First Duty Is To Serve, ch 2
Feb. 7th, 2002 11:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gilascaveI was going to not post any more chapters, until I had this finished. But... I can't! I have to share and show and go 'looky!' You are the lucky recipients of my impatience. Yea you.
Frodo would be quite glad to make camp tonight. They'd been walking from Bree for nearly a week, and thus far had seen no more sign of the Nazgul. He had felt enough, the dark undercurrent in his mind that reminded him the ringwraiths were out there. But there had been no more attacks, since the night at the inn.
Strider said they were making good time, and assured Frodo whenever he asked, that they would reach Rivendell in as timely a manner as could be hoped. Frodo knew he probably asked the question too often, but the ranger never made him feel as though his questions and worry were excessive, or an aggravation.
He knew they must be -- Strider must hardly have been used to company, much less that of four hobbits unwonted to travel beyond the roads of their beloved Shire. But he was encouraging and friendly, and let his concern show only when the his companions' energy seemed to truly be failing. Frodo knew he could not have hoped for a better guide -- with the exception of Gandalf.
The whereabouts of his friend worried Frodo constantly, though it was an issue he did not raise in conversation. None of them had any answers, so there was no point in reminding them all that something must have happened to delay the wiazrd. Perhaps, though, they would find him in Rivendell, and then this would all be over. For the hobbits, at least. Frodo glanced back over his shoulder as he walked along the rise of a short hill. His legs ached, but the path Strider was taking them on was easier, he knew, if less direct than walking up and down each hill. The hills' short height was misleading, and every step made itself known in Frodo's calves and the small of his back.
He'd never been one for lazing about, back home. Walking throughout the Shire his entire life had keep him in as good a shape as any hobbit need be, save perhaps for those who worked in the kitchens of large houses, or worked the largest gardens. But he'd never dreamt that he would find himself taxing his body in this way -- walking among gently rolling hills meant little when you kept the fastest pace you could, and rested only once at noon, and stopped at the latest evening hour you could and still make camp by the last of the light.
Listening to Merry, Pippin, and Sam search their memories for all the stories they'd ever heard about the braes made it easier -- when they found verses to sing the walking became easier, and even Strider joined in when he could, having heard hobbit stories and songs enough in Bree from the townshobbits. Now, though, they were all walking in silence. Frodo watched the rise of the far hills, trying to discern any change in their height. Shaded against the blue sky, it was easy to forget he'd never seen this land, before -- treeless and spotted with rock, they were still beautiful, and begged to be explored. In other circumstances, Frodo could quite understand the urge to spend the entire summer here, running up and down each one just to see what could be seen from every peak and valley.
In circumstances other than these, he might have done so. But there was too much weight on his chest to give them more than a glance. He looked down at the ground right before his feet, and wondered who besides themselves had crossed here before. There was no path, save the broken grasses left by Strider just a few paces ahead. For all Frodo knew, none but rangers and the animals had ever come this way.
It heartened him to think it: that they would cross no paths with innocent people, whose only business was their own, and knew nothing of the wraiths that chased Frodo's party. Frodo's hand lifted, seemingly of its own accord, towards his breast pocket. He stopped it halfway there, and forced it down. He knew the ring was still there; he need not touch it, even through cloth, to remind himself. It was dangerous enough, without temptation.
He wished he had had the heart to send his friends away. Once out of Bree, they could have split the group -- send Merry and Pippin home, even by roundabout route to throw off any possible pursuers. Perhaps even send Sam with them, argue that they would need three to ensure safety, and thereby convince the otherwise quite stubborn Sam that he was not needed for Frodo's company. With Strider along, Frodo felt as reassured as he thought he could be, that any possible defense would be mustered.
Even as he thought it -- for not the first time since they'd left Crickhollow, much less the Shire -- he knew there would be no turning Sam back. His place was at Frodo's side, and he'd said as much the one time Frodo had attempted to broach the option. Since, whenever Frodo has cause to meet Sam's eyes, he could see the set of them denied any further suggesting that he turn back.
