The East Gate

by Eastgaters

When Gandalf fell in Moria, The Fellowship escaped through the East Gate with relative ease. This story is what might have occurred had the orcs not fled but kept on coming. Features all the remaining 8 - COMPLETE!

5. Soldiering On

The East Gate
Authors The Eastgaters

Cast list
Frodo – Baylor
Samwise – Budgielover
Pippin – Marigold
Merry – Llinos
Legolas – Mainframe
Aragorn – Nilramiel
Boromir – Rachel Stonebreaker
Gimli – Q

Beta Marigold
Story Editor Llinos

Chapter 5 – Soldiering On

Frodo placed one last kiss on Merry's forehead and murmured, "Be safe, Merry-lad," before moving away so Legolas could stand. He then sat back on his heels and watched the elf's flight toward the faint line of foliage in the far distance. As Legolas vanished from sight, Frodo bowed his head, letting his chin sink into his chest.

Sam watched until the swiftly-moving figure was out of sight, then sat himself down and started looking through his pack for anything clean that might be used as bandages.

Gandalf fallen, Pippin, Boromir and Gimli almost certainly dead, and Merry undoubtedly soon to follow, Frodo took a deep, shuddering breath, feeling anew the crushing pain in his chest where the spear had struck him. It was nothing to the pain of his loss.

Frodo got to his feet shakily. Somewhere inside him, a small kernel of determination, strong as mithril, was pushing its way to the fore. There was no going back for the three companions still in the mines – to do so would be suicide. Gandalf, likewise, was beyond their reach. Merry he had turned over to Legolas' care and swift feet. There was only one thing left for Frodo to do, only one way he could make certain these losses were not for naught. He must destroy this accursed Ring. Frodo turned toward Aragorn. "I am ready," he said.

Aragorn looked at Frodo, one eyebrow slightly raised, he could see that some resolve had come over the hobbit. Surely he did not mean that he was ready to move on – to continue the Quest? What stuff was he made of, this younger Baggins of the Shire? Would even Bilbo, whom Aragorn knew was an exceptional hobbit, stand here filthy and bereaved, ready to walk on to his own doom?

"You are injured, Frodo, as is Sam," he said after a long moment of thought. "I must tend you, but I fear the end of day. We are too close to the Gate for my comfort, and when nightfall comes, we may be pursued. If you are both able to walk, I would move further from the mountain before we take a real rest." He looked up towards the towering peaks again, wondering if he should tell the hobbits what he knew – that Pippin and the others were still alive and fighting when he fled from the horror of the Gate. He knew they could not go back.

Even if any of the three yet lived, which was unlikely, the Quest must not fail! Perhaps the importance of a single golden Ring would be unknown to the isolated Moria orcs, but were one of those filth to wear It, he would soon be mastered by It and would undoubtedly make his way towards the Shadow in the East. No, he could not put the Ring-bearer at risk, not even for three others of the company. Not even for young Peregrin, who was virtually still a child. And, what saddened him more, he believed Frodo knew this as well.

As he came out of his initial shock, Frodo became more aware of his battered body. He ached horribly, everywhere, and each breath brought a stabbing pain with it. But he, too, wanted to put some distance between them and the mines before nightfall.

"I can continue, for a bit," he told the Ranger, adding, "although I don't know how quickly. If Sam can go on, as well, we should leave this place. We must get to safety, and soon."

He allowed himself one look back at the Gate, one last thought about those left behind. Then he turned to look at Sam.

Sam met his master's eyes, glad their little party was to be moving too. The Gates had not vomited forth any orcs to pursue them, but he could almost swear he felt their beady, hating eyes upon the shattered remnants of their Company. As the shadows lengthened, the Gates more and more resembled a mouth. A black, cavernous mouth with broken teeth, which exhaled a foul stench… His Gaffer had always said that he imagined too much. Right now he was imagining what was going on in that horrible place, and he didn't want to. He couldn't help Master Pip and the others, but he could still do his best to see that Frodo got out of here safely. "I can walk, sir. I'm not hurt bad. Just a cut on the forrid and it's stopped bleeding."

Sam stuffed the improvised bandages back in his pack and stood. He had no doubt, from the stiff, upright posture of his master, they'd be needing them, especially the way he saw that Frodo avoided taking deep breaths. He caught Strider eyeing his master too, and nodded at him in unspoken accord. Sam picked up Frodo's pack and held it up for him to spare him the bending.

The ground was treacherous here, cold and gritty. The lifeless soil caught unpleasantly between the toes. After a while Sam found he was puffing slightly and he feared that Aragorn set too fast a pace, for if he was struggling then surely Frodo was also. But he could hardly protest if his master did not. Sam grit his teeth and followed doggedly. He kept himself at Frodo's back, turning constantly to check behind them. As they walked, Sam kept an eye out for the glaslichen moss, stooping to carefully pry it from the ground and nestle it safely in a pocket whenever he came across it. It was becoming more difficult to spot as they walked; the ground itself hid it from his searching eyes. The earth over which they trudged was grooved as if the rock itself had liquefied then reformed into folding runnels of earth, like butter left in the sun then hastily returned to the cold room. His sharp eyes everywhere but on the path before him, it was inevitable that he should slip. Down Sam went, in a tumble of cooking pots and pack and pained exclamation.

Frodo stopped and spun around as he heard Sam cry out, the clamour of the pots against the rocky terrain startling in the quiet. A few short steps took him to Sam's side.

"Aragorn!" he cried ahead of them. "I think he may be hurt!" Without waiting to see if Aragorn was heeding his call, he crouched beside Sam. "Are you all right, Sam?" he asked, his own hurts momentarily forgotten in his concern.

Sam struggled to his feet, grimacing with embarrassment. "Sorry, Mr. Frodo," he said. "I was so busy watching everything 'round us, I forgot to watch my own big feet. No harm done." With a wave and another grimace at the Ranger, he steadied himself and carefully rotated an ankle. It twinged slightly but he could tell that he'd been lucky. He'd been wanting a breather but hadn't planned on earning one by clumsily falling over his own feet.

Still, if he could use his awkward tumble to gain a moment's respite for himself and his master, he'd take it. Aragorn was pushing them too hard, in Sam's opinion. He slung his pack around and laid it on the cold ground, making a great show of checking it for damage. He deliberately lingered in ensuring that his precious pans were undamaged and secure – strong, nimble fingers checking the knots. He suspected that Frodo knew he was dawdling, but he wasn't being taken to task for it. Until, unable to delay further, Sam shook his head and resettled his pack, and started to take a step when he froze, one foot raised in the air.

