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Hobbit Lessons  by Citrine


Strider’s pot of herbs soon stewed down to an odorous, green sludge, so odorous, in fact, that it had driven Legolas completely away from camp, and he still stood some distance away under a tree with his arms folded across his chest.

“It bothers me not at all,” Gimli was quick to say, but Frodo saw him gasp like a stranded fish when an errant breeze brought the smell to him, and he made sure to move upwind.

Merry was sitting on a blanket when Strider brought the small kettle to him, wrapped in a cloth, and set it between his knees. “What in the name of creation..?” He turned pale. “Surely I am not meant to..to..eat..this stuff, am I?”

“Only a little,” Strider said. Merry glanced up at Frodo with pleading, watery eyes and clutched at his sleeve, and Frodo blanched. Strider laughed at their stricken expressions. “No, no, my friends! That was only a small jest; do not look so pale! Although eating this would not do you harm, if you could force it down your throat, you need only lean over it and breathe in the vapors for a while to clear your head.”

“Thank heavens for small mercies,” Merry muttered, then coughed as the steam rose into his face. Strider handed Frodo a blanket to place over Merry’s head. Merry held it aside and took hold of Frodo’s hand, looking solemnly into his face. “Dearest cousin, best of friends, if this cure finishes me off, give my love to Pip and tell him he may have my blanket. I’m sure he must be very fond of it, since he robs me of it every time we sleep. Out of all my cousins named Frodo, you are my favorite.”

“That is a kind sentiment,” Gimli said.

Frodo laughed. “I am his only cousin named Frodo.” He pulled the blanket over Merry’s head. “That’s enough out of you, you mad Brandybuck.”

“I only hope to survive long enough to apologize to Sam for the ruination of his kettle,” Merry added sadly, his voice muffled under layers of wool.

So they stood around for a length of time, shivering in the cold while the fire died down. Gandalf fretted and walked back and forth, looking in the direction the missing three members of the Fellowship had gone, and tapping his staff impatiently on the ground. Merry claimed to be suffocating and made a half-hearted attempt to throw the blanket off, until Frodo put his hand on the back of his head and held it in place. Light grew in the sky and the stars, half-seen through flying shreds of cloud, began to wink out one by one. Boromir, Sam, and Pippin did not return.

When Strider finally released Merry from his cloth prison his cheeks were red and tears streamed down his face, but his breathing was much improved. “I feel as if I’ve been under there for an age!” Merry scrubbed his face with Frodo’s handkerchief and looked around. “Shouldn’t they have returned by now?”

“What could be keeping them?” Frodo wondered.

“I’m beginning to wonder about that, myself,” Gandalf said. Legolas was still at his lonely station under the tree and Gandalf called to him. “Hullo there, Legolas! Do you see them yet?”

“Yes!” Legolas said, and frowned. “They are in a hurry, it seems.”

Gimli looked alarmed and reached for his axe. Strider was suddenly alert. “Are they being pursued?”

“No, but Pippin is afoot, and Boromir carries Sam in his arms.”

Merry tossed the blanket aside and jumped to his feet. Frodo felt worry collect in the pit of his stomach like a lump of lead, and an urge came over him to reach up to touch the shape of the ring beneath his shirt, as if it were a living thing that could give comfort; then he felt Merry’s warm, familiar hand on his shoulder as he stood up, and he stuck his hands in his pockets.

Boromir and the two hobbits came into sight and the Fellowship rushed to greet them. Boromir was sweating and breathing hard as he stood Sam on his feet-Sam was not small, for a hobbit, nor was he thin. Sam was pale and shivering, but in surprisingly good condition for a hobbit that had come close to freezing to death. Pippin stopped and bent over with his hands on his knees, panting like a wind-broke pony. Merry very nearly had to hold him upright to keep him from collapsing into the fire. Frodo hurried over and put his own blanket around Sam’s shoulders. “Poor old Sam! We were getting worried about you, and I can see now we had good reason!”

“What on earth happened?” Merry cried.

The three exchanged a strange look, almost of shame. “The little ones...” Boromir began, but his voice faltered. How was he to explain his own part in this near disaster?

“The ice broke when we were fetching the water,” Sam said before Boromir could speak again. “We’re all right, but we might have come to a bad end if it weren’t for Captain Boromir.”

