There stood barrels, and barrels, and barrels;
for the Wood-elves, and especially their king, were very fond of
wine.
‘Barrels Out of Bond’, The Hobbit
Gimli awoke refreshed and invigorated. Although the events of the previous day and night had not been without great danger, there had also been an exhilaration that could not be denied. What Dwarf would not relish focusing his strength and training in a race against the mighty forces of earth and water?
As he washed, he found himself thinking once again about the unique skills a Dwarf could offer the Ring-bearer. The Enemy had come after Frodo twice, and would no doubt do so again -- in greater numbers, and with greater subtlety. There could be no doubt left that a more dire flood was threatening to burst, one that sought to cover Middle-earth in darkness. From it there would be no safety, above-ground or below.
When that day comes, the presence of one more Dwarf will make little difference in the defense of our ancestral halls, he thought. I could be of more use in a different task. I understand, now, why my father bade me stay in this valley, and learn all I can. The Enemy is at our door. War is upon us, and I wish to confront it directly… and represent my people so as to bring them honor.
He walked through the quiet corridors, so deep in thought he was scarcely aware of his surroundings.
Several times, in the cave, I received the impression that the Elf has come to the same conclusions. He, too, is thinking of offering his service to the Ring-bearer. I should like to speak with him again.
Gimli looked up as a brilliant beam of sunlight struck him, somewhat surprised to find himself outside the House. He took several deep breaths of pure, crisp air, and glanced eastward toward the hills. He was eager to go back there soon and find out what was left of the cavern.
He went back inside and made his way to the dining hall, where he was greeted respectfully by the Elves gathered there. Noting their hushed voices and slightly-dulled eyes (and barely touched plates), he deduced that most of the fair folk with whom he had shared toasts until nearly sunrise were somewhat the worse for the experience. Loading a plate with hearty portions of bread, meats, and fruit, he took it to one of the empty tables and sat down on its sturdy bench. He was amusing himself by imagining what effect his cousin Dwalin’s ale -- rather potent even among his folk -- would have on these rather delicate Elves, when a cheerful voice broke through his reverie.
“Gimli!” He looked up to see Pippin coming toward him, all smiles, with Bilbo Baggins close behind. “May we join you?”
“Best to lower your voice, young hobbit,” Gimli advised, noticing several Elves rubbing their temples. “These folk have sharp hearing, and we celebrated quite heartily.”
“I know, I heard the singing,” Pippin said more quietly. He eyed the Dwarf’s plate. “You seem to have come through unscathed.”
“Of course!” Gimli declared proudly. “It would take more than a few goblets of wine to daunt one of Mahal’s children.”
“A few goblets?” Bilbo asked with a knowing wink. “Why, I saw no less than two empty casks just outside the door!”
“A pleasing vintage,” Gimli said with satisfaction.
“Bilbo, wait here,” Pippin said. “I’ll get you something.” He scurried to the sideboard, and returned with two large platters, piled high. Gimli noticed that the youngster's hair was more unruly than usual, and he seemed to have slept in his clothing.
“Thank you, lad,” Bilbo said. “Here, sit between us.”
Once the hobbits had piled eggs and hotcakes onto their plates, Gimli sampled the amber liquid that Pippin poured for the three of them. Grudgingly admitting to himself that these Elves were as skilled at pressing cider as making wine, he downed the whole mugful and reached for the pitcher.
“I am most eager to hear news of Frodo,” he said to Bilbo.
“He’s safe in bed, and recovering nicely,” Bilbo replied, his eyes shining with relief.
“Thanks to Strider,” Pippin added.
“And Sam?”
“The healers say that he'll be fine,” Bilbo reassured him. “We hear you did a marvelous job of taking care of him, and Legolas.”
“I only—”
“You’re a hero!” Pippin insisted. “And you must tell us everything that happened in the cave. Don’t leave out anything!”
“Patience, Pip-lad,” Bilbo chided gently. “The poor fellow needs to eat. Second breakfast is one of the most important meals of the day, you know.”
The three commenced to attack the mountains of food with great gusto. Pippin and Bilbo were still eating, and debating the merits of peach hotcakes versus blueberry, when Gimli pushed back his plate with satisfaction. The hobbits instantly turned to him with eager eyes, and he found a most appreciative audience for his tale. As he spoke, the Elves quieted their conversations to listen. At the conclusion of the exciting story, Pippin was nearly bouncing with excitement at the whoosh and roar of the flood that Gimli brought to life.
