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Chapter Six: Sharing

Gandalf had finished his pipe, and also a second one, while Aragorn was settling Frodo and Sam. The hobbits' tale had given him much to ponder, and he was glad for a moment of peace in which to do so.

It was staggering what the pair of them had achieved in spite of the odds against them! And he had been so certain that Gollum would have a part to play in the final tale. Still, not even wizards could see all, and it had all turned out for the best, anyway.

Or had it? He had not missed the way Frodo and Sam had behaved in the tent. Frodo seemed so … altered. So quiet and hesitant. Reluctant, even. As for Sam! Gandalf had nearly fallen off his seat when the little gardener challenged him on the nature of the Ring. But there was no denying the validity of Sam's point: Gandalf had not held the Ring, and he had. The gardener had a new air about him too; he was more forceful, more adamant. More …

What was the word?

Fretful.

Yes. That was it.

Such changes in their demeanour were unsurprising, given the traumatic events each had survived. Still, the Sammath Naur had wrought another, more unwelcome, change than simply the damage to flesh and bone. Gone, also, was the comforting familiarity of a great friendship formed over years, the unspoken brotherhood between them that defied their official master-servant relationship. Their behaviour around the other now was tempered, careful, even cautious. There was a new awkwardness between them, one which unnerved him, if he was honest.

Knocking ash from his pipe, Gandalf pocketed it, looking idly around the busy camp. The early afternoon was cloudless, sunny and warm. Not overly warm, for Winter had barely passed, but this far south it was not nearly chill enough to warrant an abundance of camp-fires. Only one or two there were, and they more for the comfort of gathering around in comradeship than warming hands and faces. Some soldiers wandered past on their way to visit the wounded, others headed for the communal tents where lunch was being served. There was a general air of relief and weariness pervading the camp which made him wonder if it was not a better idea to remain in place a while longer. Perhaps he would suggest this to Aragorn, when he was finished with the hobbits.

The thought of the hobbits caused him to fall into contemplation once more, and he paid little or no heed to the many greetings of passing men.

XXX

It was over an hour later when the Lords of the West convened in Aragorn's tent. Merry and Pippin returned with a small legion of cooks and what appeared to be half the contents of the cooks' tent. Gandalf's eyes almost popped out of his head when two men shuffled past carrying a whole hog between them.

“Are we planning to feed the entire camp?” he wondered aloud as they set it upon Aragorn's desk.

“No, silly,” said Pippin, shearing off a healthy hunk of meat from the hog's flank. “This was already cooked. And I am a growing hobbit. A growing hobbit who's still recovering from grievous injury, I might add. I need all the food I can get if I've any hope of being my chipper old self again.”

“Me, too,” grinned Merry, whose eyes were round with anticipation as he hacked himself off an absurdly large chunk of dripping meat from the hog and slapped it on his plate (between the enormous hunk of bread and small mountain of buttery potatoes). “Stabbing a Witch-king really saps your strength, you know. I'll need all the sustenance I can get to recover properly.”

Gandalf could only watch in astonishment as the pair held men twice their height at bay while they served themselves

“I've never really seen the point of sticking an apple in a hog's mouth,” said Pippin conversationally, inadvertently blocking Gimli's access to the meat as he stepped to the head of the table. He plucked the fruit free from gaping jaws and added it to his plate. “I mean, it's not like the poor thing has much use for it now. It's sort of insulting when you think about it. By the way, did I mention I was flattened by a troll?”

Green eyes twinkled in his cousin's direction.

“You covered that with 'grievous injury', Pip,” retorted Merry, accepting the challenge. “But I fought at the Battle of the Pelennor. Have you ever tried to slay an Oliphaunt with little more than a kitchen knife? It's hard work. I'm still exhausted.”

The heir of Buckland hewed off another pound of roasted hog flank and dropped it carelessly onto his plate, making the beginnings of a very impressive meat mountain.

“It's a blade of Westernesse, not a kitchen knife,” his cousin pointed out, adding huge spoonfuls of carrots and peas to his own plate. “And you did not slay an Oliphaunt with it.”

“But I could have, if I hadn't been so busy fighting men and orcs twice my size. And stabbing a Witch-king. I did mention that I stabbed the Witch-king, didn't I?”

