Frodo sighed, lamenting his fifth win in a row against the strong lad from the South. His name was Boromir or something like that and he wasn't very good at chess.

Boromir's brow furrowed as he contemplated the board with its oak and walnut pieces. "I suppose we should set up for another?" He immediately began to arrange the armies into their respective sides.

Frodo suppressed a groan and let the man fiddle away at making the pieces orderly. The hobbit was sitting at the edge of his bed in the Healing Wing of Lord Elrond's house. He had been here in this room for well into a week and things were beginning to grow tiresome. His arm ached still where the Black Rider had stabbed him and every day held the monotonous rhythm of resting followed by eating and then followed by more resting. In fact, the days were far past the point of tiresome now. Frodo was bored. Boromir had been kind enough to offer a respite from the silence by bringing a board game from Elrond's library, but that had been nearly three hours ago, and the southerner did not seem intent on leaving anytime soon.

"I will choose blacks this time," Frodo said noncommittally. He was contemplating losing on purpose when movement in the doorway caught his eye.

"So this is where you disappeared to, my lord." The voice belonged to a handsome young elf with the same raven hair and piercing grey eyes as his father.

Boromir smiled at Elrohir and motioned to Frodo. "I was offering to teach the little one chess. Although it seems he is already familiar with the game," he replied, hiding nothing.

Frodo's smile mirrored Boromir's. He didn't even take offence at the man's adjectives. "We were having fun. I hope you are here to join us!" And please take my place, he thought only to himself.

An odd look came into Elrohir's face, the one which Frodo had witnessed only when Elrohir was with his twin. "I have a much better idea, Captain."

Boromir raised an eyebrow. "What kind of idea?"

"I do like your ideas, master elf," Frodo added. His heart nearly skipped a beat at the prospect of being able to do something - anything - else right now, and the sons of Elrond were renowned for their good ideas. Indeed, Frodo had heard a great deal of these things from Aragorn during their time in the Shire and beyond.

"Let's head down to the stables and I shall show you," Elrohir winked.

Frodo squirmed slightly. "Wait, I am supposed to be resting on orders of your father." It wasn't that Frodo didn't want to leave the Healing Wing, but the stables were honestly the last place he wanted to be right now. His shoulder ached just thinking about it.

Elrohir laughed the question off and made his way to the armoire. He took out a small waistcoat, linen shirt, and woolen trousers. "Come on Frodo time for some exercise!"

Boromir grinned and moved the board game onto the dresser, playing along. "Alright, I suppose I will meet you both at the stables then."

Frodo watched the southerner leave then blinked at Elrohir neatly arranging the outfit. "Are you sure?" He asked getting up from bed and tidying things as best as he could with one good arm.

"Of course. Come here and I will help you into your coat and shirt."

Frodo shuddered as the elf's strong hands helped him into his clothes. They seemed more fit to sharpen swords and pull bow strings then doing up tiny buttons. "Why are we going to the stables? I can't ride a real horse," Frodo warned.

Elrohir kept his eyes on his work, tightening the laces at the bottoms of Frodo's trouser legs. "Not to worry little hobbit. I think you will be quite comfortable."

"Okay, if you say so," Frodo said dubiously. He waited till Elrohir stood and picked him a nice hat before following the elf outside and through the hallways. Rivendell was quiet this afternoon. Most of the elves had come out for the midday meal earlier and now spent the remaining hours of sunlight studying in the windows or in the main gardens. There was hardly anyone on the road to the stables and not a single soul, save Boromir, waiting outside the horsemaster's quarter.

Boromir waved over. "I've readied a couple steeds. What do you say?"

Frodo still seemed leery as the southerner led a pair of bay quarter horses out, but upon further examination felt his fears subside. The animal's had gentle, soft eyes and looked at him with a personality as level as old Bilbo's freshly mowed lawn. "I will ride with you Boromir," Frodo decided.

Elrohir slapped his hands together as if he entirely expected this outcome. "Perfect! We already have a trail picked out," he said motioning Frodo to the smaller of the two horses, which Boromir had already mounted. The elf lifted him in one motion and Boromir's bulk steadied him on the saddle.

It took him a moment to feel secure riding up against the southerner but he quickly adjusted and found himself enjoying himself on the easy track. Boromir may not have been very good at chess but his skill on the reins was now unquestionable to Frodo's untrained standards. Much more, he was a solid man and Frodo felt safe sitting on the saddle, leaning against him, and occasionally gripping the pommel for extra moral support. After a good ten minutes, Frodo even found himself closing his eyes and listening to the endless birdsong that filled the valley, punctuated by the unwavering clamber of his horse's hooves...

