While the POWs prepared for the impending Gestapo search, their visitors bustled about in the tunnels. Boromir set Merry and Pippin to the task of preparing the cot in the radio room for Frodo as soon as their feet touched the floor.
"Aragorn?" Frodo asked as they reached the bottom of the ladder.
"Yes, Frodo?" the Ranger replied.
"Is it just me, or is this room spinning?"
Aragorn tried not to smile at the nonchalant way Frodo phrased the question. "It's just you."
"Should I worry?"
"Not yet. If it doesn't stop spinning after you've lain still for a few minutes, then we should worry."
"All right. Just checking."
"Come, Boromir," Gimli said, touching the man's elbow to get his attention. "Let us stand guard by the tunnel entrance. The last thing we need is for the Enemy to discover us by chance."
"What? Oh, aye, good idea," Boromir nodded, sounding somewhat distracted.
"Is aught the matter, Boromir?" Aragorn frowned.
Boromir shook his head twice as if to clear it. "No, no, nothing. No, I suppose my concern for Frodo has set my attention elsewhere."
"Oh, don't fret, Mr. Boromir," Sam interjected. "Strider'll take care of 'im. And I 'ave seen worse… Jolly Cotton fair cracked 'is skull once when 'e fell out o' the Party Tree, an' 'e was back on 'is feet in three days."
"Hobbits have very hard heads," Gimli commented parenthetically.
Boromir blinked and shook his head again. "Very well, Master Dwarf, let us post our guard."
As the man and the dwarf moved down the tunnel, Boromir glanced back over his shoulder at Frodo. Only Aragorn, Frodo, and Sam noticed that his line of sight fell, not over the hobbit's face, but on his chest. None of them said anything. None of them needed to.
Legolas, meanwhile, had seated himself behind the radio and turned his attention to watching Gandalf. The Istar had closed the entrance and now had his staff raised to touch the wood. He gazed intently at the ceiling and muttered something under his breath.
"What is he doing?" Tiger asked Legolas in a whisper.
"I cannot tell," Legolas whispered back. "I cannot claim to know the mind of Mithrandir. Let us not meddle in the affairs of wizards, though."
Tiger nodded and slid onto a stool beside him, then took a moment to study him. She suddenly found herself awed by the inner beauty that radiated from the elf, the odd mixture of age and youth that showed on his face, and the noble mien that hinted at both his lineage and his race. This was clearly no mere mortal, she concluded, looking away when she discovered that her heart was racing. It reminded her of the time she had stood gaping in La Ste. Chapelle, the sun turning the stained glass into sparkling jewels while the organist rehearsed Bach's Cantata No. 80, A Mighty Fortress Is Our God; she had been almost overwhelmed by the beauty and majesty of the holy place.
"Comfortable now?" Aragorn asked Frodo, tucking the sheet around the hobbit's shoulders.
"As comfortable as I can be," Frodo smiled wryly.
Sam settled at the foot of the cot as Aragorn drew up a chair. Merry leaned against the wall, and Pippin sat down on the floor, looking distinctly bored.
Aragorn glanced over at Tiger and saw the typical mortal-meets-elf shocked look on her face. Hiding his amusement, he turned to her and said, "Lady Tiger, we would like to know more about our hosts. Could you tell us about them?
Grateful for the distraction, Tiger started off by telling the story of her first meeting with the Heroes and the ease with which they managed to hide a stolen Tiger tank in the rec hall. This reminded Merry of a time when he and Frodo had smuggled a bushel of mushrooms into Brandy Hall and hid them for a week under Pervinca's bed, which reminded Legolas of a prank he and the sons of Elrond had once pulled on Arwen, and soon the group in the radio room was laughing quietly and sharing all manner of stories.
Aragorn had just finished a story in which he and Halbarad had returned home from a mission and Gilraen had jokingly made them eat an entire pot of stew, which had the hobbits shaking with silent laughter, when Gandalf joined them. Chuckling, the wizard moved around the radio table to stand behind Legolas.
"Ah, Gandalf," Aragorn smiled, wiping a tear off his cheek. "Did you accomplish what you sought to do?"
"I did indeed," Gandalf returned. "The tunnel entrance will now remain shut until I command it to open. Now, Frodo, see if you can impersonate Bilbo and tell us about that eleventy-first birthday of his."
"I shall expect constant interruptions," Frodo replied, looking at his fellow hobbits with a twinkle in his eye.
"And I doubt you will be disappointed… I still remember it quite well, don't you, Pip?"
"Goodness, yes… I was only ten, but 'ow can you forget a night like that?"
"Didn't Gandalf catch you two playing with 'is firecrackers?" Sam teased.
And with that, the hobbits were off on a rollicking retelling of the story of Bilbo's farewell feast, with occasional interjections from Aragorn, who'd heard the story many times himself over the course of the six years Bilbo had been in Rivendell before Aragorn went east to look for Gollum.
Legolas gently touched Gandalf's sleeve to get his attention. When the wizard bent down to listen, Legolas whispered, "Was this wise? The hobbits may forget their danger and grow loud enough to be heard above."
Gandalf smiled and shook his head. "Nay, let them forget their danger for a moment. They will not be heard above; I have ensured it. Besides, Frodo still has a headache, does he not? That will help them modulate their volume."
Legolas looked at him warily for a moment, but since the only response he received was a twinkle, he decided not to press the matter and turned his attention to the story in progress.
