Lessons In The Night
"What are you DOING?" Sam cried. "Those Wraiths are still out
there!"
Strider's stomach clenched at Sam's cry. He watched Arwen ride off
on her elven horse, disappearing into the mist with Frodo slumped
before her. The eerily high scream of the Ringwraiths echoed through
the shrouded woods, signaling them to gather, that their prey was on
the move.
Strider whirled to glare at Sam. Frodo's friend gazed up at him, his
eyes wide with anger and disbelief. Taking in Sam's horror, the
Ranger wrestled with his temper.
He knew exactly what he'd done. He knew the Ringwraiths would
pursue Arwen. He'd sent his love and the wounded Ringbearer out into
the darkness knowing full well the evil that would hunt them. His
fear for their safety and for all he was risking by allowing Arwen to
take Frodo threatened to overwhelm him. Oh yes, he knew all too well
what he'd just done.
He also knew how the Wraiths had found the Hobbits.
He'd just finished scouting the outer perimeters of Weathertop, the
ancient ruined guard tower where he'd settled his halflings for the
night when, from a distance, the twinkling light from a campfire the
Hobbits had obviously built caught his attention. He'd charged back
towards the crumbling outpost, furious and eager to deal with
irresponsible Hobbits and yet dreading what he might find. A fire!
Could they have done anything more foolhardy? If that twinkling had
caught his attention it most certainly would have drawn the
Ringwraiths like a beacon, and Strider's fears were confirmed when he
was still racing toward Weathertop and the first screams of attempted
bravado, then of dismay, flew out to meet him.
He'd scarcely made it in time to save them. He hadn't made it in
time to prevent Frodo from being stabbed by a poisonous blade. And
he knew who he had to thank for all that. Frodo, he felt, was too
sensible of their danger to have been a party to it, but the others
had much to answer for.
Now he eyed the three fretful Hobbits, not trusting himself to deal
with them as he felt he truly wanted to at the moment. They shifted
from foot to foot and cast rapid glances about as if expecting an
attack from any direction. The Ranger knew better, though.
"They've gone," he said, seeing no point in letting them fuss
needlessly. "They follow the Ringbearer. They're not interested in
us, so no need to keeping looking into shadows. I'm the one you
three should fear right now."
Sam, Merry, and Pippin froze. A long moment passed. The Hobbits
considered Strider silently, and in that moment the three of them
looked so lost and desolate that Strider felt his heart and his gaze
soften. He went down on one knee and opened his arms wide.
The Hobbits moved forward and into his embrace, all of them
trembling. "Shhhh," Strider murmured, though they were already
gravely quiet. "Shhhh..."
Sam was the first to speak, a broken-sounding, "I'm sorry, I'm so
sorry," shuddering from his throat.
"Yesss...s-sorry, so sorry," Pippin added, his voice strained.
"We caused it," Merry muttered with dark finality. "We did it.
We're to blame."
"Shhhhhh," Strider soothed.
"We ARE to blame, though," Sam insisted. He drew back suddenly as if
he couldn't bear to be comforted a moment longer. "We lit a fire,
Strider!"
"I know."
Sam shook his head, seemingly in disbelief and unable to take in the
magnitude of what they'd done. "But, if we'd only THOUGHT about it,
if we'd only stopped to consider something beyond our own stomachs!"
He left the thought hanging, but Pippin's forlorn voice finished it
for him.
"Frodo might not be near death now."
"Neither dead nor alive." Merry mumbled Strider's words from earlier
as if dazed. "A Wraith, like them."
Merry and Pippin drew back from Strider's embrace and wandered closer
to Sam who continued to take small steps backwards as if trying to
find some way of escaping the truth.
Strider watched the hobbits exchange looks of horrified remorse.
This had to stop.
"Calm yourselves," he began, but the three were now feeding off each
other's anguish and they barely heard him.
"How could we have done it? What were we thinking?"
"We weren't thinking."
"We should have asked Mr. Frodo's permission. It would have been a
simple thing to do."
"Frodo's suffering is our doing. It is."
"It surely is."
"ALL our doing."
"Do you think...do you think he might truly become one of...them?"
An ominous silence fell among them. Strider had heard enough.
"Gentlemen," he said rising to his full height. "You will stop this
now for it serves no purpose. It's true, a grave mistake was made,
but everything that can be done to save Frodo is being done, so let
us focus our thoughts on imagining his full recovery. There is yet
hope."
The Hobbits stared up at him wretchedly. Strider studied them,
wondering briefly where his anger had gone. He'd truly itched to
warm all their backsides until they would remember to strongly
reconsider before behaving so unthinkingly again. It might not have
stopped them entirely from forgetting to be more careful. The first
lesson at Bree had obviously not been enough. But hopefully it would
have left an impression that would kindle their memories next time
they were tempted to do whatever they pleased, and it would've served
to ease some of the tension Strider was feeling.