“You told that wonderfully,” Pippin said admiringly. “He’s almost as good a storyteller as you are, Bilbo.”
“High praise indeed,” Gimli said. Being in the presence of the legendary Burglar still filled him with awe.
In small groups, the Elves now scattered to their various duties, and Bilbo watched them go with a twinkle in his eye.
“Very little happens here, usually,” the old hobbit chuckled. “There will be a frenzy of new tales and songs in very short order.”
Then, before Gimli was quite prepared, Bilbo was pumping his hand many times, thanking him for saving Sam’s life and calling him a credit to his father, and other embarrassing things.
“I shall write to Gloín this very day,” Bilbo declared.
“Now, now, no need for that,” Gimli demurred, although he looked very pleased. “Legolas is due more praise than I. Perhaps someone should send a message to the king of those Wood-elves and let him know that his son is well. At least, I assume he is well?” He looked suddenly a bit anxious. “Do you know where I might find him?”
“Legolas is probably still in that healing room,” Pippin replied. “From what I saw last night, he didn’t look anywhere near ready to be moved, or to be left alone.”
“Can you direct me there?”
“He’s just down the corridor from Frodo, up on the second level,” Pippin said. “There’s a sculpture of a beautiful lady outside the door.” He blushed, and took a hasty bite of warm bread spread with fresh butter.
“That would be Estë, the Lady of Healing,” Bilbo grinned. “She is lovely, I agree.”
“Look!” Pippin’s eyes lit up as one of the cooks brought sweet rolls and fruit-filled pastries to the sideboard. “Frodo loves those fruit tarts, and Sam will be famished when he wakes; he hasn’t eaten any solid food in a whole day, can you imagine? I promised Merry I’d bring a good assortment back with me. Bilbo, what does Sam like best?”
“I will leave you to those important decisions,” Gimli said. He stood, bowed slightly, and exited the hall. Taking the broad stairway up to the second level, he found Frodo’s room easily enough; it was the only room being guarded. Two Elves standing in the corridor wore knives at their belts, and he was certain that they bore other weaponry he could not see. They both nodded to him politely, and Gimli wondered if there was now a list of approved visitors for the Ring-bearer’s room. When he poked his head into the bright and airy chamber, he found Gandalf and Merry sitting in chairs, chatting quietly.
“Come in!” Merry smiled broadly at the Dwarf. “I hear there was quite a party last night.”
“You heard correctly,” Gimli said. “Very few in this House are as clear-eyed this morning as those two at the door.” He took a good look at Frodo and Sam, sound asleep in the large bed. They were both pale, but it was encouraging to know they were being so well looked after.
“I was worried about them.”
“So were we,” Merry admitted.
“Has Sam woken? I feared that his injury was quite severe.”
“They’ve both been awake, but not at the same time.” Merry sighed, and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “First Sam woke up and asked if Frodo was warm enough. Then Frodo woke up and asked if Sam had anything to eat or drink yet. Then Sam woke up again and apologized for oversleeping. Then--”
“I get the idea,” Gimli said, vastly relieved.
“They’re finally sleeping soundly at last. They both had draughts last night, which seem to have been potent ones.”
“Sam has had some nourishment, then?” Gimli asked. “He was too ill to keep anything down in the cave.”
“He’s been given water and juices every time he wakes,” Merry assured him. “One of the healers stops by every few hours to check on him, and Frodo, too. Neither of them is to get up yet.” He yawned tiredly. “Hopefully Pippin can get some sleep himself, soon. What a night!”
“Have you had any rest, Master Merry?” Gimli asked.
“A few hours,” Merry said. He looked at Gimli with a gleam in his eyes, and it was obvious that his curiosity was as keen as Pippin’s. “The flood burst, didn’t it?”
“Indeed it did,” Gimli said. “I have never heard nor felt such a force in all my life.” He stroked his beard reflectively, and looked appraisingly at Gandalf. “What of Elrond? Is it true that he kept the waters from reaching us by some type of magic?”
