October 2
“Frodo Baggins, I don’t care if you do carry the fate of Middle-earth in your pocket; give me that apple or I’ll pitch you into a bog.”
“And then what?” Frodo grinned at Pippin and took a step backwards, holding out the luscious red apple enticingly in front of him. “You’ll just have to make your way to Rivendell and explain to Bilbo how you left my poor, mouldering, drowned body out here for the wolves to devour.”
“Bilbo will understand,” said Pippin. He stalled for time as Merry crept up behind Frodo. “We’ll just tell him that you were hoarding the last apple in all of…” He sighed. “Where are we again, Strider?”
“We are at the western border of the Midgewater Marshes,” said Aragorn from where he was seated, leaning against his pack, his legs stretched out in front of him. The hobbits weren’t taking advantage of their rest stop, but he was. “Pippin, if you pitch Frodo into a bog, you’re the one who’ll have to wade in there and retrieve the Ring from his poor, mouldering, drowned body.”
“Can I take his coat, too? I’ve always liked that coat.”
Frodo laughed merrily, and Aragorn couldn’t help smiling. Having secured the Ranger’s approval, Pippin now wasted no opportunity to entertain, gently tease, and distract Frodo from what lay ahead… and from what surely sought them from every direction.
Pippin didn’t think of himself as clever or cool-headed like Merry, or able to do magical things like Sam (such as understanding horse-talk and knowing what Frodo needed before even Frodo seemed to), but he could coax a smile or a laugh out of his elder cousin when no one else could. He had also discovered that Merry (and sometimes even Sam) were willing conspirators.
“That’s hardly the last apple, Mr. Pippin,” Sam was pointing out. “We’ve got plenty of--”
“But I want that one,” Pippin said with an exaggerated pout. Frodo took another step backwards, still laughing.
“Now, Pip!” Merry grabbed Frodo from behind and Pippin leaped forward, snatching the apple from his startled cousin’s hand.
“An excellent battle strategy,” Aragorn remarked to Sam, who was sitting beside him on the ground. They watched as Frodo twisted suddenly, squirmed out of Merry’s grasp, and began wrestling his cousin to the ground. “This counter-attack is quite unusual,” the Ranger continued. “Nevertheless, the enemy is subdued quite effectively.”
Sam sighed and walked over to where Pippin was watching with rapt attention as Frodo, with long practice, efficiently pinned Merry to the ground.
“Mr. Frodo,” Sam said sternly, plucking the apple out of Pippin’s hand, “you need your rest, sir. I’ve set up your bedroll just over there.” He tossed the apple back to Frodo, who caught it with one hand while holding Merry down with the other.
“Thank you, Sam,” said Frodo with a grin. He helped a chuckling Merry to his feet, then took a large bite of the apple before sharing the fruit with a delighted Pippin.
“I believe the guidance of this Company should pass to you, Samwise,” said Aragorn admiringly. “You seem to have these rascals under control.”
“Now, don’t you tease, Strider,” said Sam. “With me in charge, we’d be walkin’ in circles before nightfall.”
“Estel,” Frodo stood before Aragorn, his hands on his hips. “Weren’t you going to defend me against that attack?”
“Intrude in a family squabble? That is rarely wise.”
“But you are family.”
The Ranger started to laugh. “Frodo, I had forgotten all about that.” He looked sternly at Merry. “Master Brandybuck, speaking as an honorary Baggins, I believe that I will take any future attacks on Frodo quite personally.”
“An honorary Baggins?” Merry asked, shocked.
“Indeed,” said Aragorn solemnly.
“Really?” Pippin thought about it. “You’d hardly fit into Bag End.”
“Indeed, I do not,” chuckled Aragorn, “although I know it well.”
“You didn’t get to know the kitchen that well,” Frodo pointed out. “There was that batch of strangely-shaped cookies, as I recall, and then the pie that wasn’t exactly--”
“How odd,” Aragorn mused. “My desire to defend you, should your cousins once again attack, appears suddenly to be diminishing.”
~*~
The ground grew ever more damp and uneven as the tiring day went on. Aragorn kept a constant vigil for the driest, most solid ground upon which everyone (including Bill) could travel; even so, one or more of the hobbits occasionally needed help pulling their feet out of the increasingly spongy and treacherous ground.
"Would that we all had the abilities of the Elves," Aragorn chuckled. "They walk upon snow with barely a footprint left behind them, and I have no doubt they would have little trouble with terrain such as this."
"They don't sink into the snow?" asked Pippin, wide eyed. "However do they do it? Or, well, not do it?"
"I am not certain," said Aragorn thoughtfully. "It is such a part of their being, I doubt it is even a conscious act on their part. I suspect it may be due to their kinship with nature; with the very essence of plants, water, starlight… Elves seem to share a language with all living things." He smiled. "Perhaps, as they walk, an understanding passes between them and the water caught up in snowflakes, and the least intrusive route is mutually agreed upon."
"They talk to plants? And water?" Sam was enchanted. "That's purely amazin'."
"You talk to plants, Sam," Frodo said with a smile. "I've heard you."
"That's only..." Sam murmured, embarrassed, "that's just my way, Mr. Frodo."
"Perhaps the Elves' 'way' is not so dissimilar to your own," said Aragorn. “You speak with plants, and have a wonderful way with animals, as I’ve seen.” The Ranger smiled. "The Elves can perhaps teach you much, Samwise... and, I suspect, the opposite is as true."
Sam wasn't sure what that meant, but he was saved from responding by Aragorn’s finally calling a halt at a mostly dry, relatively even patch of ground surrounded by tall, thick tussocks of marsh grass (upon which Bill immediately began to munch).