Frodo could not find it in his heart to truly regret it. He did wish his friends could be left safely at home -- left safely anywhere along their road. But as they had not been, he was guiltily relieved that he had their companionship. Hearing familiar voices as he walked kept his mind somewhat of the thoughts of the wraiths, and of Bilbo, and of Gandalf. Had Bilbo fallen to the Nazgul search for a Baggins from the Shire? It was a thought Frodo barely allowed himself think, and as it came to him now, he slowed his step and let Merry catch up to him.
Merry gave him a smile as he drew alongside Frodo, and Frodo could see he was tired, and no doubt as sore of foot as he. But he hadn't said a word about it, and Frodo knew he was like as not to. Pippin had been the only one of them all to ever voice his discomfort, and even that had died away in the last day or so.
"Lovely bit of land, isn't it?" Merry asked, with a half-note of forced cheer. "Little more rock in the ground than you want, though the ground's good, but for that."
Frodo nodded. Trust the Brandybuck to think first of the qualifications of the land. Perhaps there was simply precious else he could think to speak of. "Reminds me a bit of Scary," he commented, grasping the first spot in the Shire he could think of that lent itself to the comparison.
Merry looked thoughtful for a bit. "Perhaps, yes. Certainly they've rock enough in the ground in the north. Not quite the same, I think. Have to ask a stonecutter, but I think the rock's a different type along these hills."
"Pity we didn't think to bring a stonecutter along." Frodo smiled, and Merry returned it. He seemed as willing as Frodo to speak of matters trivial enough in light of the purpose of their journey. But Frodo found it comforting, even if he'd never had much interest in the quality of land suitable for burrowing. Bag End had needed no expanding, and as such he'd barely learnt more about the ground he grew up in than was required to make sure the roof and walls stayed bolstered.
Merry would have been in the same situation, but as heir of Brandybuck, he'd no doubt been impressed by his elders to learn more. The Brandybuck lands were almost always in need of a bit of expansion, here and there, and it was said that soon enough they'd be digging a new hobbithole completely, to push a branch of the family into.
"Next time, we'll plan a better party. Include a train of ponies for provision, and a surveyor to take the measure of the land properly." Merry gestured at the hills around them.
"There you go about provisions, again. Hungry so soon?" Frodo teased his cousin lightly. Frodo was growing used to skipping meals -- and was afraid he would grow even more used, before they reached Rivendell.
Merry grinned broadly. "Not me. Pippin's been on it, all morning. You'd think he was a growing lad being starved out of his rightful growth spurt -- had to feed him an apple just to quiet him."
Frodo glanced back at the mention, and saw Pippin walking along several feet behind them. The younger hobbit gave him a curious look when he met Frodo's eye, but Frodo said nothing and simply turned back around. For any of his friends he felt guilty for having along, but he felt the worst for Pippin. Their journey was proving quite a bit more dangerous than he'd let himself believe, when he first accepted Merry and Pippin's intention to accompany them. "As I recall, you were using that as an excuse until you were nearly thirty one," he reminded Merry.
"In my case it was true," Merry responded. "But Tooks reach their height earlier than Brandybucks. Everyone knows that."
Frodo gave him a glance. "Everyone knows, who wants the last of the bread pudding."
"Exactly," Merry nodded, as though Frodo weren't accusing him of wheedling his way into getting the last of the dessert for no reason other than he had been able to beg for it longer and louder than any of the others. It hadn't taken long, when they'd all been younger and Merry *was* still a growing lad, for anyone feeding the boys to simply put double the dessert out and let them fend for themselves. At the time Pippin had been barely old enough to have started his teenage growth spurt, and had been more interested in annoying his cousins, than in arguing over the last of the dessert. Two years later, Merry had had to relinquish the title of Eater of Bread Pudding, when Pippin *had* hit his growth.
