Chapter 6

“What about Bill?”

Sam looked uncomfortable at suddenly becoming the focus of every eye.  “I mean,” the hobbit continued doggedly, “couldn’t we back up old Bill to that rock, an’ get him to kick?  Never knew a horse that wouldn’t kick, if you tickled ‘im in the right place.  Even a pony’s got a kick that will flatten a barn wall.”  Sam rubbed at a shoulder absently, and abruptly Frodo laughed.

“Or a hobbit!  You were sore for a month when that pony kicked you over in Bywater, weren’t you, Sam?  It picked you up off your feet and threw you over the fence into the duck pond.  It was a wonder your shoulder wasn’t broken.  Gimli, would that work?”

The dwarf turned and walked over to Bill, who accepted Gimli’s stroking of his soft nose equitably, his earlier terror forgotten.  Gimli ran his hand over the pony’s flanks, noting the strong muscles underneath the rough winter coat.  “Did we cushion his hooves…   It might work, young Samwise.  Indeed, it might work.”

Bill had no objection to being untied from his stake-rope and led to the wall.  Tugging gently on his headstall, Sam pushed the pony into position, lining up the strong hindquarters with the pivot-stone.  While Sam held his head and treated him to a dried apple from their supplies, Frodo and Merry folded blankets.  Sam reached down and picked up each rear leg in turn, centering the hoof in a bulky nest of cloth.  Then the bundle was tied around each of his rear hooves. Bill submitted to this with good grace, his ears forward.  “There’s a good lad, Bill,” Sam said, stroking his withers.   Bill turned his head around to regard the hobbit quizzically. “What do I use to tickle ‘im?”

Frodo handed him another blanket.  Aragorn and Legolas scrambled off their perches and drew Boromir back from the wall.  The others fell back, creating a wide semi-circle about the pony.  Sam positioned himself carefully by Bill’s side, and pulled a corner of the blanket taunt.  Then he dangled it over the pony’s back, just above his tail.  “Here we go, Bill.  Tickle now, tickle, tickle, tickle…”  Bill’s great soft eyes watched this curiously.  He showed no inclination to kick.

Legolas climbed up to the opening again, balancing himself with elven grace, trying not to laugh despite the gravity of the situation.  Aragorn knew he could not move as quickly as the elf, did the wall come down, so he and Boromir stayed back out of range.  Both of them were shivering desperately.  

After several more attempts, Sam had to admit defeat.  “He don’t feel ticklish, sir,” he said to Gandalf.  “The blanket’s too thick an’ heavy.  He needs something lighter … like hair or...”  The hobbit trailed off as his grey eyes turned to Gimli’s thick, glorious beard.            

“No!  Never!”  The dwarf caught up his beard in both hands as if to shelter it from their considering gazes.  “I burned one of my mustaches to drive off the cave bear, and I’ll not sacrifice another!”

 “Gimli –“ Gandalf began.

“No!  If you wish to use a beard, use yours!”

Legolas’ clear voice rode gently over the wizard’s inhaled breath.  “I offer one of my poor braids.  They are not as thick and as full as Master Gimli’s, but perhaps it will serve?”

Rather than appearing relieved, the dwarf seemed more aggravated than ever.  Watching him apprehensively, the hobbits crowded close together except for Sam, who stood unhappily by Bill’s head.  Gimli scowled furiously up at the elf, his bushy eyebrows so lowered that they wondered how he could see.  Then abruptly, he threw up his hands and laughed.

“I thank you for your rescue, Master Legolas, but they are right.  Your braids would be too soft to have much effect.  A good stiff bristle is what is needed, and none better than a beard.  My beard…” he sighed and looked up to see the twinkle in Gandalf’s eyes.

“I am certain the bards will compose songs to your sacrifice, Master Gimli,” said the elf gravely.  “Both your sacrifices –“

“That is enough, Legolas,” said Gandalf, interrupting the elf’s gentle ribbing.  Gimli snorted but did not take offense.  Aragorn, straining his ears to hear their conversation above the rising wind, reflected on how far these two had come since that first adversarial meeting at the Council of Elrond.

Heaving a martyred sigh, Gimli took his belt knife in one hand and his beautiful, braided mustache in the other.  He carefully lifted it free of his beard and set the knife against it.  Closing his eyes, he sliced.  The dwarf regarded the severed braid with deep sadness, then handed it to Sam.  Holding it aloft with the same reverence the dwarf had, Sam gently laid it over the pony’s back, then removed it quickly.  Bill’s tail swished.  Sam twitched the bristly end of the braid just above Bill’s tail, lightly touching the pony’s hide.  Bill jumped.  “Ah,” Sam murmured softly, “now we’re getting somewheres.” 

Another teasing touch, and Bill’s hindquarters elevated.  Another, and a hind hoof lashed out.  Sam laid the braid above the tail and drew it from one side to the other.  Bill threw his head down and both hooves slammed against the pivot-stone.  The hobbits held their breaths as the wall trembled and rained dust down both sides of the barrier. 