“So often it's getting boring. But I fought at the Battle of the Morannon, where I took on a mountain troll. Single-handedly. And I came out better for it between the pair of us. Sort of. Well, I didn't die, at least, which can only be a good thing.”

“Not necessarily,” muttered Gandalf with a roll of his eyes. “Now, you troublesome Hobbits, if you are quite finished trying to outdo each other, I bid you make way for your friends before you have cleared the table. We, too, are hungry!”

Smiling innocently, Pippin left the table to locate choice seats while Merry carried both their plates behind him. Imrahil and Aragorn smothered chuckles with their hands before joining the small crowd of nobles vying for the leftovers.

When bellies had been filled and tankards too, and all sat, replete and satisfied, on chairs or cushions, sipping lazily at their beverages, Gandalf related the dramatic events which took place in the Sammath Naur to Imrahil and Éomer. Even though they had heard it before (and from the two chief participants personally), the others were no less captivated by it than the new King of Rohan, or Prince of Dol Amroth.

“One of the most remarkable tales I have ever heard, and I have heard many,” remarked Éomer. “Two small friends defying the Dark Lord himself – destroying the Dark Lord. 'Tis the stuff of legends, no less.”

“Indeed,” agreed Imrahil wholeheartedly. “I cannot begin to fathom the strength of Frodo Baggins, to have carried the Ring all that way. To have endured its insidious voice, to have rejected its persistent temptations for so very long. Who among us could have managed that? None! And Master Gamgee! Imagine daring to believe he could corrupt the One Ring! An object whose power and lure has wrought death and destruction over two Ages of Men. And yet he did it. One little gardener from the Shire wounded Sauron more deeply than any has ever done before! Little wonder, then, that Sauron bellowed as loudly as he did.”

“And a good thing for Sam he destroyed the Ring so quickly afterwards. I can't bear to think what might have happened to him or Frodo otherwise.”

This from Pippin, who looked uncharacteristically grave. Merry squeezed the younger hobbit's shoulder in comfort, earning himself a smile from his cousin.

Gandalf nodded at Imrahil's words. “Indeed. A humble gardener out-thought the wisest among Elves, Men, and even Maiar. It is nothing short of astonishing.”

“Imagine how much easier our journey might have been had he thought of it sooner,” said Gimli. “Had any of us thought of it sooner! The Ring may have been much less of a burden on Frodo if it were thusly injured ere we left Lothlórien.”

“That he thought of it at all, we may count ourselves fortunate. Had such a feat been attempted ere you left the Golden Wood, Sauron would have guessed our ultimate goal much earlier: that we wished to destroy his treasure. This would have bade ill for us, Gimli Glóin's son. Imagine how terrible he would have become in his desperation to regain it! The sacking of Gondor would be naught to him compared with the need to locate his marred prize before it incurred further injury. He would have concentrated all his forces on hunting the Fellowship instead, and you would not have made it as far as Parth Galen, not with the full might of Dol Guldur and Mordor hunting you down,” observed Elrohir.

“But he would have been gravely weakened,” insisted Gimli.

“Desperation would have lent him strength. It did so for us, did it not?”

Unable to counter, Gimli merely huffed to himself.

Gandalf, resisting the urge to fill his pipe after such a splendid repast, spoke up. “Elrohir has the right of it. The Ring was corrupted at precisely the moment it needed to be; any sooner during the Quest may have proven disastrous for us. Yet I also understand Gimli's point of view. Perhaps had any of us thought of it before the Quest, before Sauron even regained such a level of power, then we might have destroyed him years ago, long before our hobbit friends were even born. Destroying the Ring would have been a less hazardous task when its master was significantly weaker. I am not ashamed to admit that Sam's ingenuity, even though it was born of extreme duress, has left me feeling rather foolish.”

In truth, it left him feeling very foolish. He had known what the Phial of Galadriel contained: the light of a Silmaril. Something which scorched and withered all evil it came into direct contact with. It had been no secret to him that the Lady of Lórien was capable of capturing such a prize; he had known of her abilities for millennia. Yet never, in all the years he had walked Middle-earth, had it ever occurred to him to use this to their advantage. Not once. Which made Sam's actions all the more staggering. For - within minutes of using it - the hobbit had managed to not only inflict serious injury upon the Ring, and by default its master, but his quick thinking had also seen it destroy one of the dreaded Nine. The trouble that alone might have saved them, knowing that the Black Riders were not as infallible as they first seemed!