Frodo glanced back again, and began twice, before finally asking softly, "How is Pippin?"
Merry looked at him, surprised, but answered seriously. "He's all right. Wouldn't know it to hear him, but that's just so we don't forget he's there." He grinned, briefly. Then he shrugged. "He'll be fine. Don't bother listening to him when he complains."
"I haven't heard him complain much," Frodo admitted. "Not nearly as much as I would have, if I were him."
"He'd tell you it's because he's made of better stock than a mere Baggins." Merry gave him a wink.
Frodo laughed. "When in fact you've just started distracting him each time he starts."
The look Merry gave him was guileless. Then he laughed, as well. "Keeps us both entertained, doesn't it? And him quiet for a few hours at a time. Though I'll not say no to a hot bath, warm bed, and a day away from him."
"Oh, that would be wonderful," Frodo sighed. "That is, the first two. I'm not-- I mean--" Frodo stopped, as the words tumbled off his tongue in exactly the wrong way.
Merry just winked. "That's all right." They walked a step in silence, then he added slyly, "If you wanted to bed him I wouldn't stand in your way."
Frodo gaped, and Merry laughed. Frodo wondered if he should give in and laugh as well, or give his cousin a good thump, first. "He's a child," Frodo said severely.
"Oh, right. Compared to some, he would be. Even if you do look a day younger."
Frodo gave Merry another stern frown, even as laughter faded. He knew why he wasn't aging as rapidly as he ought to, and even as he thought it, he could see Merry had thought it as well, as the laughter died from his cousin's face.
"I'm sorry," Merry began.
"Never mind," Frodo told him, managing to make his tone light as before. "I'll soon be rid of it," he added, softly. Soon. If they made it safely to Rivendell, he could hand the ring over and be done with the whole matter.
Merry put his hand on Frodo's back. He didn't say a word, but his support was clear, and Frodo gave him a grateful smile. They continued to walk, moving down a gentle slope and into a shallow valley. The rocks were growing more numerous, now, and Frodo knew there was no chance a hobbit hole could be dug anywhere.
It made him think of home, and how much he was surprised to miss it.
end chapter two
Frodo would be quite glad to make camp tonight. They'd been walking from Bree for nearly a week, and thus far had seen no more sign of the Nazgul. He had felt enough, the dark undercurrent in his mind that reminded him the ringwraiths were out there. But there had been no more attacks, since the night at the inn.
Strider said they were making good time, and assured Frodo whenever he asked, that they would reach Rivendell in as timely a manner as could be hoped. Frodo knew he probably asked the question too often, but the ranger never made him feel as though his questions and worry were excessive, or an aggravation.
He knew they must be -- Strider must hardly have been used to company, much less that of four hobbits unwonted to travel beyond the roads of their beloved Shire. But he was encouraging and friendly, and let his concern show only when the his companions' energy seemed to truly be failing. Frodo knew he could not have hoped for a better guide -- with the exception of Gandalf.
The whereabouts of his friend worried Frodo constantly, though it was an issue he did not raise in conversation. None of them had any answers, so there was no point in reminding them all that something must have happened to delay the wiazrd. Perhaps, though, they would find him in Rivendell, and then this would all be over. For the hobbits, at least. Frodo glanced back over his shoulder as he walked along the rise of a short hill. His legs ached, but the path Strider was taking them on was easier, he knew, if less direct than walking up and down each hill. The hills' short height was misleading, and every step made itself known in Frodo's calves and the small of his back.
He'd never been one for lazing about, back home. Walking throughout the Shire his entire life had keep him in as good a shape as any hobbit need be, save perhaps for those who worked in the kitchens of large houses, or worked the largest gardens. But he'd never dreamt that he would find himself taxing his body in this way -- walking among gently rolling hills meant little when you kept the fastest pace you could, and rested only once at noon, and stopped at the latest evening hour you could and still make camp by the last of the light.
