Author's note: Thanks go to Shirebound for ideas that enriched this chapter.

Chapter 7: Gathering A Company

I went for an early gallop the next day, reveling in the exhilaration of the chill bright morning air. After my ride I sought out Aragorn, and we walked together to Elrond’s library. Elves and Dwarves clustered at a long table at the far end of the foyer, where Glóin and Bilbo stood in the midst of the taller folk, tracing on a beautifully detailed map the path of their great journey together, and retelling the tale of Smaug and The Battle of Five Armies. I joined them and studied the map for a long time, recognizing the lands I had passed through on my way here, and noting with interest the markings of fabled places such as Laurelindórenan and Moria, which I had heard of only in tales.

I finally looked around the room. Elrond was present, but deep in conversation with the counselors of his household, and seemed in no haste to call his meeting to order. Aragorn had disappeared.  The foyer where I stood opened into spacious rooms on either side, filled with cushioned chairs, carved tables, gleaming books and rolled parchments. I caught sight of Samwise walking across the tiled floor, carrying cloaks in his arms. I followed him, since he would certainly lead me to Frodo.

I paused when I came closer to the arched doorway through which Sam had passed. I was surprised to see Merry and Pippin in the room, and along with them Glóin’s son Gimli. Several Elves stood near the hobbits, talking amongst themselves. I caught sight of Aragorn and Frodo, on a couch further back against a wall.

Aragorn lounged with his legs stretched out in front of him, down low on the seat so that he was almost eye-level with Frodo, who perched beside him, looking much better than he had the day before. The Ringbearer was talking with abundant glee, saying something that made them both laugh, and then, still talking, he started smoothing the Ranger’s hair away from his face and finger-brushing it behind his ears. Aragorn laughed even harder, and made as if to pull away, but Frodo tugged on his ear and pulled him back, and then began to fuss with his beard. Aragorn was helpless now with mirth, and finally raised his hands and swatted Frodo’s fingers away. Frodo left off his mischief, placed one hand over his heart, and made an elaborate bow. The Ranger caught up the Halfling’s free hand and gave it a playful kiss.

I felt a stab of envy at their familiarity. Yesterday, at the armory with Aragorn and the hobbits, I had sought to speak with him, to know more of the one who was said to be Isildur’s heir. Aragorn had been courteous, but remote in the manner of the Elves, and had departed soon after Merry and Pippin finished their lesson. I had not invited him to spar with me. Indeed, I would not ask any Man who had fought five of the Nine to play at weaponry. It seemed disrespectful to the deed, and to the one who did it.

I lingered a little longer in the archway, watching Merry and Pippin clamor for Frodo’s attention now that the joke with Aragorn was over. Samwise folded his armload of cloaks, and kept an eye on his master. My affection for the little ones warmed my heart as I watched them. The hobbits were not as like to me in height as the Elves, or as similar to me in battle-gear as the Dwarves, yet I felt more akin to them than to any of the other folk here. Their ready friendship and open manner made me look forward to their company every day. A ghost of a shiver ran through me as I recalled my thoughts from the night before. I closed my eyes and willed the foul memory away.

“Ah, Boromir. Good day,” a voice said at my elbow. I abruptly opened my eyes and started when I saw Mithrandir standing at my side. I felt battered by the same strange shock of invisible force that Elrond’s presence carried, and a tingle of alarm passed through me. My father had always mistrusted the wizard, and I suspected that he could read the thoughts of Men.

“Good day, sir,” I replied with a bow. He was a wizard, after all, and I needed to stay in his good favor. Mithrandir’s expression gave no hint that his own thoughts might be suspicious of me. He was watching the hobbits and chuckling under his breath. He finally turned to me, smiling.

“So, how do you like Halflings, now that you have met them?” he asked me. “Are they what you expected?”

I shook my head and smiled also, as I watched Merry and Pippin explain something to the Elves that involved grand arm gestures. “I like them very much, sir, and in truth they are like nothing I had imagined,” I said honestly. “They are wonderfully friendly folk. I enjoy their company, although I am concerned for them, if they are indeed to take part in this mission. They are so small, and . . . they are far too trusting, as well.” I steeled myself and met the wizard’s eyes. “Do you agree that it is wise to send Frodo into Mordor with the Ring?”

