HOLDING BACK THE FLOOD

Chapter 2:  A Fellowship Forming

“It seems impossible, somehow, to feel gloomy or depressed in this place.  I feel I could sing, if I knew the right song for the occasion.”  Pippin, ‘Many Meetings’, The Fellowship of the Ring

“Strider!” Pippin cried out in delight.  “When did you get back?”  He dashed out of the Last Homely House’s pillared entrance, plopped himself down on the top step next to Aragorn, and gave the Ranger a shy hug.

It was such a rare treat to be greeted so enthusiastically by anyone, Aragorn couldn’t keep from smiling. 

“Hello, Pippin,” he said, wrapping one of his long arms around the youngster’s shoulders.  “I arrived just a few minutes ago.  I rode far and long, and need sleep, but thought I’d sit here a moment before going inside.”

“We were worried about you,” Pippin said earnestly.  “You hardly got any rest after bringing us here before you were off again!”

“Thank you,” Aragorn said softly.  “How is Frodo?”

“Much better.  He still tires easily, though.  He’s been walking a bit farther each day, exploring the woods and waterfalls.  We all have been.  There’s only one pony here, after all, and we’ll probably have to do quite a bit of walking before reaching the Fire Mountain.”

“We?”

“Yes,” Pippin said firmly.  “Gandalf and Frodo and Sam can’t go off alone, now, can they?  They need us.  Merry and me.”

“Hmmm.”  Aragorn wondered who would be making the final decision as to the Ring-bearer’s companions, and what had been decided in his absence.

“You haven’t missed much,” Pippin continued, seemingly reading his thoughts.  “Someone found one of the black cloaks – the one with the slash in it where Frodo stabbed him.”  Pippin sat up straighter, the pride in his cousin shining in his eyes.  “What’s happening out there?  You’re the first one to return.”

“I have little to report,” Aragorn said.  “I travelled a fair distance with my men, and made sure they were well dispersed.   They will get word to me here should any news or sign of the Black Riders be discovered.”

“I hope everyone comes back soon, so we can get going.  I can’t quite keep track of time here, but Cousin Bilbo says it’s nearly December, even though it isn’t very cold yet.”  Pippin looked up at the Man curiously.  “Is it colder outside the valley?”

“It is,” Aragorn said softly.  “This is a very special place, Pippin.”

“I know.  It feels so peaceful here.”

“How is everyone getting along?”

“Not bad.” Pippin leaned back on his elbows.  “Glóin went home so he could let their people know what’s going on, but Gimli's still here.  He’s very polite and proper around the Elves.”

“And when he's around hobbits?” Aragorn asked curiously.  In all his travels, he had very little experience with Dwarves, save those who came through Bree, or a chance meeting upon the road.

Pippin grinned.  “He treats Cousin Bilbo like a great hero, and we’ve been having a jolly time telling tales.  At first I thought he was only pretending to like us because we weren’t Elves, he stays away from them as much as possible, not that it’s really possible to do that here, but he does seem to enjoy our company.”  A gentle breeze made the trees rustle softly.  “Isn’t it lovely here?  We’ve all been helping in the gardens, of course.  Some piglets were born, but they don’t have names yet.”

Before Aragorn could respond, Pippin was cheerfully continuing.

“There aren’t too many folks about; an awful lot of them went off on search parties, as you know.  Boromir’s done some scouting too, and he likes the library.  He’s been waiting for you to return, I think.  Gandalf’s been talking a great deal with Frodo, and Merry’s memorizing the maps, and I’m getting to know Cousin Bilbo again.  Do you know I haven’t seen him since I was 11?  Legolas is quiet, but he seems friendly, and he talks about plants with Sam.”  Aragorn was intrigued by how closely Pippin was watching and evaluating everyone in Imladris.  “Frodo and Merry said they'd be exploring over there today, with Gimli,” Pippin said, motioning to the immensely high, lushly-forested slopes to the east.  “I’ll go find them after luncheon.  The food is very very good here, don’t you think?  Oh, did I mention that Lord Elrond’s daughter and her ladies are making us warm jackets and some other things?  We had to meet with her to get measured.”  He blushed suddenly.

“She is quite skilled,” Aragorn managed to slip in, nearly overwhelmed by so much speech all at once.  He and his men rode in silence, for the most part, exchanging brief words when needed.  He realized anew how quiet and remote his life usually was. 

“Oh, I know,” Pippin agreed.  “Frodo says she’s the one who made his new clothes.  I think she must have consulted with Bilbo about his size and what colors he likes before we ever got here; after all, styles haven’t changed a bit since he left the Shire, and he knows Frodo better than anyone.  Except for Sam, that is.”

“And what is Sam up to, today?”

Aragorn was startled by the sudden look of pity and concern in Pippin’s eyes.

“He's with Frodo, of course!  You are tired, aren’t you?  You’re right; you need to get some sleep.”  Pippin urged Aragorn to rise, and pointed into the House.  “But maybe visit the bathing rooms first, and get something to eat, and then sleep,” he amended.

