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

Gollum – Llinos

The Wicked Elves – Baylor & Mainframe

Mister and Missus Tugman – Llinos

Story Editor Llinos
Beta Marigold

Chapter 11 – Sleeping and Weeping

Gimli dreamed.

He shifted uncomfortably in his sleep, the ache in his leg nearly waking him, but exhaustion pulled him back under and he fell deeper into sleep, as deep as the chasm little Pippin had had to screw up his courage to leap. Gimli slept and in his sleep, he dreamed.

The caverns of Khazad-dûm were beyond reckoning for a dwarf originally from the Blue Mountains. In his dreams, Gimli wandered through glittering caves and jewel-encrusted grottos, searching for his kith and kin. He could hear their voices, faint and echoing, ever just beyond his reach. How would he find them? He recognized nothing; the tales greybeards repeated from tales their fathers had told them offered little direction in the ruin of this place.

"Gimli!" He turned at the shout, but there was no one, only the echo of his name bouncing off the mithril-glimmering walls. Should he go back? But who would know him here, who would call him here?

Gandalf. The word came to him, a bruise on Gimli's heart, and he twisted in his sleep, dismay at his failure to help their leader washing through him. Gone, the Wizard was gone, and Gimli would have to tell his father. All Gloin's long life, and Gimli's, Gandalf had known them, and now he was wrenched from them, yet another division in Gimli's life – what he had known before and now, after Gandalf.

Gandalf! He called in his sleeping mind, but he did not hear the familiar voice answer, just the sigh and murmur of his unseen kindred, and even in his sleep he realised that they too, were gone. He was pursuing the dead, as if anxious to join them.

He twisted again, murmuring one of the secret names of Durin, and it comforted him.

Gimli dreamed.

He dreamed of the hobbits, creatures that until recently he had known only from his father's tales: Mr Bilbo Baggins the burglar, the fair Ring-bearer and his loyal servant, the Ring-bearer's bright spirited cousin, and the littlest hobbit, Gimli's charmed child, Pippin. In his dreams, he saw Pippin again brave his fear to leap the chasm; saw Sam comfort Frodo in the damp cold nights; saw Merry silently watching as the men and Gandalf softly argued about some detail of their journey, saw Frodo grasp at the hidden evil he bore about his neck and then consciously force his hand away.

Where were they now? His poor heart yearned for the broken Fellowship to be once more complete, his vow as shattered as his leg. "Pippin," he murmured, and felt a warm touch against his face.

"Sleep," someone told him. "It's not yet your watch, Master Dwarf."

Gimli slept, and in his sleep, he dreamed.

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Aragorn sighed, rubbing his cold hands over the fire. He did intend to wake Frodo, and was sure that Sam would resent it, but he was unwilling to let the Ring-bearer lie with filth in his wounds for even another half an hour.

Using one of the larger cooking pots, the Ranger set clean water to heat over the fire, and laid out what herbs and plants he had. "Sufficient," he said to himself, "although not all I would wish." From the packs he removed his own spare tunic, a welcome exchange from the soaked one he was in, some of Sam's clothing, a blanket, and some strips of cloth. With a sudden shock he thought of Merry, and he wondered how Legolas had fared and if he had reached the Golden Wood in time. These strips had been torn below the Gate, when he was hastily patching the dreadful wound Meriadoc had sustained, and Aragorn closed his eyes for a moment, fixing the pale young face in his thoughts and entreating the Valar that he would reach the hands of elven healers before it was too late.

His cowardly retreat made Sam feel even worse. In a twisted form of self-punishment, he stripped off every stitch of clothing and waded into the icy stream, using the rough sand to scrub off the stinking, dried blood and dirt as if he could wash away his humiliation and failure with the abrasiveness. Not content with that, he dunked his clothes into the water and slapped them against a rock until they were as clean as he could get them. Then there was nothing else for it – he had to go back.

Sam donned his dripping clothes, struggling into the wet cloth that clung to him and managed to increase his misery. 'Well,' thought Sam, 'no worse'n I deserve. How am I ever going 'ta make this up to him? He probably won't even tell Mr Frodo that I fell asleep on watch.' Wrapping the blanket about him, Sam began to trudge slowly back to camp.

The water was steaming. Aragorn removed the pot from the fire and sat cross-legged upon the ground, within reach of both Frodo and his supplies. He picked up two precious leaves of athelas, his only two, and bruised them over the water, dropping the fragrant plant into the pot at once. He breathed deeply of the steam, then gently picked up Frodo, blankets and all, and cradled the Ring-bearer in his lap. How light he was! The Ranger folded back the blankets. Aragorn needed to bathe him, but he wanted to do so without getting him chilled, if possible. The hobbit showed no signs of waking, but he breathed evenly and was warm to the touch, which was encouraging.