A yell shook him from his reverie and Boromir brought the horse to a slow halt. "What in blazes!" His face cracked into laughter. "What in blazes?!"

Frodo also couldn't help but chuckle when he realised the scene playing out before him. It was immediately recognisable from the story Frodo grew up on. He was looking into a small clearing off the side of the trail.

Deep under the shadows was Merry, dressed in some of (undoubtedly stolen) Bilbo's attire. He was speaking loudly to Pippin and the dwarf Gimli made up to look like dwarves (albeit more so the former). "I forgot my handkerchief! We must go back, really!" Merry - or Bilbo - was saying and gesticulating wildly.

Gimli laughed heartily, seemingly enjoying his role. "Well too bad!"

Pippin stroked his wool beard. "I am the head of this company and we do not turn back for handkerchiefs, master Bilbo!" He huffed his chest powerfully giving off masculine energy.

"It is quite necessary!" Merry-Bilbo argued growing redder in the face.

Gimli stamped his foot. "I'll show you necessary!" He immediately began to chase the hobbit into the bushes, eliciting a yelp from Merry-Bilbo. "No one talks to my lord like that!"

Thorin-Pippin gasped loudly. "Hey, come back here!" He proceeded to chase the two deeper into the woods out of sight.

Boromir shifted in his saddle to look down at Frodo. "I suppose this is the tale I heard your uncle telling some nights ago?"

Frodo felt his cheeks warm up. "It's much more entertaining in this format," he laughed then looked around for Elrohir, meaning to ask him if all the comedic liberties were the twin's idea. "Wait. Where did he go?"

Boromir gave an amused sigh and looked up the trail. "These elves are too silent. I can't believe he did that on an old quarter horse."

"You think we should keep going?" Frodo asked. Part of him was prodding him onwards, curious to see if there were more of the little skits in the woods.

Boromir must have sensed the eagerness in his voice because he gave the hobbit a knowing look. "I think we should," he said, spurring the horse back into a walk.

They had only gone another two minutes when around the bend was another clearing. This one was much larger and sat under a grove of young beech saplings.

Gimli sat morosely tied in a bundle with Erestor and Pippin. The seneschal looked objectively massive compared to the authentic dwarf and Thorin-Pippin. The trio was surrounded by three towering rock stacks. A loud, gravelly voice echoing from somewhere in the trees was saying, "Why waste time? Lets just sit on them and smash them into jelly!"

The same gravelly voice replied, "I may be a rock troll, but I am *not* unrefined! We have to cook them!"

The gravelly voice, slightly altered this time, spoke for the third cairn. "Yeah, what if they do have worms?!"

The first rock retaliated. "Fire doesn't kill worms on the inside! It only blackens the out!"

Thorin-Pippin huffed his chest once more. "Silence! Just eat us already."

Gimli chuffed, struggling to free himself. "Speak for yourself!"

"I am afraid no one will be getting dinner tonight!" Merry-Bilbo shot out from the brush brandishing a hideously oversized blade. He quickly moved to the trio, meaning to cut them loose. His deed was stopped short however when a rain of stones came from the direction of the cairn. The rocks pelted him and Merry-Bilbo had to burst into evasive action, whirling and dodging the stones.

One bounced off Thorin-Pippin. "Bilbo! Hurry up!"

This time Merry-Bilbo was able to dance around the continuous storm of blows and cut one length of rope. But alas, he was struck down by a hit to the back, falling dramatically to the dusty ground. "Oh!"

Frodo felt himself on the edge of his seat - saddle - and sucked his teeth.

The gravelly voice cackled in a laugh. "Now we have enough for that pie William! Arghhhh!" In an instant, the saplings were thrown aside, pushed to both left and right, and a bright shaft of sunlight landed squarely over the three cairns. A brightly outfitted Glorfindel-Gandalf entered the scene. "Tis I, Gandalf!" He exclaimed before bending down to untie the others.

Merry-Bilbo scurried to his feet while the others rubbed their raw wrists. "Oh Gandalf you are a sight for sore eyes. Where did you come from?"

Glorfindel-Gandalf smirked a very un-Gandalf-like smirk. "I came from ahead! Now, come! Let's keep journeying forward." He motioned up the path then disappeared back into the woods, leading the Company.

