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!

12. Guilt and Care

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 12 – Guilt and Care

Frodo finally slipped the chain back around his neck and let go of the Ring, first tucking it into his tunic. Then he turned to look at a forlorn Sam and smiled kindly. "Come on, Sam," he said. "We have orders to follow."

Gently, he coaxed Sam into tugging off some of his drenched clothes and washing with the hot, athelas-infused water. The herb's scent cleared both hobbits' heads and eased their weariness and hurts a little. Then, Frodo took the poultice and began a careful examination and treatment of his friend. Sam's stocky body bore many bruises, scrapes and cuts, as well as the gash on his forehead, and Frodo's brow wrinkled with concern as he applied the poultice liberally. "That's a really nasty wound you took here Sam," he clucked, dabbing at the gash.

"Nowt worse'n I deserve," Sam muttered sullenly. Throughout the bathing process, Sam had been silent and morose, daring only quick, guilty looks at his master. Now this self-deprecating remark confirmed to Frodo that Sam was upset about something.

When it became apparent that Sam would not speak his mind, Frodo prodded him. "Come, Sam, will you not tell me what troubles you? It is clear something does, and you never keep secrets from me. Do not do so now! Tell me what is wrong," he implored.

Sam should have known he couldn't hide anything from his master. Those brilliant blue eyes could look into him and see right through to the back of his skull. Or the empty space between his ears, he thought despondently. But the truth of his crime stuck between his teeth.

The sweet steam of the athelas-water cleared his head; the gash on his forehead no longer burned quite so fiercely and his thoughts were clearer. He had not protested when Frodo had examined him and then used his own hands to treat his hurts and apply the healing poultices. He knew that Frodo cared more for him than the impropriety of a master caring for his servant. He had known Frodo since he was nine and his master had come to live with old Mr Bilbo, and had met him even before that when the young master had visited.

On one of those early visits, the gaffer had brought Sam along to weed the strawberry beds while he discussed the root-plantings with Mr Bilbo. "Them strawberries belong to the master, Sam," his da had warned the child. "You keep your fingers on the weeds an' your mind on your work." Sam had meant to obey, truly. But surely the master wouldn't miss one or two of the plump red berries, so clean and shining on their nests of straw. Mr Bilbo adhered to the traditional way of growing strawberries – the plants sat above the nurturing ground on beds of sweet, fragrant straw and never touched the earth. Somehow one strawberry or two became ten, then twenty. Pull a few weeds, eat a strawberry. Before Sam quite knew what had happened, he'd eaten almost an entire bed. Small hands groped for another strawberry and did not find one. Sam looked over at the bed in puzzlement. But for one, they were gone. Sam froze, disbelief and burgeoning terror in his grey eyes. It was impossible. How had that happened?

"Hullo, Sam. Is something wrong?" Sam had whirled at the gentle voice, his heart in his throat. The young master stood there, just come from Buckland to visit his uncle. Seeing the child's terrified expression, Frodo had sunk to one knee to look into his eyes.

Choking, Sam had blurted out his crime then burst into tears. Instead of scolding him or giving him the wallop he deserved, the almost-tweenager had laughed quietly and used the fine linen of his shirt cuffs to dry Sam's eyes. He picked the single remaining strawberry and regarded it. Then he had put a hand on the child's shoulder and steered Sam back to his father. Sam's gaffer and the master were in deep discussion of the planting of the 'tater beds, greying heads close together in serious conversation. "Bilbo," Frodo had said casually, "is it all right if Sam and I eat the strawberries?" He deliberately pulled out the single surviving strawberry and ate it. The gaffer had turned around and seen the signs of tears and red fruit stains on his son, and his work-worn, honest face had flushed with anger. Sam had pressed back against Frodo, trembling.

But Bilbo had more important things on his mind. "Eat them all, lads. Now, Master Hamfast, what were you saying about 'tater-bugs?'" Drawing his gardener back to the matter at hand, the old hobbit had waved a negligent hand at them and added they could have the gooseberries, too, if they wanted. Frodo had nodded easily and guided Sam around the corner of the smial. Then he had collapsed back against the cool grass and laughed at Sam's expression. "Let that be a lesson to you, young Samwise," Frodo had said with a grin. "Things aren't always as terrible as you make them out to be. Most of the time, they aren't terrible at all." 'Aren't terrible at all,' Sam thought. That was so many years ago...

This was different, though. This wasn't an innocent mistake. What if that Gollum-creature had come back? Or orcs? He had been entrusted with Frodo's life and safety – and indirectly, with the hope of Middle-earth because of what his master carried – and he had gone to sleep on watch. That nothing had happened did not make his crime any less.

Sam swallowed against a painfully dry throat. He could not meet those deep bluebell coloured eyes; instead he stared at the dark curling hair on Frodo's feet. "When you were sleeping, sir…" He gulped, tears threatening anew. He was profoundly glad that Aragorn had returned to the stream. Then he forced his eyes up and confessed, "I went to sleep. When you were sleeping an' Strider'd gone to get the water. I went to sleep, Mr Frodo, an' left you alone."

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"UP! Up and be swift!" Boromir whispered fiercely to the prostrate hobbit. Though Boromir longed to shout in wild abandon, all his senses screamed at him to be as silent as he could. He noted the dwarf intently scanning the horizon as Peregrin practically bounced to his feet with the pack already gathered up and secured.

Boromir let go of his charge to lean down and quietly speak into Peregrin's ear. "Use that uncanny hobbit hearing, lad, and tell us if you hear anything amiss!" Even as he spoke, he noted Gimli swivelling as best he could to check their backs, making sure no one followed.