He HAD been angry, furious in fact. But now, looking into the
woebegone little faces before him, Strider realized that Sam, Merry
and Pippin were already suffering enough for what they'd done.
Spanking them for it now when they were so distraught seemed
unnecessarily cruel.
Strider released a long weary breath and approached the Hobbits.
Reaching out, he gently petted each curly head and gave them a
comforting nod.
"Come. We'll rest some here and set out at first light. You should
all eat something and get some sleep. The more rested we are the
stronger we'll be and the sooner we'll make our way to Rivendell
where I feel certain Frodo will be waiting and healing."
Seeming disorientated and unfocused, The Hobbits lowered their gazes
to their belongings lying scattered about. Strider moved around with
cool authority, directing them in simple tasks. He brought forth
some provisions from Bill's saddlebags and encouraged them to eat
something, but the Hobbits displayed an uncharacteristic lack of
appetite that bordered on belligerence. Strider considered the
implications of their refusal and wondered about insisting they
sustain themselves, but given all they'd been through, he let it go
and allowed them to merely curl into their cloaks and settle in to
sleep.
They did not, however, sleep.
The Ranger leaned back against a tree and pulled his cloak over his
forehead, a trick he'd polished long ago for observing unobserved.
The Hobbits shifted, tossed, and turned. Sometimes they'd be lying
fully awake, staring up into the sky or off into nothing. Each of
them, at least once, wiped at their eyes with the backs of their
hands and sniffed quickly as if to mask it.
Weariness overtook the Ranger and he dozed, waking off and on
throughout the night to listen, hoping to hear Hobbit snores. He
heard only a few. The small sounds of quieted nightmares were the
most disturbing. The Hobbits, it seemed, found little rest in the
confines of sleep.
At daybreak, the Ranger and the glassy-eyed Hobbits set out at once.
Although he understood their unusual silence and their continued lack
of interest in eating, Strider was troubled by it. There seemed
little point in contesting their determined, if somewhat exhausted
eagerness to leave, though, so he said nothing and accommodated their
wishes. Before long their fatigue would get the better of them and
they would need to stop for one of their breakfasts, so Strider
allowed them the opportunity to further wear themselves out.
They did not, however, give in to that fatigue.
For hours the Hobbits plodded along at a pace Strider found
extraordinary given their lack of food and rest and the upset they'd
suffered. Amazing little creatures. They had a strength he hadn't
anticipated. Still, Strider knew this could not continue. They were
looking pale and starting to stumble and their continual silence was
disconcerting.
Strider let the trek go on until mid-day and then he called a halt to
rest. The Hobbits followed his orders, but they let their objections
fly, displaying tempers that seemed near the breaking point. Sam's
control was the most fragile.
"WHY do we need to stop?" he demanded.
"You need to rest, Sam."
"No, I don't. I'm fine."
"What about Merry and Pippin?" Strider reasoned, knowing the cause of
Sam's uncommon hostility.
"We're ALL fine. Aren't we fine?" Sam said to the other two.
"We're fine," Merry said.
"Yes, fine. Quite fine."
"And you need to eat in order to keep your strength up."
"I DON'T! I'm not hungry." Sam frowned at Merry and Pippin. "Are
you hungry?"
"No." Merry grumbled.
"Neither am I." Pippin muttered.
"There. You see? I say we take a vote to decide if we rest or push
on."
Strider raised one brow and leveled a gaze at Sam. "Do you indeed,
Master Samwise?"
Sam stared him down, a flurry of emotions traveling across his
features. Strider glimpsed a hint of the levelheaded Sam, the calm
and thoughtful Sam, but that glimpse was fleeting.
"I've had about enough of you telling us what we need to do and when
and how!" Sam growled.
Sam looked to be struggling with something so enormous he couldn't
stop shaking. Strider watched them calmly, listening with his heart,
and within moments things suddenly became clear to him.
Sam alone couldn't get them to Rivendell. He was subject to
Strider's command. He wanted to keep going and Strider refused. He
had no power to decide what was to be done. He was exhausted and
depleted. Those factors needed considered, but something far greater
lay at the center of this. Sam was crippled with remorse,
heartbroken over what he'd caused. They all were. They had no way
to escape the guilt that was beating them down and no clear
understanding of what was driving them to such ruinous extremes.
Of course they wouldn't eat. Because they had lit a fire to cook on,
disaster had befallen them and Frodo was now gravely wounded. And
little wonder they couldn't accept Strider's comforting, nor any form
of rest last night or today. They were punishing themselves, hoping
to lessen the awful burden of responsibility they bore for what
they'd done.
