LotR -- Book 1 - Chapter 12 - Flight to the Ford

[Child of the 7th Age]

Davem, Lalwende and all....

As a point of information, and to suggest other viewpoints on this essay.....there were two earlier threads on the Downs where this article was briefly discussed:

Here.

Also here...

The link to the original article is broken, since it has moved to a new address, but this was definitely the essay under consideration. My own feelings, then and now, are more mixed than yours. I feel the author has done valuable work in pointing to the clear evidence that some of Frodo's feelings and actions can be better explained if we view these in terms of post traumatic stress disorder (and I would say survivor guilt as well). Moreover, what we've learned from Garth's book reinforces the possibility that Tolkien's World War I experiences and feelings crept into his depiction of Frodo.

However, I am not willing to go as far as the essay suggests. I can't help but feel that she essentially portrays PTSD as the sole factor, a wholly negative one, in Frodo's decision to leave the Shire. This is too simplistic. All through the book, Tolkien delineated two sides of Frodo's persona: the "shadowed" side, which was growing under the influence of the Ring, but also the side inclined to good, that which led to mercy, his deepening relationship with Sam, and, most critically, the drive towards inner Elvish things (what we might term 'spirituality' or faerie depending on how we define things). The latter elements did not simply vanish with the failure at Sammath Naur. They may have been submerged under guilt and pain, but they still remained part of Frodo and, as such, had to play some role in his decision to leave the Shire. There was an element of longing in Frodo, longing for the Sea and what lay beyond, that not even the slopes of Mordor could totally erase. And this essay does not address or acknowledge this possibilty.

*****************

I would voice similar caution when looking at this chapter. Davem - I think it's a gem of insight to view this chapter as a foretaste or modelling of what is to come at the end of the book. And part of what comes about is Frodo's inability to accept his limitations, instead focusing exclusively on how he has failed, according himself an importance no mortal should take on. In addition to what you've cited, I would add martyr complex to that list!

Yet, having said that, I think we are in danger (like the author of the essay) in reducing Frodo to an equation, one in which we've left out essential parts. For example, you raised this question:

But has he always been that way, or is it some effect of the Ring on him, some isolating effect? Does it show some perverted sense of being in control, being the one who is responsible for everything?

By implication, this raises a different question. It was Gandalf who chose Frodo and he stated many times in both LotR and UT that Frodo was the "best" the Shire had to offer. Even in this chapter, Aragorn states:

Your Frodo is made of sterner stuff than I had guessed, though Gandalf hinted that it might prove so.

If Frodo had "always been that way" with some "perverted sense of being in control", then Gandalf was incorrect in his initial assessment of the Hobbit. And if we look at the "pregnant passive" that is used in connection with Frodo's choosing and accept it at face value, we would also have to say that Eru or Manwe or whoever did the choosing would also have been wrong in guiding the Ring into the hands of Bilbo and eventually to Frodo.

I don't think so. I would rather accept the author's statement, as given through Gandalf's mouth: he describes Frodo as the 'finest' Hobbit in the Shire. In one Letter, JRRT also says that these particular Hobbits (including Frodo) were "extraordinarily gifted". By these terms, whatever is happening to Frodo is the effect of the Ring, rather than a prior condition.

Admittedly, the Ring has a different impact on each individual: Frodo does not turn power hungry or end up killing someone in the way that Smeagol did. Those are not his potential shortcomings: they are instead the ones you list. The potential for his particular kind of corruption was always there in Frodo (in the same way that human limitations exist in all of us), but it is only with the Ring that we actually see it coming out and influencing his thoughts and behavior.

My own reading of the chapter is somewhat different: The Ring is working on Frodo and you have pointed to instances where the Hobbit exhibits self doubt, something that will occur more than once. Yet, this is only a single piece of the puzzle. In this chapter, Tolkien continually stresses that it is a miracle Frodo even survived such a wound. It is the heaviness of the burden that is emphasized as much as Frodo's limitations. If Frodo had already been so heavily under the influence of PTSD or the Ring that it dominated his every inner thought, he would never have managed to get to Mount Doom. The doubt and self incrimination is there, but it must be read in the context of his whole personality and actions and the dire situation he was in.