The door swung closed behind them, once more vanishing into the face of the rock until such time as dwarf or wizard should need it again.

With no time to breathe deep or to stop and stare at the wonder of the new dawn or the miraculous hidden door, Boromir gathered up his energy, gave a gentle shove to the hobbit to move him along and wrapped his arm about the dwarf, this time not allowing Gimli to even begin putting any weight on the broken leg. He'd clout the dwarf if he so much as protested but to his sheer amazement and utter relief, the sturdy warrior allowed himself to be manhandled at a fast pace down the faint trail to the freedom they all so sorely craved.

Pippin hurried on, almost unable to believe that they were outside! They were outside those horrible Mines that stunk of orcs and death and misery and evil memory, and he was breathing clean, fresh air once more. He could feel the dew on his face from his unexpected topple forward into the grass, and was glad of it for hopefully his companions could not then see his weakness; tears of joy were running down his face and, were it not for the danger, he would have laughed aloud and danced in the cool grass under the dawning sun!

They walked, or in Gimli and Boromir's case, staggered on, for a couple of hours without a rest, not speaking, even in a whisper, for fear of some spy marking their escape. They came across a stream and followed it down into the gentle foothills that led from the mountains, making sure to stay far enough from its banks to leave no marks.

Gimli's leg spiked with pain at each step, no matter that Boromir was carrying half the dwarf's considerable weight for him, but they were outside, in the sweet morning air, and he'd gladly bear any pain to escape. Gimli watched from the corner of his eye as Pippin darted to and fro like an enthusiastic puppy. He dashed ahead of them, pack flopping on his back with each springing step. Where did the lad find such energy after all he'd been through?

When they came to a rocky area where he would not leave prints in the mud, Pippin wordlessly gathered the water skins and filled them, took them back to Gimli and Boromir and waited, keeping watch as they drained them, then went back again to the stream and refilled them, drinking his own fill, and quickly washing his face and arms. Gimli was glad enough to lean against the trunk of a sturdy tree, and Boromir to rest from their friend's weight for a time, so Pippin sat and paddled his sore feet and legs. His legs and arms were burning dreadfully from the scrapes he had got crawling through the small vent to do his part in opening the passage door and the cooling water was a blessed relief – all they needed now was some real food, and to find the others Pippin thought wistfully.

Gimli watched as the hobbit paddled his furry feet in the water, smiling to himself, perhaps at some memory of his cousins larking together. Knowing hobbits somewhat now, Gimli had no doubt that Pippin carried such memories with him, and would draw upon them to lighten his heart in such dark times.

The Sun had moved well into the West when they next stopped. The stream had joined a larger, noisier river, one that sang more sweetly than any dwarf maiden, perhaps as sweetly as an elf maiden and Gimli remembered with a pang his friend Legolas. Where was he now? Was Merry still alive? Were all of the other members of the Fellowship together, or had they been separated as Boromir, Pippin, and Gimli had been?

T'was an ill day that turned their road to Moria, Gimli thought sadly. He closed his eyes, and the world seemed to tip, as if to meet the sinking Sun. "My friend, you must rest," he heard someone say, and the smell of sweet fresh grass rose around him, cool on his sweating skin. "Gimli, Gimli," he thought he heard Pippin call from far away.

"Yes my lad," he murmured. "I'll be right behind you." His head rested on a hard lumpy object that smelt strongly of sweat and apples, and a small cool hand pressed against his face.

"Ridiculous dwarf," he heard someone mutter, and then he slept.

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Frodo looked into Sam's aggrieved eyes and felt a great surge of love for this most loyal of hobbits. He did not know what he had done in his life to deserve the loyalty and faithfulness that Sam pledged freely to him, but at that moment, following a day of horrific losses, he was more grateful than he could express.

"Of course you did, Sam," he said gently. "How could you not? You are no less exhausted than I, and you are injured as well. Gandalf told me that there are other things at work in the world besides evil. Sometimes we just must trust to them to watch out for us. It would seem they have, for no evil befell us while we slept. I do not find fault with you, and furthermore, I am ordering you not to find fault with yourself, or use any of your gaffer's harsh words. Not against my dear Samwise. Now," in a manner that showed he clearly considered the matter settled, Frodo handed Sam the poultice Aragorn had prepared, "I believe Aragorn wants this applied to me, as well."

Sam took the poultice from his master automatically, hands moving while his mind struggled to accept Frodo's words. Too gentle, his master; Sam had always known it. Too easy to trust and too easy to forgive. Just this once, though, Sam couldn't hold it in his heart to regret his master's single flaw.

"Yes, sir," he said softly. The pains of his body had eased with the warm, glaslichen-infused poultice, and as Sam let go of his self-condemnation, he found his headache also easing. He had never disobeyed a direct request from Mr Frodo in his life, and if Frodo ordered him not to fault himself, Sam wouldn't. But Mr Frodo hadn't ordered him not to make up for his perceived crime, and Sam still had full intentions to do that.

"Now you just relax, sir," Sam fussed, unaware of the comfort that he was taking in old, familiar patterns. "I'm fine, I am, and I thank you for your care. But it's my turn now and you're not 'ta move."

"All right Sam, I'll behave for you." Frodo gave an exaggerated sigh and sat back.