“I will not allow you to chastise yourself unduly, my friend,” interjected Aragorn firmly. “Few have done more to secure us victory than you, Mithrandir. You do yourself and all your long efforts a great disservice with such words. None of us could have dreamed that striking Sauron such a blow was within our power, even though the tools of that blow lay within our means. Knowledge is not always power; sometimes, as we sift through it in our attempts to understand, or devise strategies, the excess of it can obscure the simplest, most logical solution. There are times when a desperate gardener, fighting to save himself and his friend under the most dreadful of circumstances, is the only person capable of understanding what we cannot.”

“Yes. Don't be too hard on yourself, Gandalf. It's not your fault. Sometimes only hobbit-sense will do,” stated Merry matter-of-factly.

“And there's no one with more hobbit-sense than Sam,” added Pippin in wholehearted agreement. “Apart from the Gaffer, of course. Who, I might add, is also much scarier than Sam, if you can believe it.”

Merry nodded fervently. “He once gave me a telling-off for trampling all over Bilbo's garden, then begged my pardon for being disrespectful to his 'better', and then threatened me with a sound thrashing anyway, if he ever caught me so much as 'squinting at my flowers in that right suspicious way again'. Said he'd feel bad about it, but that my rump was much less important to him than 'Mr Bilbo's begonias'.”

“I know what you mean, Mer. The only thing more dreadful than an irate Gamgee is an irate Gamgee's father. Perhaps we should just have sent the Gaffer to Mordor instead,” remarked Pippin thoughtfully. “Sauron might have capitulated within seconds, and that would certainly have saved us a whole lot of trouble.”

Laughter filled the tent, a happy mixture of tinkles, deep rumbles and gleeful chuckles, as everyone envisioned a very irate Gaffer Gamgee giving Sauron, first a right good telling-off, then a very sound thrashing.

The levity helped to ease Gandalf's mind, and he laughed as much as the others, grateful for the cousins' ability to put things into (their rather skewered) perspective, and thus lighten his spirits.

“Send the Gaffer, indeed!” the Wizard exclaimed, highly amused. “Such a punishment would have been unduly harsh.”

“I wasn't talking about punishing the Gaffer,” pointed out Pippin.

“Nor was I,” chuckled Gandalf.

“The tale was thrilling enough with the holbytla we had,” said Éomer. “'Tis extraordinary that they accomplished what they did. I am grieved, though, for what Frodo suffered on our behalf. To sacrifice so much for people he has never even met? Perhaps he did so thinking only of his home, that I would fully understand. But it matters not when his accomplishments are to the benefit of all Free Peoples. And I cannot begin to comprehend the desperation and terror of his faithful servant, Samwise, in that darkest of hours; having to contend with such grave decisions, such terrible demons, in such a short span of time, and all very much alone. Many a great leader would falter under such a burden. For the humblest of all to succeed where they might have failed …”

The King of Rohan found Gandalf's gaze. “Both Ring-bearers are a lesson in humility for us all. I shall count myself a happy man and a great monarch indeed, if I can but achieve half their courage and wisdom.”

“A great monarch you are already, for you have helped to deliver your people from great evil,” smiled Gandalf. “So we need work only on making you a happy man.”

“And I know how to achieve that. Prince Imrahil has a daughter. He told me she was 'the fairest maiden in Arda', though Aragorn might contest that.”

Pippin studiously avoided Imrahil's hot glare, opting instead to add (in a loud theatrical whisper) “I was going to make an offer for her hand myself, but even with the help of Ent-draught, I think she's probably too tall for me. Besides, she'd never fit in the Great Smials, unless she crawled everywhere.”

“My daughter crawls for no one!” protested Imrahil, feigning outrage. “Nor is she anyone's property to barter with, least of all someone who is not her father.” He stared pointedly at Pippin (who ignored him). “Valar, if she had any inkling of this conversation she would slay us all, and still enjoy a restful night's sleep!”