Carefully, Aragorn propped Frodo into a sitting position and unfastened his cloak. He pulled it off and set it aside, followed by his sword and his pack, which was still fastened closed and hopefully not filled with sand. Working quickly, the man unbuttoned coat and weskit, easing them from the little shoulders with great gentleness. The buttons on the shirt were absurdly tiny, and the Ranger felt a pang of anxiety – he was so small, this hobbit, so small and so very, very important. He had sworn to protect Frodo, and the Quest, with his life if need be, but the man feared that even his life would not be enough.

As he eased the layers of clothing from the hobbit's upper body, Aragorn discovered the tightly clenched fist. A short length of chain ran from beneath the small one's fingers, and the Ranger was sure that the Ring lay hidden in Frodo's hand. With gentle care, the man eased coat, weskit, and shirt over the closed fist, not attempting to open Frodo's fingers and trying not to touch the chain at all.

The mithril coat was another matter. Its fit was far more snug and, although the Ranger was able to work it over the hobbit's head and one arm, the sleeve refused to go over the closed fist. The man took several breaths. He had seen Frodo's reaction when perceiving a threat to the Ring, and he was not sure what reaction he was going to get if the hobbit woke to find him taking It from his grasp.

Lying the hobbit back down upon his lap, the Ranger bent over him, pressing his weight gently against Frodo. With one hand he held the hobbit's wrist, and with the other he began to peel the fingers open. He listened closely for changes in Frodo's breathing, and was careful not to touch chain or Ring as the small hand began to unfurl.

Slowly, slowly, the man uncurled the clenched digits, speaking softly in Elvish to comfort himself as much as Frodo, should the little one awaken. Slowly, slowly, he turned the wrist so as to allow the heavy ball of sand, chain and Ring to fall onto the pile of clothing he had already removed from the hobbit.

It fell with a muffled yet audible thud onto the filthy shirt, and after several heartbeats of silence, Aragorn let loose a long sigh of relief. He sat upright, slipped the mithril shirt over the slackened hand, and laid it carefully over the Ring. What a wonder this piece of mail was! Why, it weighed nothing at all! If the hobbit could bear it, Aragorn intended to ask that he put it on again and continue to wear it even in sleep. Better protection he could not provide than this silvery coat of precious metal, and who knew how many times it had already saved the Ring-bearer's life.

Gingerly, the man propped Frodo again into a sitting position and removed his leather undertunic. A hiss escaped his lips when he saw what lay beneath. Frodo's right side was blackened and bruised from armpit to waist, and there were a few places where the rings of the dwarf-mail had driven through leather and into flesh. These areas were crusted with dried blood, and the man felt sure the Ring-bearer had been running with broken ribs for hours. Frodo's left side was also bruised, and he had several minor cuts on his arms, hands and legs from orc blades. The resilience of these small creatures amazed him! Gandalf had said it was so, but the Ranger knew few men who would endure such injuries in silence, for so long.

His heart full of fresh sorrow, Aragorn began to bathe the hobbit, soaking clean cloth in the warmed athlelas water and washing away mud, blood, and sand from Frodo's small body. He worked quickly, not wishing to chill the small one, but making sure each bruise and cut received a sluicing of the healing water. He squeezed clean water from another skin through the matted curls, and gently wiped the slack face, wondering that Frodo had not yet woken, and hoping that the hobbit was deep in healing sleep and not unconscious from internal bleeding.

Using soft cloths, Aragorn padded and bound the hobbit's ribcage, and slipped a fresh tunic over his limp form. He wrapped the little one in the clean blanket and laid him as close to the fire as he safely could. Then he turned back to the fire. He had medicines to make, and Sam would need tending as well. Where was Sam, anyway? The man had worked swiftly, but Samwise would have returned as quickly as possible, he was sure.

When Frodo awoke it was to the warmth and crackling of a fire, and for a while he just drifted between sleep and awareness. Finally, he sighed, and shifted, his hand, as it was wont to do, as if on its own, reached toward his breast, for the burden that lay hidden there.

And found nothing.

Frodo sat bolt upright, both hands groping about his shirt. Aragorn was at hand, and turned towards him, startled.

"Where is It?" Frodo cried in agony. "Aragorn, It's gone! It cannot have fallen into that sand, please, say It did not! If that creature Gollum has taken It, then we must follow him, and now! He will take It to the Enemy! I cannot have lost It, not after all we have been through, all we have just lost! It cannot be!"

Tears running down his face, Frodo looked desperately at the Ranger.