Samwise had been inspecting Aragorn's poultice while speaking, and had surreptitiously slipped in more of the glaslichen moss he had gathered into the mesh. The plant was somewhat wilted but should still contain its healing virtue. Not listening to his own murmured scoldings and reassurances, he carefully removed the padding Aragorn had bound around Frodo's chest and applied the poultice against the ravaged skin with strips of linen. The bruise where he had taken the spear-point was black and blood-filled, and the look of it filled Sam's heart with fear. The links of Mr Bilbo's mithril-shirt had been driven into Frodo's fair skin and the blood looked like poppies on a field of snow. 'He must be hurting something awful,' Sam thought, his heart wrung, 'but he don't show it.'

"There!" Sam exclaimed briskly, tying off the last of the bandages, hoping they weren't too tight. He stowed the rest of the linens and sat down by Frodo, trying to hide the surge of weariness. They needed to rest, to sleep for more than a few moments, all of them. Perhaps after dinner. His body following his mind, Sam's stomach suddenly let out a loud rumble and the hobbit's round face pinked. "Excuse me," he murmured, "but I wish Mr Strider would come back with some game for my cookpot."

Frodo began to laugh, but then a stabbing pain in his side stilled him. Instead, he chuckled, careful not to move his ribcage as he did so.

"Me, too, Sam," he said. "I cannot even remember when we last ate. Where is Aragorn, anyway?"

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For a good quarter of an hour the three of them stayed where they were, Gimli unconscious with his head resting on Boromir's thigh. Pippin flopped down next to them, after feeling Gimli's cheek for fever and finding none. He curled up like a kitten alongside Boromir's sheltering frame and seemed to find sleep immediately judging by the soft purring snores that followed.

Their rest was not to last long however. Suddenly a cacophony of howls and thrashing broke out in the undergrowth and trees on the side facing the mountains. Gimli did not wake but Boromir and Pippin were on their feet, weapons drawn, back-to-back in the space of a breath. "Orcs!" Pippin spat, the first thought to cross his mind, "and it isn't even dark yet!"

But it was not orcs. Suddenly bursting from cover and bounding towards them came a magnificent stag, clearly racing in fear of its very life. The stag was almost upon them before it noticed their presence and swerved at the very last second, its hooves nearly clipping Pippin's head as it fled in the direction that the three survivors had come from.

Then came fearful howling and Pippin could do nothing but continue to stand fast with Boromir, guarding their unconscious companion, for out of the high grass, in pursuit of the stag, came a small pack of very large wolves! Six, seven, no eight of them, and all at least as tall as Pippin himself! Not so many as had attacked them the night after they had come down from Caradhras, but then there weren't as many of them to fight them off either. Still, Pippin stood resolutely facing the onrushing pack, a sword in each hand. But apparently the wolves were interested in better tasting prey for after a quick surprised feint and lunge and snapping of great teeth, they swerved to avoid these odd, ill favoured creatures on two legs and kept on in their pursuit of the ill-fated stag.

When he could breathe again Pippin gave a great sigh. "Well, that was lucky. I am sorry for the stag but I have to say I hope that the wolves catch the poor thing. If they have their fill of venison, they aren't likely to come back tonight looking for some hobbit to fill up the corners!"

"Hopefully they've confused our trail enough so that no orcs can track us," Boromir agreed wholeheartedly. "A poor ending for the beast, but a happy chance for us. Now we must further cover our tracks and find a more secure place to rest for the night."

They entered the trees at the point where the stag and pack had come bursting out. Boromir carried Gimli on his back, the dwarf's arms drawn around the man's neck and held firmly, with his feet dangling from the ground. It looked most uncomfortable, thought Pippin, but he put the thought from his mind, just glad that Gimli was at least unaware of the indignity.

Not wanting to stray too far from the watercourse they were following they halted in a deep dell where overhanging roots gave them some shelter.

Boromir thought long and hard about pressing on further into the deep of the dark wood but when Peregrin had stumbled yet again in the growing twilight, this last time taking more than just a few seconds to catch his breath before struggling up, the man decided they would halt for the night. In truth Pippin could not have gone on much farther. The past days of pain, weariness, worry, and fear were finally taking their toll.

Gimli woke when they stopped, and Peregrin rummaged through the packs for some bits of food and refilled the water skins. "We had quite a fright while you were asleep Gimli," the hobbit remarked in a conversational tone. "A pack of wolves no less!"

Gimli spluttered on the water he had been swigging, "For Aulë's Sake! And ye did nae even wake me!"

Pippin was so taken aback it turned the hobbit's head from the task of setting out food. "Don't worry, I'll tell you all about it over dinner – such as it is." Ever delighting in telling a story, Peregrin related the whole episode to Gimli while they ate their meagre supper. The tale was beginning to take on an air of a grand chronicle.

Boromir shook his head in wonder. "Hobbits have an amazing knack for story telling, Master Peregrin," Boromir smiled at the suspense and casual humour the little one wove into the yarn. "Even though I was there I would never be able to recite the details. But you are right, it was bizarre to see such a diminutive creature brandishing two swords while facing down more than a half dozen wolves each as tall as a hobbit." Boromir chuckled. This tale would grow with every retelling, no doubt about it. And it would still be true, the words just more cleverly woven with each telling. No wonder it was so easy to fall under the hobbit's spell.

Meagre dinner and extravagant story time over, Boromir insisted upon checking Pippin's arms and legs. The hobbit had hoped that no one would notice, but scabs were beginning to form and he was hurting and sore.