Strangely enough, my hesitations with the essay and even with stressing the inner self doubt of the chapter are similar to the way I feel about Peter Jackson's Frodo. Others on this thread have pointed out how Jackson changed the depiction of Frodo at Weathertop with sad results, but I think it is wider than that. In the movie, Frodo is portrayed almost from the start as a victim. The dilemma with Frodo is to keep the two sides in balance: victim he was, and with grave limitations and self doubt, but also an extraordinary Hobbit, likely the only one in Middle-earth who could have done what he did. It is the challenge of balancing these images that makes any interpretation of Frodo challengingly complex.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Very interesting discussion of Frodo here. I think that I would like to add into the mix a different D-word from the two already being tossed around (doubt and depression) -- I would like to think about what happens to Frodo at the Ford in relation to despair.

Not despair in the sense of simple unhappiness, but despair as pertains to the loss of hope or faith. Hope is central to the story, and more often than not a character's moral fibre is defined largely in terms of how well he or she keeps hope or faith. Frodo in this chapter is having a very complex reaction/relation to hope that sets up the rest of his journey. On the one hand, after the attack at Weathertop he loses faith in himself insofar as he despairs of his own ability to resist the Ring. On the other hand, at the Ford he demnstrates a remarkable sense of hope insofar as he resists the Nazgul -- interestingly though, he does not have hope in his own abilty to resist them (his defiance is empty and he knows it, and just to make the point the Wraiths break his sword from a distance), but he obviously has hope that something will defeat the Nazgul. He is lost (to the Ring) but the cause is not.

As will happen at the Cracks of Doom, this hope is justified as Frodo is saved -- well, no he isn't, Frodo is 'doomed' to the other d-words, doubt and depression, but the cause is not. Frodo's life is already over, but the quest will go on.

So I think the ambivalence of this moment can be read in this way. On the one hand is the doubt and depression that is overcoming and claiming Frodo; on the other hand is the despair that he manages to keep at bay throughout his life. He is the victim of the former, and the heroic conqueror of the latter. In fact, his heroism only grows as his doubt and depression deepen (alliterative! ) -- the fact that he can plod on and hold to his faith, that he can not despair utterly of the quest despite the terrible toll it is exacting on his faith in himself is remarkable.

Frodo is beginning in this chapter to learn the hard lesson that will guarantee the success of the quest -- that the success and well-being of the hero is not always the same as the success of the hero's mission.

[davem]

I wouldn't deny Child's points regarding Frodo, but I think we have to take Milos' points on board regarding Frodo's mental state, because I think they're valid. How much hope does Frodo actually have, & how much is he simply grasping at straws? To what extent is his decision to go based more on faith than on hope?

Clearly he doesn't see himself as naturally 'fortunate', a lucky soul. throughout he's taken chances on circumstances & on others around him, & he doesn't feel that he has been lucky in those chances. If Tolkien is correct in saying that at the end Frodo feels like a broken failure that must affect his expectations of the outcome of his journey West. In the end it will come down to how we read Frodo's acts & statements as to whether we see his taking Ship as the triumph of faith over hope, or vice versa.

I am struck by his responses in this chapter to his wounding, because he expresses the extremes of both defiance & despair, hope & hopelessness. Yet the thing we have to bear in mind is that however he responds here he is responding in extremis - he doesn't have the luxury to stop & weigh up his situation calmly & objectively. He is dogmatic, judgemental & condemnatory - towards himself most of all.

Once he is able to rest & make a decision he accepts the task of taking the Ring to the fire - but does he make that choice out of defiance or despair? Is there a point when he simply resigns himself to do the task at hand, because he believes it has been ordained that he will do it, &/or die in the attempt, but that either way he has no real say in the matter?