"Did you hear that?" he whispered. "It sounded like a hiss." He shut his eyes, listening with all of his might. Now that they were not moving and still, the sound of bare, flapping feet came to his straining ears. They pitter-pattered on a few more steps, then fell silent. Sam looked at his master with horror dawning in his eyes. "It's him, isn't it? That Gollum creature. He's coming after us, now that the others are gone. He's coming after us."

-0000000-

Merry did not feel the Ranger pack the wound with glaslichen, nor the strips of cloth being bound about his chest. He sat calmly cradled in his grandmother's arms as if he were a babe again. She rocked him gently to and fro and he snuggled into her warm, welcoming bosom.

But as Legolas plucked his still form up from the ground, albeit with great care, he felt a jolt and his mind fled back to his body for a moment. He saw the blood in a great pool spread at Aragorn's knees, he saw the bloodstained clothes that had been torn off but were now wrapped around him again as he lay in the elf's arms. Merry cringed at the quantity of blood that had come from his own veins and, as his mind and soul flew back up to his grandmother he knew for certain he could not survive this.

"Grandmamma Gilda?" Merry whispered, "why is Legolas taking my body? What does he want with it? Shouldn't he just burn it or bury it now I'm dead?"

"No Merry," She whispered back still rocking him and humming an old Shire lullaby in between her words. "You're not dead, my dear, Mr Legolas is trying to save you."

"But Grandmamma," Merry breathed in astonishment, "how can I live without all that blood, there is too much spilt, I see it on the ground and on Aragorn's hands, on my clothes."

"It is surprising how much blood a hobbit can lose and yet live," Menegilda told him gently, "Do you remember that time that Berilac cut you with the scythe?"

"I do Grandmamma," Merry nodded up at the wise woman's kindly face, "Mama and Papa thought I would die."

"But you didn't my dear." Menegilda stroked his hair. "You're still alive Merry, it's not time to come to Grandmamma yet to stay."

((((((((((0)))))))))))

It was the autumn of 1410, a grand harvest was in prospect and Buckland was ripe for picking. The wheat was higher than the hobbit children's heads and even Merry's father, Saradoc could only just see over the ripened ears.

Barley was in abundance too as was the maize and root crops. All had been gathered in on the Took Estates. Whitwell and Tuckborough had garnered all that was to be had and it was safely stored away in granaries and sheds ready for the winter. Now many of the Tooks had come to Buckland to give a hand to the Brandybucks to reciprocate their earlier assistance.

"Berilac show us again." Pervinca giggled as she sat on the edge of the hay manger in the smaller barn holding hands with Estella. "You're so good at making it whoosh!"

"And so strong – it must be ever so heavy." Estella giggled too. Both the lasses knew that Berilac was showing off, but that was what made it fun.

"I could do it." Pippin stated proudly, mimicking Berilac's movements with a headless broom. "See it's not so hard."

"You can't Pippin." Pervinca retorted, swinging her legs to and fro, "Because you're not allowed to touch the scythes."

"Well I will soon." He snorted. "It's not my fault I'm not tall enough yet. You wait till I grow, then you'll see!"

"In the meantime you'll have to stack the stooks and glean for grain like the rest of the children." Estella laughed. "It's not so bad Pip, at least you get a drink of cider and a ride on the haywain."

"Can I just try Beri?" Pippin pleaded in his most wheedling tone. "Just a little go."

"No Pip, it's too heavy for you yet and you're too small." Berilac teased and then swung the scythe in a wide arc just as Merry jumped down from the hayloft. He landed lightly on all fours, but did not see the sharp farm implement coming and it was moving too fast for Berilac to stop it. The scythe caught Merry on the back of his thigh, slicing a cut that was clean but deep.

"Yeow!" Merry yelped at the sudden impact, although it had not actually hurt a great deal. Berilac dropped the scythe in horror and rushed to Merry's side. Pippin cautiously picked it up and placed it very carefully back in its rack and then turned to see what the damage was. He gasped at the gash on Merry's leg that was spurting blood.

"I'm sorry Merry!" Berilac pulled his handkerchief out and clamped it over the wound. "It was an accident – I'm so sorry!"

Pervinca and Estella jumped down from the manger and hurried to examine the injured Merry who was now sitting on the barn floor, a little white faced but stoically laughing and joking. "Don't worry Beri, it's only a scratch, Estella's done worst than that when I pulled her plaits."

"Meriadoc Brandybuck!" The accused Estella snorted in rebuttal. "I never did!"

"Is it bad Merry?" Pippin asked tentatively, he could see a lot of blood on the handkerchief.

"No, it'll be all right," Merry assured him. "This hankie is a bit bloody though."

Estella and Pervinca both giggled at Merry's use of the word 'bloody'. "Merry, your language!" Estella rebuked.

"Here Merry," Pippin dug through his pocket and found the clean handkerchief that had been put there that morning by Pearl, but not employed as sleeves were so much easier and quicker. "Use mine."

"I'll do it!" Estella took over and removed the makeshift bandage around Merry's leg to replace it with the new one. "Um… Berilac I think you'd better get a grown up – I mean a real grown up. There's too much blood and I can't stop it properly."

"Merry?" Berilac's voice took on a low conspiratorial tone, "you won't tell, will you? You know, tell our parents, that I did it."

"No of course not." Merry looked up at Estella's worried face. "They'll only make a fuss and I'm all right, honestly."

"Thanks cousin," Berilac breathed a sigh of relief. He had been in enough trouble lately, what with being caught drinking strong ale and kissing a lass behind the barn.

"Berilac, I think you'd better run." Estella warned, "it's really not stopping." Berilac seemed frozen to the spot with horror at the sight, as the wound began to bleed even more profusely under her small hand. Estella looked from Berilac to the others, "Vinca, you run and find someone quickly."

"I'll go!" Pippin was out of the barn and running before anyone could say anything else. By the time he returned, running behind his Uncle Saradoc, Merry was white-faced and almost unconscious.

Merry's father swept his son up in his arms and strode to the Hall, shouting as he went to one of the mowers to fetch Daisy Longflower at once. Pippin ran at his Uncle's heels once more, followed now by a distraught Estella and Pervinca. As they rushed towards the backdoors of the Hall, a trail of blood marked their progress, making the hobbits' hearts skip with fear for their cousin.

"Pippin!" Paladin's voice brought him up short as they reached the back door, "How did this happen? How did your cousin cut his leg so badly?"

Saradoc had laid Merry on the kitchen table, the cook sweeping all the contents crashing to the floor in her haste to clear it. Daisy Longflower the healer was there within minutes, word travelled fast during an emergency. Quickly she applied a thick poultice to stem the blood flow, abruptly calling instructions to the cook to make up a brew she would need.

