October 4
“I have the most,” said Pippin mournfully.
Frodo and Merry finished inspecting the midge bites on their cousin’s arms, legs, and neck, and nodded in agreement.
“I think you’re right, Pip,” said Merry. “They must have been starving for Took blood.”
“But you’re half Took,” sighed Pippin. “And Frodo’s…” He was scratching too vigorously to figure it out. “…some Took.”
“Well, we all got bitten, didn’t we?” asked Frodo, amused. “Sam must have some Took in him too, somewhere.”
“I doubt that, Mr. Frodo.” Sam chuckled and went back to brushing Bill. It was mid-morning, and the group had finally left the marshes behind them. Aragorn had allowed a short break so everyone could shake the midges out of their hair and blankets, and, as Merry said, “assess the damage.” Everyone had some of the large, itchy bumps, but Pippin was nearly covered.
Ruffling his fingers through his curls one last time, Pippin walked over to where Aragorn stood, his eyes on a line of hills to the east.
“Are you itchy too, Strider?”
“Yes,” said Aragorn with a smile. “However, possessing not even a drop of Took blood, I seem to have fared a bit better than the rest of you.”
“What are you looking at?”
Aragorn crouched down to Pippin’s level and pointed to a far-off hill, somewhat apart from and south of the others.
“That is Weathertop, Pippin, upon which the ancient watchtower of Amon Sûl once stood.”
Pippin sighed in exasperation. “Really, Strider, everything has to have more than one name for you, doesn’t it?”
“Is that so strange, Peregrin?”
Pippin just scratched.
“If we travel as far today as I hope we will, I believe you may find some relief at our campsite this evening.”
“Relief?”
“Out there,” Aragorn pointed to a spot in the distance, “is a stream flowing down from the hills, beneath a shelter of trees. Cold, clean water might ease the itching, don’t you think?”
“Yes!” Pippin gasped. He dashed over to Sam. “Don’t you think that’s enough brushing, Sam? We should get going. Come on, Merry, let’s go!”
“That does sound wonderful,” agreed Frodo as they resumed traveling. “We could certainly use a bit of a bath, even if it is a cold one.”
“Strider,” asked Sam, “we know you’re not a Took, but, well… what are you? What’s your last name?”
“What you call ‘last names’, Sam, seems to be unique to hobbits… and some Men, but not many,” answered Aragorn. “I do not have one.”
“That’s all right,” said Pippin comfortingly. “You have lots of other names.”
As the hours passed, the land began to rise toward the line of hills, which grew closer. Aragorn had told them that approaching Weathertop from the north would be the safest route. The hobbits had never been near anything so high, and Frodo and Merry were hoping to be able to get to the top and see what the world looked like from up there.
“Whatever happened to Ollie, Strider?” asked Sam as they walked. “He was wonderful.”
“Ollie?” asked Merry.
“A horse, Merry, and a dear friend,” explained Aragorn. “His name is Arthad, but I suspect he would still answer to ‘Ollie’ -- that was Sam’s name for him. He lives still, in honored retirement in Rivendell. When his time comes to leave us, Lord Elrond, whom you will meet, will ease his passing.” Aragorn smiled. “You should visit with him, Sam; I know he remembers you with great fondness.”
“I will.”
“I remember that first ride,” mused Frodo. “I was so frightened, but it was exciting as well.”
“You don’t look that much different now than you did then, Mr. Frodo,” said Sam.
“Perhaps not,” said Frodo absently as he tightened his belt, “and I’ll soon be as slender as I was then. With all this walking and food rationing, why, I’m practically a wraith!”
“Do not say such things!” said Aragorn urgently.
Merry frowned. “You’re not superstitious, are you, Strider?”
“Not in the way you mean, Merry,” answered Aragorn. “However, words can have unseen power. It was a great Song that brought Arda into being, and the Elves believe that the Valar can hear their songs, even now. You will hear many songs to Elbereth, and others, when we reach Rivendell.”
“Elbereth,” murmured Frodo. “Queen of the Stars.”
“That’s correct,” Aragorn nodded. “The Elves greatly reverence her.”
“Frodo,” said Pippin worriedly, “maybe you should say something else -- something non-wraithy -- to balance things out.”
“All right.” Frodo smiled at his cousin. “I say to you, Peregrin Took, that I will never become a wraith. I promise.”
“That’s all right, then,” sighed Pippin.
