda
http://www.storiesofarda.com/chapterview.asp?sid=3593&cid=17539