Aragorn was calmly simmering herbs. He lifted his palms in a gesture of peace and spoke quietly, "No, Frodo, It did not fall into the sands, thanks to your mighty grasp." He smiled at the hobbit, reassured to see colour flushing the pale cheeks. The athelas was surely at work in him already. "It is beside you, safe beneath your mithril shirt." His face turned serious. "I did not touch It, Frodo."

Frodo fumbled through the pile of damp and dirty clothing, his hand closing around the Ring tightly. He heaved a sigh of relief and clutched It to his chest, closing his eyes.

"Thank you, Aragorn," he said, opening his eyes after a moment. "You have saved It, and me, and the Quest yet again. I feared… to fail now would be like throwing away the many sacrifices of the last day. It would be too much to bear!"

Frodo heaved another great sigh, then turned weary eyes to the Ranger. "So, what is our course? Do we travel tonight?" Then, turning and looking about he added, "and where is Sam?"

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The night wore on as Boromir sat guard. He watched the stars slowly trace their paths in the night sky. It wasn't much of a view, looking through the tiny hole, but he was trying to be patient. They were so close to freedom and yet still so far away. He felt bone weary and sleep called to him more and more enticingly, soothingly, urging him to relax, to close his eyes…

A moment later, he was up and pacing quietly to stave off sleep. He really should wake Peregrin for a watch. But looking at the sleeping youngster, rolled in Boromir's own cloak, head cradled, somehow looking even comfortable on a pack, Boromir did not have the heart to wake the lad. 'Let him sleep. I'll need his sharp eyes and hearing tomorrow.'

As he walked about the chamber, peeking into dark crevices and up at still darker ceilings he concentrated on how to move quickly with as much of their gear as could be managed. He set about redistributing their possessions and weapons. This was not an easy task as it meant first divesting Peregrin of his "pillow" and then Gimli of his supports.

He could not help but jostle Gimli. Carefully he helped the dwarf settle back down, lying flat now without the packs and just his cloak folded up under his head. Gimli mumbled and tried to sit up but he was deep in his slumber and was fighting hard to gain consciousness. "Sleep," he told his friend. "It's not yet your watch, Master Dwarf."

Making two packs out of three was short work. He gave Peregrin the bulkiest and lightest things. He threw out some of his own unnecessary items, a few items of clothing, and an old waterskin that had sprung a leak. He debated long and hard about doing the same with the others' possessions. He decided he'd make a pile of what he deemed could be left behind and let them each decide. He made certain he, himself, had not kept anything that was not absolutely essential for survival or completely irreplaceable.

When he laid out the hobbit's things, he found many reminders of "hobbit comfort" as he had heard Aragorn call them. Fluff-and-stuff Faramir would have deemed them. Handkerchiefs, two combs, one small and curved, meant for hobbit feet, and an ordinary one, though Boromir could not recall if he'd ever actually seen Peregrin use a comb that was not thrust upon him by one of his cousins. Soap? He smiled at the luxurious quality of that particular item – scented and blue, paper, ink, wax, quills, the lad's Yule shirt, some underlinen, two letters and a very small journal.

This last was beautifully bound in soft worn brown leather. The pages had been replaced. He did not look inside of course, but it was easy to see that the pages themselves had been rebound and were much newer than the original cover. He turned it over in his hand, marvelling at how tiny it was, smaller than he'd ever be able to use. But then hobbit hands were far daintier than his ever were.

He felt some embossing on the front near the bottom and curiosity got the better of him. He took the small book to the hole through which a meagre amount of light from the night sky shone faintly. It took many minutes to discern it was a name embossed on the cover. His fingers and a faint memory of a conversation about a birthday gift from one cousin to another finally worked the puzzle.

Closing his eyes and licking the tips of his fingers and searching his memory he made out the name of a familiar hobbit. Frodo Baggins. Worry about the Ring and Ring-bearer gripped him suddenly and violently. He dropped the journal as his breath caught in his throat!

May the Ring-bearer and his precious burden be safe! If they were to prise their way from this jail and somehow make it to safety only to find that Frodo had fallen to some evil, then all this would be for nothing!

The tightness in his chest eased nearly as quickly as it came and he sat down slowly, pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms about them. Lying his head down atop his knees, he closed his eyes again. Moments passed. The realisation that he could still hear his two companions breathing easily in sleep filtered through to him.

With his head still on his knees, he opened his eyes and spied the little journal lying on the floor by his feet. Tenderly he picked it up and dusted it off. He strode over to where he'd left the packs and with no hesitation placed the small book back into the hobbit's pack. The ink, papers, wax and the grooming items he left out in a pile for the owner to go through.

The morning was coming. He could smell it. He'd need an hour's sleep before they moved on. Best to wake Peregrin.

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It was a stand-off.

Haldir watched coolly as the woman advanced toward Legolas wielding a broom but stopped five feet away and advanced no further, her eyes constantly flicking from Merry to Legolas, to her husband and back again.