“Something like that,” Gandalf nodded. “He was greatly wearied by his task, Gimli. It may be some days before he fully recovers, but we believe that he is no longer in danger. Elves can be as resilient as hobbits.”
“And nearly as troublesome,” Gimli grumbled good-naturedly. “Speaking of which, there is one troublesome Elf in particular that I wish to visit. If you will excuse me…”
After Gimli left, Gandalf peered closely at Frodo, nodded to himself, then turned to Merry.
“Why don’t you go help your cousin bring a few trays of food up here?” the wizard suggested.
“But—”
“Go on,” Gandalf said softly. “I will stay with them.”
“Well, all right,” Merry said reluctantly. Something was obviously afoot, but he didn’t know what it was. “I won’t be long,” he said firmly. He had barely left the room when Frodo stirred, and slowly opened his eyes.
“Good morning,” Gandalf said. “I thought you might be waking soon.”
“Gandalf,” Frodo yawned. “I’m beginning to get accustomed to seeing you at my bedside.” He touched a gentle finger to Sam's bandage. He was smiling in his sleep, and Frodo was glad his dreams weren't troubled by darkness and falling rocks.
“Has he eaten?”
“Soon,” Gandalf said. “Lindir advises that he start with small portions.”
Frodo started to sit up, and winced. “Oh, I nearly forgot about my leg.”
Gandalf leaned forward and helped him sit up against the pillows.
“Thank you.” Frodo rubbed his left arm and flexed the fingers, then noticed the sunlight streaming into the room. “My arm feels nearly well again. Is everyone at breakfast?”
“Second breakfast, I do believe,” Gandalf said. “Your cousins will be back soon with a tray. But first…” he leaned forward and gazed at Frodo. “I must ask your pardon, my friend.”
“Why?”
Gandalf looked solemn. “When you first arrived in Rivendell, I told you that you were safe here. I was mistaken.”
“You said I was safe at present,” Frodo reminded him. “You can’t possibly know everything, Gandalf. And it worked out all right.” He bit his lip suddenly, and threw off the blankets. “If you’ll excuse me a moment, I need to--”
“You are not to walk anywhere, Frodo,” Gandalf said firmly. Frodo followed the wizard’s gaze to a chamber pot on the floor, and he stared at it in dismay.
“Nonsense,” Frodo declared, although he was still dizzy enough to wonder if standing again so soon was a good idea. “I hopped about perfectly well last night, and can do so now.”
“I have my orders,” Gandalf said with a straight face.
Frodo glared at him, then slowly sat back, his expression innocent.
“If I best you with a riddle, will you let me out of bed?”
“You are a most impertinent hobbit,” Gandalf grinned. “I’d like to see that.”
“A deal!” Frodo said triumphantly. He thought furiously, absently running his fingers through already-rumpled hair. “How about… let me see, ah, I have one!”
“Above and below the stars do shine,
The voice that speaks to me is mine.”
Gandalf burst out laughing. “I will carry you to your destination, Frodo Baggins,” he conceded. “I do not believe that will violate Aragorn’s orders.”
“Splendid,” Frodo said with satisfaction. “I knew I could...”
“…best a wizard? Whom do you think taught the hobbits the art of riddling?” Gandalf asked. “Of course you were referring to the roof and floor of the cavern of crystal, and the echo of one’s voice that can be heard there.”
“Oh,” Frodo said, disappointed. As Gandalf reached down to lift him, he looked up at the wizard suspiciously.
“You were going to carry me all along, weren’t you?”
“Nonsense. What a fanciful notion.”
“Hmmm.” Frodo settled comfortably into the the familiar arms. “I know you worry about us, Gandalf. But surely now I'm safe again... at present.”
“My dear hobbit,” Gandalf said fondly.
“Did you really teach the hobbits about riddles? Why do you never tell any?”
Gandalf gazed down at the eager face and frowned, but Frodo gazed up at him hopefully.
“Very well,” he chuckled. “Let us continue this challenge with an easy one.”
“A tread as light as Ithil's beams,
A light behind each visage gleams.”
“Oh,” Frodo said after a moment, “that can only be--”
“Elves,” Sam murmured happily.
Frodo hooted with glee, and the wizard sighed.
“You said it yourself, Gandalf -- hobbits are surprising creatures... even when they're asleep!”
“So they are,” Gandalf smiled. “So they are.”
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