CHAPTER SIX: While Frodo was out cold
* * *
When Frodo awoke again, it was the next day well past late afternoon. The sun was getting ready to disappear behind the distant mountains, to be overtaken by the glorious moon. The hobbit could not remember anything that happened that last day, and did not even bother to try.
Sitting up and running a hand through his unruly hair, he saw Merry sitting in front of him with Sam, a grumpy frown donned on his face as he puffed angrily on the pipe. The poor gardener seemed in a foul mood, a scowl etched on his face that Frodo never knew existed. "What happened?" he asked, slightly afraid of the answer that was to come.
Happy to see that he was awake, Merry answered
while smiling, "What do you remember?"
Frodo scratched the back of his head absentmindedly. Everything was a big blur to him; he wasn't even sure of his own name. Frodo, son of Drugo—no, Drogo, of the Shire, he repeated to himself, just in case. It sounded correct. Unfortunately, though his name and where he hailed was clear, he was still not sure of why he was unconscious while Sam and Merry were awake. "I don't remember enough, however something about a dog comes to mind," he answered groggily.
Sam threw down his pipe, gave a rather loud 'hrmmph,' shot up from his seat and stormed away. It earned him a strange look from Frodo, who had absolutely no clue why he would be mad. The mystery was beginning to eat at him.
"That dog would be Sam," Merry continued, picking up Sam's pipe and taking a long drag of it. No point in wasting perfectly good pipeweed. "It turns out he had a disease common in these parts of the woods. Dogflu, I believe it was called."
It was beginning to come back to his memory now. The hobbit squinted, as if he could see the past before his eyes. "Yes… I remember now," Frodo nodded, scratching his chin subconsciously. They were on a quest to save their friend, and then he had passed out along the way at the sight of a stranger. "And who was the tall fellow who came to us?"
"The one of which you fainted upon the sight?" Merry smirked upon the memory. "That, my dear Baggins, was an elf."
That specific detail he could not recall. "An elf!?" Frodo exclaimed, now fully awake and alert, his eyes as wide as saucers.
"An ELF!" a distant voice screamed angrily. Both hobbits easily identified it as Sam, but only Merry knew why he was fuming about the subject. Rubbing his hands together, Merry cleared his throat and prepared to retell the events to Frodo, with every grueling detail included.
"When we turned around to search for Sam and/or mushrooms, you ran into a stranger. As soon as you looked up, you fainted because you were never accustomed to seeing races outside of hobbits. I suppose the height of the newcomer frightened you. That was an elf.
So after you fainted I stood there still, jaw dropped to the floor for I had never before seen an elf, either. I suppose he has never before seen a hobbit either, because he gave me a look. A rather queer one at that. Then, two more elves appeared from behind him, as tall and proud as the last. All had long blonde hair that shone like the sunshine, eyes like diamonds if I recall clearly.
The first elf lifted his arm and to my surprise, he held Sam by his collar. The poor hobbit looked frightened to death suspended in the air like that, but then again he was still delirious at that time.
'Does this belong to you?' he asked me, smirking. I suppose he found it incredibly amusing to see a hobbit prance around on all fours barking and panting.
I couldn't find the words to speak, so I merely nodded. The elf put him down and Sam ran his way back to me, hiding behind my two legs as frightened as a little puppy dog. Well, that's because he was a little puppy dog, technically. Anyway, as soon as I figured out how to speak again, I requested their names.
Then, he bowed low and introduced himself as a name I couldn't pronounce… but I'm sure it was something like Illiciatherionathil, perhaps even lengthier. Elvish names, they're hard to say! The other two introduced themselves also, but their names were even longer and more difficult to pronounce than the last, but quite pleasant to the ear if you ask me. It sounded like music as they spoke, which reminds me I left my flute at home, which is quite unfortunate because I could sure use some music now. Not that many people appreciate my flute skills–"
"Meriadoc!" Frodo interrupted rudely.
The hobbit blinked as he snapped out of his thoughts. "Yes, Frodo?"
"The story. Get back to the story."
Finally realizing that he had gone off topic after a few moments, Merry quickly resumed. "Anyway, they introduced themselves and I introduced us, seeing that Sam was not himself and you were unconscious. The first elf was awfully curious about Sam.
'Your friend is acting like a canine,' he pointed out as Sam, behind me, bared his teeth in defense and growled at the elf.
Of course, I already knew that, so I merely sighed and nodded as I gave Sam a pat on the head. He then explained to me all about the Dogflu, and gave me some herbs he coincidentally carried, used to treat it. I'm supposed to make it into a tea, and have Sam drink it twice a day.