The man blocking their escape was another matter, Haldir locked eyes with the human who tried to jab at him with the pronged tool. Putting as much malice and promise of pain into that stare as he could muster, which was considerable, he slowly, deliberately, unsheathed his hunting knives and watched as the man's eyes faltered and eventually settled on the slow-moving, gleaming knives as they came to rest, slightly crossed, in front of the elf's body.

The human remained mesmerised watching the faint light in the cabin play off their sharpened edges. Haldir lightly tapped the blades together and as the clear sound rang out, the human's eyes flicked back up to meet his. He could clearly read fear within their depths, but frowned as the human widened his stance and narrowed his eyes, 'Stubborn idiot!' Haldir silently cursed, for his intent had been to intimidate the man into backing down without a fight.

Legolas clutched Merry to him as the woman approached swinging a broom at him yet trying to keep a broom's length away from him. Legolas tried in vain to reason with her, hoping against hope that he would be able to reach her and that the humans in this region were not as prejudiced as the ones Orophin had encountered.

"Lady, please accept my apology on behalf of myself and my friend for the intrusion but our time is short, Merry needs aid or his wound…" Legolas' clear voice cut through the deathly silence that had settled over the occupants of the cabin, breaking the standoff.

However, using the diplomatic skill demanded of him in his father's court achieved nothing. It actually seemed to have made matters worse as the woman now started to shout to her husband a warning," Mister Tugman! Cover thy ears, he be trying to cast an evil spell on us'n! Both on they! See as how theys be a'glowing!"

As his mind tried to understand the unfamiliar accent he realised that she thought he was trying to enthral her with his voice. How novel. In other circumstances he would have laughed at such a notion for, even amongst his kind, such a gift was rare and indeed, both his and Haldir's inner light had grown a little brighter in their agitation. "No, you misunderstand, we mean you no harm."

"No harm!" She spat, "A' sneaking into honest folks' homes like thieves in the dead of night and stealing away ourn little un! What kind of pointy-eared devils do thee be?"

"For the intrusion I have already apologised, but you are mistaken if you think my friend here is a child, he is a hobbit from the Shire," As her lips thinned and her brows drew closer together in a clear show of disbelief Legolas shifted Merry's weight to his left arm and fumbled with his blanket until a hair-covered, thick-soled foot poked out. "You see, he is not human Lady, but a halfling, for though to you or I he looks like a child, he has already seen thirty-six summers and is deemed an adult by his people."

"Oi'll grant you that his feet be strange and over-hairy but Oi've seen lads grow and sometimes some parts o' they reach manhood afore the rest of they, but in time the rest on theys bodies catch up! Oi'll not believe thy wicked lies!" She finished, taking a half-step towards him.

"What of his ears then?" A hint of annoyance crept into his voice. "How do you explain away those? Are they not more similar in shape to my own than to yours?" At her baffled expression he flipped the edge of the blanket back over Merry's foot and turned so that Merry's head was closer to her and brushed back the thick curls to reveal one distinctly pointed ear, different from the elves, yet definitely not human.

She gasped and raised a hand to her lips, shaking her head in denial as the evidence of Merry's heritage glared out at her, softly illuminated by Legolas' own glowing hand which remained tangled in Merry's locks.

Merry moved restlessly against Legolas' chest and whimpered in distress. The situation was clearly unsettling him and Legolas would not see him distressed further. He backed up until his shoulders touched Haldir's broad ones and slipped back into Elvish, "We cannot linger here, it is distressing Merry, but I do not wish to harm them, they mean well".

Haldir ground his teeth further at the soft-hearted prince "Mean well indeed!" Just as he was about to reply the woman lunged toward Legolas in a desperate bid to dislodge Merry.

Legolas stepped lightly away and to the side, allowing her own momentum to propel her past him, before he neatly twisted the broom from her grasp with one hand. She landed heavily on her bottom and paled as she grasped around the floor in front of her blindly for the broom, too scared to look anywhere but at Legolas before realising that he now held her only weapon.

Legolas felt a pang of regret as he watched the woman scratch around for her pathetic weapon; her fear perfumed the air yet the determination to 'rescue' Merry still remained. He had not meant to let her fall but with broom in one hand and an arm full of Merry occupying the other he was out of limbs.

He placed the broom against the wall nearest to him and offered her his hand. This seemed to puzzle her as her brows drew together in confusion, a clear question in her eyes. He smiled at her and placed a soft kiss on Merry's crown hoping she would understand that they both had common purpose and that he meant neither Merry nor her harm.

Legolas watched as her hand twitched and began to move hesitantly but the gesture was never completed as her husband's outraged cry at his wife's treatment moved him to action.

