Frodo's Exciting Day Out

by Llinos
beta Marigold  

Chapter 5
Where are My Armies?

"It's too quiet," Aragorn surveyed the vast expanse of the Pelennor Fields below them, "I don't like it."

"Why ever not?" Legolas blinked short-sightedly at the Ranger in surprise, "It's lovely and peaceful, or at least it would be," he turned to the two remaining hobbits, "if certain perian, who shall be nameless, would shut up for a minute."

Merry and Pippin were playing a hobbit version of I-Spy, which had very specific rules. The only letter allowed was 'S' and the only possible answers were 'sun', 'sky' or 'sand'. For a short while, as they had skimmed the Ethir Anduin looking for Corsairs, they had allowed 'sea', but that was now out of bounds.

"My turn," Pippin announced for the five hundred and fifty second time, "I spy, with my little eye, something beginning with… um… 'S'."

"Let me see," Merry pondered, "sky?"

"No!" Pippin announced triumphantly.

"Sun?" Merry tried.

"Yes – your go!"

"I spy, with my little eye, something beginning with… err, let me see…" Merry pursed his lips thoughtfully, 'S'!"

"Sky?" Pippin guessed.

"Yes," Merry conceded, "your turn."

"I spy, with my little…"

"Will you both shut up!" Gimli finally exploded. "That must be the stupidest game ever!"

"Not as stupid as being a seven foot dwarf," Merry muttered crossly. "Anyway, we're bored. When are we going to do something we want to do?"

"I thought you were enjoying yourselves," Aragorn said patiently, "you liked the dead people – now didn't you?"

"Yes," Pippin conceded, "but they didn't do much. I mean, you just released them from their oath and then they all ran away!"

"I know," Aragorn sighed, "but you see, I had no need of them. The enemy has been stopped at Osgiliath by Boromir and at the same time, he seems to have strategically held the Causeway Forts, then deployed his forces South to drive back the Haradrim, cleverly setting barricades and pits that could not be breached by troll or oliphaunt. So really, he's got everything under control."

"He's done really well," Gandalf agreed. "Nevertheless, you still need to get your sword re-forged, Aragorn. If you're going to apply for your throne back, I think it's a requirement of the job. You'll need to comply with all prophecies and lore."

"I've got it with me," Aragorn drew out a broken sword with one hand and reached inside his jerkin for two metal shards, "if we could get it fixed somewhere I can be ready by this evening."

"I could do that for you," offered Gimli, "just because I've grown doesn't mean I've forgotten what it is to be a dwarf."

"Wow!" Merry was very excited at the sight of the enormous weapon. "When it's done, can I have a quick go on it?"

"Only if you promise to stop playing that stupid game!" Gimli bargained. "If that's all right with Aragorn."

"Yes," Aragorn groaned, "anything to shut them up I suppose."

0-0-0-0-0-0

Sauron kicked (albeit with the force of His mind) at the palantír again. Stupid thing! Why did not Saruman answer? Now, becauseHe could not get itto stop relaying its last message, He could not get it to do anything.

This, He thought, was a great shame, since that fool and upstart Denethor had been coming along nicely. He had sown seeds of doubt in his mind and nurtured a soothing feeling of hopelessness and despair in the Steward.

The Dark Lord cast around (with the force of His mind) to see if His armies were massing from the South. Or perhaps Saruman had built Him an army worthy of Mordor as a little surprise!

Nothing!

"My Power is Mighty!" He roared from His tower, (with the force of His mind, of course – you couldn't actually hear anything) "I am the Dark Lord! All will bend to My Will! Middle-earth Will Fall Beneath My Feet! Where are My Armies?"

Bending low and subservient to the mighty will, the Witch King of Angmar trembled before his Lord and resisted the urge to say, up your sleevies! Instead he asked, "Master! What is your command?"

"Just find out what's going on!" He commanded, (mentally).

"I hear," for the Witch King was slightly telepathic, "and obey My Lord!"

0-0-0-0-0-0

"Gerroff of Mr Frodo!"

"Aiiiieeeee! My Precioussssss! Aiiiiieeee!"

"Sam! Help me! Ouch! Arrrgggghhh! Oh Sam!"

"If you three don't stop fighting, I'm going to drop you all off, and nobody will be going anywhere!" If Landroval had had any idea what a tether was, he would have claimed to be reaching the end of it round about now. "You're ruffling my feathers and being very boring."

"Well we didn't start it!" Sam puffed indignantly, finally managing to peel Gollum off his Master. "Come 'ere you Stinker!" He grasped the writhing creature firmly by the neck and managed to sit on him to keep him still. "Shall I just throw him off Mr Frodo?"

"It is a long way down," Frodo was a compassionate fellow, besides, he was also quite squeamish and did not want to see the mess Sméagol might make if he met the rocks below at great speed. "Couldn't we all just settle down and enjoy the ride?"