Boromir suspected most of Peregrin's complaints throughout their journey about not having enough food were legitimate. The hobbit had lost weight. On one so small, half a stone was a significant part of his weight and Pippin had been thin for a hobbit at the start of their journey. His legs were a mess of scrapes, scabs, bruises and blood. One cut in particular looked nasty. It was bleeding slightly where Peregrin had tried unsuccessfully to clean it himself.

"Come here lad, let me check that gash on your knee. Did you do that the last time you stumbled or was it from that wolf's teeth as he grazed by you? I don't think that brute has a taste for hobbit else he would have remained and finished the meal, even if his companions had run off after the stag and left him." Boromir motioned for Peregrin to join him on the ground next to him and Gimli.

"Boromir, the only time I stumbled would be to trip over your great feet and wolves do indeed find hobbit delicious," Pippin put his hands on his hips feigning indignation, "the beast was scared off by my ferocity!

Gimli automatically reached for the waterskin and handed it to Boromir with no more comment than a wry smile.

After a brief inspection everything was deemed to be only superficial. Boromir set to cleaning the worst of it. He noted out loud mostly for the benefit of the lad, that it looked as if he had slid down a rock wall on his knees and elbows and then swum through a mud puddle. The knee seemed to be the worst. The wound wasn't deep but it was raw and it probably hurt something fierce by the look on the hobbit's screwed up face.

Pippin winced with pain as Boromir dabbed first at his knees, which started bleeding freely again despite the man's gentleness, and to his embarrassment couldn't quite keep from crying though the man and dwarf kindly pretended they didn't notice. He was just so tired and it did hurt so very much.

Boromir moved to Pippin's arms and elbows and those hurt even worse, as he had used them to pull himself along in the tiny opening. As he stifled a sob, Pippin suddenly felt himself enveloped by a wave of love and protectiveness that was not coming from his companions and he gasped in recognition of the feeling. It was as though Merry was there, helping and supporting him through some childhood mishap and he was shocked by the sensation, some of the pain draining away as he felt Merry's love and concern. His eyes were drawn upward and it seemed as though, for just a moment, he could see Merry's dear face above him, the stars in the night sky crowning his cousin's head.

"Hullo Merry," said Pippin happily and then he felt his eyes closing as his body finally gave in to exhaustion and tipping forward into Boromir's lap, he fainted and knew no more.

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In spite of the dulling drugs, as Merry woke to Legolas' touch, he was distraught, but not for himself. It was an old familiar feeling, a jolt in the pit of his stomach that made it flip over with sudden anguish – it meant one thing – Pippin was hurt and needed him.

But that had been in his dream. Merry had been flailing about hurt and restless, unable to sleep, but then Pippin had come to him and soothed him to sleep. Then as the night wore on Merry had heard Pippin crying.

'Pip! Pip! Where are you? Don't cry my dear, there, there! All better soon.' Merry automatically launched into the litany he would have used when his baby fell and bumped his knees or scratched himself on a bramble. Merry had no siblings of his own but always plenty of cousins around him, older, younger, more or less his age, so there was no shortage of playmates. But Pip had been different.

Merry was there at the Great Smials the day Pippin was born. His mother had not gone into detail, but he knew somehow this baby was extra important. He already had three cousins that belonged to his Uncle Paladin and Aunt Eglantine, all lasses and so he had rather hoped this one would be a lad – like him. Then the baby was born and Merry thought everyone would be really pleased because it was a lad. But still there was much shaking of heads and worried looks about the Great Smials. Merry had asked his mother what was wrong, were they not happy that they had a new lad? "Well yes, Meriadoc," she had explained gently. "But he is very small and weak, we are not sure if… if…"

"If what Mamma? If he'll be big enough to be Thain one day?"

"Yes. But I'm sure he'll grow."

"Can I see him, Mamma? As he's new today. I never saw a brand new baby."

"Very well, just for a moment, if you're very good."

So Merry was taken into the nursery. His Uncle Paladin was there as if he were standing guard over his new son, gazing down at him, willing him to grow and thrive, or so it seemed to 8-year-old Merry.

Merry peered down into the cradle and was entranced. The tiny baby had the pointiest ears he had ever seen and a tiny snub of a nose and little rosebud lips. But what impressed him the most was, when Merry surreptitiously put his finger into the minuscule hand, it grabbed on and held tight as if it would never let go.

"Oh Merry! You mustn't touch the baby." His mother cried in disapproval.

"He's holding me Mamma, really tight. I dursn't pull away." Merry looked anxiously up at his Uncle expecting a telling off, but Paladin merely smiled.

"He's a tenacious little thing, for all that he's so small." Uncle Paladin said with a look of pride.

Merry had wondered at the time what the word 'tenacious' meant, but as Pippin grew and thrived, he found out. He had stuck to Merry like glue from as soon as he could walk, he had to be wherever his older cousin was. This meant for Merry that he had become, not so much a big brother, but more like a third parent. When Pip had exciting news, Merry was the first he told and when he had something to special to eat or a new toy, it was always put to one side until he could share it with Merry and when he was hurt, Merry was the first hobbit he turned to.

He was hurt now, Merry knew, he felt it even through his own appalling pain, Pippin's anguish called to him and Merry followed the thread of distress. He found the path Pip had taken at the beginning of his own sleep to sooth and comfort him and traced it back along the shining silvery thread, up and up, through the ceiling, through the roof up to the stars and across the darkened skies until he found him.

Carefully, Merry enfolded Pippin in his love and protection, happy to see that Boromir was taking care of him. Gently he kissed his hurts and dried his tears and felt him slump into the release of sleep.