Listening to Merry, Pippin, and Sam search their memories for all the stories they'd ever heard about the braes made it easier -- when they found verses to sing the walking became easier, and even Strider joined in when he could, having heard hobbit stories and songs enough in Bree from the townshobbits. Now, though, they were all walking in silence. Frodo watched the rise of the far hills, trying to discern any change in their height. Shaded against the blue sky, it was easy to forget he'd never seen this land, before -- treeless and spotted with rock, they were still beautiful, and begged to be explored. In other circumstances, Frodo could quite understand the urge to spend the entire summer here, running up and down each one just to see what could be seen from every peak and valley.
In circumstances other than these, he might have done so. But there was too much weight on his chest to give them more than a glance. He looked down at the ground right before his feet, and wondered who besides themselves had crossed here before. There was no path, save the broken grasses left by Strider just a few paces ahead. For all Frodo knew, none but rangers and the animals had ever come this way.
It heartened him to think it: that they would cross no paths with innocent people, whose only business was their own, and knew nothing of the wraiths that chased Frodo's party. Frodo's hand lifted, seemingly of its own accord, towards his breast pocket. He stopped it halfway there, and forced it down. He knew the ring was still there; he need not touch it, even through cloth, to remind himself. It was dangerous enough, without temptation.
He wished he had had the heart to send his friends away. Once out of Bree, they could have split the group -- send Merry and Pippin home, even by roundabout route to throw off any possible pursuers. Perhaps even send Sam with them, argue that they would need three to ensure safety, and thereby convince the otherwise quite stubborn Sam that he was not needed for Frodo's company. With Strider along, Frodo felt as reassured as he thought he could be, that any possible defense would be mustered.
Even as he thought it -- for not the first time since they'd left Crickhollow, much less the Shire -- he knew there would be no turning Sam back. His place was at Frodo's side, and he'd said as much the one time Frodo had attempted to broach the option. Since, whenever Frodo has cause to meet Sam's eyes, he could see the set of them denied any further suggesting that he turn back.
Frodo could not find it in his heart to truly regret it. He did wish his friends could be left safely at home -- left safely anywhere along their road. But as they had not been, he was guiltily relieved that he had their companionship. Hearing familiar voices as he walked kept his mind somewhat of the thoughts of the wraiths, and of Bilbo, and of Gandalf. Had Bilbo fallen to the Nazgul search for a Baggins from the Shire? It was a thought Frodo barely allowed himself think, and as it came to him now, he slowed his step and let Merry catch up to him.
Merry gave him a smile as he drew alongside Frodo, and Frodo could see he was tired, and no doubt as sore of foot as he. But he hadn't said a word about it, and Frodo knew he was like as not to. Pippin had been the only one of them all to ever voice his discomfort, and even that had died away in the last day or so.
"Lovely bit of land, isn't it?" Merry asked, with a half-note of forced cheer. "Little more rock in the ground than you want, though the ground's good, but for that."
Frodo nodded. Trust the Brandybuck to think first of the qualifications of the land. Perhaps there was simply precious else he could think to speak of. "Reminds me a bit of Scary," he commented, grasping the first spot in the Shire he could think of that lent itself to the comparison.
Merry looked thoughtful for a bit. "Perhaps, yes. Certainly they've rock enough in the ground in the north. Not quite the same, I think. Have to ask a stonecutter, but I think the rock's a different type along these hills."
"Pity we didn't think to bring a stonecutter along." Frodo smiled, and Merry returned it. He seemed as willing as Frodo to speak of matters trivial enough in light of the purpose of their journey. But Frodo found it comforting, even if he'd never had much interest in the quality of land suitable for burrowing. Bag End had needed no expanding, and as such he'd barely learnt more about the ground he grew up in than was required to make sure the roof and walls stayed bolstered.
Merry would have been in the same situation, but as heir of Brandybuck, he'd no doubt been impressed by his elders to learn more. The Brandybuck lands were almost always in need of a bit of expansion, here and there, and it was said that soon enough they'd be digging a new hobbithole completely, to push a branch of the family into.