Strider suffered his own wave of self-reproach for his lack of
understanding. He should have realized what was happening to the
little ones. Had he seen it last night the Hobbits might have
managed to sleep, and they'd have certainly eaten since he would not
have allowed them the option of refusing. It wouldn't have built to
this, where they were all lost in their own private torment with no
one to help relieve that blame.
Merry and Pippin shot looks to Strider, to Sam, and back at Strider.
They were fairly quivering, clearly overwrought, and although they
were allowing Sam to take the lead, they looked just as combative as
he did. They were all positively glaring at Strider, but Strider saw
in those glares a silent plea for help. There was no question of
what he had to do, but he could allow them a shred of dignity, make
it easier for them. They were already trembling on the brink of
desperation. It wouldn't take much.
Strider sidled the three bristling Hobbits a dismissive smirk and
began unbuckling his sword belt. "So you've had enough, have you,
young sir?" was all he said. He sauntered to a nearby boulder and
sat, laying his sword beside him. Turning a confident gaze back to
the Hobbits, who were watching his every move, he added, "You have
my sympathies. But you are not in charge here, and you will do as I
say. Since the three of you are not tired, you will gather some
wood, make a fire, and cook me my first breakfast."
Sam's explosion was immediate. He lost all control and charged
Strider with a wild roar, his small fists raised, reason clearly
having deserted him. Strider caught him up easily and tossed Sam's
flailing body over his lap, quickly flinging his cloak up over his
back and exposing his bottom. Sam's bellows sent the birds fleeing
from the surrounding trees. He struggled with impressive fury,
kicking and swinging his arms, clearly unable to stop himself.
"NOOOOOOOOOO!" he howled. And it seemed he longed to protest more,
but could think of nothing more to yell. "NONONONOOOOO!"
Strider immediately interpreted Sam's mere "no." It wasn't directed
at him and what he was about to do. Sam was screaming at himself,
trying in one last desperate attempt to silence the ferocious voice
inside him that had driven him to his current state and that was now
tormenting him even further for the position he was in. It was
a "no" overflowing with heartache.
Strider's compassion surged forth. Locking Sam under one arm, he
silently and quickly bared the Hobbit's bottom. The Ranger held
nothing back from the start, his first rapidly commanding spanks
drawing his captive's full and immediate attention. Sam sucked a
deeply ragged gasp, obviously stunned by Strider's level of force,
then he let fly a tormented scream.
Shooting Merry and Pippin a fierce look, Strider growled, "Don't
move. You've nowhere to run to and I'd find you if you tried."
He probably hadn't needed to say even that as the two younger Hobbit
seemed frozen in place. A quick glance told Strider all he needed to
know. They wouldn't move. They didn't want to.
Strider continued covering Sam's bottom with vigorous swats. He was
such a noble little soul. He deserved no less than all Strider had
to give. They all deserved his best attention, and Strider silently
vowed to learn this lesson as well and trust it and keep it safe in
his heart, much as these little ones were learning to trust him with
their safety and well being.
Sam's pain ran deep, so it took a while under Strider's unyielding
hand before his thrashing about and bellows began to lessen.
Considering the length of the spanking Sam continued to invite,
Strider struggled with his own regrets for his negligence. They all
needed this. They were all suffering from dark voices, all in need
of release. Strider spanked Sam wholeheartedly, eager to free them
all from this insidious presence of inner darkness, determined to
stress throughout this discipline session that he was the one in
charge here and would tolerate no further self punishment on their
parts.
Sam's spanking was crucial. He would have the most trouble accepting
his guilt over what had happened to Frodo whom he had sworn to
protect. Sam clearly felt a greater responsibility for Frodo than he
did for himself, so if Strider failed to break Sam down, he would
fail with the others as well. The emotional well being of his
charges was at stake, and what happened here would determine whether
they could carry on or whether they would remain locked in torment,
ravaged by self-reproach. Strider refused to fail.
Strider kept at Sam with both his spanking hand and his murmured
words until it seemed his voice began to win over the inner tormentor
attempting to strangle the young Hobbit. Sam's enraged howls soon
shifted into sobbing, and he finally collapsed across Strider's lap,
giving in completely and shattering into exhausted crying. He
clutched at Strider's leg, his fingers digging into him as if needing
to feel that solid force, as if fighting to focus only on this moment
and Strider's strength and not fall back into the depths of his own
punishing demons.
Strider slowed his swats on the glowing bottom before him. He
listened to Sam's weeping, soothed by the sound of a new calm, a
measure of relief. Strider's heart eased. He stopped spanking and
began to slowly rub calming circles on Sam's back, allowing him to
lie trembling across his lap. Lifting his gaze to Merry and Pippin,
Strider noticed bright tears shining in their eyes. He ordered them
to him with a jerk of his head, and they drew close without protest,
watching Strider re-fasten Sam's pants and gently lift him from his
lap.