Pippin looked at his father, wondering what he should say, but his eyes were dragged inexorably back to the table. How much blood had Merry lost? How much could he lose? "Please let him be all right, please let him be all right!" Pippin whispered the litany under his breath over and over.

"Pippin!" his father shook him now, as he seemed to be in another world. "Vinca? Estella, one of you, what happened?"

Pippin's mind quickly replayed the conversation Berilac and Merry had had, just before Estella had realised how bad the wound was. Merry had agreed not to tell on him. That meant that he couldn't tell either. But where was Berilac?

"Um… we were fooling around in the barn." Estella offered lamely, "and it just happened, it was an accident."

"Something very sharp!" Daisy looked up for a second. "A scythe by the looks of it – was it?"

"Who was fooling around with scythes?" Paladin demanded. "You all know better than that! Was it a scythe?"

"Y-yes sir." Pippin would not lie about that. The information might be important to the healer.

"Well who was it?" Paladin glanced anxiously back at Merry, still and white on the table, his father leaning over the healer's shoulder, Esmeralda holding and patting her son's hand.

Pippin's mind did a somersault. Merry had told Berilac he wouldn't tell, Estella was staring at the floor, obviously in the same dilemma and Vinca was weeping inconsolably. "It- it was me sir." Pippin's voice trembled with pain and tears filled his eyes as he spoke the words, but he could not think of another way out.

"But Son, you know…" Paladin trailed off. There was no point in berating Pippin, he was distraught enough at his cousin's state and his father's anger was not what he needed. Paladin put his arm around the lad's shoulder and reached out to draw Vinca into his other arm. "Accidents happen, that's why we make rules. You understand now?"

Pippin looked up through his tears, "Is Merry going to be all right Papa?"

"I don't know yet." Paladin sighed, "but you three must go and wait outside now and keep out of the way."

"Oh Merry!" Pippin sobbed, "please be all right. Please don't die!" He looked over at the table hardly daring to see his poor cousin. Merry was unconscious, deathly white but obviously still breathing, else they would not be working so hard around him.

The three youngsters were firmly led outside and told to wait. "What happened to Berilac?" Pippin asked as soon as they were alone.

"When you went to get help, he ran off." Estella explained as she hugged and hushed Vinca, drying her eyes and giving her the hankie to blow on. "I think he was very scared."

"Should we try to find him?" Pippin suggested. "Only I don't think anyone will be cross with him. He didn't mean to do it."

"Why did you own up to Papa?" Vinca sniffed, "You didn't do it Pip."

"I know," Pippin agreed, "But Merry promised Berilac not to tell, so I couldn't tell either."

"I don't want to go and look for Berilac," Vinca sobbed, "I want to stay here to see about Merry."

"So do I Vinca," Pippin sighed, "More than anything. But there's nothing we can do for Merry and don't you think Berilac might be really scared – I know I would be."

"Pippin's right," Estella agreed. "We'll split up and look for him and tell him he won't be in trouble."

Pippin found him. He was at the far end of the Oaken Field hiding in the last haystack. He sat with his arms crossed over his face sobbing with large heaving gulps.

"Beri?" Pippin had crept up quietly, "Beri? It's all right, it's just me, Pippin. Don't cry, come back to the house."

"Pip?" Berilac looked up from his arms, his sight blurred by tears, his eyes red and raw, "Is – is he…?"

"We don't know yet." Pippin was surprised at how calmly he was speaking. His heart was thumping in his breast in terrible fear for Merry, but he knew at this moment Beri's need was also great. "Come back to the house, please. They won't be cross, it was an accident."

"But if I've killed him! My own cousin! How could I have been so stupid? I was just trying to show off and I should have known better." Berilac put his head back in his arms and heaved another heartrending sob, his body shaking with grief.

"Beri we don't know yet. I'm sure he's still alive – I think they can save him. Please don't be blaming yourself for what hasn't happened."

"But Pip, what if he does die?" Berilac looked up again, his bottom lip trembling as he tried to contain his tears, "I'll be a murderer – I'll be to blame for my cousin's death."

"No you won't Beri," Pip told him. "You'll be the cause of an accident – nothing more. In any case, I told Papa that it was me."

"What?" Berilac stopped crying for a moment and looked up in shock. "Pippin why would you do that?"

"Well, Merry promised not to tell on you, so when Papa asked me I didn't know what else to say – I couldn't break Merry's promise."

"But Pip, it was Merry's promise," Berilac exclaimed, "Not yours. I'll have to go back now."

"Yes quick, let's go, I couldn't leave you here," Pippin breathed a sigh of relief, " and I need to find out how Merry is."

"I know," Berilac rubbed his swollen eyes. "I do too, and I have to tell your father the truth. I can't have you blamed for my stupidity."

The two hobbits arrived at the back entrance of Brandy Hall to find a crowd gathered. Farm labourers, villagers and neighbours were waiting for news of the lad who was so bad hurt. Pippin's heart was in his throat and pounding remorselessly as he and Berilac made their way through the throng of anxious well-wishers.

Once inside Pippin's heart fell to his feet as he saw the kitchen table scrubbed and bare. "Where's Merry? Oh no! No! No! Please no!"

"Pippin, Pippin!" Pearl had appeared and rushed over to catch her little brother in her arms. "It's all right, he's alive. They moved him to his bedroom. He's still unconscious, but he's breathing well and they think he will survive."

"Oh my!" Berilac sank to the nearest chair, his knees too weak to hold him up. "Oh my." The tears welled up again, only now they were tears of relief.

"Pearl I knew he'd be all right!" Pippin breathed. "I hoped for it so hard."

Paladin appeared now, "Do you want to come and peep at him?" He offered his hand. "Come along, I know you're worried, after your silliness nearly cost Merry his life. Promise me never to do anything like that again Peregrin."

"Please Sir," Berilac spoke up now, "It wasn't Pippin, it was me. I did it. But it was an accident."

"What, but why did you say you had done it Peregrin?" Paladin looked at his son in amazement. "I don't understand."

"Well, sir," Pippin looked sheepishly up at his father. "Merry promised Beri he wouldn't tell and I couldn't break the promise for Merry. But I had to say something."

"Well Peregrin, it was a lie and you know what we've told you about lying." Paladin said sternly.

"Yes sir," Pippin nodded, his head held up. "But I didn't mean to hurt anyone."

"No," Paladin agreed, "You did it to protect someone and to keep a trust. It was an honourable lie Pippin and I'm proud of you. As for you Berilac," Paladin looked stern, "It was very foolish to play around with the scythe and Merry nearly paid with his life. But I know it was an accident and you did the right thing by coming back to own up, so let's say no more about it."

