DISCLAIMER:  Of course. The characters don’t belong to me, I just get to think about them day and night.

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WHISPERS OF THE DRAGON

Chapter 1 --- The Dragon

“Sam, you’re going to wear that cloak out before you’ve had it a day.”

Sam sighed with pure wonder.  “It’s just the most amazin’ cloth, Mr. Frodo.  I can’t figure what they made it out of.”  He fingered an edge of the Elven cloak once again, then touched the green and silver leaf brooch lightly, reverently.  “Me, Sam Gamgee, dressed in such a thing as this.  And carryin’ a gift from the Lady herself.  Who’d a thought it?”  His eyes grew misty once again, gazing past Aragorn back up the river, back toward Lórien.

Frodo nodded, shifting his weight a bit as his back was beginning to pain him.  He was sitting with Sam in the bow of the little boat, finding the wooden seats most uncomfortable.  For most of the afternoon Aragorn had sat alone in the middle seat, paddling when there was need.  The middle seat would not have allowed two Men to sit together, but one Man and a hobbit had room to sit side by side if they chose.  Each boat contained packs and traveling gear of the Company, coils of the soft Elven rope, boat covers, waterskins, and a supply of lembas and other foods packed by the Elves -- some of it stowed under the small seat in the stern, some lying between the middle and rear seats.  The Elves had outfitted each boat with leaf-bladed paddles, several shortened for a hobbit’s use.  Or a dwarf’s.

Legolas and Boromir kept their boats just behind Aragorn, the current carrying them all swiftly southwards.

Aragorn smiled when Sam let go of the cloak and reached his hand out, once again, to grasp the side of the little craft.  The Ranger had never seen anyone less at ease on the water, and the hours that had passed since leaving Lórien had done nothing to calm Sam’s suspicions about this mode of travel.  Sam and Gimli were the only members of the Company who could not swim at all, and neither planned to start anytime soon.

Frodo moved carefully to sit down next to Aragorn.  Now that the sun was starting to set behind the western hills, he felt he could look at the glittering river once again, as he suspected it had been the sun sparkling all day on the water that had been making his head ache.  He pulled his cloak tightly about him in the chill air and yawned.

“Frodo, did you get any sleep last night at all?” Aragorn asked.

“Very little,” Frodo sighed.  “We talked so long and so late, afterwards I just couldn’t stop thinking about... things.”  He pulled his legs up, trying to find a comfortable position.

“Tomorrow, pad a seat with one of the bedrolls until you get accustomed to it.  Remember when we left Rivendell, and hardly any of you could walk more than a few hours at a time up in those mountains?”  Frodo nodded.  “You’ll get used to this, too.”  Aragorn looked up.  “Even Sam may get used to it!”

“Strider, there’s just nothin’ natural about boats and that’s all there is to it,” Sam said vehemently.  “Even Elf boats.”

Aragorn looked down as Frodo tried to stifle another yawn.  He motioned behind them.  “Lie down as best you can on the packs.  Maybe you can fall asleep.”

Frodo was about to protest when he realized he wasn’t going to be able to keep his eyes open much longer.  The sleepless night, the long hike that morning, and the quiet, motionless hours on the boat were lulling him to sleep against his will.  Maybe a bit of sleep would ease his headache and clear away the odd disorientation he had been feeling for most of the afternoon.  He climbed back to where the packs and gear were kept and burrowed between them, then curled up with his cloak wrapped about him and was asleep in minutes.

After sunset, Aragorn saw a good spot ahead on the western shore to camp, and he motioned to the other boats to follow him.  They paddled hard and came to a level, gravelled beach surrounded by trees.  Legolas and Boromir leaped out of their boats and pulled them up on shore.  Gimli, Pippin, and Merry started unloading gear.

Frodo was only dimly aware that they had stopped, of someone lifting him, being carried.  “Aragorn,” he murmured, too groggy to fully awaken.