I'm struck by something from an early draft of the meeting between Bingo & Gildor:

'Half your heart wished to go, but the other half held you back; for its home was in the Shire, & its delight in bed & board & the voices of friends, & in the changing of the gentle seasons among the fields & trees. but since you are a hobbit that half is the stronger, as it was even in Bilbo. What has made it surrender?'
'Yes, I am an ordinary hobbit, & so I always shall be, I imagine,' said Bingo. 'But a most un-hobbitlike fate has been laid upon me.'
Then you are not an ordinary hobbit,' said Gildor, 'for otherwise that could not be so. But the half that is plain hobbit will suffer much I fear from being forced to follow the other half which is worthy of the strange fate, until it too becomes worthy (& yet remains hobbit). For that must be the purpose of your fate, or the purpose of that part of your fate which concerns you yourself. The hobbit half that loves the Shire is not to be despised but it has to be trained, & to rediscover the changing seasons & voices of friends when they have been lost

Return of the Shadow

This idea, that Frodo has a dual 'fate' seems significant, especially as, according to Gildor, only one part of that 'fate'concerns Frodo himself.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Davem

As I look at the chapter again, I see more of what you're referring to. I do still think we have to perform a balancing act in terms of Frodo.

But I want to suggest one more angle that we can perhaps use for a slightly different perspective.... I'll warn you in advance that this is going to be long. I didn't know how else to get all this down.

Question: What if Frodo’s self blame is not an isolated response of one individual but part of a larger pattern, with a number of characters displaying uncharacteristically ‘negative’ feelings?

First, there’s Sam. No one mentioned the unusual scene at the beginning of the chapter. After Frodo was wounded and Strider briefly disappeared, Tolkien say this:

Sam plainly was beginning to have doubts again about Strider; but while they were talking he returned, appearing suddenly out of the shadows. They started, and Sam drew his sword and stood over Frodo; but Strider knelt down swiftly at his side.

“I am not a Black Rider, Sam, he said gently, “nor in league with them. I have been trying to discover something of their movements; but I have found nothing…..

The italics are mine. This whole sequence suggests more than a simple case of Sam not being able to see in the dark. It’s a reflection of something happening inside Sam: potentially destructive feelings and behavior have returned, perhaps not as markedly as in Frodo but still fairly evident.

By the time Strider kneels down, Sam could not have mistaken him for a wraith, yet the Ranger feels compelled to provide an extended explanation of who he is and his loyalties. Strider reassures Sam that he is not “in league with them”. This goes beyond seeing people in the dark.

Just two paragraphs later, we get another description of Sam's behavior: “Sam choked with tears.” The Hobbit fears his friend can't resist the wraiths. Yet, in sticky situations even in Mordor, Sam doesn’t normally cry. Nor are these the “good” tears Gandalf later mentions. Given their distressing situation, the tears can only be destructive and futile. Aragorn sees the real reason for the tears and implores Sam: “Don’t despair.” Despair is the last characteristic I normally associate with Sam. Yet here, Sam can not control his negativity.

We get another uncharacteristic instance of self-doubt by Merry when he announces to Strider:

We can not go any further…..What are we to do? Do you think they will be able to cure him in Rivendell, if we ever get ther?”

This is a Hobbit who wasn't afraid to sass back an Orc after he is kidnapped and injured! Yet, here he seems half defeated.

The companions as a whole “dreaded the dark hours” and imagined that the wraiths were “waiting to make some ambush in a narrow place.” Even Strider, though generally resourceful, “seemed tired and heavy-hearted”.

Thus, Frodo’s is not an isolated response, but part of a pattern. One obvious cause for all this is the fear instilled by the wraiths: it hangs over everything in the chapter. Yet there is a second force at work: the land itself. Here it is not a beneficent force, but presents obstacles and reinforce fears. At every step, Tolkien uses phrases like “withered leaves and grass”, “sullen hills”, “somber country of dark trees”, and “the hills began to shut them in.”

Later in the book we will encounter two “wastelands” created by the active hands of living beings – Mordor and Isengaard ( potentially the Shire as well, only the bad guys didn’t get that far.) These are wastelands like those in the modern world: fertile lands where technology and war actively mar and destroy the land.