"Yes sir," Berilac agreed. "Thank you sir."

"Except," Paladin added, "You must tell Saradoc and Esmeralda, we can't have them thinking it was Pippin's accident."

"Yes sir." Berilac agreed. He turned to his little cousin "Thank you Pip, that was a very noble thing you did, I'm sorry I teased you about being small – you're the biggest hobbit I know."

((((((((((0))))))))))

"That's what happened Merry," as Menegilda finished the tale her grandson felt himself slipping from her grasp. "You lost so much blood then, all thought at one time you would die. But you held on. Hold on now, if only for your dear cousin. He loves you very much and you must fight for that if nothing else."

"Yes Grandmamma, I will." Merry felt the words leave his lips and realised he had said it out loud. He opened his eyes and dimly realised he was being carried swiftly along, held in someone's arms. Not his Grandmamma, she could not run so fast as he remembered. Merry recognised the soft fabric of the elven garment. It was Legolas.

-0000000-

As Legolas ran, his mind was awash with images, thoughts that jostled for attention and questions that demanded answers, yet he pushed them away, locking them into that place in his mind which he had used so often of late… now was not the time. In his weary mind he chuckled, time was something that had never held much meaning to him before… before Estel.

After all what is ten years, thirty, fifty, eighty to an immortal? It is the blinking of the eye, a ripple in the slow-moving stream. Yet a mortal could have been born, lived a full life and died in that blink, it was evident every time his mind wandered to Estel, for he had grown into a man in that short span of years and, whilst his Númenorean blood granted him a longer span of life than an ordinary human, the fact remained, which Legolas still could not fully accept, Estel would die.

There is a reason, Legolas grimly reflected whilst adjusting his grip on Merry to ease the little one's discomfort as much as was possible as he fled deeper into the forest. Yes, the reason why his father had tried, desperately at one point, to discourage his association and fast growing friendship with the young mortal Estel. At the time Legolas had seen it as his father trying to interfere with his life and steer him onto a path of his choosing, yet now he realised that, as ever, his father had been trying to spare him the pain of befriending a mortal.

Legolas was no stranger to death; many of his friends had fallen defending the 'Greenwood', more so this last two centuries as the orcs became more daring and organised in their assaults. And for each life lost he had mourned as only an immortal could. He, like others who had suffered lose of friend or family, held onto the hope that one day they would be reunited again, if not in the Halls of Waiting, then in Valinor where the fallen fea would be rehoused and their friends reborn.

Having been born in Arda Legolas knew not if this was true or if it was simply a belief that allowed those left behind comfort and the strength not to fade. He had never dwelt on it overmuch but, with each immortal life snuffed out, the longer and harder he and those under his command fought.

But when his father had summoned him back to the palace, what he saw as he looked into his son's eyes obviously disturbed him greatly for he refused to allow him to return to fight and instead sent him to Imladris to rest, in the hope that Elrond and the hidden valley would be able to bring the light back to his eyes.

There he had met Estel.

"I do Grandmamma…" Merry murmured so softly that even elven hearing could barely discern it.

Legolas leaned back enough to see Merry's face clearly. At the sudden loss of body heat the little hobbit tried to turn his face back to where it had been comfortably resting tucked into the elf's warm neck, but strength failed him and the gesture was left half completed.

But from this angle Legolas was able to make a quick assessment of the hobbit. His small face was still half covered in dried flaking orc blood and the collar of his hastily removed shirt was thickly crusted with heavier things that as the day progressed were starting to smell badly. It occurred to the elf then that he would have to stop soon and take the time to wash some of the grime away lest the wound become infected.

This decision made, he hastened his pace a little and allowed his senses to stretch as far as they would go, allowing the rhythm of nature to help wash away some of his fatigue whilst he chose a new path towards the slow moving water he'd picked up on the very edge of his range.

The forest seemed to unfurl for him like the new leaves on the trees in spring and closed behind him to help cover his path from others. This part of the forest was not old like Caras Galadhon with her towering ancient silver-barked mallorn trees steeped in enchantment and, though he was a stranger to this forest, it opened for him and, as he ran by them, the trees whispered of their plight and the dark ones that now often passed under their canopy, cutting and burning where they went, spreading like tendrils to pillage and pollute in a never ending stream.

Then they spoke of a shadow that had passed overhead towards the setting sun, and to Legolas' dismay he knew that it had been travelling to Dol Guldur in his father's realm.

"Yes Grandmamma, I will." Merry whispered. Yet the hobbit was stirring and growing restless within his grasp as he tumbled through memories until language turned into indistinct syllables and he moaned to himself as if trying to recapture a lullaby. He knew that consciousness was returning to his friend and that with the reconnection of body and soul would be pain.

The light was fading by the time they reached the bank of the Nimrodel, its swiftly moving waters casting their own spell on the weary travellers. Merry had woken a short time ago in confusion and much pain as his tightly fisted hands clutched Legolas' green suede travel tunic.

"We will rest here Merry; you will be more comfortable soon." Legolas

-0000000-

Gimli was uncomfortable. He tried moving but quickly stilled as a wave of nausea swept over him. Throwing up was about the only undignified thing that he had managed not to do thus far during this fiasco and he was determined to keep what little remained of his dignity.

The man was obviously enjoying his baiting almost as much as that elf did, though his motivations were clearly different. Gimli was not so befuddled with pain that he did not recognise the intent behind Boromir's jibes and, although he would never show it, he was grateful.

For all that the man was trying to help he yearned to get some control back from the other warrior, and he could do that by dictating his own care at least, though the others would have to assist him. Where had Pippin gone? He could find some splinting material perhaps. He turned his head carefully, trying to find the little one. "Pippin, laddie, could you..."

"Could I what, Gimli?" Pippin stooped and laid the splints next to Gimli, then crouched down next to him. "I thought if your leg is broken that we would need some splints, so I brought some pieces of wood from that ladder. Two of these should do I would think." He tilted his head a bit to the side, the better to look the prone dwarf in the face and smiled at him. "Is there anything else can I do to help?" He swivelled his head to look up at his other friend. "Or you Boromir? What else do you need me to do? "

Boromir was more than a bit surprised to say the least! "Well done, lad, well done." He picked up one piece of the broken wood and resisted the urge to tousle Peregrin's hair as he so often had done when pleased with something one of the hobbits did. He had frequently had to remind himself that the hobbits were not mere boys, and after Pippin's bravery this day he determined never to forget that fact again.

Testing the hefty stick that used to be part of a ladder by lightly tapping one end on the ground, Boromir deemed it suitable for the purpose. "We will need something to pad these and something to use in securing it to Gimli's leg. Peregrin, did you perchance find something like that in your search?"