Gandalf was standing before Pippin and looked down at him sternly. “My heart tells me that you are at the bottom of this bit of mischief as usual, Peregrin Took. What have you got to say for yourself?”

“There was a pool near the spring and I went out on to the ice, and Sam followed me, and we fell through.” Pippin said quickly, and swallowed hard. His face was dirty and tear-streaked, and his eyes were still rimmed with red. “We..I..I have lost your water bottle.”

Boromir knew that Gandalf looked upon these little folk as a kind, old grandsire might look upon his children’s children, but surely now the little one would be punished. Boromir saw Merry, Sam, and Frodo move in to flank Pippin, and Merry put his hand gently on Pippin’s elbow, as if ready to whisk him out of harm’s way. The Ranger, the Elf, and the Dwarf did not seemed overly concerned, but Boromir tensed; he hoped that Gandalf would not be too harsh.

To his surprise, Gandalf laughed. “Now my lad, that is nothing to be so upset about! If my water bottle was lost during your rescue, well, that is a small price to pay for your safety. Perhaps I might have got another water bottle, someday, but where would I have found another bothersome, foolish little Took?” He put his hand on Pippin’s head, and Pippin smiled gratefully. There was much more to this tale than was being told, Gandalf guessed, and perhaps it would come out, if given time. “Come along now and get warm, and let us see if we can cover any distance today.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was a delay while the hobbits changed into dry clothes, Boromir and Legolas went to retrieve the water bottles and Boromir’s sword, shield, and his horn, and yet another delay while tea was made-how the halflings loved their tea!-before they started off, and there was no more time to discuss what had happened. Sam and Pippin seemed to suffer no ill effects from their chilly dip in the pool, and marched along as if they had done no more than stumble through a puddle. Sam had squawked at finding the green, smelly mess in his only kettle, but once it was dumped out and washed-another delay!-and tucked safely into his pack, he was content. Pippin did complain that thanks to Strider his blanket now smelled worse than sour oats, and how was he ever going to sleep again with that stink in his nose?

They did not get far that day. The hobbits did not sing quietly together, as they usually did, or chat idly about meals, and rest stops, or various features of the scenery. They kept their heads together and seemed to be having a council. Boromir saw startled and sometimes pitying looks cast in his direction as the story was apparently discussed at length, and he feared their council was about himself. Perhaps they were deciding exactly when and how to tell the rest of the Company about his near-fatal lack of attention where Sam and Pippin had been concerned. Well, he was the son of the Steward, a Captain of Gondor, and no weakling; he would face his judgment when it came. But he could not help but glance anxiously at the wizard as he went along. Gandalf was very fond of the little ones, and Boromir did fear his wrath, just a little. Wizards were a vengeful lot, no matter what Faramir had said to the contrary.

They sought shelter early on and hid themselves as best they could among a cluster of short, scrubby trees. Legolas kept the watch and awakened them in the late afternoon.

“Four o’ clock they’d call it back home, I reckon,” Sam said, squinting at the sunless, gray sky.

“Time for a nice Tea before the fire,” Merry said.

“With some sweet rolls, and good butter, and honey,” Pippin sighed, looking sadly at his bit of brown bread and dried fruit.

“And a book and a pipe afterwards,” Frodo added.

But there were none of these things to be had, of course, except for the pipes, and there was not enough time for a leisurely smoke. They ate and drank in haste, shouldered their packs and went on. Night fell and Gandalf walked ahead bearing his staff, which seemed to glow faintly and cast a pale light before their feet. It became very cold, and each exhalation of breath hung before them like a cloud.

When they could walk no more, Gandalf called a halt. The ground was rocky and nearly treeless and covered with a low, strongly scented ground cover, but there was no other shelter and the travelers were nearly asleep on their feet. They would have to trust to luck and hope that the darkness would hide them from unfriendly eyes until they awoke in the pre-dawn hours to go forward again. The hobbits spread their blankets in a hollow of the land, like a dry ditch, lined with the small, prickly bushes. The taller members of the Fellowship then spread their own blankets over them and covered them with uprooted pieces of brush. Sam muttered unhappily about going to ground like a coney, and how he’d rather stew one than sleep like one, but Pippin declared it the warmest place he had slept since Rivendell.