“You can sleep, Frodo, it’s all right.”  Aragorn laid him gently down on the bedroll Sam had shaken out under a tree and covered him warmly.  “Head... hurts...” Frodo whispered, before sinking back into the strangely deep sleep.  The Ranger frowned and felt the hobbit’s forehead for fever, but found none.  It seemed best to just let him sleep.

A short distance away, the Company sat in the growing darkness on some blankets and fallen logs, munching bread and the dried fruit and meats the Elves had packed for them.  Aragorn joined them, and decided the time had come to set a few rules for the journey -- especially for the hobbits.

“We’ve done well today, but have a long journey yet ahead... a fortnight, perhaps less.”  Aragorn unpinned the emerald and silver brooch from his tunic, and looked at it for a moment before pushing it into a pocket in his pack.  “We must put away anything that might reflect the sun and attract attention.”  He nodded approvingly as, without a word, Merry and Pippin immediately took off the silver belts given to them by Galadriel and put them away.  Boromir had removed his golden belt earlier in the day, not entirely at ease with wearing it.  “Everyone must learn to use the paddles, to steer and turn at need.  Anyone who doesn’t know how should ask, and practice.”  Sam sighed, but nodded.

“Remember,” Aragorn said, trying not to look at Pippin, “the lembas is a valuable gift, given to sustain those of us who accompany Frodo to Mount Doom.  We must use it sparingly until then.”

“We are no longer within protected borders.  We must be vigilant, and not only at night.  Sound carries far over the water.  No singing, or shouting, and only quiet talking in the boats.  We’ve tarried in Lórien longer than you may think, and the Enemy has not been idle.  No fires at night unless there is great need.  We must stay alert.  Anyone in need of rest...” and here he nodded toward Frodo’s sleeping form, “should say so.  A tired sentry is a bad sentry.”  He looked around, gratified to see the hobbits gazing at him so seriously.  They had come a long way.

Legolas and Gimli volunteered to take the first watch, and the rest rolled up in their cloaks and blankets, Sam and Merry on either side of Frodo, Pippin on the other side of Merry.

“Merry,” Pippin whispered, “I’m cold.”

“Come on then,” Merry said, making room between him and Frodo.  Pippin nestled between them and burrowed down into his blankets.  Before falling asleep, Merry reached a hand across Pippin and let it rest lightly on Frodo’s shoulder; he noticed that Sam had done the same.  Neither had forgotten the encounter with Gollum within the borders of the Golden Wood.  They were taking no chances.

*~*~*~*~*

Frodo awoke to a chill morning, roused by Sam gently calling his name.  He was startled to learn that he had somehow slept through dinner and would likely have slept through breakfast, as well.  He rose, grateful that his head had stopped pounding.  He ate ravenously of the bread, cheese, and dried fruits, and noticed that the strange feeling of disorientation from the day before had disappeared as well.

“How are you doing, Frodo?” asked Aragorn, coming to sit by him.  He had been talking quietly with Legolas, who joined them as well.

“Fine.  I felt so strange yesterday I thought I might be getting sick, but it seems to have passed.”

“Interesting,” Legolas mused.

“What do you mean?”

The Elf looked thoughtful.  “Aragorn and I were just talking about how you were feeling last night.  There is a transition of sorts between Lothlórien and the rest of Middle-earth.  Time flows a bit differently there than here.  You seem to have been affected by it, although I would not have thought a mortal would sense such a subtle thing.  Perhaps the presence of... what you carry... has given you a sharper perception of what is -- for the most part -- unseen and unfelt by others.”  He smiled at Frodo and rose to help Gimli pack the remainder of their gear.

The Ring.  During their last days in Lórien, Frodo had been able to all but forget that it hung about his neck, but as soon as they left the borders he had felt its presence strongly once again.  He finished eating and helped with the packing, thinking about what Legolas had said.  If the Ring was altering his perceptions, what else might it be doing to him?

*~*~*~*~*

Sam tried, he really did.  After about half an hour, though, Aragorn gently uncurled Sam’s rigid fingers from the paddle and conceded that maybe the hobbit could better serve as lookout than boatsman.