Pippin was so proud at Boromir's praise that he thought he would burst. He was very tired but thought furiously of anything he had seen that might suit. "The only thing might be useful would be the rope that is tied to the water bucket but then we would have nothing with which to draw up the water, and the rope that tied the ladder together is all but rotted away... " He perked up suddenly. "It may not be big enough to be much use but there is my other shirt!" He reached for his pack to fish out the garment.

Gimli did not miss the flash of pride that suddenly lit up the youngster's weary face at Boromir's words, even beneath the coating of blood and filth. Even after Peregrin's bravery and dogged perseverance during the trials of this horrendous day of grief and loss did the lad still doubt whether he was pulling his weight? He too should say something to bolster the young warrior's confidence, and give praise where it was due.

"Indeed Peregrin, that was fine work anticipating the need for those splints, and I thank you." He held out a hand to stay Pippin from opening his pack, his large hand closing over the small one and giving it a quick clasp then drawing it back, embarrassed at showing his approval in a physical way, yet knowing from all of the time he had spent travelling with the hobbits just how much they thrived on the touch of kin or a close companion.

This was Gimli's first attempt at doing such an alien thing save for an infrequent clap on the back and he felt a trifle awkward but a little embarrassment was worth it to give the lad some encouragement, and he was already in about as embarrassing a position as one could be in anyway. Of course he would have preferred that the man hadn't been watching but there was no help for it and Gimli sighed inwardly. His reputation was all but shattered this day. Next thing he knew he would be spending time alone in the company of the elf. If the elf still lived that is, and if Gimli survived this adventure.

"You are right though, your shirt would be too small to be of help, though I thank you greatly for the offer of it." Gimli would never have let the lad tear up his spare shirt for his sake. For all that Pippin's everyday shirt was finely made and detailed with much delicate stitching and embroidery it had been made for the lad by a tailor. The spare shirt that was being so selflessly offered was what Pippin had with great pride called his 'best ever' shirt, and he only wore it on special occasions; banquets in Rivendell, Aragorn's birthday, days that were celebrated back in the Shire, when they made camp long enough to allow for the washing of their everyday clothes. Otherwise it was kept folded neatly in a paper wrapping in the lad's pack.

Meriadoc had been the hobbit most interested in looking his best, and Gimli and the others had heard many a teasing jest and story on the trail about young Merry and his interest in his clothes and his reputation as a dashing young hobbit with an eye for the lasses, but Pippin cared little how he looked or dressed for the most part. But this shirt was special to him – it had been made for him by his own mother, and was a soft yellow colour with carefully embroidered entwined leaves in a variety of autumn shades on the front and around the cuffs. The right collar point had two leaves in shades of red and orange, and the left a smaller leaf of bronze and Pippin's initials.

Peregrin's mother had made it for him as a Yule gift, two years ago. There was not a member of the Fellowship that did not know the complete history and every detail of Pippin's wondrous shirt. Pippin himself might not realise it but Gimli and the others knew that it was not just the shirt itself that Pippin loved, it was that it represented home to him, and the mother he missed terribly, a fact he would not admit to anyone, except perhaps Merry. Gimli was relieved beyond measure that it was indeed too small to be of use, for the lad was ready to sacrifice it for Gimli's well being without a second thought. However he did not have any solution either.

"My extra clothing was lost outside the door when the Watcher attacked. I fear we will have to think of some other solution." Gimli rested his head back on the stony floor and cursed himself for his clumsiness for the hundredth time.

Pippin was almost dizzy now with pleasure as well as weariness – not only had Boromir praised him but so had Gimli, and he had even clasped Pippin's hand as he had sometimes seen the dwarf and the Men do on the trail when they were pleased at something that one of them had accomplished. Gimli had given him a pat on the back a few times certainly, but this gesture made him feel suddenly very grown up indeed. So perhaps then he had best pick his jaw up off the floor where it had dropped and start thinking as Gimli said they must do. Well, if he and Gimli had no clothing they could use, it would have to be Boromir's. But Boromir carried little in the way of extra clothes …except…Pippin gasped in delight.

"Boromir, your under-tunic, the nice warm one that you insisted I put on over my clothes when we were climbing the mountains when I was so very cold. Do you have that in your pack? We should be far enough to the south now that you won't need it any more when we get out of here."

Boromir raised eyebrows, "My under-tunic? The only piece of spare clothing I carry? The long, fine linen one with the silk facings?" He looked at the dwarf as if judging whether or no this was worth the sacrifice. "There must be something else."

Gimli tried not to roll his eyes. Could the man be more obtuse? Then the dwarf caught the inflection that he was being ragged in that same subtle way that the elf employed and decided to decline the bait. Besides, he was not certain that Peregrin would not take it literally, especially as Boromir was making no attempt to retrieve the garment from his bag but looking about them, in spite of Peregrin's thorough reconnaissance.

"If you are looking for your pack, I am sure Pippin can tell you where it is as he has done so well already in his search." Gimli narrowed his eyes pointedly, the inflection on selected words oh so slight. He hoped he succeeded in keeping his exasperation and derision from showing in his voice or on his features.

"In fact, I can tell you where it is from here...it is still upon your back. Doubtless you are so weary from the morning's exertions that you had forgotten such a simple thing. Now, if you would be so kind as to produce this wondrous garment that our young friend has so cleverly remembered we can take care of my small problem and move on to the greater difficulties that face us all. Otherwise I shall have to accept Peregrin's generous offer of his Yule shirt in spite of the fact that the garment is too small to be of use, as I have no intention of lying here any longer than I need to."

Gimli hoped he had been vague enough that Pippin had not picked up on his chiding of the man for his idiocy over worrying about a simple undergarment when the laddie's precious Yule shirt was at stake. The man had never even worn the thing but once or twice. Pippin had probably been wrapped in the garment for longer as they struggled to pass over Barazinbar than Boromir had worn it upon their entire journey. Hoping to distract the lad if he had been too blunt with his words he turned to Pippin and gestured towards Boromir. "Why don't you help Boromir off with his pack Peregrin. He is clearly weary almost beyond comprehension." And he narrowed his eyes again at the man, daring him not to understand.

But Boromir did not miss the underlying derision in the dwarf's voice. He was flustered at first, left wondering if he'd pushed the limits of the dwarf's humour. Then it dawned on him, Gimli thought he was suggesting they use Peregrin's spare shirt!