"Yesss," Sméagol sulked, "if we can hold the Preciousss!"

"Now why would you even want It?" Frodo asked reasonably, "I mean look at yourself!"

"We jussst wants It," Sméagol persisted, "It's our Preciousss!"

"Listen to yourself," Frodo said, "you're like a walking skeleton, you've got no hair left, you can't talk properly…"

"Whasss he mean?" Sméagol looked up sharply at Frodo, "Can't talk? Sméagol talks as good as the hobbitses does! We does!"

"No you don't!" Frodo snapped, "for a start you refer to yourself in the third person all the time – that's very bad grammar you know."

"Tom Bombadil does it too." Sméagol pointed out.

"Hmmp!" Frodo snorted, "that doesn't make it right, although I see your point. Nevertheless," he continued, "you're just being selfish, the whole of Middle-earth is at stake and that's why I've got to throw It away. Are you more important than the whole of Middle-earth? Hmm… are you?"

"Yesss!"

"No you're not," the realisation suddenly hit Frodo that he might not win this discussion. "I'm not and you're not and the Ring is going in the fire."

"Masster of the Precious won't throw It away," Gollum had stopped struggling now and started leering instead, which was possibly worse. "No one throws the Preciousss away, and Masster of the Precious talking big throwing away talk now, but he's not going to do it – you'll see! We'll see, won't we my Precious!"

0-0-0-0-0-0

"Go on Merry, let me try!" Pippin was sulking as Gorawen the Cloud Carrier circled lazily around the heavens waiting for Gwaihir and Coedwigwr to take off. In fact the younger eagle had been persuaded to go on ahead with the squabbling hobbits to give everyone a little peace. "Aragorn said I could have a go too."

"I'm still having my turn!" Merry stubbornly refused to relinquish Andúril, Flame of the West, the Blade formerly known as the Sword of Elendil, "you can only have it, if you can say its proper name."

"Um… And-you-will – same as the rest?" Pippin tried, "something like that. Oh go on Merry, let me have a go!"

"No! You're too young." Merry held the sword above his head and just out of Pippin's reach. "Anyway, it's still my turn and you didn't say the name right. It's, Advil, famous and best!"

"No it's not!" Pippin was indignant, "it's something else."

"It's not!"

"It is!"

"'s'not!"

"'tis!"

"'s'not!"

"gimmee!"

"gerroff!"

"nooo! gimmee – pleeeeessse!"

"legggooo!"

"aaaiiiieeee!"

"whooopps!"

"Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeecccaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!"

As the sword was wrenched from Merry's fist and he lashed out at his cousin with his feet, Pippin too failed to get a grip on his tantrum or the weapon and it slipped through his fingers and fell through the air with the velocity of a speeding arrow. A blood-curdling cry went up and echoed across the vast Pelennor Fields. The hobbits put their hands over their ears and their faces over the side of the eagle.

"Gorawen?" Merry was rather subdued now, "what was that?"

"You," the eagle began, "have caused the demise of a creature below. You have stabbed it through the face with the mighty sword of Prince Aragorn."

"Oh dear," Pippin looked at Merry with a gritted smile, "I hope it wasn't anyone we know."

"Not only that," Gorawen continued, "but you seem to have decapitated the victim's steed at the same time. Nice work, if a little impromptu and haphazard."

"Well it wasn't me!" Pippin declared hastily, "Merry wouldn't even let me hold the sword, so they can't blame me."

"If you hadn't been fighting, it wouldn't have got dropped," Merry pointed out crossly, "it's all your fault Pippin!"

As they argued Gorawen skimmed down to the plain below and retrieved the mighty sword, but no trace was there of its victim, only his empty hauberk and black cloak rising softly in the breeze and the great ugly, and now headless, beast on which he had ridden, lay in the dust.

As they ascended once more, Gwaihir and Coedwigwr came to meet them. Aragorn reached out and retrieved his precious sword from Gorawen.

"What have you been doing with this?" Aragorn anxiously ran his fingers over the blackened blade, "it's filthy!"

"It was Merry's fault!"

"Wasn't! It was Pippin fighting with me."

"I am not sure which of the small cousin creatures caused the dropping and the killing," Gorawen explained, "but they seem to have fulfilled an ancient prophesy, eliminated a powerful enemy and earned lasting fame and renown, although they might have just been messing about."

"It was me!" Merry announced hastily, "We weren't messing about, I did it bravely on my own and Pippin had nothing to do with it."

"I did so!" Pippin's mouth dropped open in outrage, "Merry! You just said it was all my fault… and… and… what did we do anyway?"

"You have fulfilled the prophesy of Glorfindel and slain the Witch King of Angmar, Lord of the Nazgûl and Sauron's Lieutenant of the Black Tower," Gorawen announced, "accidentally."

To Be Continued…