Merry was about to place a careful kiss upon Pip's forehead when he was suddenly pulled back along the silver thread that shimmered like a moonbeam on water. He was back in an instant, faster than a whiplash cracking through the silent air and then Legolas' hand was on his brow and he was opening his eyes to his own pain and confusion.

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Aragorn ran swiftly back along the path to the stream. He crossed it, then paused to wash Frodo's filthy garments and pack. Draping them over a bush to drip, he turned downstream and walked against the slight breeze, opening his senses.

"Even a bird would be worth an arrow," he said softly to himself, pulling one from his quiver and setting it to string. He sniffed the air, listening. He heard birds, certainly, little piping birds up in the trees, but these were too small for food. He was hoping for a larger bird, or a rabbit, or even a deer. He had not walked far when his entreaties were answered.

The boar betrayed itself first by its snuffling along the stream bank, and then by its pungent scent. The Ranger could tell by the sound that it was fairly small, and therefore likely young and tender. Carefully he crept closer, taking his time; he would take no chances at losing this prize. If the hobbits did not have nourishment soon, he would be carrying them both to the Golden Wood, and although it was not far, he had not the strength to bear two unconscious halflings and their packs, not in his current state of exhaustion.

"Ah, there you are," he said silently, spying the boar rooting in the damp soil. Not as young as he had thought, yet not full grown. Enough meat to fill three bellies, certainly. Aragorn drew his bow.

With a satisfying "thwunk," the arrow met its mark, and with a surprised snort the boar started, splashing forward into the stream and stumbling nose first into the water. It struggled to regain its footing, but the Ranger's arrow had pierced its heart, and within a minute the boar was lying lifeless in the midst of the stream.

Aragorn bled, gutted and skinned the boar, a young male, on the bank, dipping the carcass into the water and washing it thoroughly inside and out. He bound the legs together with a leather thong, hoisted it over his shoulder, and retraced his steps to collect Frodo's things. They had not been disturbed, which he took as a sign that Gollum was not lurking about waiting for another opportunity. A good sign.

"Finally some luck is with us," he said with a sigh, gathering the clothing and pack with his free arm and adjusting the boar's weight on his other shoulder. He hurried back to camp, eager both for the taste of meat and for the sight of his small companions.

Fresh, roasted meat never tasted so good. Despite their exhaustion, Frodo and Sam rallied enough to help prepare and then devour the boar. The leftover meat they sliced thin to smoke.

Hobbits with full bellies are sleepy hobbits, but Aragorn insisted on checking both of their injuries again. He rebound Frodo's ribs, and reassured himself that Sam's head wound was not festering into infection.

"We have to set a watch," Frodo said wearily when Aragorn had declared them both passable. "Gollum may still be about, although you do not see signs of him. I do not want to wake to find those fingers about my throat." He shuddered and unconsciously grasped at the Ring.

"I'll take first watch, sir," Sam said stoutly, but Aragorn shook his head.

"I can last a while longer," he said. "I will take the first watch. But I will need sleep at some point."

"Wake me for second watch," Frodo said, and then cast Sam an ordering look. Sam obediently silenced his protest, but his face was unhappy. "Sam can take the last watch."

With that, the Ring-bearer bundled himself in as many dry covers as he could find and promptly fell asleep.

Sam shuffled his feet and pottered around until Aragorn said, "Don't you think you should keep him warm, Sam?" Then, the reluctant hobbit finally lay down and curled up beside his master. He was asleep within seconds.

Aragorn lit his pipe and tried to clear his mind of all thoughts. Moria had been a worse disaster than even he had feared, and he could not think how the Quest would continue. For now, he would set his sights on getting the Ring-bearer and his servant safety to Lothlórien. He need not look further than that.

Aragorn's watch passed to Frodo, and Frodo's to Sam with no sign of Gollum or other foes. Frodo thought he heard birds passing overhead at one point, but he could see nothing when he peered into the dark sky.

When Sam's watch began, he first reassured himself that all the wet clothing was nearly dry enough to wear. Then he wrapped himself in a cloak and huddled by the fire. Eventually, the sky began to lighten. Dawn was coming.

He wondered about this Lothlórien, and if it would be anything like Rivendell. He hoped so. They needed healing and rest and decent food. Not to mention real baths. And perhaps the Elves had been able to do something for poor Mr Merry; that is, if he and Legolas had arrived there safely.

Sam brushed away the few tears that forced their way out at the thought of Merry's injury. When he had conquered his grief and looked back up, there were two figures standing nearby, staring at him.

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All of a sudden it had became eerily silent. Boromir could hear no sound yet he felt he should be able to. The hairs on the back of his neck rose of their own accord. Though it lasted but a few heartbeats, the man was shaking from the experience. "Hullo Merry," Peregrin whispered, then fainted dead away into his lap. Merry? What had occurred? Catching his lower lip between his teeth, Boromir took up the weight of the unconscious hobbit into a firm embrace. Hugging the lad to him he looked to the dwarf for any clarification, but only saw his own bewilderment mirrored. Peregrin slept peacefully in Boromir's arms, all tension gone from his once drawn face.

Gimli, unnerved, watched in dismay, as Pippin lay senseless in Boromir's arms. The man looked sharply at him, obviously rattled. As well he might be.

Gimli sniffed loudly and rubbed his nose. Well, whatever had happened, it had passed and they had tasks to finish before sleeping themselves. "Give him to me," he instructed Boromir. "Lie him down next to me, on my cloak." Boromir gently eased the soundly sleeping hobbit down. "You can finish tending his wounds here, and then let him sleep the night away."

