Too Long to Wait: Brave Hobbits
A cacophony of squabbling birds on the terrace woke Frodo from a deep sleep. The sun was still a pink blur on the horizon and Aragorn was already gone. Whenever he left so early, he often came back for second breakfast. Frodo rolled onto one elbow, squinting at the brightening sky. It promised to be a lovely early spring day.
Frodo’s lower back throbbed fiercely, and despite a full night’s sleep, a bone-aching weariness seeped down his limbs. He longed to take a long, hot bath and follow that up by curling in his armchair with a good book, a pipe, and plenty of hot tea. Even Aragorn’s strong fingers kneading into his back before bed the previous night had done little to ease the pain. When his tea arrived, he planned to crumble the athelas leaves that Aragorn had left for him into it.
He rolled out of bed, supporting his aching back with his hands.
Today Alia was free from duty, so Frodo had full care of Ellohir. After dressing and splashing cold water on his face, he pulled from a shelf an enormous and mind-boggling puzzle with many tiny similarly shaped pieces, a gift from Rohan. Ellohir loved puzzles and could work for hours on them. He had not yet tried this one. It was bound to keep him busy for several hours. Perhaps that would leave Frodo time to read on the terrace.
Normally he would venture down to the kitchen and amuse (and no doubt annoy) the cooks by throwing together a hobbity meal for himself and Ellohir, but when the pain was bad like this, he knew he could not stay on his feet long enough to cook. Sticking his head out the door, he called for a maidservant and sent her with a message to the kitchen to bring fresh rolls, jam and butter, scrambled eggs, milk for Ellohir, and tea for himself. His stomach grumbled in anticipation.
He then padded into Ellohir’s room and sat on the edge of the boat-shaped bed, watching Ellohir sleep. His face was so sweet that it yanked at Frodo’s heart. He had such fat, rosy cheeks and soft curls. Entranced, Frodo watched the gentle rise and fall of Ellohir’s chest and smiled at the soft sighs that escaped from his lips. He ran his fingers through Ellohir’s soft curls. Ellohir stirred and grunted.
At last, when the sun was bright and yellow, Frodo shook Ellohir’s shoulder. “Come, Ellohir, it’s time to wake up. We have eggs and rolls and strawberry jam.”
Ellohir opened one eye, and his brow puckered in the exact way that Aragorn’s did when he was irked. “I want pancakes.”
“Not this morning,” Frodo said. “I have already sent for breakfast.”
“Send it back.”
Frodo matched Ellohir’s scowl. “Ellohir, watch your tongue. You know better than to cause the cooks unnecessary work.”
“But I want pancakes.” Ellohir rubbed his eyes and began to weep in a hoarse, tired manner. Crying over something so silly was not like the lad, and Frodo felt his brow with concern. It was cool, damp from sleep, and Frodo wished now that he had let him sleep longer. Clearly he had awakened on the wrong side of the bed. Alia always had just the right words when, as she put it, Master Ellohir woke in ill humor, but Frodo was too weary to recall any of her gems of wisdom.
Pulling his hand away, he stood, putting his hands on his hips. “Enough with this nonsense or you shall get no breakfast at all.”
“I…want…pancakes!” Ellohir kicked the bed with each word.
Frodo was not in the mood for battle. “Get out of bed right now, Ellohir, and get dressed. I will not ask you again.”
“No.” Ellohir scowled and rolled away, burying his head under his covers.
Frodo kept his voice even. “Five…four…if I reach one and you’re not up, you will get a thrashing when Aragorn comes.”
Aragorn rarely spanked Ellohir, but when he did, he wept for hours, more from wounded pride than pain.
Ellohir jumped out of bed, grimacing. “Want pancakes,” he said in a growl.
Frodo handed him his clothes. “All right, now get dressed.”
“That shirt’s itchy.”
“No, it’s not,” Frodo said, biting his lip against frustration. “And you will wear it. I am weary of quarreling with you. You are a very stubborn lad, but you have met your match.”
“I want to wear the blue shirt.”
Frodo shook his head. “That’s for special occasions, like a feast or when Faramir and Eowyn come to visit.”
Ellohir crossed his arms, still scowling. Spasms of pain assailed Frodo’s back and he clutched at it. Of all days that Ellohir had chosen to be so belligerent…
“All right,” Frodo said, at a loss. “I shall send for Aragorn.”
Like magic, Ellohir’s expression changed to panic, and he stretched his arms toward Frodo. “No! No!”
“Put on the shirt then.”
Ellohir’s lower lip stuck out and tears trickled down his face as he buttoned the shirt. Honestly, Frodo could not fathom what had gotten into the lad. He only hoped it would not go on all day like this.
“Now your socks. There’s a chill to the air.”
“But you don’t have socks on.” Ellohir said, stamping over to his bureau.
“Do not be insolent. Your socks are on the-“
Ellohir leaped backward and screamed, pointing and jumping up and down in panic.
Frodo dashed around the bed, fell to his knees, and clutched Ellohir close, his heart thudding. “What is it? Did you get hurt?”
Ellohir looked at Frodo with raw terror in his eyes. “A spider.” He pointed in the dark corner beside the bureau. “There. It’s gigantic.”
Frodo kissed Ellohir’s cheek in relief. “Come now, lad. All that screaming over a spider?” He crawled closer to the dark corner so that he could see it. It was a tiny brown spider with spindly legs, barely the size of a fingernail.
“It’s big,” Ellohir sniffed. “Kill it please!”
Frodo snatched one of Ellohir’s leather boots. “She is only doing her job, which is to keep bugs from getting into your bed. Aragorn would most likely lift it in his hands-“
“Yuck!” Ellohir covered his face.