'Mister Tugman', locked eyes with the Marchwarden and swung the pikestaff viciously from side to side hoping to slash the silver-haired elf's chest wide open, but Haldir easily evaded such an obvious and slow manoeuvre, anger turning his winter-blue orbs violet as a simple task had been made impossibly difficult by the prince's soft heart. Had he his own way he would have overpowered and bound the both of them and be done with it!

In a flash of movement, too quick for the human eye to follow, Haldir's blades sliced through the air before being drawn back. He watched as the human stopped his advance when the metal head of his implement clattered noisily to the wooden floor and lay between them. The man looked incredulously from his now headless pikestaff to Haldir and the Marchwarden was satisfied when the man took several steps back, his thin frame trembling in the moonlit doorway.

"How dare thee treat us'n like this, this be our home and thee have no rights here, leave the babe and get out!" His voice gruff as fear constricted his throat like an invisible hand.

Haldir was through with diplomacy and it showed, as with feline grace he stalked the short distance to the man until mere feet separated them, "No Human! This wood is my home, and has been my people's home for longer than your feeble mind can ever imagine!" He looked over the man's shoulder and smiled dangerously.

At that moment, as the human stared fearfully back at the smiling elf, he felt something sharp prod him on the shoulder and whirled round to find himself staring at two more of the ethereal demons, bows nocked and arrows trained on him.

"Legolas!" Haldir called over his shoulder but continued to speak in Westron, "Enough, I tire of this folly, humans in these parts are as ignorant and misguided as I have said, their heads are full of nothing but old wives' tales and gossip. Now we are leaving!"

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After a good stretch, a drink of water and more of the everlasting apple rings, Pippin went through the oddments that Boromir had suggested might lighten the load a bit. He kept his Yule shirt his mother had made for him, and the two letters, one of which was from his mother, the last she had sent to him at Brandy Hall before the start of this journey of which his family had known nothing, full of the news of Tuckborough, the Smials and the family. It was a lifeline to his home, as much as Merry and Frodo and Sam were, and contained bits and pieces of news about plans for the Harvest Fest that would have been held the day that the hobbits and Strider left Bree, some questions about Pippin's 28th birthday party that would have taken place a little over a fortnight later, a mention of his father's joint-ache, a description of the new shawl she was making for Briony for Yule, how a very pregnant Pearl was getting along, and snippets about Vinca and Pimmie.

The second letter was quite different. Only Merry and Sam knew about it, as Pippin didn't want to worry Frodo any more than he was already worried. It was a letter of love and good-bye to his family, in case he didn't return from this adventure. He didn't go into specifics of course, in case the letter fell into the wrong hands, but he reasoned that what he was unable to write for safety sake would be explained by whoever had survived to deliver the letter. Unless he ended up dying away from his kin, in a place such as he was in now. He hadn't ever really thought of that. He sighed, and remembered his dream about Merry. He would be reunited with him soon, he could feel it. He would get out of here, and so would Boromir and Gimli. They would find the others, heal their wounds, and finish the Quest, and then go home.

Everything else, underlinen, soap, ink, quills, wax, a comb and his handkerchiefs, went into Boromir's pile of unnecessary items that could be left behind. Pippin smiled when he added the handkerchiefs to the pile... he was quite certain Sam would have more. Sam always had handkerchiefs on hand for Cousin Frodo and where he came up with them was a mystery that had delighted all of the cousins for years. The foot comb Pippin considered for a moment with shining eyes, then put into his pocket. It had been a gift from Merry and he couldn't bear to part with it.

That done, Pippin paced the chamber, listened to his companions snoring, and awaited the dawn and freedom.

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"Right here, Mr Frodo!" The blanket still pulled tightly around his dripping form, Sam bustled up, his sharp grey eyes taking in his washed and just-awakened master, and the evidence of tears still on his face. "What's wrong? Are you all right?" If that Man had hurt Frodo … heir of Kings or not, Sam was going to give him the sharp edge of his tongue and no mistake.

"I'm all right Sam," Frodo managed a sad smile at the other's proprietary anxiety, "I'm just tired."

Still trying to understand what could have happened that would cause Frodo to weep Sam knelt before him and looked into his eyes not liking the distress he saw there. Most likely worry and grief for his two younger cousins, but it wouldn't do to say so. "Mr Frodo? You do look somewhat cold. How 'bout I build up the fire?"

"You better had," Frodo noticed for the first time how wet Sam was, "Why Sam, you're soaked through, you'll catch your death of…" Frodo trailed off. The casual euphemism suddenly struck Frodo deeply. Death had been doled out in no uncertain measures this day. "I'm sorry, Sam, yes it's cold. If Aragorn thinks it safe, a bigger fire would be welcome."