Mithrandir did not seem surprised at my question. He considered me thoughtfully for a while before he spoke, and I braced myself again against that unseen wave of power. “None of us can see the end of all things, Boromir,” he said at last. “Yet, trueness of heart and loyal friendship have ever been our most powerful weapons against the forces of Sauron. These hobbits, Frodo especially, have been tested already by the power of the enemy, and stayed true to their purpose, when other folk would have been overcome.” The wizard looked back to Merry and Pippin, who were now pulling out maps and holding them up for the others’ inspection. “Hobbits will surprise you, Boromir. They are tougher than they seem, and much more stubborn than you would ever guess. They may well prove to be our best hope for this task.”

I remembered that Samwise had spoken of Mithrandir staying with Frodo in his room while he slept. “They all seem very familiar with you. Have you known them long, then?”

The wizard smiled fondly. “I have known Bilbo almost seventy years now, since the incident involving the dragon. And I have watched the others grow up from little lads.” He shot me a glance from under his bushy brows. “Much as I have you and Faramir, in fact. How fares your brother, if I may ask?”

I said what I could of Faramir, of his leadership and faithfulness to his duty, careful not to touch on any subject relating to my father. Mithrandir nodded as I spoke, undoubtedly perceiving what I could not say out loud. “Your brother has become a fine captain, then,” he said mildly when I finished.

“Aye,” I said, and spoke no more. Thinking of Faramir in battle brought a tightness to my throat.

“Here now!” Mithrandir’s sudden exclamation caught me off guard. He strode forward and plucked Pippin off a desk, where the hobbit had climbed in order to reach some goblets set deep in an alcove beyond his reach. I could see the look of consternation on the Elves’ faces change to relief as the wizard set the hobbit on the floor and upbraided him for his unmannerly behavior. “Peregrin, many things in this world are better off left alone by you, and almost everything in this room belongs in that category.  Kindly refrain from handling Master Elrond’s belongings. We’ll have no more of that kind of Tookishness from you today.” The wizard glared at the youngest Halfling, and I winced for Pippin’s sake at the public rebuke, but Pippin himself seemed nonplussed. I caught sight of Frodo, behind him, rolling his eyes at Aragorn. The hobbits did not seem to be very much afraid of their wizard friend.

“Well, all right then, Gandalf, but I certainly wasn’t going to drop them, or break them, if that’s what you mean. We might never get another chance to visit again, you know, and it would be a shame not to look at everything we can while we’re here,” said Pippin. “And besides, Legolas was telling me all about how they were made, and I wanted to get them down for him to see.”

Mithrandir fixed another glare on the Elf standing beside Pippin. “Master Greenleaf, after you spend more time with this hobbit, you will learn to not encourage him in any such sort of tomfoolery. Let’s leave these treasures intact and see if Elrond is ready to begin. All of you, come with me and try to stay out of trouble.” The wizard snorted and stalked out of the room, and the rest of us fell in sheepishly behind him.

*****

Luncheon on the library patio after the meeting was a quiet meal. I myself, who should have been elated at my inclusion in the fellowship of the Ring, felt my spirits dampened by the discussion of the planned march South. My journey here had been long and harsh, even though most of it had been on horseback. I groaned inwardly as I remembered the leagues I had traveled when I was without a horse, and had to walk. If I went back with this Company, I would be on foot the entire way, and walking at the pace of the hobbits, at that. I grimly estimated how long such a journey might take, and then I drained my goblet of Elvish wine, and tried not to think about the figure I came up with.

Aragorn had disappeared again after the meeting. Mithrandir had elected to sit with the hobbits, next to Bilbo, who had not been part of the morning council but who had shown up for the meal. I was seated next to Elrond, which on any other occasion would have filled me with satisfaction, but I could hear snatches of the hobbits’ energetic talk, and I longed to be part of the livelier group. Now that I was accustomed to dining with Dwarves and hobbits, the courtly manners of the Elves seemed oppressive, reminding me of my father’s table and the less welcome aspects of life at home.

I paid attention to my host, however, until he took his leave. By that time only a few Elves lingered at the table, deep in quiet conversation. Merry had found a little ball in some alcove of the library and had persuaded Legolas to play a game with Pippin, Sam and himself on the sward of grass beyond the balcony rail. Bilbo and Frodo, both with cloaks about their shoulders to ward off the thin autumn breeze, were still finishing their meal. I rose, and went to join them.

Bilbo glanced up and nodded a welcome as I approached. Frodo smiled and pulled out the chair beside himself for me. “Hello, Boromir,” he said. “Would you like some tea?”

