CHAPTER FIVE: Samwise the Doggit
* * *
It seemed like forever since they had left the Shire, trudged their way through the forest only to find themselves hopelessly lost because of shifty-eyed animals. They wouldn't hear the ends of the I-told-you-so's from Sam if Merry hadn't threatened to sock him in the face if he wouldn't hold his tongue.
But alas, Sam had enough troubles to deal with even without Merry's threat.
The poor hobbit had caught a mysterious disease, and was sick to the point of being delusional. Frodo had complained unceasingly about this, for the sickness did not only affect Sam, but the ones around him also. Many nights now had he woken Frodo from his sleep, barking and panting like a faithful dog. But when mornings came, he became perfectly normal once more, save the constant sneezing and a bad case of sniffles.
For the first few nights, Merry found this quite amusing. He had even managed to teach Sam to roll over and play dead, and Sam would awake the next day with no memory of his actions at all. But when Frodo realized that Samwise the puppy was not housebroken (how he found out was an unfortunate accident), he was more determined than ever to find a cure for the strange illness.
Unfortunately, no matter what they tried, Sam would not be cured. It seemed as if there was no remedy to this awful disease at all! Luckily for them, it was one night just when Frodo and Merry had seemingly given up all hope; an answer presented itself right before them.
Frodo was ready to put out the fire for the night, Merry was puffing away at his pipe in deep thought, and Sam was obediently asleep by the commands of his masters. "Do you think he's alive?" Merry asked quietly, watching the flames die slowly before him.
"Sam? Of course he's alive," Frodo replied, catching a quick glance at his friend. He wasn't at all surprised to see the hobbit curled up in a ball, tongue hanging out the side of his mouth with a silly grin donned on his face.
"No, not Sam… I know he's alive. I meant Pippin," Merry said.
"Oh." Frodo turned away and began shaking out his blanket. "Of course he's alive. Pippin's a tough one, he'll be alright."
He didn't hear a reply for his comment, but Frodo paid no heed to that. Letting out a sigh of relief because Merry appear to have caught his hesitation to answer the question, he slowly laid down his blanket (a safe distance away from Sam, just in case). Frodo sat on the blanket cross-legged, propped his elbow against his knee and rested his chin on the palm of his hand.
To his surprise, he heard a soft, melodic voice filled the air. Frodo welcomed the song in the glum environment, his spirits already lifting from hearing the tune. He did not hear the words, but the melody alone was pleasing to the ear.
"Merry, I didn't know you could sing like that," the hobbit complimented without turning around.
"I'm not singing…" Merry raised his eyebrow. "I thought you were."
Frodo stole another glance at Sam, who was still resting peacefully. "Well, Sam's not singing… if it's not me, you, or Sam…" he trailed off towards the end of the sentence, almost afraid of his answer. There was someone else. "Merry, go check it out."
"I'm not moving!" he persisted, crossing his arms strictly across his chest.
"Fine, let us both wait for our deaths to arrive," Frodo snapped.
Merry frowned. "Why can't you go at least see who it is?"
"Because I have to stay here and see to Sam!"
"Sam can take care of himself."
"Not as a dog-hobbit."
"Doggits are the most independent creatures on Middle Earth!"
That comment earned Frodo a strange glare from the Brandybuck. "You just made that up. There's no such thing as a Doggit," he pointed out, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion.
"Of course there is; Sam is living proof. He's a Doggit. Look at him!" Frodo exclaimed, subconsciously pointing at his friend. Merry sent a quick glance at the hobbit, only to find that he wasn't there. A bundled up blanket was in place of where Sam laid, but nothing else was there. Pushing Frodo aside, Merry stepped forward and scanned his surroundings for any signs of the missing hobbit ending in vain.
"Where's Sam?!" Merry panicked as images of what could have happened to the Doggit flooded his mind. They began frantically searching the camp with no prevail. No trails, no markings, nothing.
"He was here but a moment ago!" Frodo began hyperventilating. It was impossible, there was no way anyone could have escaped from his sight that fast. He couldn't afford to lose another friend now.
"Don't panic, Frodo. We'll think of something," Merry reassured, though the hobbit wasn't all that confident himself.
Frodo wrinkled his forehead as he searched his thoughts for a solution. What should he do? What would Sam do? "Well… If Sam was here he would say, 'Gee, there's a logical solution to this. As the old Gaffer would say to me, if you wanted to find a Doggit, think like a Doggit.'"
Raising his eyebrows, Merry smirked. "Did the Gaffer really say that?"
"No. I just made that up. I figured he'd say something like that; his mind is a one-way track anyway. But resuming back to the search. If you were Samwise the Doggit, where would you go?"
"To the Gaffer's," Merry replied without thinking.
