Too Long to Wait: The Swing
Frodo nervously eyed the burlap sack that Aragorn had fashioned into a cupped seat lined with silk attached by two thick ropes to a strong tree branch. With no weight inside it, it swayed in a gentle breeze.
The day was unusually warm for November, so Frodo and Aragorn and Ellohir had brought a picnic lunch out into the courtyard. Fully satisfied - though not by hobbit standards, Frodo was disappointed to note -- Ellohir was now toddling around the courtyard, picking up stones and flinging them, occasionally turning around to see if Frodo or Aragorn was watching.
“Look how strong his arm is,” Aragorn said with a grin. “A sword-wielding arm for sure. He will be the best Captain of Gondor my line has ever seen.”
Frodo looked at him in horror. “Not Ellohir. He will not be trained to fight. I’ll not have him killed in battle in the prime of his life. He throws stones so well because he’s a hobbit.”
“Frodo Baggins, I go into danger all the time, and you do not show me such concern.”
“First of all, do not pretend to know how much I worry for you, and second of all, I would greatly pity anyone who thought they had a chance of defeating you.”
Aragorn laughed and put his arm around Frodo. “Shall we try out the new swing?”
Frodo looked at the burlap sack fluttering in the breeze again. The very idea of putting Ellohir into it made his heart squeeze in fear. “Is it safe?”
“I’d not put Ellohir on anything I deemed unsafe,” Aragorn said. “I tested it with my own weight.” He lifted Ellohir, and Frodo was pleased - and he had to admit a little jealous - to see the smile of adoration on the toddler’s face as he clung to Aragorn’s neck. Ever since the day Aragorn had brought the musical box that had frightened the lad, he had put forth every effort to woo Ellohir, and it had easily paid off.
“You mean to tell me, King Elessar, that you actually were able to fit your legs in these little holes?” Frodo lifted his brows. “Come now, Aragorn, you cannot expect me to believe that.”
“Believe what you will,” Aragorn said, winking at Frodo before setting Ellohir gently inside the sack. The child kicked his sturdy feet, a wide excited smile lighting up his face. Frodo held his breath as Aragorn lifted the swing toward his chest and then pushed it gently.
“Relax, Frodo.” Aragorn squeezed Frodo’s shoulder. “Did you not have swings in the Shire?”
“I do not remember,” Frodo said, squeezing his hands together. “We used to swing on ropes tied to trees sometimes, I suppose-“ Frodo’s heart jumped in fear. “Aragorn, watch him! He’s leaning forward!”
“He is just fine,” Aragorn said, grinning. “It holds him beautifully. And I would suggest you stand back unless you wish to be kicked.”
Frodo watched Ellohir bend against the burlap several times with no harm, and he relaxed. Aragorn pushed the swing higher, sending it soaring backwards. Ellohir kicked in squealing delight -- such strong, firm feet with smatterings of dark curly hair on their tops - and his giggles were musical as he swung back and forth. Frodo could not help but grin in joy.
“Aragorn, it’s marvelous!” he cried. “What a wonderful contraption!” He threw his arms around Aragorn’s waist and leaned his head against the Man’s body. “I’m sorry I doubted you! Let me push him for awhile!”
***
Ellohir did not care who pushed him as long as he continued to soar into the sky like an bird. This was the best afternoon ever. He had eaten his favorite treat in the world, which was strawberries mixed with mushrooms; he had Frodo *and* Aragorn to himself almost all day (he loved it when Frodo laughed - It sounded like pretty bells and made him feel secure and happy, like at night just before bed when he wore his soft nightshirt and drank warm milk and Frodo told him a story); and most importantly, he had learned to fly.
Go on to next part