Frodo laughed and continued. “And then he would take the poor creature out on the terrace. But I do not much like spiders when they venture out where we can see them, and so she must be slain.” Frodo slapped the spider with the bottom of Ellohir’s shoe, smiling a little and thinking that if Faramir had been of the same mind when he and his Rangers had come upon Sam and himself in Ithilien, that things would have gone ill indeed for Middle-earth. No, neither Faramir nor Aragorn would much approve of Frodo’s spider mandate, but Ellohir giggled, and Frodo was only too glad to see his son’s grumpy mood begin to dissipate. He took Ellohir’s hand and together they went into the sitting room.
Frodo dumped the pieces to the puzzle on the floor, and they scattered in all directions.
“Hurrah! A new puzzle!” Ellohir shouted, kneeling beside Frodo. He began to pick through the pieces. He glanced at the box. “I hope there were no spiders inside.”
“No, I already checked.” Frodo laughed a little. “Did you know that I have seen a spider that was larger than this very room?”
Ellohir’s eyes widened.
“Oh, yes,” Frodo continued. “And he bit me just like that little spider would have done to a fly.” Frodo lifted the curls from the back of his neck so that he could show Ellohir the knotted scar. "That is a true spider bite.”
“The spider was as big as this room?” Ellohir looked worried.
“Do not fear. Sam wounded her so badly that she certainly died in her hollow, far, far from here. And anyway, do you think Aragorn would let a spider so large come into his city?”
“Sam fought her?” Ellohir’s eyes shone with wonder, and Frodo suddenly realized that Ellohir was probably old enough to start hearing tales from the War of the Ring. “What about you?”
“I could not fight. I was already poisoned. Sam took me for dead, and indeed, I would have perished if the orcs of Mordor had not captured me.”
Ellohir dropped his puzzle piece in astonishment. “Orcs? You were captured by orcs?” Ellohir grabbed Frodo’s right hand, examining the empty space where a finger should have been. “Did the orcs cut off your finger? Mergil says that orcs will cut people into pieces and feed them to their wolves.”
Mergil was the five-year-old son of one of the Citadel Guards, and as of late, he had become a good friend to Ellohir.
“Mergil may be right,” Frodo said, sliding a puzzle piece into place. “There are still orcs in the world, but they are scattered and mostly lost now. But yes, Ellohir, I was captured by orcs in Mordor.”
“I didn’t know that,” Ellohir said, bouncing on the back of his heels. “Just wait until I tell Mergil. His father has never faced something that scary. And how did you escape?”
“Sam saved me again. Dear, Sam.” Frodo felt a surge of affection for Sam that hurt his heart. “I miss him so much. I should love for him to visit…or for us to go to the Shire one day so that you can meet him. He was so brave, Ellohir. He fought orcs and climbed right up to the Tower where the orcs were holding me prisoner and he saved me.” Frodo sighed. “Samwise the Brave.”
Ellohir’s eyes had glazed in dreamy wonder as he snapped several more puzzle pieces into place. “He was only a halfling and he fought orcs?”
Frodo’s heart sank, both from hearing “halfling” instead of “hobbit” from his son’s lips and the smugness in his voice.
He clasped Ellohir’s chin and tilted it upward so that Ellohir was forced to look into his eyes. “Ellohir, heir to the throne of Gondor, what shall be done with you?”
Ellohir giggled. “But Sam’s little like you, not a great warrior like Aragorn or Faramir or King Eomer. Mergil said--”
Frodo interrupted in a stern voice. “None of those great warriors you named, including our Aragorn, were near as brave as Sam, nor did they face terrors as great. Do you understand?”
Ellohir’s mouth fell open. Never once had Frodo said anything unkind about Aragorn.
“Do not forget it, Ellohir,” Frodo finished, releasing Ellohir’s chin. Just then a knock at the door signaled the arrival of breakfast. Ellohir jumped up, pulling Frodo to his feet, and laughing, they trotted to answer the door.
***
Several hours later, Aragorn indeed did come home for second breakfast. This time, Frodo had made sure to order pancakes -- fluffy, perfectly cooked, with melted butter and warm syrup. They ate on the terrace where the sun warmed their cheeks. The pain in Frodo’s back had faded to occasional twitches.
“How was your morning, Ellohir?” Aragorn asked. He glanced at the puzzle, of which only a corner was finished. “It seems you have made some progress.”
“Aragorn, did you know about Samwise the Brave?” Ellohir asked, dipping a piece of pancake into a pool of syrup on his plate. “That he was the bravest hobbit in the world, braver even than you and Faramir?”
Aragorn chuckled. “Is that what Frodo has told you?”
Frodo grinned as Ellohir’s brow creased with stubborn pride. “He fought giant spiders and orcs. Did you?”
“I can only claim the latter,” Aragorn nodded. “Yes, Samwise was very brave indeed. And so was Frodo. He fought the Witch King of Angmar, one of the most fell creatures ever to roam Middle-earth.”
“Yes, see…I have a scar.” Frodo unbuttoned his shirt enough so that he could bare his shoulder. Ellohir’s eyes shone in awe as he studied the thin white line.
“What are you thinking about, darling?” Frodo finally asked.
“I can’t wait to tell Mergil that halflings can be warriors just the same as men.”
“Warriors indeed,” Frodo snorted.
“Hobbits,” Aragorn said, putting special emphasis on the word. “Are extraordinary indeed. Have you ever seen Frodo throw a stone? All creatures should do well to flee in terror - and all in vain.”
Frodo blushed. “The two of you are incorrigible.”
Ellohir giggled and excused himself from the table so that he could continue his puzzle. While Ellohir focused on his puzzle, a determined pucker to his brow, Frodo and Aragorn remained on the terrace. They lit their pipes and relaxed, not saying much at all, aside from laughing at their sloppy attempts at smoke rings. All and all, the morning had turned out far better than Frodo had expected.
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