"No, that's where Samwise the hobbit would go. Think like a Doggit, Meriadoc. A Doggit!"
Merry sighed, and scratched his head automatically. He had never seen a Doggit before until this journey, how was he to know? "To… to a tree," he blurted out after much deliberation.
"You stupid Brandybuck. We're in a forest!" Frodo threw his hands in the air in defeat. "There's trees everywhere, why would Sam seek one now?"
"Well, have you any better ideas?" Merry snapped back.
"Yes… but they have yet to come to me." Both hobbits sighed, and continued their brainstorming. Frodo began pacing back and forth in frustration, determined to find his friend before something horrid happens. "Lets see… Hobbits like food. Dogs like… trees. Therefore, a Doggit would much appreciate… a food tree."
"No, Hobbits like mushrooms. Dogs like trees… so a Doggit would be found near a mushroom tree!" Merry corrected.
"Mushrooms don't grow on trees, halfwit."
"Then let us just find a patch of mushrooms. If Sam is not found there, then at least we have found mushrooms."
Frodo needn't think twice about that suggestion. "Agreed."
With that, both hobbits turned around, ready to search for their missing friend. Unfortunately, as soon as Frodo spun around, he found himself face to face with a belt buckle. Gulping as his eyes slowly made his way up, he saw the face of a stranger glaring down at him.
And then, Frodo fainted, with Merry's alarmed voice ringing in his head as the last thing he heard.
* * *
Pippin was truly glad to see the sun once again after being trapped in a stuffy cave for what seemed like forever, though the sun was beginning to set by then. He felt completely relieved and free, and could not recall one time where he was happier. However, his joy quickly left him as it was replaced with utter confusion. The first thing that popped into his mind right at the first breath of fresh air was, "Where am I?"
Spinning around in a complete circle to observe the new environment, all he could conclude was that he in a very mountainous area littered with shrubs, bushes and other various vegetation. He never had strayed far from the Shire before, so the outer lands were foreign to him. Only one thing was clear: he wanted to go home to his humble little hobbit hole.
It was too bad he knew that his wish would not come true anytime soon. Deciding to make the best of things, Pippin headed back towards the fallen dragon. Once the dust that the collapsed cave stirred had settled nicely, the hobbit immediately began lifting the rocks that weighed down on the dragon's body.
It was awkwardly soundless as Pippin tried to dig out the creature from the ruble. Being a sociable hobbit, he never did like spending long periods of time silent, even if many other hobbits disliked him for this characteristic. No matter who told him that he was a great waste of air, Pippin would not let it get to him. Though there was nothing in particular Pippin could discuss (and no one with whom he could discuss), he decided to speak anyway for the sake of hearing his own comforting voice.
"Sorry for all the trouble," Pippin apologized sincerely as he dug through the rocks. "If I had known that this was going to happen, I never would have run from you."
He paused to think about what he just said, realizing the absurdity of his sentence. "Well, I would have run, because I personally didn't want my life to end in some creature's stomach. But maybe I would have chosen a different direction?"
The dragon's eyes were still squeezed shut, but Pippin swore he heard it snort in reply.
Grunting as he lifted a rather large boulder and then tossing it to the side, Pippin continued speaking. "Then again, heading towards the exit would be the most logical solution to escape. Since I couldn't see in the cave anyway, I wouldn't have headed deeper into it, so really there was only one way to go."
Groaning, the beast opened one eye and fixed it upon the hobbit.
"You ARE alive! Am I ever happy!" Pippin exclaimed, and then hesitated again as he scratched his head. "But should I be? After all, you wanted to devour me whole."
It grunted.
"Well, no matter. You didn't succeed, much to my relief," Pippin smiled as he patted the creature on the head giddily. The dragon didn't seem to appreciate that too much, since it is not often that a dragon is treated like a pet. Fortunately for Pippin, he did nothing about it.
"Oh well," the hobbit laughed. "Now I can go back home and tell everyone that I've met a dragon! And you can say that you've met a good ol' half-ling… given that you don't eat me after I get you out of this mess." Pippin gave the creature a long look and an uneasy smile.
As a reply, the dragon merely closed its eye again and turned away.
"Ok, we'll deal with that matter after," Pippin nodded as he continued his labour, whistling away. It wasn't long before his main source of light retired beyond the hills, and all was overtaken by shadows again. There were no stars in the sky tonight, not even the moon showed its shining face.
Beads of sweat were dripping down Pippin's forehead; the labour was finally getting to him. Most of the larger boulders had been removed save a few, and the dragon did not open his eyes since that one time. The hobbit could still hear his heavy breathing, and assumed that it was merely resting.
