A Night in the Wilds

16 Winterfilth, 1418 SR

Strider sat at the edge of their little camp, watching over the hobbits as they slept near the dying embers of their little fire. As he watched them, he could not help comparing his new traveling companions with his normal band of Rangers.

Rangers were careful. They were organized. They knew how to hunt and when it was safe to do so. They didn't stand on top of high hills in plain sight of the enemy, or at least, not normally. They didn't insist on eating every two hours. They did enjoy banter and a good song now and then, but knew the dangers of doing so while being pursued. They could fight and fight well. They were keen observers of the world around them. They could track near anything and could sense when trouble was drawing near.

Hobbits could be careful but seldom were. They were prone to drawing attention to themselves. Instead of pulling their cousins aside and telling them to stop entertaining the inn with tales of vanishing hobbits, they instead felt the appropriate thing was to get on top of a table, sing a silly song and then vanish themselves. They moved silently, more so than Rangers, but their constant chatter made up for that. If they weren't exclaiming over everything around them or pouncing on the random mushroom patch, they were whistling, singing, making jokes or asking incessant and increasingly personal questions of the most embarrassing nature. They were incapable of walking past a berry bush without grabbing a handful - and giving the enemy a clear path to follow. Thankfully, the enemy couldn't see very well.

Hobbits couldn't fight, though that didn't stop them from trying. They were completely ignorant of the dangers that pursued them. Oh, they knew there was a danger, but they didn't know just how dangerous it was. A Ranger never would have gone out spying on the Nazgul alone, but a hobbit did. They had an inkling now, after the attack on Weathertop, of just how perilous was their flight. They had been uncommonly quiet since then, and the days were the darker for it. They spent every spare moment fretting over Frodo, making sure he was comfortable and warm enough. How they would glare at Strider whenever he denied them a fire!

“They mean well,” Frodo's voice floated over the quiet night, as though he had somehow read the Ranger's thoughts.

Strider pulled another blanket from the saddle bag. He draped this over Frodo, who was shivering violently, despite the warm bodies of his friends on every side. Strider poured him some water and held the cup to his lips so he could drink.

“I know they do,” Strider said. “But they do not understand.”

“Nor did I,” Frodo said. He shifted to find a more comfortable position. “They thought this would be a grand Adventure, like the one Bilbo had. If I had known it would be so perilous, I would not have allowed them to come.”

“Would that have worked?” Strider asked.

Frodo laughed ruefully. “No, but at least my conscience would not be nagging at me so,” he said. “I brought them into this danger. Any one of them could have been hurt, or killed, and they still can. Hobbits are not used to danger or war.”

“Do not be so quick to doubt their hearts or bravery,” Strider said. “They love you and will do anything for you. That is the greatest strength one can hope to have. If it were possible, I would have a hobbit walk with my men at all times, troublesome though hobbits may be.”

“Do Rangers not love each other?” Frodo asked.

“We do, in our own way. We have saved each other's lives many times, but it is instinct and training, as well as duty and love, that drive us to do so. We are bound to protect those who cannot protect themselves,” Strider said. “We have no other choice.”

“There is always a choice.”

Strider gazed upon the hobbit, pale from fright and injury, and shook his head. “You had a choice. To remain in the Shire, or to go forth in hopes of destroying the Ring. You could have stayed just as easily. Others would have.”

“I came to protect the Shire, to spare them the darkness that pursues us. My only choice was whether to go to Rivendell first or directly to Mordor. Since I didn't know where Mordor was, I chose Rivendell.”

Now Strider laughed, softly so as not to disturb the others. “A wise choice then.”

Frodo's smile did not reach his eyes and faded quickly. He looked at Strider with pleading and grasped the man's hand. “Please, Strider, if something should happen to me, if I should not make it, please see my friends safe and return them to the Shire at the soonest opportunity.”

“Nothing is going to happen to you, Frodo.”

“I can feel something moving inside me, ever inward, and there are times I wonder if I'm even really here. I can see at night better than I can at day, just as when I wear the Ring. I know it means something and I'm fighting it as much as I can, but every day I grow weaker,” Frodo said. “If it comes to the worst, you must take the Ring before this poison inside takes me.”

Strider sat back on his haunches, putting a small distance between him and his charge. He considered the hobbit gravely. “I dare not take the Ring.”

“You must! At least to Rivendell, where it can be hidden safely,” Frodo pleaded. “Do not let one of my friends take it. They must never touch it.”

“You do not understand what you ask. My ancestor long ago had the opportunity to destroy the Ring and could not. He claimed it instead and it was to his doom. His blood flows through my veins. If I take the Ring, I will fail too.”

Frodo actually snorted. “I had an ancestor long ago who thought tying ribbons to sconces was pretty - until it burnt the smial down and her son had to build a new one. I had another ancestor who was so afraid of water that he almost never bathed, and several others who considered themselves the Authority on everything though they in fact knew very little. We all have bad apples on the family tree. That doesn't mean we're going to end up one ourselves.”

“The Ring will not be safe in Rivendell, nor anywhere else while the Enemy seeks it,” Strider said. “Whoever takes it will be bound to destroy it. I fear I will not have the strength to do so.”

“Then I shall have to keep fighting,” Frodo said. He took a deep breath and looked up at the man with resolve. “It is not much longer to Rivendell. Is it?”

“No more than five days,” Strider said. “I am sorry, Frodo.”

“Don't be. You are truthful and kind, and that puts my heart at ease,” Frodo said. “I would not have my friends wandering alone with a deceitful man, especially one who is capable of deceiving himself. Thank you, Strider, for all that you’ve done for us.” He let go of the man's hand and burrowed further under his covers. He closed his eyes but Strider knew he would not sleep.

Strider returned to his seat and began to hum, soft enough so as not to alert the enemy but loud enough so that Frodo could hear and perhaps draw comfort. He watched them through the night, a new appreciation for these little folk blooming in his heart.

Rangers might have been raised and trained to stealth and valiancy, but Hobbits were braver by far.

GF 9/28/09