Between the two of them, they finished washing and patching Pippin's scraped and torn arms and elbows, then wrapped him snuggly in his cloak. For a few moments, the two unlikely friends watched the little one sleep, taking their own ease after a difficult day. Boromir's eyes began to droop and when he yawned for the third time, Gimli chuckled, and said, "I shall take the first watch. Sleep. If any creature, foul or fair, nears us, I shall wake you."

Boromir yawned again and scrubbed at his face, sighing heavily. He lay down next to Pippin, drawing his own cloak over the two of them. Pippin immediately curled into him, perhaps, Gimli thought, mistaking the man's warmth for that of his cousins'. Boromir looked a bit embarrassed and didn't meet Gimli's eyes, but did not push the little hobbit away. He closed eyes and within moments was snoring.

Loud enough to draw the wolves back, Gimli thought, but the cheerful noise of the nearby river would undoubtedly drown out Boromir's snores. Or so he hoped.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Merry clung as tightly to Legolas as his little hands could manage in his weakened state. He heard the elf arguing with the woman, showing her first his hobbit feet and then brushing his tangled hair aside to ask if she thought his pointed ears to be human. Merry wanted to tell Legolas that he had already tried this strategy, but the pain in his chest grew angry once more as he was jostled about and all the hobbit could manage was to whimper with distress. He was aware of Legolas scuffling with the kindly woman but not what had actually happened between them. He felt the elf place a light kiss upon his brow and he tried to smile up at Legolas, but his friend's attention was elsewhere.

Then Merry was dimly aware of raised voices, the man was getting angry with… not Legolas, it sounded like an elf, but not his friend – a new voice, one Merry did not know. But he could tell there was a fight going on. The kindly humans were trying to defend him from these elven intruders, but the other elf sounded very cross with them.

Merry could barely think straight, so terrible was the pain again. The drugs in his system had made him sleepy and his whole system had started to shut down. Now adrenaline was beginning to course through his veins, battling with the narcotic Legolas and Aragorn had medicated him with and the opiates that he had been fed by the elderly woman. He was already dangerously weak from blood loss and, had he been kept still, might have been starting to recover, but his poor abused little body had been subjected to numerous shocks and jolts since the injury had occurred.

Now Merry began to breathe frantically, gasping for breath as the frustration of being unable to explain that he was not a child, put further strain on the usually calm hobbit. Merry did not want these people hurt, nor did he want to stay with them! He tried to speak, but all he could manage was a sad whimper.

Then the most dreadful pain Merry had ever felt in his young life shot through his body, causing him to cry out in frantic fear. He gasped and then slumped to become a dead weight in Legolas's arms, his breathing ceased, his heart still.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Pippin stirred in his sleep, his face drawing into a frown, and he murmured unhappily. Then he jerked sharply, clutching at Boromir's arm, and cried, "No!"

Pippin had been exhausted and in bitter pain when Boromir was tending his wounds when suddenly the pain was no longer important and he had been aware of only one thing; his Merry was there! Suddenly, somehow he had been there, looking out for Pippin as he always did, though Pippin didn't quite understand how. Perhaps it had been the same way that Pippin had found Merry in distress during his own dream the night before, when he had comforted Merry and helped him to find rest and relief from his pain for a time? Perhaps this time it had been Merry that was dreaming, and thinking of Pippin and somehow being drawn to his small cousin when he was needed.

He was so lucky, to have Merry, to have this beloved friend and cousin with whom he was so close that even from a distance they could sense when one needed the other. Already exhausted beyond enduring, his sudden relief at Merry's presence was the last thing Pippin knew; he could rest now and his body and mind let themselves go. He dimly sensed being wrapped warmly and snuggled up next to Boromir to sleep, resting so that on the morrow the three of them could continue on to rejoin Merry and the others. Soon now the Fellowship – except for poor Gandalf – would be reunited! Once again it would be "Merry and Pippin" as it should be!

And then there was suddenly pain and terror. Pippin couldn't breathe, couldn't move, he could do nothing to stop the terrible agony. He felt his body seize up, felt his heart stop, felt himself being pulled away into blackness and unable to resist, yet even while all of this was occurring he was aware that it was not actually happening to him – it was happening to his Merry, and the worst of it was that it was not a dream! It was really happening, Merry was dying! Pippin clutched at Boromir, and screamed, "No!" He struggled futilely in the man's startled grasp and then went suddenly limp. It was over, just like that. He was gone. Merry was gone, dead, and there was nothing Pippin could do. He had felt him die, and wished only at that moment that he had died with him. Or rather died with him completely, for certainly a part of him had been lost forever when he lost Merry. Pippin keened and cried out for Merry to come back, to please not be dead, burying his face against Boromir's chest in an effort to stifle his sounds of grief.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

TO BE CONTINUED

Character Notes:

Greetings Readers! T'is Noble Boromir in the chair this time to regale you with witticisms and smart comments to counter your splendid and much needed reviews. I hope and endeavour to give satisfaction but if all is not to your utter delight and contentment, please to send your complaints to Mlle Rachel Stonebreaker who will happily deal with any problems of courtesy or protocol.