Flopping down on the dirt in exhaustion, Pippin suddenly found himself wishing for a nice warm fire to curl up next to. True, he was sweating heavily from the physical exercise, but the cool night air was chilly as it brushed upon his skin. He knew that he would be shivering in no time.
Standing up again, Pippin took his time to gather dry firewood in attempt to start a fire. He figured if the smoke were to attract unwanted visitors, he would at least have a dragon here to protect him. And even if the dragon were still not awake when danger approached, the mere sight of the creature would be able to send any animal fleeing.
When a reasonable amount was collected, Pippin gathered the wood into a small mound. He reached into his pocket for his flint, and was incredibly angry when he found that he had none. Apparently, he had lost it a while ago, perhaps when he had leapt out of the cave before it collapsed. Pippin sighed and flopped down on the floor once more cross-legged, and frowned as he stared at the meager pile of firewood before him. Today just wasn't his day.
Of course, he could always try the oldest trick in the book: rubbing two sticks together. The friction theoretically would create sparks, then fire… or something like that. The Took never paid attention to his father's teachings anyway, but now he wish he had. Pippin's eyes drifted over to the dragon, which seemed to be resting quite peacefully despite the pile of rubble stacked upon his body. It was then that a better idea popped abruptly into his mind, a light bulb lighting above his head.
Making his way over to the beast, he pondered on his decision. His idea seemed like a bright one, but then again so did robbing Farmer Maggot's crops. Pippin wasn't too happy with the result of that. However, there didn't seem to be any other choice.
Finally gathering all his courage and proceeding with his idea, Pippin poked the large snout of the dragon in attempt to awake the beast. When it gave no reply, the hobbit frowned and poked harder.
Success. The dragon opened one eye slightly, and gave a look of great annoyance at the hobbit. It scowled, as if ordering Pippin to leave him be. Unfortunately, the Took was stubborn and refused to obey. "Hey, how about lending me a hand here?" he whispered.
The dragon closed its eyes, entirely ignoring his company.
Pippin crossed his arms. "Well, that's dandy. I may have caused you this trouble, but at least I gave a try to make you more comfortable. And this is what I get?"
There was no answer from the giant creature, much to Pippin's disappointment. "I saw you breathe fire like you were made from it," he continued to request, not allowing himself to give up so easily. "All I ask is that you set that little pile of firewood alight. A little warmth will do us both good."
Finally at the ends of his patience, the beast opened both his eyes and stared angrily at the hobbit for disturbing him. Pippin wasn't aware of the obvious signs of beast's irritation, so he dangerously resumed his rant seemingly without end.
"And good morrow to you too, sunshine," Pippin spat. "All I ask is for a little flame. Is that so hard for you to provide? After all, you are a fire-breathing dragon."
The red beast snarled, baring his yellow jagged teeth.
"Don't you dare try that trick on me again, I know you're hurt right now and you can't do anything to me. So help me, help you," Pippin snubbed his nose towards the sky with an air of superiority he had never felt before. "Help me, help you."
Even before Pippin was able to finish his sentence, two large blazes of fire shot out of the beast's nostrils. Unfortunately for the hobbit, he stood right in front of the dragon's snout when he was speaking. With his thankfully quick reflexes, Pippin leapt out of danger, but disappointingly he wasn't fast enough. A small flicker caught grasp onto his jacket, consuming it hungrily.
He screamed as he felt the hot grasp of the licking flames growing larger and larger on his back. Dropping onto the ground and rolling about, the flames were soon diminished much to Pippin's relief. He stayed lying on the dusty ground for a while, panting heavily. The only sounds were of the cackling of the firewood in the playful flames, laughing happily at Pippin.
The hobbit lifted his head to see the dragon chuckling silently to himself. Pippin frowned and got up slowly. "Very funny, Mister Dragon," he retorted sarcastically. His bitterness soon disappeared when he caught sight of the glowing fire before him, the warmth surprisingly welcoming.
"If I weren't so tired, I would have poked your eyes out and fed them to the crows," he threatened as he made his way back to the laughing dragon, sat down right beside it and leaned back. "Speaking of tired," Pippin said in between a yawn. "It's getting late."
The dragon stared at Pippin, who was resting comfortably (and unknowingly) against its neck.
"I'm going to sleep. Don't you try some funny business on me, I have friends in high places that eat dragons like you for afternoon tea," he warned, and promptly fell asleep right after.
Blinking at the unusual sight, the beast wondered what fate sent him this creature with which he was forced to deal. Sure, he had dealt with other beings before, but this one was a lot… more unusual than the rest. Deciding that he rather enjoyed his company, it settled on not killing this stranger as it did the others. This one seemed different, and could be quite amusing when the time came.
Resting its head and closing its eyes once more, both hobbit and dragon slept peacefully that night.