Though both clearly dreaded their spankings, Merry and Pippin also
seemed ready to welcome them, and Strider didn't let them down.
Merry appeared resolute, barely wiggling when Strider lifted him and
placed him over his knee, and showing no reluctance to give in to his
emotions during Strider's quite thorough spanking. Pippin, however,
couldn't help drawing back when Strider reached for him, his natural
fear of the Ranger's disciplinary talent momentarily outweighing his
own need for it. He whimpered when his bottom was bared, but
shooting a frantic look at his now quiet friends he quickly
remembered why he was there and took his spanking with little fight.
He did, however, display a notable level of loudness as he had in
Bree.
When all three Hobbits were well spanked, Strider gathered them
together as he had the night before. Settling Sam on one thigh and
Merry and Pippin on the other, he held them close to him and
comforted them, hushing their remaining sniffles, and stroking their
curls. They were breathing much more easily, shuddering a bit from
their sore bottoms, but calm in manner. He drew back and wiped the
remaining streaks of tears from their cheeks and studied them. Their
glances held an understandable embarrassment, but they were also
serene and composed.
Strider smiled to himself, then he tipped each face up towards him
and raised his brows. "Now you may apologize," he told them. "For
your insolence."
The Hobbits paused, staring at him hard, as if realizing suddenly in
their own quiet hearts how very much they needed to say they were
sorry, this time without the self-reproach and damnation, but with
simple honesty. Strider gave them permission to make mistakes, even
serious ones, and know that they would be forgiven and still loved.
Sam was first. "I'm sorry I was so difficult, Mr. Strider."
Strider smiled at him. "I know, Sam."
"I really am sorry. I didn't mean...I didn't-"
"You're forgiven, Master Samwise. Be at peace."
Sam gazed at Strider, fresh tears filling his eyes. He seemed unable
to form words.
"I'm sorry, too," Merry hurried to say. "We should've listened to
you, done what you said."
Strider nodded and winked at him. "Yes, you should have, but I
understand, Merry, and I forgive you."
"Th-thank you," Merry whispered, swallowing hard.
"Do you forgive me, too?" Pippin asked.
Merry looked at him and muttered, "You need to apologize first, Pip."
"Oh."
Strider struggled to keep from smiling outright. "ARE you
apologizing?"
Pip nodded. "Yes."
The Ranger waited.
"Then do it, Pip," Merry urged.
"Oh! Right." Pippin blinked up into Strider's steady gaze. "I'm
sorry, Sir."
Strider paused, considering the youngest Hobbit. "For what?"
Pippin stared for a moment, clearly caught off-guard. "I'm sorry for
being disobedient and defiant and for missing dinner and first and
second breakfasts."
No amount of self-control could keep Strider from grinning
then. "Sorry for all that are you?" he inquired "Then it seems you
need forgiveness for much, and so you are forgiven, Hobbit-brat."
Pippin grinned. "Thank you! And, and I'll be happy to cook
something up now, Sir," he chirped.
"Right, Pip!" Merry cried. "Right you are. We all will."
"Yes," Sam agreed. "Good idea!" He paused, his eyes widening on
Strider with sudden alarm. "I'm fairly starving!"
The others chimed in with shocked `me too's!' and the hobbits began
scrambling off Strider's lap. The Ranger barely had time to grab
them back up and steady their excitement. Although he couldn't have
been more delighted at the return of the their appetites, Strider
also knew the Hobbits were nearly quivering with fatigue.
"No," he told them. "You three will take some rest while I get a
fire going and make something to eat, breakfast or second breakfast
or whatever you wish." He paused, daring them to object and smiling
when they didn't. They would be alright now. He quickly set them on
their feet and gave each Hobbit a gentle swat and a firm, "Go."
Sam, Merry, and Pippin lethargically snuggled into positions on the
ground, tucking themselves into their cloaks, and Strider rewarded
their cooperation by tossing them each an apple. The sounds of
munching drifted after him as he moved off to gather some kindling.
Before long the Ranger had a fire going and provisions laid out,
though he was enjoying the sounds of Hobbit snores too much to wake
them just yet. He sat by the fire smoking his long pipe and watching
the little ones sleep, his sorrow after the long night somewhat
eased. Arwen and Frodo would at this moment be racing for
Rivendell, and Frodo truly was in peril for his life, two fresh
concerns to agonize over and add to the Ranger's seemingly endless
supply of profound burdens.
But for now, in this moment, three Hobbits slept near him, sore-
bottomed and peaceful, and Strider knew the wisdom of relishing every
victory regardless of its substance. He packed his pipe again,
closed his eyes, and enjoyed another smoke.