“I will heed your advice, Pippin,” Aragorn smiled.  After he had gone, Pippin remained on the steps for a time, enjoying the sunshine and humming to himself.  After awhile, he shook his head and chuckled quietly.

“Good old Sam.  What a silly question.”

*~*~*~*~*

“Where am I?” Frodo murmured.

“Rivendell,” came a familiar voice.  “We’re on an adventure with a rock-crazed Dwarf and a plant-obsessed gardener.  Ring any bells?”

“Now I remember.” Frodo smiled and opened his eyes.  Merry, sitting next to him on the blanket, moved slightly to shield his cousin’s face from the brilliant sunshine.  They had hiked to the very base of the hills before spreading out their picnic lunch, and Frodo had fallen asleep soon after they ate.

Sam was nearby, gathering flowers.  Gimli had wandered some distance away; he was running his hand along an escarpment of rock and looking pleased about something.  After several weeks in Rivendell, Gimli had relaxed enough to leave his mail shirt and large battle-axe in the room he had shared with his father; however, he was never without a variety of tools and implements looped through his belt, including several sizes of well-crafted hammers.

Frodo yawned and stretched, and Merry frowned slightly.  Frodo was still slightly favoring his left shoulder.

“I’m fine, mother hen,” Frodo sighed.

“Good.”

“Did I miss anything?”

“Let’s see... Sam is nearly incoherent with joy at all the new plants we’re passing, and Gimli keeps picking up rocks, tapping on them, and muttering things.  The usual.”

Frodo looked over at the Dwarf.  “He seems content; I had been wondering if he just accompanied us on our walks because it keeps him away from Lord Elrond and his folk.”

“I thought that too, at first,” Merry said, “but not anymore.  Out here is where all the rocks are, and he’s like a pig in slop when it comes to them.  But he likes being with us, I can tell; he was so thrilled to be introduced to the legendary “burglar”, remember?  And I like him, even if we do have to watch out for those heavy, clomping boots of his.  They’re worse than Strider’s!”

“I agree,” Frodo chuckled.

“Gimli's been so eager to spend time with us, and share stories,” Merry said.  “Maybe it’s because he’s too young to have had such an attentive audience amongst his own people.  He keeps lots of secrets, though.  There are things he won't talk about.”

“I've noticed that,” Frodo said thoughtfully.  He remembered how discreet Glóin had been when they spoke at the feast.

Merry picked up a basket containing what was left of the bread, cheese, cakes, and ripe berries on which they had feasted.

“It’s just past mid-day.  Do you want to head back?”

“Not yet,” Frodo said.  “We haven’t found that cave Erestor described.  It’s supposed to be right around here, but the trees are so dense it’s hard to see what might be behind them.”

“What a beautiful place,” Merry said softly.

Frodo nodded, taking a deep breath of the valley’s refreshing air, redolent with pine and flowers and ‘Elf magic’, as Sam said.  It was quiet here, so far from the river -- save for bird song, and the scurrying and chattering of squirrels dashing about on important business of their own.

“Mr. Frodo!” Sam called out.  He dashed over, his arms full of exotic blooms.  “Are we moving on?”

“Just a bit further,” Frodo said with a smile.  “What have you got there?”

“I don’t know their names yet,” Sam said, his face alight with excitement.  “Have you ever seen or smelled the like?  Look at these orange-and-pink ones, and these tiny yellow ones.  Just soft as butter, they are.”  He knelt by a second basket, lifted the lid, and beamed at how thoroughly it had been emptied.  “Is it all right if I put them in here, sir?  I’d like to ask Mr. Legolas what they’re called.”

“Of course you may,” Frodo said gently.  Sam was still quite wonderstruck and shy around most of the Elves, but he and the young Wood-Elf, Legolas, discovering a mutual love of flowers and gardens, had formed an unlikely friendship.

Sam happily loaded the basket with the flowers and sprinkled them with water from his bottle.  Merry shoo’ed Frodo to his feet so he could fold up the blanket, which Sam promptly took from him.

“Now Mr. Merry, you can carry this,” he said firmly, taking the heavier basket from Merry and handing over the lighter one.

“Sam, you’re going to have to let me carry something sometime,” Frodo protested.

“Maybe tomorrow,” Sam said stubbornly.  He stuffed the blanket into his pack, put it on, and got to his feet.  “Ready, sir?”

“Ready,” Frodo declared.  “Gimli?” he called out.  “We’re going to walk a little further, then head back to the House.  Are you coming?”

“I am, Master Baggins,” Gimli called back.  He gave the rock face one last look, then joined the three hobbits.  “The roots of these hills are deep and broad,” he said with satisfaction.  “This range comes all the way down from Mount Gundabad -- a place of legend, you know.”

“Could you tell us about it while we walk?” Sam asked eagerly.

“I will tell you all that is permitted,” Gimli said solemnly.

Frodo and Merry exchanged amused glances.  They were getting to know Gimli quite well now, and despite his secretive manner, they could see his eyes twinkling with anticipation.

** TBC **