“There’s a brave lad, Bill,” Sam crooned.  “Just one more, now…”  Again the wiry braid tickled across the pony’s sensitive spot, and Bill reacted with both hooves.  With a groaning rumble, the pivot-stone shot out from among the others, bouncing past the two men and the elf.  The rest of the wall held for the briefest of moments, then collapsed like a mound of sand when water is poured upon it.  Dust billowed in a rolling wave throughout the little cavern.  Legolas was inside before it had cleared enough to see, checking that no one had been hurt.  Aragorn and Boromir struggled in behind him, coughing and rubbing their eyes.  They had to climb over the rubble, but the once-impassable barrier was now no taller than waist-high to a hobbit.

Gandalf insisted everyone have a drink of the melted snow-water to ease their throats.  Though it was no warmer inside the cavern than outside, shelter from the wind and more importantly, the reunion of their Fellowship resulted in the entire company feeling much warmer and more at ease once they were together again.  When Boromir suggested clearing the rubble enough for the pony to pass, Aragorn vetoed the idea, remembering the cave-bear.  Now that they were no longer trapped, the Ranger could appreciate the remaining barrier as fortification, not imprisonment.

As he had done earlier that night, Aragorn stood the first watch, just out of the cold wind behind the tumbled barrier.  He stood silently, looking out into the freezing darkness, his hand resting tiredly on the hilt of his long sword.  Behind him, matters were settling down as the Fellowship prepared to take some much-needed rest.  The fire had been built up and was spreading its meager warmth throughout the little shelter.  Merry had held Bill’s head while Sam freed his hooves from the cushioning blankets, both of them petting the pony and feeding him bites of carrot and apple.  Bill accepted the offerings graciously, his soft lips nuzzling over their hands.  Just before stabling the pony for the night, Sam slipped around him so that he was between the pony and the wall, hidden from the others’ sight.  Sam slipped his arms around the pony’s neck and pulled Bill’s head down, planted a kiss under one soft brown eye.  “Ah, Bill,” he muttered softly.  “You’re worth every one of them silver pennies, an’ a thousand more besides.  Thank you, Bill, for saving all o’ our lives.”

* * * * *

The next morning dawned clear and bitterly cold.  Gimli made the mistake of rolling out of his bedroll with a groan, and then had to suffer the indignity of having four concerned hobbits help him to his feet.  Between having Pippin bring him tea and Merry delivering his breakfast and Frodo piling more blankets on him and Sam asking if he could get him anything, the poor dwarf was quite overwhelmed.  He finally resorted to thanking them all for their attentions, and asking that they leave him alone so he could eat his meal.

The entire Company was still weary from last night’s exploits.  As they packed up and prepared to move out, there was less soft conversation than usual.  They detoured around the frozen corpse of the snow-creature, marveling at its size, at the length of its sickle-like claws.  Because it was frozen, there was little smell and even the blood had frozen to red droplets of ice, unreal on the matted white pelt.  Bill shied as Sam led him past it, and the stocky hobbit had to shorten his lead-rope, soothing him gently.  Gandalf had stood by the still form as the others filed past him, leaning on his staff and thinking of what might have been, if not for simple luck and the courage of one small hobbit with a sling-shot.

Pulling his hat down over his eyes, the wizard strode after the others.  The sun glinting off the snow was already blinding.  He passed Boromir, acting as rearguard, and the cousins, walking together and talking softly.  Little Pippin was already having trouble in the deepening drifts, and Gandalf yearned to do more for the smallest members of the Fellowship.  Frodo looked tired and Gandalf wished the hobbit would speak with him.  More than once on their journey so far, he and Frodo had been able to discuss the hobbit’s fears and concerns, and Frodo had been eased by Gandalf’s wisdom and compassion.  But of late, Frodo increasingly kept his thoughts to himself.  That reticence reflected in the beautiful blue eyes, and dragged at his heels.  Gandalf feared that his burden weighed increasingly on him, and knowing the stubborn hobbit, also feared Frodo would seek no ease that any of them could give him.

Sighing, Gandalf continued on past Sam and Bill, reaching out to pat Bill’s neck as he passed.  Sam grinned at him cheerfully, holding on to one of Bill’s saddle bags to help himself along.  Gimli and Legolas walked before the hobbit and the pony, discussing the relative merits of archery versus axe work.  Pulling even with Aragorn, the two walked in companionable silence for a space.  The wizard kept glancing back to check on the others, his gaze lingering on the hobbits. 

At last he shook his head, raising his staff to call a halt and allow the hobbits to catch up and tighten the line of march.  “Aragorn,” he murmured, “the hobbits cannot advance through this snow.  Even with Gimli and Legolas, and Sam leading Bill to break trail for them, they must work too hard as the snow deepens.  Pippin, especially, cannot keep up the pace.”

Aragorn turned back.  Merry and Frodo had moved ahead of the youngster, trying to flatten a path for him.  Pippin struggled after them, but even trampled, the snow came up mid-thigh on him.  As they watched, Pippin fell full-length in the snow.  Frodo and Merry hurried back to lift him to his feet, and they both could see the exhaustion etched on the three small faces.

“We must find a way to help them, my friend.  These little folk were not made for this.”  Side by side they stood, and watched as all four of the hobbits sank into the snow and covered themselves with their cloaks.

* TBC *