“My point exactly,” exclaimed Pippin, looking very pleased with himself. “She sounds like a woman who knows how to handle people. Therefore she should marry Éomer. Rohan will need a queen, and who better than the Princess of Dol Amroth?”

Imrahil looked instantly mollified. Éomer looked distinctly uncomfortable.

“I thank you for the kind suggestion, Master Holbytla,” he said (looking anything but grateful), “but I, er, have no immediate plans to wed.”

“Hobbit-sense in action, my friends,” exclaimed Gimli, guffawing as Rohirric monarch squirmed under the speculative gaze of the Prince of Dol Amroth. “Hobbit-sense in action!”

Gandalf harrumphed loudly. “If you have quite finished rearranging the political landscape of the West, Peregrin Took, we still have matters to discuss.”

“Such as?” queried Merry.

“Such as whether we still depart on the morrow or nay.”

Aragorn's announcement took even Gandalf by surprise. The wizard had thought he would have to approach his friend personally. Thankfully, this proved not to be the case, and when Aragorn elaborated on his change of heart, it turned out to be for much the same reasons as Gandalf himself had pondered earlier.

“After today's revelations, I think it important that the Hobbits be allowed more time to recover,” explained the former ranger. “The remnant enemy wounded also; their journey back home would be easier if it were shorter, rather than if they had to travel all the way back from Minas Tirith. Word of my, erm, generosity in pardoning them would fill the ears of their kin all the sooner.”

Aragorn grinned apologetically at Imrahil, who smiled graciously in reply.

Hobbit-sense appears to be infectious, thought Gandalf wryly. Nonetheless, he was pleased by Aragorn's decision. The sooner Harad and Rhun learned of the new King of Gondor's fairness, the better. But what pleased him more was the fact that Frodo and Sam would now have the chance to recover more fully, and that he would be able to keep a close eye on them without their being lost in the general hubbub of travel.

“A wise decision,” Gandalf said aloud. He was about to mention that they use this opportunity to investigate whether the northern fortresses of Mordor had been fully abandoned by the Enemy when he caught sight of Pippin rubbing his sword arm. “You have been neglecting your exercises.”

At the wizard's accusatory tone, Pippin quickly whipped his hand away, a guilty look flitting across his face. “No. I've been doing them.”

“How often?”

“Thrice daily.” Pippin shot Aragorn a nervous glance, before admitting, “Usually. Well okay, maybe only twice in the last few days because I was waiting for Frodo and Sam to wake up. And once yesterday, but that was because of the feast. But the arm did get a lot of exercise serving the King, so that has to count.”

Looking very much less than impressed, Aragorn rounded on the young Took. “Serving does not count as proper exercise!”

“Well it should. Those plates are heavy, you know, and you pile enough on them to put the average Hobbit to shame.”

Gimli snorted, but Pippin's flippant remark did nothing to ease his healer's wrathful look.

“Elladan, Elrohir, might I beg of you to undertake a most dangerous Quest? Might I request that one of you visits this Hobbit -” he pointed a long finger at the suddenly pale Pippin “- morning, noon and evening, to personally ensure that he completes his entire exercise regime at least thrice daily?”

Feeling very hard done by, Pippin objected (loudly).

“I don't need a nursemaid! If you ask me to do them I shall!”

“That is what you said two weeks ago, and now I discover you have not been true to your word.” Pippin flushed again. “These exercises are important, Peregrin Took; they will help banish the stiffness from your limbs, and rebuild your muscle tone and strength.”

“Then Merry will promise to make me do them regularly, won't you Mer?”

He swung imploring eyes to his cousin, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Because Merry had never been talked into doing something (or neglecting something) by his persuasive younger cousin ... Aragorn wasn't fooled for a second.

Ignoring the hobbit's plea, he returned his attention to his brothers (who were doing their best to look very, very grave).

“I warn you though, my fellow healers, this is no easy task I set you. Innocent it may seem, yet take care! It is a task fraught with danger.”

“What danger?” demanded the young Took indignantly.

The elvish twins swapped a look. “How much danger, exactly?” asked Elladan.