"Here let me," Aragorn joined Sam adding more wood, grateful himself for the warmth. "We all need a little warmth before we can continue."

Sam shivered, that stream had been powerful cold, but he was expecting both Frodo and Strider to be even colder. Hadn't Aragorn told his master that he had fallen asleep on guard? Wasn't he going to? Caught between his need to confess his unforgivable lapse and praying Frodo never found out, Sam was nearly torn in two.

He dared a look into the Ranger's eyes. He hadn't told Frodo; Sam could see it in the gentle understanding of the Man's gaze. In spite of what might have happened, it seemed that Aragorn had forgiven him. But could Sam forgive himself?

Only by doing what he always did, what the Gaffer had taught him was the only resolution to failure. Work harder. Ignoring his exhaustion, he looked over the crackling flames at his master. "You're going to need them clothes, Mr Frodo. I'll give them an' your pack a quick wash back at the stream. Mr Aragorn's pulled out some clean things for you, I see." Then he dared to raise his eyes to the Man's. "Thank you, sir," he said softly. Lurching gracelessly to his feet, Sam bent to gather up the pile of filthy things. He wasn't going to fail Frodo again.

Frodo held out a hand, trying to stay Sam's movements. "No, Sam, wait. You look exhausted – leave them, please. Aragorn," he turned to the man, "you haven't answered my question. Before Sam starts arguing with me about washing those clothes, tell me if we travel further today, and to where."

The Ranger looked from one Hobbit to another, and a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Would that he had an army of men with such brave hearts and tenacious wills as these little folk possessed! He cast his eyes about, taking in the setting sun, the overhanging trees; listening, and hearing no sound other than the rustlings of small animals and birds.

"We will go no further tonight. Sam, you need tending. We are weary, hurt and grieved, we must take some food, and I believe we are safe from Gollum, at least for a little time." He smiled reassuringly at them, sparing an extra nod of approval to Sam, as he could see that the younger hobbit was clouded in guilt.

"I have prepared a poultice for your wounds with the remaining Glaslichen. I will take Frodo's pack and clothes," he raised a hand to forestall Sam's argument, "and my bow in hope of getting something for supper which will lend us strength."

He looked grimly at the dripping gardener. "Your assignment, Samwise, is to bathe all of your hurts in the remaining athelas water." He gestured towards the largest pot, set next to the fire. "Frodo has already been bathed. Then, I want each of you to apply this poultice to every cut and scratch you can find. Help one another, that you might miss no wound, no matter how small. Orc blades are often poisoned."

The Ranger stood, picking up his bow, quiver, and the bundle from beside Frodo. As an afterthought, he scooped up the waterskins that were empty, as well.

"I will be back before sun sets," he assured them, "If I do not find game quickly, we will make do with what is in our packs."

He touched each hobbit briefly on the tops of their curly heads, then turned once more for the stream.

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Gimli woke to the smell of apples, and the warmth of a small body sitting next to him. "My dear Peregrin," he murmured, voice clogged with sleep. "Did your cousins not teach you to share?"

Pippin beamed at him in the grey light, and handed him a grubby ring of dried apple. Then he put his fingers to his lips with one hand and pointed with the other. Gimli saw that Boromir was asleep, and Pippin thus on watch. Dawn must be upon them, he thought, chewing contentedly. They had survived another night.

Gimli felt rested and, although his leg ached miserably, it was a dull throb and not the sharp spikes of pain that had stabbed each movement the previous day. Pippin and Boromir's makeshift splint worked well.

He twisted around, mentally reviewing where they were. Not too far from the small door that would lead them out of this cursed hole. Gimli was ashamed of his feelings; many kinsmen had died here, struggling to re-open the mines of Khazad-dûm; he honoured them and their effort, but he longed desperately to escape the tomb it had become.

"We must go," he said at last, and cleared his throat. Boromir jerked awake, blinking in the dim light. "Come, my children," Gimli said firmly. "Help this dwarf to his feet and let us leave. I am tired of skulking in the shadows; outside, day is breaking. I will see this dawn or die."

He turned to Pippin. "You, Master Hobbit, will listen to me for once. No matter what happens, you do not stop. If we encounter the enemy and I should stumble, or Boromir or I should fall, you run. Hobbits are quick and sure-footed; flee to the forest and seek what help you may find there."

"You're not going to fall Gimli," Pippin stood up dusting his grubby hands together as if that might help to clean them. "Nor is Boromir – are you?" Pippin frowned as if the idea had only just occurred to him that the great warrior might be vulnerable to such things.

"Now listen, young Peregrin, your cousins need you more than either of us do." Gimli looked at Boromir, who slowly nodded. "So if by chance I do stumble while we are under attack, and you do return, then the last thing I do will be to send you on your way with a clout round the ear. Do you understand me, youngster?" He finished with a growl.