“It’s all right Sam,” Frodo sat in the forward seat (now well padded), and reached to pat his friend on the knee.  “You do everything else so well, I suppose we had to discover one skill lacking!”

“Thank you, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said ruefully.  “It’s just when I lean out and push the paddle in the water, I just know I’m either goin’ to drop it or tumble right over the side or...”  He sighed.  “It’s just not natural, a Gamgee and water, and that’s that.”

Frodo saw that in the boat just behind, Boromir was giving Pippin a few pointers.  Merry, it turned out, had needed no instruction at all.

“I wonder whose boat Gandalf would have been in,” Frodo mused quietly.  “He might have wanted to keep an eye on Pippin and keep him from falling overboard, but I think Pip’s grown up so much he wouldn’t recognize him.”  Frodo’s heart still ached for Gandalf, but the stay in Lórien had been a very healing time and at least now he could talk about him.

“I suspect the Elves would have given us a fourth boat if there were still nine of us,” said Aragorn.  “It’s amusing to picture Gandalf paddling down the river with us in that outlandish hat.”  He was glad to see Frodo smile.  “If we would have been using boats, that is.  What plans Gandalf had past Lórien I suppose we will never know.”

“I suppose not,” Frodo said.  He looked around.  “Bilbo would have loved this.  He always wanted to go everywhere and see everything.  He’d be traveling still, if he hadn’t grown old and frail so quickly.  It was hard to see him... that way...”  Frodo suddenly turned pale.  “Old and frail,” he whispered to himself, aghast at a sudden thought.  He looked at Sam, wide-eyed.

“Mr. Frodo, there’s no point in thinkin’ such things,” Sam declared.

Aragorn was looking from one hobbit to the other, completely confused.  “What are you two talking about?”

Frodo looked up at him, obviously shaken.  “Aragorn, how old do you think I am?”

“What difference does...”

“Please.  I know you’ve been helping guard the Shire for years; you must know more about hobbits than anyone except for Gandalf.  How old do I look?”

Aragorn saw that Frodo was deadly serious about something, even a bit frightened.  “I know you’re of age, Frodo.  Sam and Merry seem about the same age as one another, and you look a bit younger.  Pippin’s much younger, no doubt about that.  What is this all about?”

When Frodo didn’t answer, Sam said, “That’s a good guess, Strider.  I’m 38 and Mr. Merry is 36.  Mr. Pippin is 28; he’ll be a tween for a few years yet.”

“I’m 50, Aragorn,” said Frodo.

“You are?  You don’t look any older than---”

“I know,” Frodo said.  “It’s the Ring.  I’ve had it since I was 33, and haven’t aged a day since.”  He sighed.  “I’d gotten used to it, you know... always looking the same.  The way Bilbo always looked the same -- until he got rid of it.”

“I see,” Aragorn said quietly.  “He didn’t start to age again until he got rid of the Ring.  And when you get rid of it...”

“Yes.”  Frodo looked out at the shoreline going by and said nothing more.

“Fifty is hardly old and frail,” said Aragorn after a few minutes.  “I passed 50 quite a few years ago, and I can still stagger about and feed myself on occasion.”

Frodo laughed, then grew serious again.  “I just never thought of it before.  I think the Ring is filling my head with all the reasons why I shouldn’t destroy it.  Why I should...” he absently fingered the chain about his neck.

“It’s like the dragon, isn’t it?” asked Sam suddenly.

Frodo was startled out of his reverie.  “What do you mean?”

“It’s like that dragon from Mr. Bilbo’s adventure.  That Smaug.  He said dragons tell you just enough truth to make you believe everything they say.  You stop listenin’ to yourself and start listenin’ to them.  You can’t listen to dragons, that’s all.  You can’t look ’em in the eye.”  He looked at Frodo intently.  “You can’t listen, Mr. Frodo.  You just can’t.”

“Sam,” Frodo whispered.  He bowed his head, his hand dropping into his lap.  He took a deep breath.  “Thank you.”

Aragorn put his arm around Sam’s shoulders.  “Forget about the paddling, Sam.  Frodo is right --- you do everything else very well indeed.”

** TBC **