In the emergency tunnel, Gimli sat on the bottom rung of the ladder and rested his hands and chin on the haft of his axe while he watched Boromir sparring with the air. "Sit down, man," he finally said. "We have no cause to be so anxious."
Boromir sighed and sheathed his sword. "My apologies, Gimli," he replied. "I tire of inactivity, that is all. I desire to fight these new enemies among whom we find ourselves, not to skulk underground hoping not to be found."
Gimli chuckled and stood. "Trust me, my friend, my axe also itches for battle; your sword is not alone. But we must be cautious if we are not to endanger our hosts. It is not easy for a dwarf to sit idle in such circumstances, but if prudence and Gandalf counsel otherwise, I would not rush into battle."
Boromir blinked.
"What?"
"Were those the words of a dwarf? Truly, Gimli, the elf is beginning to rub off on you!"
Gimli laughed heartily. "Nay, a dwarf can be patient when the need arises. But I suspect that if we accompany Hogan and his men on this mission of theirs, we shall both have ample cause to put our skills to use."
So time passed quickly in the tunnels under Stalag 13. Tiger had just looked at her watch and noted with a start that an hour had gone by when three long knocks followed by two short ones suddenly echoed from the tunnel entrance.
"That is the signal," Tiger explained. "We can go up now."
Gandalf moved swiftly to stand under the tunnel entrance. "Edro hi ammen!" he commanded, and the entrance swung open.
Frodo tried to sit up and immediately slumped back against the pillow. "Ooh, my… the room has started spinning again."
"Well, then, we shall see what we can do once we get you upstairs again," Aragorn assured him as he scooped the small frame up off the cot.
Gandalf had already ascended the ladder, so Sam hurried ahead of Aragorn in order to lend a hand in getting Frodo out. Merry and Pippin ran to the emergency tunnel to fetch Gimli and Boromir, and Legolas stood aside to let Tiger follow Aragorn.
"Will Frodo be all right?" Tiger asked, frowning in concern.
"Oh, yes," Aragorn answered. "He simply has a mild concussion. With plenty of rest and a little pain medicine, he should be fine tomorrow."
"Aragorn is a skilled healer, my lady," Legolas added. "I have no doubt that he can help Frodo regain his health."
Beginning to feel overwhelmed again, Tiger hurried up the ladder, anxious to return to the comfortable reality of Hogan and his men. These are delightful people, she thought, but….
"You have got to be kidding."
Spot Conlon sighed and shrugged, not knowing exactly how to explain the situation to his friends and superiors, who were shooting him identical glares. Upon their return to Headquarters, Jack and David had gone looking for Spot and found him in the radio room, still fuming over the last message from Stalag 13. "I wish I was. While youse were gone, Hogan radioed and said he didn't want the Professor dropped in after all."
Jack sighed and rubbed his forehead as if nursing a headache. "Why didn't youse radio us and tell us that?"
"'Cause Hogan still wants the code. He thinks. Look, I'm as confused as youse guys. Nothin' Hogan's been saying makes any sense. He seems to think he's got some of Tolkien's characters with him!"
Jack swore under his breath.
"Colonel, have you been drinking?" David asked with a mixture of amusement and annoyance.
Spot rolled his eyes. "Don't pull rank on me, Davey. Youse know me well enough to know I don't come up with nutty stories like that even when I am drunk."
This time David sighed. "Okay. You go out and explain that there's been a change of plans and help Race and Mush find a place to put Professor Tolkien up while we wait for Hogan to get his act together. Jack and I will work on figuring out how to tell our impetuous colonel that we don't have time for him to play games with us. Politely," he added before Jack could say anything.
Grumbling, Spot saluted and left.
Jack took a deep breath and remarked as calmly as possible, "If Spot has been drinking, I 'spect it's been since that last message, not before."David smiled wryly. "You've got a point."
A/N: When it comes to sheer beauty, Ste. Chapelle in Paris is one of my favorite cathedrals, although I've never had a chance to visit it; just the pictures will take your breath away. There are actually two chapels; the primary color in one is red, and the other is blue. I'd post a picture here if I could, but a Google search will probably turn up enough shots to give you a pretty good idea. I tried to think of works by a French composer for the organist to play, but when it comes to Baroque organ pieces, you can't find a better composer than Bach. I think I owe the inspiration for Tiger's reaction to Legolas to Wunderlust's "Molly Halfwits" (which is no longer on FF.n) and boz4PM's "Don't Panic!"—both excellent stories that realistically portray the girl-falls-into-ME plot.
Gilraen's prank is based on a true story; my grandmother once set a huge pot of chili on the table and told my dad and his friend that they couldn't leave the table until they'd eaten all the chili. So they looked at each other and dug in. My grandfather sat there and laughed at them for a while before telling them it was a joke. (This was the first time my dad met my mom's family, so he hadn't yet learned to know when Granny was joking.)
Edro hi ammen is roughly the Elvish equivalent of "Open sesame." I can't find an exact translation at the moment, but it's part of the spell Gandalf initially tried to use on the Doors of Moria; I do know that edro means "open." (It's on p. 299 of the '94 one-volume edition.)
Yes, the firecracker remark is a nod to movieverse LOTR. It just seems like the sort of thing bookverse Merry and Pip would have done at that age!
Again, I apologize for the delay in updating; between schoolwork, writer's block, and gearing up for grad school, I haven't been able to do a lot with the story. But I do intend to finish this week, for reasons that will be obvious later if they aren't already. Oh, and many thanks to whoever nominated this story for the Middle-earth Fanfiction Awards!