Pippin stared wide-eyed, "Erm, yes Gimli, if you say so." For once Pippin was too surprised to argue but nodded obediently.

"Very well. Man of Gondor," Gimli announced, "get me out of here."

Boromir stood, stretched, and smiled. Pippin picked up his small pack and braced himself, as if readying for a sprint. Gimli studied his two companions and smiled deep in his beard. Then Boromir slung his arm around Gimli's back and reached around his chest, gripping him firmly, making the Dwarf feel simultaneously safe and ridiculous.

Pippin darted ahead of them, silent as only a hobbit can be. "Pippin!" Gimli whispered, and the hobbit twisted back, eyes bright. "The door is just around the corner. Pay close heed to your surroundings; you are small, but not so small to be beneath an orc's notice. The door will feel smooth, and is rounded at the top and carved cunningly into the stone; you will have to hunt for it as it is not made to be seen by the casual eye."

"I think I may have found it last night, by touch. But doesn't it need starlight?" Pippin asked, "Like at the entrance? Gandalf said…"

"No," Gimli interrupted forestalling Pippin's thoughts running in that direction, "it does not require starlight to be seen; what starlight would reach us here? But the path will run directly to it. Walk wisely, stay alert, and when you reach the door, touch it lightly. You will feel the seam before you can see it. Trace it up, above your head, until you feel lettering. Press there, as hard as you can; lean your entire bodyweight into it."

Boromir tugged at Gimli, and they both exhaled heavily as they began to shuffle towards freedom. They made far more noise than Gimli was comfortable with, and he deliberately slowed their progress to give Pippin plenty of time to find the opening mechanism and escape in case their progress was overheard.

They turned the final corner, Gimli gasping, the pain in his leg more shocking with every step, even though Boromir kept most of the weight off it. He felt sweat soak into his beard and clothing, and clung unashamedly to the Man's arms. Ahead of them, Pippin was at the end of the path, staring at the wall blocking their exit. It truly looked impassable. As Gimli watched, Pippin reached out and gently patted the stone, then began sliding his small fingers over and above his head. Gimli saw when he found the seam; his little body jerked to attention and he rose on his toes, pushing his hands up as high as he could reach. Then Pippin leaned forward, arching his back and pushing so hard his feet skidded backwards. Was he too small and slight to engage the hidden latch?

Abruptly, Pippin fell outwards onto his face, as misty morning light spilled into Khazad-Dûm. Boromir took an enormous breath and practically pulled Gimli off his feet, hastening them both towards the fresh air.

At last, they were outside the Mines of Moria.

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To Be Continued

Author Notes

Hello loyal readers and reviewers, Pippin in the Chair this chapter, with a little help from my big cousin Merry (when he can rouse himself from warm milk and sleeping!)

Hope you enjoyed this chapter and, if you are reading it over the Yuletide, hope you have a peaceful and pleasant holiday with your kith and kin and certainly a less stressful time than our poor Fellowship are having right now.

So without further ado – on to your comments and our humble observations.

Klnolan: This story is cool so please, please up date it soon. PLEASE. PLEASE.PLEASE.
Merry: No need to yell – oh, or perhaps there is. Sorry for the delay but the next chapter will be along shortly!

Lily: Oh, Merry, stop causing so many problems!
Merry: I'm not causing problems – I having them caused for me! I'm actually a victim of my own popularity – elves want me, Tugmans want me, Pip wants me! Who will be the lucky winner?
Lily- It seems as if when something even REMOTELY promising or good happens, something, or SOMEONE "cough" Gimli, Legolas, Frodo, Gollum, Tugman "cough" messes it up again.
Pippin – Well done not mentioning my name there! As everyone knows, I never mess up anything…well, there was that incident with the stone down the well…

txmedic37 :I can't wait to see how all the threads come together.
Merry: That is assuming that they do.

melilot hill - I really love this story and think Llinos is doing a wonderful job turning a rp into such a great story!
Pippin – She is, isn't she?

Hyperactive Forever: Legolas and Haldir, I have two words for you: RUN FAST! Merry and Pippin, reunited in dreams...how CUTE! and Gimli thinks Boromir is like Merry, lololololol! No Rumil or Orophin this chapter, please put them back soon! THEY'RE THE BESTEST! Second ONLY to Elladan and Elrohir! On the hobbit side of the spectrum, PIPPIN! he's so CUTE when he's tired!
Pippin – I am cute ALL of the time! And brave, and cheerful, and modest…Merry: I'm cute too! Especially when I'm all helpless and hurted.
Hyperactive Forever: Frodo, getting a little egotistical there, hm?
Merry: Nothing new to see here – move along please.