I immediately made some for Sam, and he lapped it up like it was the best thing he ever had. Then, he fell asleep like rock.
Now that he was out of my hands, I saw an opportunity to learn more about the elves. I couldn't hold back my burning curiosity. 'What is your purpose in these woods?' I questioned, hoping not to sound too intruding.
Luckily, he did not think that I was, or not that I know of. 'We are elven healers. We were sent to scavenge for certain herbs and plants only found in this forest,' he replied. 'May I ask the same for you, Master Hobbit?'
Perhaps it was not the best thing to do, but I explained to him our dilemma with the dragon and Pippin. Immediately they had this queer face on the mention of the dragon. Apparently, they are not at good terms with the red beast. He did not explain their reason for I was cut off before asking.
'If you positively wish to visit this vile creature, he currently resides in the Ettenmoors, north of Rivendell. But do not have high hopes for your friend; if the dragon knows of his existence, then he would not be alive now.'
Of course, then I told him how we must find Pippin dead or alive, because only then will we truly be at peace, when we know what happened to him. He smiled and told me how lucky he is to have such faithful friends, but I heard one of the other elves mutter underneath his breath something like 'foolish hobbit,' but I'm not sure.
Anyway, we talked for a long time, but the elves left pretty soon after since they still needed to search for those herbs. They left with these words of warning: 'Beware the Old Forest, for nothing is as they seem.'
I knew that already, because of the crows with shifty-eyes. And the Dogflu. But I nodded, thankful for their advice anyway. And so they left, after saying something like 'Elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo.' "
"A star shines upon our meeting," Frodo translated, looking away in disappointment. He thanked Merry for filling him in, but was mentally kicking himself for having the same amount of courage as a trampled weed. Alas, he had fainted just when he was to encounter an elf. Oh how he had wanted to meet one!
But then, Sam had it worse. He was the one who was also all giddy about the possibility of meeting elves on their journey, and unfortunately when the time arrived he had the mentality of a puppy. As a side effect of the herbs, the hobbit remembered nothing of the period he spent on all fours with his tongue hanging at the side of his mouth, which clearly explained his frustration for the moment.
"The devilry!" they heard Sam exclaim from a distance hidden behind the trees and bushes. "The Gaffer warned me 'the higher you hope, the harder you fall.' Alas! My filthy, horrendous, improvident luck! The equivalent of horse feces– no, the maggots and flies that feed off the horse feces!! The wretched misfortune that is I! What the flying f–"
"Samwise!" Frodo retorted, interrupting the fuming Sam. "Your language burns my virgin ears!"
The rage of Sam ceased for the moment, but the two hobbits could still hear quiet mumbling and grumbling in the background. Frodo and Merry exchanged looks, and sighed simultaneously.
To fill the awkward silence that was to follow, Merry suggested abruptly, "Now that we're all awake and we actually have a clue on where to go, how about we start moving?"
Frodo looked up at the sky and could see the bright moonlight peeping through the leaves of the trees. "We are rather behind schedule," he admitted. "Let us be off, assuming we are all well rested." He gave Merry a questioning look, just in case.
"I've been smoking the whole time you were unconscious; I'm as high as a kite right now. I can run to Rivendell and back, and still have extra energy to raid Farmer Maggot's crops," Merry explained.
"So you know the way to Rivendell?" Frodo asked.
Merry hesitated, smiling sheepishly. "No, I was hoping you did. You know more about elves than I do."
"That doesn't mean I know the way to get to their home," Frodo frowned, disappointed. He turned around and shouted off into the distance, "Sam! Have you a map?"
A quiet rustling in the bushes followed, and a far away reply answered, "No!"
Frodo slapped his forehead in frustration. They knew where they were going to head, but the only problem that stood before them was the exact location of their destination. Fortunately, this was a mere setback, because Merry found a solution to this almost immediately after the problem was introduced. "Let us go to Bree and work our way up. I hear there are a few friendly hobbits that currently live there."
Sighing in relief, Frodo felt his stress disappear once again. "Excellent," he laughed as he began packing up his possessions. He looked up momentarily and called, "Sam! We are off! Show yourself!"
When no reply came, Merry and Frodo exchanged nervous looks. "Sam?" he called again.
The second time was unsuccessful as well, and the two hobbits were beginning to worry. What if the herbs have worn off, and the Doggit had run off once again? They knew that they would not be as lucky as they were the first time.