Boromir chuckled and Frodo wondered if the southerner had anything to do with this, or if he really was as surprised as he seemed. Whatever the case, the man continued up the trail, stopping every other minute for another piece of Bilbo's story. After some time, Frodo even forgot about the stitch in his shoulder as he laughed at the ridiculous satire made off his uncle's most famous tales.

Finally, they came to a large open space at the bottom of the valley. It was a quiet area lightly furnished with an assortment of stone tables and oak benches used by elves who would come down here to sing in the evening. Now, however, it was the sight of a conglomeration of battle.

Elrohir stood atop a rock, signifying Ravenhill, narrating the carnage in bombastic tone. Merry-Bilbo was standing amidst the fray of bodies whacking and spinning dashing in and out of danger, making all sorts of yelps and cries of courage. Thorin-Pippin stood in the center of the space, swinging wildly at the onslaught of elven servants conscripted into the goblin ranks. Glorfindel-Gandalf and Erestor-Bard were standing around weaving spells and shooting rubber arrows, respectively. Even Legolas, who was rightly portraying his father the Elvenking, had been reeled into the chaos.

Frodo watched the commotion with great interest. The acrobatics of the servant-goblins was nearly mesmerising in skill. He looked up at Boromir. "How could they put together something so marvellous?!"

The man shrugged, not taking his eyes off the roiling depiction of the Battle of Five Armies. "They are elves! I do not ask how the eagle finds her roost!"

Frodo grinned. The southerner was right about that. He settled back into the saddle and enjoyed the show.

Thorin-Pippin was suddenly cast down by a large elf dressed in all black rags. The rest of the battle came to a halt with a gasp. Even the goblins ceased their fighting to watch their great leader dispense of the Dwarvish King. Elrohir provided commentary, "The king has fallen! The armies of men, elves, and dwarves are soon to be defeated for who can match the strength of the great orc?"

Then, in a shrill voice, Merry-Bilbo jumped from the mass of fighters and pointed to the treetops. "The eagles! The eagles are coming!"

A heavy rustling of leaves shook the space as if a great gale were about to wipe through the clearing. All participants looked upwards in that moment when a flash startled Frodo and jolted Boromir upright. He guided the quarter horse, still rather dull to say the least, backwards. "Whoa!"

Hundreds of fist-sized sparkles shot down from the trees onto the group then fluttered in a massive spiral. Each spot of light seemed to move of its own accord and Frodo thought they were not eagles but butterflies until the fragments came together.

Right over Thorin-Pippin a rising eagle appeared, made of the myriad individual flames. It rose to the canopy then disappeared in a blossom of fairy dust. Frodo couldn't help but clap at the wondrous firework display. He was immediately reminded of Gandalf's summer visits to the Shire under the party tree.

Elrohir narrated while the goblins fell one by one as the dust settled over every performer. Some died in heroic fashion falling flamboyantly to the grass. "And so the eagles saved the day! Though not entirely by themselves. The final push, with the aid of our dear winged masters, set forth a blaze in the hearts of men and dwarves and even elves, who were taken by the wondrous display of power and shadow of the First Age."

"With renewed spirits, the Battle of Five Armies was won! Not won, as its original intent deemed, however. The battle was won side by side for the defeat of evil and not for the winning of wealth. And so it should be!" Elrohir's tone dropped and he looked to his audience with remorse. "Although, the great King Under the Mountain was lost," he finished.

And with that Merry-Bilbo embraced Thorin-Pippin and wailed. "My good friend, you were worth more to me than all gold the dwarves could mine."

Thorin-Pippin huffed his chest one last time. "Go now, feast in my name," he commanded then fell limp.

A moment of silence continued till Elrohir hopped from his perch atop Ravenhill. "Go and feast, is his command. So, let us feast. But first..." He motioned to the actors, who were now getting up and aligning themselves in a semicircle in the midst of the open space. "This has been an Elrond and Sons production brought to Master Frodo for the bringing of morale and speedier healing!" They all bowed deeply.

Frodo clapped again and Bormoir also. "Well done. Hurrah and thank you!" He blushed, wishing he had a bouquet of flowers to throw at the participants. His heart swelled with joy which quickly turned into anticipation as the feast which Thorin-Pippin had commanded was the last surprise hidden in the brush. His stomach growled as the servants of Elrond's house brough out plate after plate of supper and set them on the table.

Boromir laughed heartily. "This ride whetted my appetite. How about yours little one?"

Frodo almost couldnt wait to dismount. "Oi! Lets get over there before the dwarves eat all of it!"