Nayana Baggins What the h e double hockey stick is wrong with Frodo the blue eyed wonder? Could some one clue me in?
Merry: He's just tired and emotional and has had a trying day – that or he's playing to the crowd as per.

domstygerr Legolas, I hope you and Haldir get Merry out of that looney bin! Aragorn, you are such a strong man to have to keep up all the strength under such conditions, cheers love! Gimli, you are such a dear, I hope you get to feeling better soon, I worry about you, even though you wished I didn't. Llinos, once again, excellent job! You are doing the most wonderful job with this story.
Llinos: Why thank you – I just wish the characters would co-operate more and get their act together.
Merry: And who gave you leave to write notes here? Especially if you're going to criticize!
Llinos: Sorry (slopes away with tail between legs)

FantasyFan: Lovely chapter, as always. Details I liked: Gimli murmuring the secret name of Durin; Aragorn speaking so gently to Frodo to calm him; Pippin's treasures in his pack, especially the letter to his family; Haldir's restraint snip
Legolas: And what about my hair? Did you not admire my beautiful flowing locks that stay in place no matter how much I shake my head and…
Merry: You're supposed to be rescuing me – not preening yourself for pity's sake!

Estella: Just one thing--please don't let anything happen to Merry and Pippin! We need laughs during war-time!
Merry and Pippin: We're glad you find our angst and pain amusing! Hmp!

klnolan - KEEP IT UP
Boromir - Always something a hero attempts to do, I assure you ;-).

Hyperactive Forever: - ok, lessee...Boromir, Gimli, and Pip get free (finally!) so snaps for them!! And Aragorn is taking ANOTHER bath! It must be some sort of WORLD RECORD or something! and Merry is rescued YAY! keep it up, guys!
Boromir - There are those "snaps" again. I suspect, after peeking over my author's shoulder whilst watching something on a broadcast television on BRAVO that "snaps" may not all together be a very manly compliment. However, Gimli, Peregrin and I shall take compliments wherever we shall get them. Aragorn taking a bath, now, I will agree, "snaps" to that (most heartedly).

storyfish - Everything seems to be taking a more positive turn in this chapter, except for Sam. Poor Sam! He's got so much guilt that it's painful for ME to read. Sam, snap outta it, it's not your fault! ;-)
Boromir - Is it ever easy being the Manly Man or Dwarf or the almost manly Hobbit? No. I say, a most firm, "no it is not" but thank you for caring. As for Samwise feeling guilty, I believe this unfortunate trait has been instilled in him by his upbringing. A clear case of Youngest Son, if I do say so. I look to my own brother as a clear cut similar example. Sad, but true. If it is any consolation, they always seem to get the girl in the end whereas we older brothers get, well… I won't say, it would spoil the ending.

my-fool-of-a-took - As dire as the situation is, the mental imagery of some woman beating Legolas over the head with a broom still makes me giggle. Take good care of the hobbits, Aragorn, Boromir and Legolas!
Boromir - Fear not dear Foolish Took. We, the Brave, the Strong, the Taller than 4 Feet, strive mightily to take care of your favourite charges. It's a battle sometimes but we still try. After all, we find them as cute, I mean, as noteworthy as thou dost find them (and I, also, found it most amusing to think on Legolas being bandied about the head and shoulders with a mere kitchen broom rather amusing. Serves the Elf right, with his hair tossing and all).

pipinheart - Finally they are out of the mines of Moria... Frodo and Sam, and Aragorn are resting for the night. Merry has been rescued from the man and woman, but not without a fight... Real good, update soon...
Boromir - Everyone deserves a rest now and then. Now, if you could just convince our authors to let us have more than 5 minutes respite….

auntiemeesh- Pippin, Gimli and Boromir are out of the mines, yay! I'm sure there are all sorts of terrible things between them and Lorien, but at least they are away from the mines.
I loved the scene with Legolas and Haldir trying to rescue Merry. Between Legolas carrying Merry off and Haldir being all menacing, I don't blame these people for thinking the elves are up to no good, although if they are going to live on the borders of Lorien, they should make an effort to learn more about their neighbours.
Can't wait for the next chapter, and I have to say, I'm disappointed you didn't post a 'behind the scenes' episode this time round. I promise to leave reviews if you'll post more of that. Please?
Boromir - Oh My! Our authors sincerely enjoy all the praises and reviews they can get. I will encourage them to post more on the Behind The Scenes action. But in all fairness, thou must understand that the action taking place in the Main Story sometimes has everyone a bit worn to the bone. The township of Las Vegas is a bit overwhelming, especially this year as it IS the centennial celebration on Friday and all. That and Meriadoc, in all his Magnificence, can be a bit demanding as well… ah hem…
Merry: Look not to me for the lack of Behind the Scenes action! Mlle Llinos declined to include it as she believed no one was reading! Pah! I fail to see how this can be true, but she claims to have things called statistics based on reviews and hit counts!

Pip4 - Yay!! They got out, that's good. I loved the description of Pippin when he found the door, and the fact that Gimli was about to tell him to do something and he couldn't argue was priceless. I thought the way Aragorn was described taking the ring out of Frodo's hand for a brief moment was very suspenseful, very good.
Boromir - Candle to light the way ₤1, extra rations to feed hungry Hobbit ₤15, speechless Dwarf Priceless. And yes, I too, was on tenterhooks when I read the part about Aragorn and The Ring. I, myself, would not have been so … well… I would not have let poor Frodo suffer through being undressed in such a slow fashion. Take The Ring, put It in a Safe Place, Bathe Hobbit, and Go On. That's my story. And I'm sticking to it.