Merry saw Aragorn frown as he looked around thoughtfully.
“What’s wrong, Strider?”
“It is odd,” answered Aragorn slowly. “We are now well within the Marshes, yet we have encountered very few insects flying about.”
“I thought ‘Midgewater’ was just a silly name,” said Pippin.
“Indeed not,” said Aragorn. “Throughout the Marshes, the air is usually thick with the biting creatures. I have never ventured into this particular section, however, and have spoken to no one who has; perhaps there is something here that that they avoid… or that repels them…” He shook his head, puzzled. “No matter,” he said finally. “This area is well hidden, and dryer than most; we might as well rest here tonight before the midges do discover us.”
“There may’nt be ‘midges’,” said Sam, pulling blankets and packets out of Bill’s saddlebags, “but that’s a frightful din and no mistake.” Indeed, the air was alive with a loud squeaking and croaking. Neek breek, neek breek, the combined cacophony seemed to shout in endless repetition.
“If a ‘frightful din’ is all that we encounter before we leave the Marshes, we will be fortunate,” said Aragorn. “I have heard tales of hidden beasts, watery sands that can swallow a Man whole, and even places where the air itself is akin to poison.” He regarded the hobbits gravely. “We must be vigilant.”
The marsh grasses towered over the hobbits’ heads, but from his higher vantage point, Aragorn took a long, careful look in every direction.
“Do you see anything?” asked Merry.
“No,” said Aragorn finally. “I believe the Riders must still be searching for us along the Road. We have eluded them, for the time being.” He spotted a tiny, clear stream sparkling in the grass a short distance away. “There’s good water nearby,” he said to the hobbits. “Sam, why don’t you and Merry and I get all the bottles and fill them, and take Bill for a drink.”
“We’ll be right back.” Aragorn gave Pippin a meaningful glance, which Pippin returned with an imperceptible nod of his head. Soon the Ranger, Sam, and Merry were out of sight.
“What was that all about?” asked Frodo.
“Oh, nothing,” replied Pippin airily. He sank to the ground and watched, puzzled, as Frodo began to wander restlessly about the small campsite. “Aren’t you tired?”
“I’m just…” Frodo sighed. “I think I just need a few minutes to myself.” He looked around and spotted what appeared to be a faint path through the grass. “I won’t go far.”
Pippin looked panic-stricken. “No!”
“No?” Frodo laughed. “Don’t worry, Pip, I just need to be alone with my thoughts for a bit. Estel didn’t see anything dangerous about, and I’ll ‘be vigilant’.” He saw Pippin frown, and smiled at him. “I’ll be back in a few minutes; I promise.”
Pippin slowly nodded, but even as Frodo walked off through the tall grass, the young hobbit was rising to his feet. He couldn’t very well order an adult to stay put, but he could follow him and help keep him safe. There were three things that Strider had told him, Merry, and Sam to keep in mind always -- to be constantly alert; to talk about anything that was bothering them; and that Frodo was never to be left alone.
Frodo wandered among the tussocks of tightly-packed marsh grasses, and found himself on a gentle slope leading down to a small, bowl-like clearing nearly hidden behind the grasses. He stood quietly, looking around; it was nice, for a moment, to have a rare moment all to himself.
The air down in the hollow seemed strange, somehow, and a bit stifling. Frodo also realized that the constant cry of what Sam called the ‘neekerbreekers’ had ceased altogether. It was eerily quiet. He looked about warily, then curiously approached the edge of a particularly strange, soupy-looking bog, the water seemingly thicker and darker than those they had passed.
All at once, the stillness was disturbed by an odd, muffled sound. A large bubble slowly broke the surface of the bog, and the dark water rippled sluggishly before once again growing calm and still. Frodo watched, mystified, as soon another bubble rose and broke, and, after a minute or so, another. His hand strayed to his sword hilt, the Ranger’s words about ‘hidden beasts’ coming to mind. Was some giant creature asleep in the murky waters, its foul breath evident only in these rhythmic bubbles cleaving the surface? He backed away uneasily from the water; Estel needed to see this. Maybe they should leave… he had to... Frodo stopped, swaying slightly, as a heavy drowsiness abruptly descended on him like a dark curtain. His thoughts slowed and faded so quickly there was no time for fear, or a feeling of danger, or even surprise. He had a vague, dreamlike awareness of the ground rushing up to meet him -- but even that momentary thought flickered out as he lost consciousness.
Mere seconds later, Pippin came around a massive tuft of grass and nearly tripped over Frodo, lying face down on the damp, spongy ground. He gasped, drawing his sword and looking wildly about to challenge whatever enemy had felled his cousin, but there was nothing to be seen but grass and water.
"Frodo!" Pippin cried, falling to his knees beside the still body. He quickly rolled his unconscious cousin onto his back, relieved to see that he was breathing. He couldn't find any blood, or wound... was he ill? Pippin patted Frodo's face and called his name frantically, but there was no response.
Alarmed, the young hobbit got to his feet, a bit unsteadily. He reached down for his cousin, but was only able to drag him a dozen feet before dropping wearily to his knees. Why was Frodo so heavy? He had to get Strider. Strider could... Pippin shook his head, puzzled by how difficult it was, suddenly, to think straight. Frodo's face began to blur before his eyes, and his ears were filling with a loud buzzing sound. Before he could cry out, or wonder what was happening, everything faded… His eyelids fluttered closed as a dark, sleepy emptiness swallowed him. With a deep sigh, he slid, senseless, to the ground.
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