He whispered "I'm not so dense dwarf as to..." but stopped short remembering just how acute a hobbit's hearing was. "Of course we will use my under-tunic. It is long and thick and should be well suited to the purpose". Slinging his pack to the ground and deftly whipping it open he gestured to Peregrin that he should remove the garment. "I will go and fetch the water." As he heaved himself up onto impossibly tired legs and started his walk over to where the hobbit had indicated a possibly serviceable well existed.

Pippin carefully retrieved the garment then moved further down to where he could make eye contact with Gimli to be more companionable as he prepared the splints. "I watched Merry do this once, Gimli, when our Cousin Robin broke his leg," Pippin said conversationally even as he pulled the two lengths of wood that Boromir had selected closer. "Merry explained everything to Robin and me as he was doing it so we would know how, if we ever needed to do the same."

Pippin reached next for his sword, but when he brought the blade near he realised that it was Merry's. He hadn't even had a chance to clean it for his cousin yet and that made him feel very bad, as if he had let Merry down in some way. Pippin hoped that Gimli hadn't seen his lip quiver as again he strove not to cry. Silently he promised himself that he would clean it so that it gleamed at the first opportunity and set it down almost reverently as he resolutely picked up his own.

He was too tired to use the sharp blade safely and make conversation so he settled for a few encouraging glances and grins at Gimli, but mostly he concentrated on performing the task at hand, cutting the garment into suitable lengths and pieces, unconsciously sticking his tongue out in his intentness.

Gimli sighed. Once more he cursed his own foolishness that was causing them to delay dealing with the tragedy of the morning, both emotionally and physically. He too, of course, had cared for Gandalf and felt great affection for Merry and the dwarf shuddered at the memory of the crimson pool of blood that they had seen during their strategic withdrawal. Pippin had no doubt seen it and would not have failed to realise whose blood it had been. Yet the small hobbit had held on to his wits and led Gimli to find this shelter, putting his grief aside even though he had loved Meriadoc above all others for all his young life.

To keep his own mind off their losses he set his wits to instructing Peregrin in how to prepare the cloth properly but there was apparently no need. In fact the little one, though swaying in his tiredness as he sat there, cleverly cut the cloth so that it would be of optimum use, bending all his attention to the task, yet still sparing Gimli the occasional smile. But he was clearly too tired or too withdrawn even to speak while he worked and that Gimli found to be unsettling and he started wishing for the lad's incessant chatter. 'Remember your wish later,' he thought with amusement.

When Peregrin expertly tied the padding he had prepared to each splint, Gimli's eyebrows drew together in consternation. Merry had been that thorough? The lad had had an eye for details, of course, and common sense when he cared to use it, but even still... and for Peregrin to have remembered such details. Surprising.

As Pippin finished his task and moved back to his place at Gimli's head the dwarf nodded his approval. "Skilfully done lad. Now, I have another task for you." He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Do not tell Boromir, but my leg is a mite painful. Perhaps you can take my mind off it by telling me that amusing story that you were recounting at our last camp before we tackled the mountain pass? I recall falling asleep to sounds of laughter from the others and would know the ending to the tale." And Gimli hoped with all of his heart that the wish that had crossed his mind a few minutes before would come true.

Boromir found the covered well exactly as described by the hobbit. The bucket, not new but functional sat beside the cistern with a stout rope attached. He checked the rope's strength to ensure it would remain intact. Inhaling, he crouched down and put his hands against the stone's edge. He had to throw his weight into his shoulders while he set his boots solidly underneath him. He was more tired than he thought! Yet the stone moved readily enough.

Lowering the bucket into the depths of the well Boromir hoped for the best – decent drinkable water. At worst, it would be poisoned. Ah, for a bird or a smallish rat to try it on! There'd be no such luck. They'd have to take their chances. He'd try a little first himself and hope he'd be able to taste any anomalies. The bucket jolted with a splash and Boromir let it sink just a little to fill. He brought it up and tipped it out, then lowered it again and let it sink a few more feet before pulling it up to give the water a test.

Clear and cold with no obvious odour. That was good. He wiped his hand on his tunic as best he could, then dipped his hand into the water and waited a few moments – no reactions. Then he tasted it from his hand. Well, it would have to do. They had no other and he felt no immediate adverse effects.

Carrying the dripping bucket over to where the dwarf and the hobbit sat companionably he caught the tail end of what appeared to be the amusing story Peregrin had told once before. Boromir had been on first watch and had missed most of the ending due to him being on the outskirts of the camp. He smiled as he noted the dwarf's neatly splinted leg, then nodded approval as he checked the binding and found it good. The lad was doing well.

"Peregrin, lad. There's plenty of water and it appears to be fresh. Use it as you will, but don't allow the filth we wash off to befoul that in the bucket or in our water skins."

As Pippin came near to the end of his story he hoped that he had helped to ease Gimli's pain by keeping his friend's attention upon the tale he was telling. He knew that he had not been up to his usual story-telling standard, but he had tried his best. Hobbits took the telling of tales to be a serious business and one must always use the proper inflections and tones and the appropriate level of enthusiasm, and of course the right facial expressions and hand and body movements. As a young, and very Tookish relative of Bilbo Baggins, the greatest storyteller that Pippin had ever met, with Gandalf being a close second, Pippin was quite learned at this hobbit-art, took great pride in his natural talent, and he knew a multitude of tales.

One who was not intimately acquainted with the energetic youth would not know that he had been a sickly child, often confined to his bed for long periods of time, and even some who did would never guess that this lad was an avid reader. In fact he probably knew word for word, learned from Bilbo and Gandalf among others, and from the books he had read, tales and lays and songs that would amaze his companions with their depth and antiquity and difficulty, but it was doubtful that he would ever think to tell them those sort of stories, assuming that if he knew them his more travelled and older companions did as well. So during their journey he had always stuck to tales they would not know and, though he did not realise it, they found the same comfort in his simple tales of the Shire as he and the other hobbits did.

Pippin was too tired for anything much in the way of hand gestures but he did try to keep his voice animated and the story interesting and was careful not to let Boromir's return interrupt the smoothness of his telling and so jar Gimli out of the magic of the story. When the tale finally concluded he thought that Gimli might actually have enjoyed it very much even though he had not been at his best.

Taking up his filled water skin he poured a good amount first over each hand, to remove most of the filth, then took up a piece of cloth from Boromir's plundered under-shirt. "I hope you liked the ending Gimli. Sometimes when Sam's Gaffer tells the story he leaves out that bit about Primrose being so bold as to kiss the lad from Pincup as he doesn't think it's proper for young folk to hear." Hoping his friend was still in a good enough humour to suffer him to do this, and hoping he himself still had enough energy to get out of his reach if he wasn't, Pippin began to clean Gimli's face of the dried orc blood and dirt and sweat. "But I decided that you and Boromir were old enough to hear the proper tale told in full, stolen kiss and all."

