Aldor, of Rohan

(Book verse)

The air is alive with the sound of horses and men.  Even though it is night, the men talk and rustle about the campfire.  There is a quiet comfort in the sounds of my companions easing their hearts with song and laughter, despite the present dire situation.  I hope that others can take such solace from it as I do.  I know that Dernhelm sits silently in the shadows.  I give her the space she needs a hope that some of her icy layers melt in time.  Elfhelm pays her no undue attention and the eored follows his example.  Besides, she is a shieldmaiden of Rohan and can handle herself at need.  It is the hobbit I worry about.  It seems to me that he would too easily be lost or trampled among the proud horses and unwary men.

Currently, he is craning his neck to look my beautiful Leofa in the eyes.  He looks relieved to be in a place where he will not be tripped over and cursed as a root, though I notice that he keeps his feet well away from unpredictable hooves.  I understand that one so small would be wary of an animal so large, but I also I know that he has nothing to fear.  Leofa can be proud and fierce in battle, but he is as gentle as a lamb with those he is taken with.  In the few days we have traveled together, Leofa has developed a special interest in our small piece of extra baggage.    

On one side, fierce Folca pulls at his lead and stamps his feet, eyeing the small hobbit with angry eyes.  Leofa calmly pulls away slightly and, unaware that he is being led, his tiny companion follows him.  Leofa now has him between his own body and lazy Gram, who never takes the energy to snap at anyone unless his rider is upon his back.  Here, between Leofa’s steady feet and gentle muzzle, the Holbytla is safe from heavy hooves and fumble-footed men. 

Our hobbit, of course, is oblivious to such nuances.  He only knows that horse’s muzzle is gently exploring his hair and that his hooves are firmly planted on the ground.

The hobbit reaches into his pocket and brings out a small bit of carrot as a treat for Leofa.  Leofa takes the offering gently and it soon disappears.  The hobbit reaches up to stroke his neck, but the greedy lump smells another treat in his small companion’s pockets.  He nudges the hobbit’s chest and the little one laughs, pulling out a bit of apple.

“Just like Pippin,” I hear him say.  Underneath the light amusement, there is loneliness and longing in his voice.  Leofa snorts, as if laughing with his companion, but Merry takes no notice.  His shoulders have slumped forward again as his mind takes him back to his troubles.  He is alone and scared, even if he does not want to acknowledge it.  Without his cousin, the world is larger and darker and more dangerous than he thought possible.  I wonder if he knows who he is now that he is alone.  Can he remember a day without his cousin?  Suddenly the shreds of his normal life that he clutched so closely have drifted away like smoke on the wind.  How does one survive such an upheaval?

He does not know and neither do I.

Sensing his companions changed mood, Leofa lowers his head to hobbit level and gently presses his nose to Merry’s face.  Merry closes his eyes and lays his head against the soft nose, stroking Leofa’s cheek with one hand. 

“Thank you,” I hear him whisper.

The hobbit returns to his makeshift bed set among the cradling roots of a large tree.  I set my belongings nearby and lie down to sleep.  I am far enough not to cause alarm, but close enough so that the sentries walking their rounds will pick their way around me, away from the tree and the hobbit hidden within his roots.  Our bag will not be disturbed tonight.

Like horse, like rider.