The Strength of One Small

Chapter Nine—The Approaching Storm

At first Sam was awed by the feeling of being on such a large stallion, and perhaps a bit scared as well. He hadn't known Strider was such a good rider, but gradually the excitement died down and the repetitive jarring of the horse's gait eventually lulled him to sleep.

Aragorn was careful to assure that his small charge did not slide from the saddle, but he did not slow. In his heart he knew he would be needed before the end, and reflecting back, was glad his brother had brought it up. In his weariness, he had forgotten to volunteer to go. Fortunately, Sam hadn't. The ranger's eyelids drooped several times, and he dimly wondered if he would be able to stay alert and awake. His head throbbed from exhaustion, and he found himself thinking back to his last full night of sleep, which had been several nights before. At last he could resist the beckoning slumber no longer, and his head nodded limply onto his chest as he tangled his fingers in the horse's mane, hoarsely urging the horse onward, "Noro lim…Rivendell." Then he slept, praying the horse would find his way on his own.

Not long after, Sam jolted awake and felt the ranger leaning heavily against him. The horse had not slowed, but he did not know where they were. The forest around them flew by in a blur, and he had to close his eyes to keep from become dizzy.

"Mr. Strider! You've fallen asleep, wake up! Please, where are we?"

The ranger stirred and forced himself to look up before settling back down and mumbling, "Rest Sam, the forest is familiar." This only slightly reassured the gardener, who resolved to remain awake and keep a watchful eye on things, but his mind began to wonder as the he began to think of Frodo's pain.

Meanwhile, a dwarf, an elf, a man, a wizard, and a very small hobbit—an odd group indeed—were just waking from their short slumber. Even Gandalf had failed to keep his eyes from closing. Slowly, everyone rose to their knees, then to their feet until only Pippin remained asleep. Boromir hauled him into a sitting position and pulled the tween onto his lap. Pippin's limbs dangled limply as he did so. "Little one, it's time to move again."

A soft moan was the hobbit's only reply. Only then did Bormir notice the heat radiating from the small form. Gandalf joined him, placing a calloused hand under the Halfling's shirt, feeling the perspiring skin. As the others crowded around, the Istari told them, "His weariness has made it impossible for him to fight off infection. I suspect that his arm has become infected."

Legolas peered over Gimli's shoulder, "Yes, Aragorn feared that would happen. An Athelas wash will aide him if we happen to find any."

"I will keep my eyes peeled!" Gimli volunteered gruffly, though he looked down fondly at the sleeping hobbit, wondering what this journey would be like if the little hobbits were not with the fellowship. It would certainly have made for a darker journey.

Boromir rose then and hoisted Pippin onto his shoulder. "Let us set out then. He will rest easier with his kin."

It felt strange to all of them to hear silence in the absence of Pippin's constant chatter. The light that had shone through the canopy diminished quickly, and a cold, wet rain began to pour. Boromir groaned. This, on top of everything else, was the last thing they needed.

Legolas quickly shed his cloak and wrapped it snugly around the man. After several tries, he succeeded in sheltering all of Pippin and part of Boromir from the rain. At this gesture, Boromir smiled gratefully on the hobbit's behalf. Soon, they were all soaked and each wondered in turn how Frodo and the others fared. They hoped their friends were far ahead of the rain line. A strong wind began to blow from the west as the five companions picked up their pace. A storm was coming, and all but perhaps Pippin realized this. They didn't doubt that they would be caught in the middle of it. The driving winds were so strong and the pouring rains so heavy that the thick canopy did little to shelter them from the fierce elements. There had been very little warning, but this did not console Legolas, who cursed himself with every step. For him, the water was merely a discomfort, but for the others, especially the men and the hobbits, it could mean illness, or even death if they weren't dry and warm soon.

A clap of thunder in the distance startled Aragorn awake and he slowed the stallion, studying the blackening sky.

"It's going to storm, isn't it, Mr. Strider?" Sam piped up suddenly, trembling ever so slightly at this thought.

The ranger replied somberly, "Yes Sam. Let us hope my brothers are well ahead of us, or they will get caught in it as well."

Sam nodded solemnly, realizing what the rain would mean for Frodo. He twisted in the saddle and asked quietly, "Do you think they sense the storm coming?"

"Undoubtedly. Do not worry, they will do everything in their power to keep Frodo and Merry from further harm."

The stallion sprang forward once more, and the ranger drew the stout hobbit close to keep him from sliding to the ground.

Standing on the balcony outside of his vast library, Lord Elrond stared into the dark, brooding clouds of the distant gathering storm. It seemed as though his sons' hunting trip would be rained out. He wondered with a frown if the twins would manage to return from this trip unscathed. An unexplained fear clenched at his heart as he headed indoors, where he found his daughter waiting for him.

"What troubles you, Ada? Your mood of late mirrors this dreadful weather."

With a smile to reassure his daughter, he took Arwen's hands, "You know I never rest easy when the twins are away hunting. Those two rascals always seem to find trouble."

Evenstar let the subject drop, not mentioning that her feelings were the same. She sensed something-pain, defeat-feelings strange and almost unrecognizable to her in her sheltered life.

"Come, Ada, perhaps they will return soon."