“So much so that the very thought of it would make weaker men tremble. He will do all within his power to thwart you! Beware of attempts to charm you with tales of the Shire. Defend yourselves against coercion by wit and laughter. Be alert when he tries to elude you with excuses of duty. Or plaintive cries of hunger. Possibly even both at the same time, which may well double the risk of his escape. Do you feel equal to the challenge?”

“'Tis fortunate that we are elves, and do not lightly tremble,” said Elrohir seriously as he rose from his chair.

“Indeed,” agreed Elladan, joining his brother to stand expectantly before the affronted hobbit. “We are resistant to charm, coercion and excuses.”

“That explains much,” grumbled Gimli under his breath, eliciting a merry laugh from Legolas.

Ignoring him, the sons of Elrond towered over Pippin.

“I shall take the morning and evening duties one day, and you the noon one,” began Elladan.

“And then we might swap places the next day. Such a plan will safeguard each of us against overexposure to his wicked influence,” agreed Elrohir.

Elladan rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It might be an idea to have him perform his exercises before his meals ...”

“... so that he is only allowed to eat upon completing them. Rewarded, if you will, for good behaviour,” finished his twin.

“I once had a hound I trained thus,” offered Éomer helpfully. “Thereafter he ran, fetched and sat on command. 'Twas most satisfying.”

Gandalf, Imrahil, Gimli and Legolas were vastly amused by this remark, but the hobbits looked completely scandalised by the comparison.

“Oh, very well, then!” exclaimed Pippin, irked at being the butt of the joke, and more annoyed with himself for deserving it. “It all seems like a bit too much trouble, if you ask me. But if that's what the healer orders, then I will oblige him by obeying.”

With that he rose. and both hobbits followed Elrohir from the tent. Elladan, excused from the task of hobbit-sitting until that evening, reclaimed his seat.

“Very few have ever managed to out-Took a Took,” chuckled Gandalf, “but I congratulate you for achieving such a feat, Aragorn. And for the fortune of having so many witnesses present to verify it, if he later denies it ever happened.”

Pouring himself another draught of wine, the wizard eyed his friend from over the rim of the glass. “I am glad you have decided to delay our departure. I think it also wise to destroy the northern fortresses of Mordor ere we leave, lest some evil there has escaped its master's fate and returns to haunt us.”

And so the talk returned to heavier matters as those present decided who would send what component of troops across the ruins of Mordor to verify that all corners of it had been cleared of evil.

XXX

Later that evening, when Eomer and Imrahil had returned to their tents, each with the promise of a copy of Elrohir's account of the hobbit's tale, and Elrohir and Elladan were busy tending to the wounded ere night fell, Gandalf, Aragorn and Gimli reconvened by the camp fire outside the king's tent after their meal to partake of some communal 'fresh air'. It was their habit every evening since the war was won. Legolas dutifully followed in an attempt to dissuade them out of it (as was his habit). Merry and Pippin had already excused themselves to return to Frodo and Sam, who wished to avoid the grateful crowds by eating in their tent.

As the four discussed the day's revelations and enjoyed some witty repartee, they were disturbed by the sound of shouting. Recognising Pippin's voice raised in alarm, everyone sprang to their feet.

“Gandalf! Strider! You must come!” he shouted as he ran when he spotted them near the fire. “Something's wrong. They're arguing again - shouting at each other, and I don't know what to do!”

Two long strides brought Gandalf to the distraught hobbit, and he bent down to still his momentum.

“Peace, Peregrin, or you shall make yourself ill,” he ordered, laying a large hand on the hobbit's shoulder in an attempt to calm him. Already the others were gathering around them. “Tell us, as calmly as you can, what has happened, and who is arguing.”

Even before Pippin replied, Gandalf suspected what he would say. Who else could possibly be arguing in Pippin's tent?

“There's no time to explain, Gandalf!" cried Pippin, twisting from his grip. "We must go now. Now! Or I do not know what might happen!”

Without waiting for a reply, the hobbit swivelled around and dashed back the way he had come, and four anxious friends followed swiftly in his troubled wake.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Author's Note: Bit of a cliffy, I hope. Updates will be slow in coming due to other commitments, but I'll try to post again as soon as I can.

Kara's Aunty ;)