Mae Ari: Oh, wow. This story is so addicting. I love stories that a lot of plotlines going through it at once, and your characterizations of all the characters are so wonderful. It's both original and unique, yet with the taste of Tolkien. )
Pippin – Thank you for the wonderful compliments!
Mae Ari: I hope things get sorted out with Merry.
Merry: I'm afraid things are going from bad to worse with me – please keep nagging the authors to take better care of me.

Maripo5a: Sorry Frodo didn't have too much to do in this one. Aragorn, you bathed?!? Notes date on calendar Pippin--ah, c'mere Pip, you fabulous hobbit you. hugs Pip (snip) Merry--just rest, dearest.
Merry: Frodo is a lazy so-and-so and Aragorn was a tad smelly. I'd appreciate you not hugging Pip as that is my prerogative, but I shall take the rest of your advice and have a forty winks.

anonymous: I love this story so much as it is just absolutely brilliant!
We loves it precious and wants more of it!
Pippin – Gollum? Is that you?
anonymous: Merry and Pippin need to see each other again!!
Merry: Yes I need to see Pippin again – if you see him first will you tell him I miss him? Thanks

domstygerr - Pippin my brave lad, you are the star of this story!!
Pippin – I am just one star in a constellation of eight, but I am sending you a big hug anyway : )
domstygerr: As for the writers, you are the best around, keep it up. Llinos, you are the MOST MAGNIFICENT as Knitted Merry would say, LOVE YOU :)
Pippin – On behalf of the writers, thank you! And Llinos IS a most magnificent editor, is she not?
Merry: I'm not sure that KM would think Llinos to be Magnificent – only he is allowed that title!

SirNotAppearingInThisFilm: I like Pippin!! He's awesome in this story! :) UPDATE OR FACE MY WRATH! ;)
Pippin – Just in this story? I am glad that you like it, and there will be another update very soon!

pipinheart: Pippin seems a big help, and may have grown up a little in this little adventure...
Pippin – No, really I am just shamming at being grown up out of necessity, and I plan to go back to being an irresponsible tween just as soon as I have the opportunity.

storyfish: And the plot thickens...
Pippin – If it gets any thicker I may just turn around and go home!
storyfish: Also, Boromir-Pippin-&-Gimli found starlight, moonlight, fresh air!
Pippin – Yay especially to the fresh air. It's unfortunate, but dwarves don't bathe much more often than Rangers. It' was a bit close in the Mines.
storyfish: The Tugmans are adorable, even if they are a little misguided. I hope Legolas goes easy on the would-be adoptive parents of our poor injured Merry.
Merry: I don't know, I'm quite enjoying being babied, warm milk, opium and a large bosom – what more could an injured hobbit ask?

lindahoyland - full of the unexpected, Aragorn has a bath…
Pippin - And he washed his hair!
lindahoyland - I liked how brave, Pippin ,Boromir and Gimli were. Very exciting.
Pippin - It was exciting wasn't it? I think that Boromir and Gimli might have been a bit frightened though.

girlofring1 - oh bugger another chapter to wait before poor Frodo gets his warm bath, and injuries tended to?
Pippin – And he slept right through the whole thing. Though if Aragorn were giving me a bath I think that I would prefer not to know about it either.

Ice Ember - I just wanted to let y'all know that you make my day whenever you update.
Pippin - And you make our day whenever you review! Thank you!

Earelwen - I am officially hooked on this story! I need you to update soon!
Pippin – Watch for another chapter very soon!

Nayana Baggins - Just to let you know, I think Boromir's hot! "smiles seductively"
Pippin – Do you think he is? I found it to be very cold in the Mines myself. "winks".

Mystarri - The Tugmans, I am sure, mean well, but I do wish they would just give elves a chance!
Pippin – They are obviously not so worldly as I am. Probably haven't travelled and rubbed elbows with lots of different cultures. I recommend travel, it's very broadening (for the mind and the waist!).

Stefanie Dale - I adore how each character is getting a chance to shine out his strengths. Pippin gets to prove that yes, he is in fact competent.
Pippin – Cousin Merry was – I mean is (I hope) a very good role model.
Stefanie Dale - The only mistakes I noted were that there were some instances of dropped commas. Or maybe my grammar's bad, and there's nothing wrong. Either way. Trying to make this "well rounded critique,"
Pippin - Thank you for caring enough to write a "well rounded critique." However in the modern day Shire, the home of our devoted editor, the punctuation is correct. Modern day Shirefolk use a minimum of punctuation-thingees such as commas, far fewer than Americans – not wrong – just different.
Stefanie Dale - I absolutely love this, which is only sad, because I'm ADORING Boromir, but I know his fate.
Pippin – Do you? Is it good? Does he return in glory to Minas Tirith, because I know that he would like that.