XIX
Too Quiet
Frodo woke at mid-day with Sam's gentle voice in his ear, urging him to eat a little before taking some more rest. He sat up with a sigh, stretching muscles still sore from the long marches, now cramped and made more uncomfortable by sleeping on the cold ground. Sam had water and bread for him, and some of the meat left over from the morning meal.
As Frodo ate, he noted the stillness of the land again; it seemed to throw back the slightest noise that any of the Company made. Frodo tried to chew more quietly.
Sam chattered in a whisper to his master. "You should have seen us, sir! Swingin' swords and standin' in line...Mr. Boromir said we looked... what was the word he used... forbiddable?"
Frodo smiled gently. "Are you sure he didn't say 'formidable'?"
"Yeah, that's the word... We must have been very formidable, 'cause Mr. Merry near took Mr. Pippin's head clean off... missed by just a bit, an' his hair's a little shorter on that side, now... Mr. Boromir was rather vexed, I can tell you..."
Frodo listened to his friend's talk, but his eyes roved over the camp. He noted the silhouette of Legolas sitting beneath one of the holly trees back up on the ridge, nearly invisible against the grey-green bark. Frodo was actually surprised that he had seen him at all.
"What is Legolas doing sitting up there all alone?" Frodo asked, when Sam paused again for a breath.
"I dunno, Mr. Frodo. He wandered up there a bit ago. I reckon he misses his home, sir. He's been awfully upset lately... I guess we all kind have been. But between him and Mr. Gimli, I figure..." Sam pauses and turned rather red. "Sorry, Mr. Frodo. I'm speaking outside of my place again."
Frodo looked at Sam with a small smile. "I would like to hear what you think, Sam."
"Well," Sam glanced around first, then lowered his voice so that Frodo could barely hear him. "I just wonder, sir, what it is that those two aren't talkin' about. They act as though the other isn't even here... I thought at first that they were angry at each other, but now they act more like they are very sad. They seemed happier, sir, when they were fightin'… like back in Rivendell."
Frodo glanced toward where Gimli lay sleeping against a great stone. "I am sure that they will be all right, Sam. If only we can get them to realize how much they are needed, before they decide to leave us."
"D'you think they'd really leave, Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked, his eyes a bit wide.
"Why would they stay when they are so unhappy? Lord Elrond said that they would come with us as far as the mountain pass, and we are nearly there."
"Well, sir, I'm not jumpin' for joy to be here m'self, but I'm not going nowhere that yer not going!"
"I know, Sam... thank you." Frodo smiled at his friend, only a little sad. He could see Gandalf and Aragorn sitting together, carrying on some quiet debate. "I feel bad, that they have come so far on my behalf, when clearly they wish to be elsewhere."
"There ain't a'one of us here who didn't come of his own decision, Mr. Frodo. Don't go beatin' yerself up about that again! My Gaffer always says, 'Them that fight with themselves always lose!' Maybe that is what Mr. Legolas and Mr. Gimli need, sir... someone to fight with besides each other."
Frodo looked darkly toward the sharp red mountain beyond the fogged-distant hills. "That's what I fear, Sam—it's going to happen much sooner than I'd like to see."
⌂
Aragorn joined Legolas beneath the hollys. The Elf's long grey eyes were still restlessly scanning the eerily quiet lands. They stood together for a time in silence, but Legolas could feel some emotion building within his companion, like the tension on an over-drawn bow.
"What is it, Dunadan?" the Elf asked. "Do you see or feel some danger that eludes my senses? I find this quiet unsettling as well!"
Aragorn sighed, shifting his feet slightly. "The quiet lands give me unrest, elhiru, but this is not the silence that troubles me most." Legolas looked at him curiously. "It is the frozen air between you and the Dwarf that concerns me, my friend."
Legolas's eyebrows raised in mild surprise. "I have made much effort to avoid conflict with that one, as my Lord Elrond did bid me! I have set aside my argument and my pride!"
"You have done as you promised, Legolas," Aragorn spoke soothingly. "But tolerance alone will not bind this rag-tag band into a fellowship."
Legolas regarded Aragorn evenly. "Say plainly what you mean, Lord. What more of myself must I discard to serve the Company?"
"Nothing, Legolas! You should not think of it so. I ask merely that you speak to Gimli, for this thing that divides you affects us all."
Heat flared inside Legolas's heart, and his words were sharp though still very soft, "I cannot speak with that one without his bladed tongue fencing against me, as ready as his keenest ax! His remarks lead me back to my own anger and a wish to dispel his pride! It is all I can do to keep my temper in check and do nothing!"
"Then perhaps you should not 'do nothing', Legolas. My friend, you see and hear how the hobbits jest with one another, debating comically their oldest arguments? Even Gandalf, who is wise and venerable, partakes in the barbed quip on occasion! But for you and Gimli, these remarks cannot reach through the walls you have built, fending each other away. We who are also your companions... we cannot scale those walls!"
Aragorn took Legolas's shoulder in a gentle grip. "Can you speak to him as you do to me when I show my mortal follies? Delivered with a smile rather than a sneer, it may do much to heal the weariness of this dark journey."
"I... I will try, Aragorn," Legolas said, bowing his head. He looked up with a glint in his eye, one corner of his mouth lifted in a grin. "I pray that the axes of Gimli are less sharp than his tongue, if this experiment goes awry!"
"Just relax a little, and do not keep your comments singly upon the Dwarf," Aragorn smiled. "You may shoot your barbs at me as well. Should I come into my destiny through this darkness and doubt, I swear I shall not grudge you, my friend!"
⌂
"Let me see if I am understanding you correctly, Gandalf," said Gimli incredulously. "You want me to fight with the Elf?"
The Wizard was sitting on a stone, drawing on his pipe. He took it out of his mouth and exhaled a fragrant cloud. "Not to fight, necessarily, my good Dwarf! I think that the two of you should air your differences-- your differences are not so different, after all-- don't keep them bottled up! Your anger would be less, as well as all of our tension, if the two of you would but speak more easily to one another. It isn't required that you agree on everything, but that you don't disagree each other to death."
"... And this will alleviate our frustration, rather than increase it?" Gimli asked doubtfully.
"I guarantee it," Gandalf said with confidence, tucking his pipe back into his mouth.
The Dwarf expelled his breath in a labial utterance. "Very well, Gandalf... I am wearing a mail-shirt, after all... though what good that will prove against Elven arrows, I am sure I will learn swiftly!"
Gandalf merely smiled and puffed on his pipe.