I was not in the habit of drinking tea, but the invitation was so good-natured that I accepted. Frodo poured a mug and pushed it over to me, along with a plate of Elvish sweetcakes that had survived the hobbits’ luncheon. Bilbo brought out his pipe and filled it. He tilted his chin towards the group on the grass. “This should be interesting,” he said with a chuckle. We all three looked over at the players.

Merry was attempting to direct a practice round, Legolas and Sam had bemused looks on their faces, and Pippin was standing with his hands on his hips, arguing with Merry. Eventually they started tossing the ball in some pattern amongst themselves. Bilbo and I laughed a little as Pippin continued to argue with his cousin even as they traded pitches, but Frodo frowned and stood up, shrugging off Samwise’s cloak. I could not stop myself from stealing a quick glance at his shirt and vest. If he kept the Ring with him, where was it?

“This is ridiculous,” he said. “They need five if they are going to play a decent round. I’d better go down there before that poor Elf gives up on hobbits forever.”

Bilbo and I both gave him questioning looks. Frodo smiled and patted his uncle’s  shoulder.  “Don’t worry, Bilbo,” he said. “I’m feeling quite myself again today. ‘A little sleep in the house of Elrond,’ remember?” He glanced at me with the same mischievous look he had given to Aragorn earlier. “Boromir, I’ll be back after I straighten this out.” He headed across the patio and down the stairs to the grass. Bilbo sighed and moved his chair around to better watch the game. Frodo joined the group, reorganized it, and threw out the ball again. Pippin did not argue this time, because he was suddenly busy making his catch.

I watched them play in the warm sun, and thought of the road we were about to travel. Elrond’s plan would take these lighthearted hobbits into lethal danger, and most likely to brutal deaths at the hands of orcs. Frodo, especially, had little hope of ever returning. I looked at Bilbo.

“How can you bear to let him go?” I asked, and then immediately regretted the impropriety of my question. But I could not take it back now.

The elder Baggins turned around and studied me. He blew a puff of smoke and set aside his pipe.

“Your father sends you into battle time and time again,” he finally said. “How does he do that?”

That was not the same, not at all. “That’s  . . . different,” I replied slowly, thinking about why it was different. “The enemy is at our doorstep, and we have no choice but to fight. All the men of Gondor go into battle, not just myself.” I thought about the two situations a little longer. “And I do not risk myself foolishly, when I have no chance of winning.” 

Bilbo picked up his pipe again, and gave it a long pull.

“The Nine Riders tracked Frodo to the door of my home, and would have ransacked the Shire to find him, if he had still been there,” he said composedly. “That’s my doorstep, lad. The fight is here, and there is no choice for us either. We cannot defeat Sauron through strength of arms now.” He paused to smoke a bit. “There is no safe path, to be sure, but still, this is less risky than waiting for open war. I would go myself, if I was younger.”

“But do you not see the danger?” I continued, pressing the old hobbit, hoping to make my point. “Frodo is not even fully recovered yet from the Nazgul attack. Do you understand what he is walking into? Does he?”

“It’s a dangerous business just walking out of your front door,” Bilbo said. His eyes glinted a little at me. “Frodo is a Baggins, and walking into danger is something we do when we have to. Not all mighty deeds are done by Elves and Men, my friend. We must screw ourselves up for the job, hope for the best, and not hide like cowards waiting for the end.” His expression softened as he looked at me. “As you say, we must all do our part. Look at you! Here you are, going with him! What of the danger to yourself? You are not turning back because of it.”

“It’s not the same,” I said stubbornly. “I am returning home now on this journey, but” . . . now I realized what I was trying to say . . .“he may never come back again. And you love him so much.” There, that was it. It was not the same as my situation at all. I stopped talking, feeling foolish, and wishing with all my heart that I had never begun such a personal conversation.

Bilbo only puffed on his pipe, and did not answer me. He was watching the players on the grass, and after a moment I turned and watched them too. The game had picked up speed, and the little folk were firing the ball back and forth among themselves with admirable accuracy. The Elf was moving more confidently now, but he was outmatched in throwing ability. Frodo suddenly leaped to intercept a ball meant for Merry, spun in midair, and threw the ball to Sam before he landed again. He caught his breath sharply as his feet hit the ground, and he touched his hand to his left shoulder for a moment, but his eyes never left the ball and he called out in approval at Sam’s neat catch.

“You will be surprised, Boromir,” Bilbo finally said. “Frodo will surprise you all.” He smiled a bit as he watched his lad, but I frowned, and held my peace.