"Next time, we'll plan a better party. Include a train of ponies for provision, and a surveyor to take the measure of the land properly." Merry gestured at the hills around them.
"There you go about provisions, again. Hungry so soon?" Frodo teased his cousin lightly. Frodo was growing used to skipping meals -- and was afraid he would grow even more used, before they reached Rivendell.
Merry grinned broadly. "Not me. Pippin's been on it, all morning. You'd think he was a growing lad being starved out of his rightful growth spurt -- had to feed him an apple just to quiet him."
Frodo glanced back at the mention, and saw Pippin walking along several feet behind them. The younger hobbit gave him a curious look when he met Frodo's eye, but Frodo said nothing and simply turned back around. For any of his friends he felt guilty for having along, but he felt the worst for Pippin. Their journey was proving quite a bit more dangerous than he'd let himself believe, when he first accepted Merry and Pippin's intention to accompany them. "As I recall, you were using that as an excuse until you were nearly thirty one," he reminded Merry.
"In my case it was true," Merry responded. "But Tooks reach their height earlier than Brandybucks. Everyone knows that."
Frodo gave him a glance. "Everyone knows, who wants the last of the bread pudding."
"Exactly," Merry nodded, as though Frodo weren't accusing him of wheedling his way into getting the last of the dessert for no reason other than he had been able to beg for it longer and louder than any of the others. It hadn't taken long, when they'd all been younger and Merry *was* still a growing lad, for anyone feeding the boys to simply put double the dessert out and let them fend for themselves. At the time Pippin had been barely old enough to have started his teenage growth spurt, and had been more interested in annoying his cousins, than in arguing over the last of the dessert. Two years later, Merry had had to relinquish the title of Eater of Bread Pudding, when Pippin *had* hit his growth.
Frodo glanced back again, and began twice, before finally asking softly, "How is Pippin?"
Merry looked at him, surprised, but answered seriously. "He's all right. Wouldn't know it to hear him, but that's just so we don't forget he's there." He grinned, briefly. Then he shrugged. "He'll be fine. Don't bother listening to him when he complains."
"I haven't heard him complain much," Frodo admitted. "Not nearly as much as I would have, if I were him."
"He'd tell you it's because he's made of better stock than a mere Baggins." Merry gave him a wink.
Frodo laughed. "When in fact you've just started distracting him each time he starts."
The look Merry gave him was guileless. Then he laughed, as well. "Keeps us both entertained, doesn't it? And him quiet for a few hours at a time. Though I'll not say no to a hot bath, warm bed, and a day away from him."
"Oh, that would be wonderful," Frodo sighed. "That is, the first two. I'm not-- I mean--" Frodo stopped, as the words tumbled off his tongue in exactly the wrong way.
Merry just winked. "That's all right." They walked a step in silence, then he added slyly, "If you wanted to bed him I wouldn't stand in your way."
Frodo gaped, and Merry laughed. Frodo wondered if he should give in and laugh as well, or give his cousin a good thump, first. "He's a child," Frodo said severely.
"Oh, right. Compared to some, he would be. Even if you do look a day younger."
Frodo gave Merry another stern frown, even as laughter faded. He knew why he wasn't aging as rapidly as he ought to, and even as he thought it, he could see Merry had thought it as well, as the laughter died from his cousin's face.
"I'm sorry," Merry began.
"Never mind," Frodo told him, managing to make his tone light as before. "I'll soon be rid of it," he added, softly. Soon. If they made it safely to Rivendell, he could hand the ring over and be done with the whole matter.
Merry put his hand on Frodo's back. He didn't say a word, but his support was clear, and Frodo gave him a grateful smile. They continued to walk, moving down a gentle slope and into a shallow valley. The rocks were growing more numerous, now, and Frodo knew there was no chance a hobbit hole could be dug anywhere.
It made him think of home, and how much he was surprised to miss it.
end chapter two
