A Tale by the Fire

By: Aria Breuer

Disclaimers: All canon material from The Lord of the Rings trilogy belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. All original material belongs to me, the authoress of this fanfiction one-shot story.

Happy Saint Patrick's Day! Here's the second fanfic for this holiday…

Frodo Baggins rested in front of the campfire. The wood was fresh, as Aragorn had just stoked more into the flames. Frodo shivered. The wound the leader of the Ringwraiths gave him did not settle his nerves. The Ring only made things worse, and yet he still bore it, carried it further south of Rivendell, straight to Mordor. Only Mordor was the last place he wanted to be.

If only he were home. The Shire, the green grass, the trees, the Party Tree… this quest made him think of all these things, and the Ring's dark temptations, dragging him further to where it wanted to go… no! He needed to remember who he was, who his friends were. He looked Samwise Gamgee, who was busy cooking food in a large pan. Good ol' Sam. It made him think…

"Let's have a story," He announced, looking up to see a mixture of expressions from the newly formed Fellowship of the Ring. He shrugged. "We might as well."

"Agreed," Gandalf nodded his way. Frodo sighed in relief. Finally, something merry to warm his heart and his spirit. Of course, Merry could do that easily. He chuckled at the thought. Good ol' Merry. He was glad to have his younger cousin with him.

Frodo watched as the Fellowship gathered around the campfire. Sam was still cooking the food, too busy in his activity to look up at them. Frodo watched for a few moments as Merry and Pippin went about getting the plates and other utensils. They were in the perfect spot to get water from the river, as well as warm their feet. They still had their water skins. Maybe Frodo was over analyzing what they had. A large hand pressed against his shoulder. He looked up at Aragorn, who was winking at him.

"Frodo, this is your idea," Aragorn stated the obvious. "Why don't you tell us a story?"

"Here, here!" Merry and Pippin announced, raising their water skins.

Gandalf shushed them. "Keep quiet!" The grey-robed wizard whispered, "You don't want to attract attention."

"He's right, Mr. Merry, Mr. Pippin," Sam replied, softly and serious.

"Little hobbit," Boromir said, getting Frodo's attention.

Frodo could see everyone was eager to start. However, Legolas and Gimli were too quiet. Either they weren't paying attention, whispering some sort of plan to get back at him and his kin, they had gone to sleep or had stopped arguing – which would have been surprising at the time. He smiled mischievously, coming up with the story that would fit this occasion:

"Long ago, in the town of Bree, there were two hobbits. They were brothers – not Marco and Blancho, but a different sort. They always fought, never agreeing to anything they wanted: women, drinks, the pleasurable company of good friends, a warm hearth, and many, many women.

"One day, they dared each other to seek out this elf and his fellow dwarf, who always fought, sometimes for no reason at all, other than to prove which race was better. And the elves and dwarves had a fall out centuries ago, ages ago. They could never seem to get along. That was all going to change, thanks to these two hobbits.

"So the first brother, the eldest, walked through the woods of Bree-land. He had nothing on his mind, except the need to explore the woods and find an elf. He didn't get his wish and ended up meeting the dwarf instead. The dwarf wasn't friendly to him, but rude and uncouth. All he cared about was gold and jewels. From that, his heart was in a good place, in spite of his rudeness. The first brother liked his dwarf's demeanor and though the dwarf bid him farewell, the dwarf found it in his heart to let go of his pride and become the dwarf he was always meant to be.

"The second brother, the last born, approached a babbling stream, where he met the elf. But that wasn't fair to him! He wanted to seek out the dwarf. At first the second hobbit was angry and frustrated. He wanted nothing to do with elves. But the elf was kind and gentle. He understood what the hobbit sought, and it wasn't gold or jewels, but a place to belong, where he belonged. The two spoke for hours, neither one tiring of the other's conversation. The second brother relinquished his pride, and thought better of what he'd done.

"Eventually, by moonlight, the hobbit siblings reunited at Bree-town. They shared their tales, finding they needed each other, but also learning not to take things at face value. As for the elf and dwarf, they too would eventually find solace with one another, for this elf and dwarf were important to their quest." Frodo finished his tale, ending in a softer voice, "The end."

"Why is the dwarf filled with so much pride? Frodo, I thought you better understood dwarves," Gimli announced, taken aback.

"And elves are not always so kind," Legolas admitted.

"You know that from experience, do you?" Gimli asked, serious.

"I'm sorry," Frodo admitted, unsure what he had told. "I didn't mean to offend either of you. The elf and dwarf aren't either of you. I don't know which elf and dwarf they were." He paused. Calming down, he told them, "I don't know what else to say."

"Frodo, did you make that story up?" Pippin asked, curious.

"I think it was to stop Legolas and Gimli arguing," Merry whispered in Pippin's ear.

"It's not the first time you've been foolish," Aragorn whispered. Frodo stirred as the Ranger spoke to him, "You remember what happened in the Prancing Pony."

"Yes, but I do not wish to repeat what I did there." Frodo whispered back, "Will I be forgiven? I can tell another story."

"No. You've done enough, Frodo," Gimli stood up, to Frodo's surprise.

The Ring-bearer nodded. He really didn't know what else to say. Sure, he could apologize again. He felt so awful. Would Legolas and Gimli forgive him? Frodo turned to Legolas. It was clear the elf prince had more to say:

"It was a good story, Frodo." Legolas added, "You made some good points."

"All hobbits aren't like that, Mr. Frodo," Sam replied, passing to Frodo a plate filled with hot food.

"The Sackville-Bagginses are like that," Frodo answered. "I hope they come to their senses."

"You did a good job, cousin," Merry admitted. Frodo smiled, even as his younger cousin told him, "You could be a storyteller."

"If I return to the Shire," Frodo spoke, his voice hollow. His expression turned from happiness to sadness. His need to return to the Shire was great. Would he return home? Would he see Bag End again? Even though the story served its purpose, he was still left wondering…

Gimli did return, but he wasn't angry. Just filled with remorse. Frodo was glad Gimli was still in the Company. Legolas too; although, the elven prince didn't say anything. Just a warm expression. All was well, but the journey still remained. How was he to destroy the Ring, Frodo of the Shire, of all hobbits? It was an impossible task, and yet he had to do it. For the Shire. For his friends and family. They were who he needed to save. And yet the quest continued, but he wasn't alone. And that was the way of it.

Thank you everyone who read this story, favorited and followed it. It's much appreciated. :)