Gimli suffered Pippin's ministrations though he knew he was perfectly capable of washing his own face and hands. The little one seemed to need to help more than Gimli needed to keep his pride. He swallowed the instinctive retort and continued to lay still.

Pippin helped Gimli to raise his head a bit and drink some water. Only then did he wash his own face, and have a drink himself. He hadn't realised he was so thirsty. Then he picked up Merry's sword, and carefully began to clean it until it shone.

Sighing deeply to help gather his wits, Gimli pulled himself upright and helped himself to the water skin Boromir had placed next to him. Another drink of water helped clear his head but the pain of the leg was wearing heavily. He surveyed the guardroom while thinking on what to do next. Surely, they would not get out the way they came in. Besides the mound of rubble, if Gimli could manage to delve through it, there were the remaining orcs to contend with. They'd most certainly set out sentries. Without a doubt they knew the small party was trapped inside. Well, sitting on his arse wasn't going to get them anywhere. Boromir was washing himself and Pippin was absorbed in cleaning his weapons.

Gimli gingerly tested his other leg to make sure there was nothing wrong with it. Yes, good and solid, just a bruise or two. He smiled at the recollection of the time Samwise half in jest half in amazement asked Frodo if Dwarves were made of stone. It'd been just after part of the ledge they were traversing had collapsed and Gimli wound up on the bottom of a heap of two hobbits, one man and an elf. Nary a bump or bruise he'd suffered. If he could have only been so lucky this time!

He had now managed to get his good leg under him and grunting with a supreme effort, which caused the other two to look up in alarm, Gimli hauled himself upright. He tottered for a moment, shaky and sick to his stomach. Conquering the ill feelings he got a better look around.

"Help me over to that cabinet." Gimli nodded his head to the opposite side of the little guardroom. He made a feeble attempt at a hobble but thought better of moving on his own as pain shot through the leg, into his hip, causing his stomach to clench. Blasted leg! He loathed to ask for assistance but if that cabinet held the secret he suspected, they all stood a good chance of getting out of this prison.

Boromir jumped up to give the dwarf an arm to lean on. He had an inkling of an idea what it cost for the curmudgeon to ask for help so he wasn't going to make a show of it as was his first thought.

Together, they made their way over to the cabinet, Pippin close behind. They could not get far, Gimli's pain was obvious and short of picking up the dwarf and carrying him, Boromir doubted they'd get much further in the next hour. "Tell me your intentions, Master Dwarf, and perhaps our friend, Peregrin, can assist."

"This cabinet here," Gimli grunted between clenched teeth, "'tis a common feature in many of our closed in rooms." Not able to stand the pain any longer, he grabbed Boromir's arm with both of his and sank slowly to the ground.

Boromir jerked his head towards the hobbit. Gimli's head was bowed in an effort to keep from screaming, Boromir was sure. They'd have to let him rest, perhaps even sleep, if they were going to get anywhere without creating a litter to carry him on, which, Boromir was fairly certain, wouldn't be possible even if they had the materials. For more than the obvious reason that Gimli was obstinate.

Pippin went to take his friend's place holding Gimli to sit upright so that the man could be free to move about and follow Gimli's instructions. As much in pain as their friend clearly was, there was something about that unopened cabinet that Gimli was determined to tell them.

Gimli clenched his teeth as the stronger, more doughty body of Boromir was replaced by the much lighter and frailer Pippin, trying not to rest all of his weight upon the little one, but losing the battle and the halfling did not fail him, but bore his deadweight resolutely. As Boromir moved toward the cabinet Gimli struggled against the pain. He must tell them!

"See...both of you? How the vent is but a few feet from the top of the cabinet..." He clenched his teeth against a wave of nausea and forced himself to continue.

"It is not meant only to let air into this chamber as it might appear, but also to ensure that air might pass beyond these walls." He took a deep breath, the pain making him weary almost beyond the exhaustion of the halfling in whose arms he rested.

"It is a bolt hole...a hiding place lies within, meant for the safekeeping of...of..."

Gimli debated telling them what treasures might be protected within, but what now was the use of dissembling – if he could not trust these companions who could he trust?

"...meant for a safe haven for any females and young ones that might... might have need of such. The way in will lie through the cabinet, though the door may also be reached on the other side through the small vent... too small for any enemy to pass through as you can see. There will also be a passage outside the mines if we can find a way to open the door..."

Boromir stopped hand on door and watched as the dwarf slid into sleep or unconsciousness. He moved quickly to help the hobbit arrange Gimli's body to a slightly more comfortable position.

"He sleeps, then. And well needed." Boromir confirmed as he checked Gimli and stifled a yawn himself. The sooner they discovered the benefits of this 'bolt hole' Gimli had been so eager to protect and then to announce, the sooner they might be free from this dungeon. Perhaps they'd be able to catch sign of Aragorn's trail and then on to safety themselves. A flickering of hope rose in his breast.

He had a fiendish time wedging open the cabinet's door. It'd been sealed shut with some effort and a lot of time. The wood creaked and protested as he shoved. Finally, with a yell that probably frightened the little one out of his wits, Boromir wrenched open the cabinet's door to look in on the dwarves' secret.

And saw nothing – a wooden back of a wooden cabinet. Turning to look at his friends, hoping just a tiny bit that the dwarf would somehow wake up and give them more information but knowing it was best for the warrior to sleep, Boromir shrugged, settled his shoulders, flicked his hair back from his face and asked, "now what?"

Pippin thought he might start to cry when there was no evidence of Gimli's "bolt hole" but that would accomplish nothing. With Gimli feeling so badly and clearly needing to sleep due to his injury Pippin took a deep breath, determined to hold on a bit longer. He eased his friend to the ground and crawled over to Boromir, too weary to even bother to rise to move those few feet. He struggled upright by hanging onto Boromir's surcoat and surveyed the interior of the cabinet intently. Gimli could not be wrong, he just couldn't... Pippin thought back to when they were outside the Moria Gates and remembered Gimli saying that dwarf-doors were not meant to be seen.

On sudden impulse he stepped up to the cabinet, and closing his eyes ran his fingers over the back wall... nothing... perhaps not where one would expect a door to be placed... maybe off to one side? He ran his fingers over the surface, on the left, then on the right, further down... then at last! Higher up and to the right he felt the slightest difference! Feeling along the infinitesimal groove he could make out a small rectangular area that must be the door! He took a deep breath, opened his eyes and turned to Boromir.

"Boromir, I think this is the way out!"

-0000000-

To Be Continued

Character's Notes

Thanks everybody for all the reviews. We have decided, with so many different authors vying for attention that we would ban them from this area altogether and that we story characters would be better at fielding questions and comments as we are far more in touch with things than the writers.