There was much muffled laughter and chatter until Gandalf threatened, only half in jest, to turn them all into coneys and set foxes on them if he was not allowed to sleep in peace. It got quiet rather quickly after that.

Boromir took the first watch, although there was not much to see. The sky was overcast and the stars were hidden, and the silence was so deep that he could hear every breath or snore of his companions. After a long spell of quiet the halflings had begun to talk softly again, and if Gandalf heard them this time he made no sign. Boromir was sitting nearest to their resting place and could hear odds and ends of the conversation. He heard his name mentioned and sat up a little straighter. There were rustling and crunching noises as they threw off the brush and four dim shapes climbed out of the ditch, and then more furtive rustling as they seemed to be searching through their packs. What were they up to? Was this, then, the moment of their decision at last, when his disgrace would be revealed to the rest of the Company?

But they did not go to Gandalf and wake him, nor to Strider. They came to where he was sitting. Boromir’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness so he could see them well enough when they were close, although their individual features were mere smudges. Frodo stood before him with his hands clasped behind his back, as if ready to recite a school lesson. “It appears we owe you a debt of gratitude.”

Boromir let out a breath he had not realized he was holding in. “There is no-”

“Let me finish. We owe you a debt for saving Sam and Pippin, one we cannot possibly repay out here in the wilderness, but we hobbits always pay our debts, and so we have decided to do the best we can.”

Frodo stood back and Merry came forward and threw his blanket around Boromir’s shoulders. “Thank you, Boromir,” he said simply. From what Pippin had told, he and Frodo had come perilously close to losing two people who meant more to them than their own lives, and he did not trust himself to speak more. He pressed Boromir’s hand and stepped away.

Sam stepped up and placed something round and cool into Boromir’s hands. Boromir felt the shape of it and knew it was an apple, quite wrinkled and going soft, and the sweet smell of it brought to mind memories of sunny, autumn orchards far away. Heaven only knew how long Sam had been saving it, for whatever reason. “I didn’t have no pears,” Sam laughed quietly, and Boromir laughed too, filled with relief and some other emotion he could not name. “Thank you, Captain Boromir.”

Pippin came next. “I’d offer you my blanket but it still reeks of Strider’s cure, I’m afraid,” Pippin laughed. “And so I have offered to take half of your watch. Frodo will take the other half.”

“The long half, no doubt,” Frodo said. He held out his hand and Boromir grasped it, feeling the strength in those slim fingers for the first time. For a single moment of time, Boromir seemed to see Frodo grown tall and filled with light, and he felt all that he had or had not done that day at the spring was known, his wanderings and secret thoughts forgiven-then between a blink and heartbeat the moment passed. Frodo was only a hobbit, after all, with a handsome, careworn face, shivering in the cold night air and his brown hair mussed by the wind. “Thank you, Boromir.”

“And goodnight!” came Gimli’s plaintive, drowsy voice. “Do hobbits never sleep?”

“Coneys and foxes, gentlehobbits!” Gandalf said in a warning tone, but he did not sound angry. “Must I repeat myself?”

Pippin’s eyes widened and he clapped a hand over his mouth. Boromir felt color rise into his face. Legolas and Strider, dimly seen as shadowy lumps in the dark, were chuckling. “Thank you, Boromir!” Pippin whispered. Boromir gave him a roughly affectionate pat on the shoulder, still too filled with emotion to speak, then stood up so that Pippin might sit in his place. Frodo walked back to the ditch, staggering a little with weariness, but Boromir saw him carefully pull the brush over the shrouded forms of Merry and Sam before he himself lay down. Pippin walked to and fro, yawning like a cavern and humming very softly to keep himself awake.

Boromir found a place to lie down, tossed aside a few inconvenient rocks, and wrapped himself in Merry’s blanket. Well, my brother, Boromir said to himself, speaking to Faramir in his thoughts as he often did when they were parted. It seems I have learned a lesson or two, although perhaps not what Pippin intended. Perhaps there was more to these halflings than he had guessed, a strength beyond that which was needed to lift a sword-the strength to love, laugh, and forgive, to endure and continue to hope even when all seemed dark. A resolve grew in him to do whatever was needed to protect them under any circumstances. He would not fail them again.

*********************
The End.






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