Aranna Undomiel - So, erm, apparently there were 11 chapters, instead of the 10 I read;) So well, another review was necessary. Hurrah, Merry is free from those weird talking people, geesh were they hard to follow... Well if that's not a happy chapter I don't know what is. LOL. Again Merry Christmas and please update soon.
Boromir - And a Very Glorious New Year to You! I don't know why it was difficult for Thee, I could follow the Tugman's speech in most. Here is a synopsis. They wanted to keep Meriadoc. Legolas and the Other Elves wished to take Meriadoc. Quite simple when one reads the Cliff Notes. All, in all, it WAS a happy chapter. Did we not deserve it so close to the end of the Year? YES, we did.

Lily - Great chapter! Way to go Gimli! Haldir, you may need to borrow some patience, you seem to be short on it. Nice idea, Legolas, being kind and all that, but it seems to be creating more problems. Good luck to Frodo!
Boromir - Yes, Gimli showed some Manly actions, didn't he? Quite the Lad, a bit rough around the edges, but as I remembered someone saying, diamonds are rough before they're polished. Gimli, if I might say so, just needs a bit of polishing. I think Legolas had some ideas in that area before we got separated. So, in the interest of polishing a rough bit of stone, I will seek to reunite those two. If for no other reason than to enjoy a bit more Dwarf baiting.

lindahoyland - Another great chapter, I especially enjoyed Boromir's thoughts on Hobbit luggage and how gently Aragorn looks after Frodo.
Boromir - Oh, once again, I am flattered that someone out there appreciates that Men are more than just brutes. Yes, we can actually think. Aragorn, in case Thou has not noticed, is not exactly 100 Man, but has a bit of the Dunedain which happens to be a bit more presence than the Stewards, though to talk to my father on the subject would be foolish (you see, Faramir HAS got to me…) Now, I would have looked after Frodo as well as The Once and Future King did, if I had been given the chance…. I promise I would, … The Precious…

Aranna Undomiel - This is a great story, really wonderful to read. I actually read all 10 chapters at once, and I must say that's not such an easy job to do. LOL. But it's really good, I'm glad I found it. I especially love the Legolas-Merry line, cause, eh, well, you're a Legolas fan or not. Please update soon and a Merry Christmas to you.
Boromir - And a Happy Belated Yule to you as well. I admire anyone who can actually sit and read through every chapter so far. I know that I cry in many places… I mean that I sigh in many places. Meriadoc and yes The Elf can rather attach themselves to one's psyche when one is not looking.

Lindalëriel - I love how Legolas was trying to reason with the Tugmans, even while Haldir was growing impatient. That's a new one for me, I didn't know elves could get impatient! And poor Merry, get him well, soon, ok? Please? Hugs to everyone! And could you give an especially big hug to Merry? And Pippin? I think they could use them…
Boromir - Speaking from a first hand experience, I will certainly give your hug to Peregrin, on a purely professional level, of course. We must wait awhile before I have access to Meriadoc to perform the same. Knowing SOME of these authors, Healing Meriadoc may take some time… and I completely understand The Elf Haldir's impatience. It is fully justified when dealing with Legolas. Sometimes that Prince can take atoning for his father's anger against All Things Not Elven a bit too far, if thou dost ask me.

smalldiver - Yay! An update! What a brilliant Christmas (eve) present! I'm glad the Elves are managing all right with the humans, and Aragorn has sorted Frodo and Sam out all right. I am liking Boromir and Gimli more and more as this story goes on - they are now by far my favourite members of the fellowship. And Pippin is my favourite hobbit - I couldn't help but giggle a bit at the image of Pippin falling flat on his face, but at least the three members are out now!
Boromir - It is about time we were out. And you can thank your favourite Hobbit, Peregrin. Sometimes that lad has the most ingenious of ideas, I must admit. Though, as far as The Elves go, I'm not so sure they are all playing from the same deck of cards so to speak. Though, knowing our favourite Fellowship Elf, Legolas will have them working as a team before long. We are very pleased you enjoyed the Christmas Eve posting and wish You and Yours a very pleasant New Year.

maripo5a - Pippin, another fine job. looks around to make sure Merry isn't looking, then hugs Pippin.
P.S. I do want more Behind the Scenes, would it help if I went back and gave feedback for every chapter? 'Cause I will!
Boromir - Excuse me! You are not allowed to hug any Hobbit without the express written permission of The Pervy Hobbit Fanciers Club. Oh, wait, I see you are a charter member. Accept my apologies and hug away. And as I mentioned before, our authors appreciate reviews on all of their other stories. But speaking from a bystander's view I can only guess that the work that our editor Llinos and our beta Marigold put in the Behind The Scenes project equals this project so please bear with them. I am but a minion in the whole scheme though I will send on your wishes post haste.
Merry: The Behind the Scenes are virtually all done – it's just Llinos being petulant because hardly anyone reads or reviews them. Authors! Really!

Mae Ari: I feel bad for the Tugmans but I'm also a little curious about them. I wonder if we'll see more of them in future chapters.
Legolas: Well I've pretty much had it with them! I wish they'd just give me my Hobbit and I'll be on my way!
Mae Ari:I wonder what sort of trouble will linger for Boromir, Gimli, and Pippin. Their talks of death and all are making me uneasy. I hope Frodo and Sam will have a safer journey now that they're FINALLY getting some care for their wounds (honestly, those two are more stubborn than mules).
Boromir - It is not just Samwise and Frodo who are as stubborn as mules. It has come to my immediate attention that ALL Hobbits are stubborn. I do not know if it is their natural tendency or if it is because they are in the company of Men but believe ME, it can be trying. And do not fret, Men and Dwarves talk a great deal about death, mostly for naught. Trust in the effervescent nature of Hobbits. They are a good weather vane for any New Year.