Important Announcement!!

Please be sure not to miss the corresponding correspondence that runs in tandem with this story – there is much more to come as these letters all fell into my hands and, as Frodo has failed to pay me the um... bribe, I mean er... blackmail money... err no I mean, appropriate fee, I am obliged to make them public.

Fro – you still have time – there are quite a few more letters to publish and I don't think everyone has read them yet! For those that haven't, they are published as Behind the Scenes at The East Gate by The Eastgaters.
Best regards,
Meriadoc the sorely wounded, but still rather Magnificent

PS: Frodo is answering questions this week.

girlofring: Save Merry, Save Pippin, and get Frodo out of his foreshadowing thoughts. He needs help too!
Frodo: I've just had a bit of a shock that's all. I'm sure I'll snap out of it and get back to business soon. They are my baby cousins, you know, and it is difficult to have them in such peril. But I am the Bearer of The One Ring, and I shall overcome all obstacles, I'm quite certain.

domstygerr: I am struck down :(
Frodo: Don't be struck down! You must have faith in the Fellowship, and in the Ringbearer, if they are ever to succeed.

Birch tree: what an amazing Sam you have portrayed here! Just beyond words...
Frodo: My Sam is quite remarkable, isn't he? I might have to consider giving him a raise this year.

Hyperactive Forever: poor merry, he doesn't know that pip's still alive.
Frodo: Alas, poor Merry is more worried about our little Pip than about himself. At least Pippin has Boromir and Gimli to help keep him safe.

Elwyna: Why must Gimli always be so cynical and gruff? Boromir and Pippin are just trying to look after him! Oh well, Dwarves will be Dwarves I suppose
Frodo: Dwarves will be dwarves, indeed, but Gimli is a sensible, good-hearted fellow.

boromir: Great chappy please keep going.
Frodo: Aren't you trapped in Moria right now?

Celebrean: Hurry Legolas! Don't let Merry die!
Frodo: Did you hear that, Legolas? RUN. That's my own Merry-lad you're carrying there.

Isil: please, let no one die. It would totally ruin it for me
Frodo: It will totally ruin it for me, as well, if anyone dies. Gandalf was bad enough -- I don't know what I'll do without my cousins.

Nayana Baggins: you better not kill my Merry! He's the sexy one, you can't kill him!
Frodo: I beg to differ, Miss Baggins. I am the sexy one.

barb:): I love you, Pip!
Frodo: Is the smiley-face part of your official name? Because I think that is a quality Pippin might find quite attractive in a young hobbit lass.

smalldiver: Hugs Gimli [snip] hugs Boromir too [snip] and Poor Merry! hugs Merry [snip] hugs Pippin [snip] hugs remaining members of fellowship!
Frodo: Boromir and Gimli do not appreciate being hugged. I have discovered this myself the hard way, following several attempts at group hugs during our journey. We hobbits, however, always appreciate a good hug. Aragorn accepts hugs only from certain parties; with others, he prefers a manly clasp on the shoulder.

galadrielady945: waves flags and cheers on Legolas:: go Legolas! go Legolas! run, Legolas, run! Frodo: Once again, Legolas, RUN.

Tigertale7: And, Llinos, thanks for putting it all into easy to read format.
Frodo: Miss Llinos has indeed gone above the call of duty in preparing this story. Our notes were quite a mess when we handed them over to her and demanded she take command of them. Perhaps I should give her that raise I was thinking about for Sam . . .
Llinos: You mean I'm supposed to get paid for this?
Merry: Ssshhh! You're not supposed to be in here – characters only.

Pip4: The little interlude where Merry showed Pip what to do earlier was a nice flashback scene.
Frodo: Merry and Pippin had so many interesting adventures together when they were young, didn't they? That's because they were naughty hobbits. I, on the other hand, have always been mature, well-behaved, and above reproach.

Sam: Sam was very sweet in this chapter! Very Sam Gamgee like.
Frodo: My Sam is always very sweet, a good lad to have about in a pinch. He tells me he hears the same thing about you (only you're a lass), and now he's blushing a great deal because I told you that.
Llinos: Am I allowed to say here how much I loved Sam's description of gathering the glaslichen?
Merry: No – I already told you – card-carrying characters only!

fliewatuet: But I have some fresh strawberries, if you like, and I could send you a bottle of beer or two along with the cuddles ;)
Frodo: You may send the strawberries and beer directly to me. I will decide who else deserves some. I mean, I will certainly share them with everyone else.

nitedancer: Hey Pip! Where were you? I waited all weekend too! Bring Merry too, I think he could do with a few hugs and kisses as well.. There's plenty to go around.
Frodo: Perhaps you are not aware, but Pippin is presently trapped in Moria, and Merry is en route to the Lothlórien Emergency Room. I'm not certain what their visiting hour policies are, but I don't think they include hugs and kisses.
Merry: Well they should!

Anso the Hobbit: poor Merry! I certainly hope there's someone in Lothlórien that can help him.
Frodo: I hear that Lothlórien has a state-of-the-art medical facility. I hope so!

Freya: Oh, how beautifully Sam explains the situation to the glaslichen. Whichever kind soul is herding questions, please pass on the message to Sam that he is a kind and gentle soul. (And also, my best wishes that Merry is having a peaceful sleep. Travelling by elf cannot be very restful!)
Frodo: Sam has the greatest of hearts. Perhaps he deserves that raise after all . . . And I am confident my good friend Legolas is doing all he can to keep Merry comfortable during his transportation.
Llinos: See I said that bit with Sam and the Glaslichen was good!
Merry: Be quiet!
Llinos: Sorry your Magnificence!

melilot hill: Now I still don't know if they're going to be all right!
Frodo: No, that remains to be seen.

hobbitsandkilts: . Meanies I say Meanies
Frodo: People who call us Meanies do not get invited over to tea.

auntiemeesh: Is there a Hallmark card for this sort of occasion?
Frodo: There certainly should be, and I'm glad to see that someone understands the great pressure I'm under. Once I am back in control of my emotions, I may have to write to Hallmark and suggest a "Ringbearer" greeting card series.

lindahoyland: A great chapter the best yet!
Frodo: Why, thank you.

gilrandir: hugs and kisses and cuddles for Pippin and Merry
Frodo: Merry is in no condition to accept your hugs and kisses, and Pippin is busy. I, however, am in great need of hugs and kisses, and able to accept them.

shirebound: poor Gimli now has another member of the Fellowship to tease him mercilessly!
Frodo: Gimli likes it and we all know it. Don't listen to a word he says otherwise.