All of a sudden, leaping out of the bushes was a tiny little squirrel, running for its dear life. It squeaked for help as it darted by, disappearing into more bushes on the other side. Then, appearing seemingly out of nowhere, Sam chased after the poor creature, hands outstretched and tongue hanging from the side of his mouth. "Sqquuuuuiiiirrrrreeeelll!" he squealed happily as he bolted by after it.
Merry grinned. "There are some incurable symptoms of the Dogflu," he explained to the confused Frodo. "Sam now has the keen senses as a canine, as well as the irresistible urge to chase small mammals such as rats, birds… and squirrels."
Frodo rolled his eyes. "Is that all?" he asked.
The hobbit shrugged as he watched the squirrel, tailed closely by Sam, run by once more. "There are probably others of which I was not told, but I'm sure that we'll find them out soon."
As Sam ran by the third time, Frodo reached out and caught the hobbit by the hood of his cloak before he could run away again. Sam choked from the force the cloak around his neck, jerked backwards and fell flat on his back. "Gah– Mister Frodo! I didn't notice you there, I'm sorry," he apologized as he stood up and brushed the dirt off himself.
"It is quite all right, Sam," Frodo smiled. "Now pack your bags. We're continuing our search for Pippin tonight."
* * *
Pippin awoke with the sun shining directly over him, the warmth wrapping him like a thick blanket. He yawned lazily, stretching his limbs like a morning cat. Lying on the ground, he could not remember the last time he had a sleep as comfortable and satisfying as that.
As soon as he got up, he realized that he was not at home in his comfy little bed, in his homely little hobbit hole, in the friendly little Shire. No, he was nowhere near that. An angered frown set on his face as the reality hit him, and the events of the past came back to his mind.
Ah yes, he was in the middle of nowhere with a dragon.
"The dragon!" Pippin exclaimed in the middle of the thoughts, and turned his head around to search for the creature. A pile of rocks lay where the entrance of the cave had collapsed, but there was no beast about. A large shape of the dragon's body was heavily imprinted in the dirt where Pippin last remembered it lay.
And leading away from the imprint were several more, but they were of large footprints. Pippin blinked, and slowly pushed himself up as he examined the prints embedded on the grass and dirt. Following them closely out of interest, the hobbit wandered about the tracks until they shortly came to an abrupt end.
The tracks suddenly stopped in the middle of nowhere. The hobbit sighed, and looked up into the sky as a fruitless search for the beast. "Oh well, never did like the chap too much anyway," he shrugged as he continued wandering around aimlessly. There was no point heading back to the campsite, he had left nothing there anyway.
And so, our lost hero moseyed about, trying hard to keep thoughts of sizzling bacon and plump juicy hams from his mind. "If I reach home, I'm going to have a big celebration feast," Pippin told himself aloud.
He paused to think, then shook his head. "When I reach home, I'm going to have a big celebration feast," he corrected. "With hearty stews garnished with tasty vegetables and fat meaty sausages, honey drizzled over fresh baked bread…"
Pippin found himself drooling. He quickly wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, and shook the tempting thoughts of food from his mind. It was bad enough that he didn't have any with him, he didn't need thoughts of delicious delicacies plaguing his brain. Delicious, tasty, savory delicacies, like the sweet apple tarts Rosie always made back home…
"Oh, shoot me now," he whined as his stomach growled hungrily. The lack of food was enough to drive anyone insane, and the continuous thoughts of food weren't helping any. His hunger gnawed at his stomach like an annoying insect that never went away. Not only was his stomach empty, but Pippin was also homesick. It wasn't a feeling he was used to. He had never been homesick before, but then again he had never been kidnapped before either.
There must be something in his jacket that could save him. His pockets of junk never failed him before. Turning his pockets inside out in desperateness, he found some lint, two coins, dried flowers, a spoon, a few seeds, and an apple.
An apple?!
Pippin seized the fruit faster than lightning, making a mental note to thank Merry for slipping that in his pocket earlier before. He was even more thankful that the dragon had not accepted his gift when he offered the apple to it.
His hunger wasn't as horrifying after he had finished the fruit, wiping his hands on his clothing. Perhaps keeping random things in his pockets wasn't such a bad idea. However, there was nothing in his pocket that could save him from the fact that he was still lost.
Standing up with a newfound courage and strength (or folly, he could not tell at that time), he began once more aimlessly meandering with no real direction, driven by only a great determination to return home safe.
He hoped it would be enough.