“There it is,” said Aragorn, pointing to a sparkle in the grass, just visible in the late-afternoon sun. “We have traveled a good distance today.”
~*~
Frodo groaned with relief, even as he lowered himself gingerly into the cold water. The rushing stream, meandering in and out of trees and low bushes before disappearing into the marshes, felt wonderful after so many days of walking. Over time, a hollow had formed in which one could sit, and one after another, each person had let the clear flow wash away some of the dirt and weariness from the past week. In addition, Aragorn had been correct in guessing that the cold water would ease the itching they all felt.
Frodo, taking his turn last, emerged from the stream just as the sun was setting and the air was growing cold. He dried himself with a blanket and dressed warmly, then dug out a dry blanket in which to wrap his shivering body.
“Come here, little one,” Aragorn chuckled. Frodo grinned and sat down next to him. Aragorn enveloped him, blanket and all, in his large, thick cloak until only dark curls and blue eyes could be seen.
“Oh,” came a sigh from somewhere inside the Ranger’s cloak, “that’s so much warmer.”
“When you and Sam and Bilbo rescued me from that icy pond,” Aragorn mused, “I never thought I’d feel warm again.”
“At the time,” Frodo sighed, “I couldn’t imagine ever having a more exciting adventure.”
“Neither could I,” added Sam. He was about to say more when he noticed that Merry, standing beneath a nearby tree, was practically glowering at Aragorn. Sam stood up and walked over to him.
“Is everythin’ all right, Mr. Merry?”
Merry shifted restlessly for a moment, then motioned for Sam to follow him. They walked together until they were out of earshot, but not eyesight, of the camp.
“What is it?” Sam asked quietly.
“Look at that.” Merry gazed unhappily at Aragorn, sitting with Frodo wrapped up in his cloak. “He treats Frodo like a child -- and I don’t like what he calls him.”
“What does he call him?” Sam asked, puzzled.
“Little one.”
“Mr. Frodo’s always liked it.”
Merry frowned. “Why?”
Sam was silent for a moment. “From what I heard, after his folks died, Mr. Frodo’s childhood wasn’t the happiest, Mr. Merry, and it sounds as if he was called some mighty cruel names.”
Merry sighed. “I was only seven when Frodo left for Hobbiton; I never knew that he was unhappy.”
“Mr. Bilbo did a good thing, bringin’ Mr. Frodo to live with him,” said Sam quietly. “I got to know him after he got over bein’ so dreadful sick, and he seemed to me like a plant that had been uprooted; he needed kindness, and knowin’ he belonged somewhere with folks who cared about him. Mr. Bilbo gave him all that. And when he met Strider…” Sam looked at Aragorn. “I watched them together, Mr. Merry, and Mr. Frodo was never happier than when Strider was visiting.”
“Why?”
Sam turned to Merry, willing him to understand.
“Strider and Mr. Frodo are bonded strong, almost like family. Mr. Frodo looks up to him and feels safe when he’s around.”
“But ‘little one’ sounds so--”
“Mr. Merry, when someone Mr. Frodo loves and trusts, like Strider, speaks to him all gentle-like, with nothin’ but love and carin’ behind the words, I think it smooths out the rough memories a bit -- all those hard names he was called.” Sam smiled. “His presence is a mighty comfort for my master; I don’t think you can argue it.”
Merry smiled slowly in return; such vehement speeches were rare from the humble gardener.
“No, Sam, I can’t argue it. And if Strider meant Frodo any harm, I do believe you would be the first to speak.”
“That I would,” agreed Sam. “Strider’ll protect him with his dyin’ breath, same as we would. As I see it, everything evil is after Mr. Frodo, and he needs to feel safe. He’s been through enough hurt, and I don’t aim to see him have anymore. And if he does…” He took a deep breath. “Why, we’ll be there to ease things for him, and that’s all there is to it.”
“Merry!” Pippin rushed up to them, his fingers stained purple. “There are berries all over those bushes!” He thrust an empty pan into Merry’s hands and dashed off again.
“That youngster’s a caution,” chuckled Sam.
“Pip and I had everything Frodo didn’t,” Merry sighed, “…loving, stable families and knowing just where we belonged… I forget that, sometimes.”
“Merry!”
“Coming!” Merry smiled gratefully at Sam, and joined Pippin just in time to extricate his young cousin from a tangle of berry thorns.
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