The One Hour Fellowship Writing Challenge

Give Me the Cloak! by Boriel

Gandalf walked in front, and with him went Aragorn, who knew this land even in the dark. The others were in file behind, and Legolas whose eyes were keen was the rearguard. The first part of their journey was hard and dreary, and Frodo remembered little of it, save the wind. For many sunless days an icy blast came from the Mountains in the east, and no garment seemed able to keep out its searching fingers.

Finally, Frodo snapped.
"I have had enough of this icy blast coming from the mountains in the east, blowing up my garment!"
Looking at the company, he eyed them up one by one, his eyes resting when he spotted Boromir.

Boromir suddenly awoke from his thoughts, a strange feeling came over him that something was in front of him, that unfriendly eyes were upon him. He looked down, but to his surprise it was Frodo, and his face was smiling and kind.

"I am in pity for you Boromir," he said, coming forward. "None of us should wander overburdened, and you least of all. So much is carried by you, I feel the weight of your burden."

"You are kind," answered Boromir, "but i do not think that any pity will help me. I know what i must carry, but i am afraid."

"Afraid? afraid of what? I only mean to help you with your load," said Frodo, a keen light coming into his eyes as he stared hard up at Boromir. "Why are you so unfriendly? I am a true halfling, neither thief nor trickster. I need your fur-lined cloak; that you know, but I give you my word that I do not desire to keep it. Will you not at least let me make trial of my plan? Lend me your fur cloak!

"No! no!" cried Boromir, clutching the fur cloak tighter round his throat.

"It is by my own folly that the wind whistles up my garment!" cried Frodo. "How it chills me! Fool! selfish fool! Clutching your cloak tight about you when a hobbit, the RINGBEARER, risks freezing and death. If anyone mortals have claim to the fur cloak, it is me, not some Gondorian. It is not yours save by unhappy chance. It might have been mine, it should have been mine. Give it to me!"

Boromir did not answer, but stood still and drew his sword, and held it, point down, both hands on the hilts, waiting, daring Frodo to come and take it.

"Miserable human" Frodo shouted. "Let me get my hands on you! Now I see your mind! You would have me freeze to death and then you would take the ring. Curse you!" he said running forward. Then catching his foot on something, (Gimli's well placed foot!) he fell sprawling and lay upon his face. For awhile he was still as if his own curse had struck him down, then suddenly he wept.

Overcome with grief, the entire fellowship rallied round him. Aragorn knelt down and slowly picked Frodo up from the ground. Boromir resheathed his sword and lovingly picked the dead leaves from Frodos hair. Sam reached out and took Frodo's hand, stroking it softly, murmuring, "now then, Mr. Frodo." and Merry and Pippin came over to offer words of comfort and support. Only Legolas and Gimli stood alittle apart, a twinkle in Legolas' eyes as he winked and nodded at Gimli, and a small smile on Gimli's lips.

Everyone knows Dwarves have big feet.