In this chapter, the fellowship is passing through a different kind of wasteland. It is the one we see in medieval literature: the empty place where no people live. The medieval wasteland usually has the ability to corrupt spirit and defeat the body. Thus, Strider uses the actual term “wilderness” to describe the land they are going through. He clearly sees the shadow that lies over the land, the shadow that is influencing Frodo and Sam to respond in negative ways:

“Who lives in this land? he [i.e. Frodo] asked. “And who built these towers? Is this troll country?”

“No!” said Strider. “Trolls do not build. No one lives in this land. Men once dwelt here , ages ago; but none remain now. They became an evil people, as legends tell…. But that is so long ago that the hills have forgotten them, though a shadow still lies on the land.

The point where we just begin to break the hold of the land over the fellowship is right here in the chapter:

In the morning he work to find that the rain had stopped. The clouds were still thick, but they were breaking, and pale strips of blue appeared between them. The wind was shifting again. …..Strider went off alone, telling the others to remain under the shelter of the cliff, until he came back. He was going to climb up, if he could, and get a lie of the land.

Thus, Aragorn had to get away from the land by going up in order to cast aside its bad influence. Immediately, he is able to see the truth: they have strayed from their path and must now go in a different direction. This is what he tells his companions.

Of course, it’s possible to read all this literally – having to do with geography and such – and to understand everyone’s fears as simply a reaction to bad conditions. But it seems like there is another level of meaning here as well: the land has influenced how they react and feel and they must get back to their true selves if they are ever to break through to Rivendell.

The final moment of joy, when the sun comes flooding in, literally and figuratively, is when they see those old stone trolls. For the first time in the whole chapter, they are able to laugh:

Frodo felt his spirits reviving: the reminder of Bilbo’s first successful adventure was heartening. the sun, too, was warm and comforting.

A few lines later Frodo blithely asserts;

Don’t worry about me….I feel much better.

At least for the moment, Frodo like the others is back to being his true self. He must still fight the wound and the wraiths, but the shadow of the land is receding.

In this chapter, Tolkien continues to play with concepts like “history”, the “past” and ‘remembrance” It is Frodo’s memory of his own past—Bilbo’s deeds—that helps defeat the wasteland in his own head and enables him to laugh. Even more striking is how Tolkien describes the wasteland as “empty and forgetful”: Strider says that even the hills have forgotten what happened here. But Strider then reassures the Hobbits with a statement that shows his own strength as a Dunedain:

“the heirs of Elendil do not forget all things past… and many more things than I can tell are remembered in Rivendell.

So here the remembrance of the past is positive. Without it, I doubt the group would have made it through. How Tolkien loved to play with ideas and turn them round about in each chapter!

[Aiwendil]

Two minor comments that can't pretend to fully address anything said above:

Davem wrote:

Once he is able to rest & make a decision he accepts the task of taking the Ring to the fire - but does he make that choice out of defiance or despair?

I would say neither; rather: he knew that accepting the task was the morally right thing to do, unequivocally, regardless of how he felt about it. I don't know whether he felt despair or defiance or hope or all three; but I think that his decision was made without respect to these things. Later, when he effectively makes the same decision at Amon Hen, Sam correctly analyzes his predicament: he is not trying to make up his mind at all; he knows exactly what he ought to do - he is only working up his courage to actually do it.

Child of the Seventh Age wrote:

Despair is the last characteristic I normally associate with Sam. Yet here, Sam can not control his negativity.

Recall also what he tells himself when he learns that Frodo was not in fact killed by Shelob: "The trouble with you is that you never really had any hope." Also in IV-3 we have "After all, he never had any real hope in the affair from the beginning; but being a cheerful hobbit he had not needed hope, as long as despair could be postponed."

He does not despair, but only because he can "postpone" it. Shippey cites this passage and argues that Sam is cheerful but not hopeful - one can be cheerful (outwardly agreeable, putting on a good face) with or without real inner hope or joy.

[davem]

The Wasteland is a strange image for Middle earth - where or what is the Grail? The Land is made waste because the Grail has been lost, yet in Middle earth there never was a Grail. There were the Silmarils, of course - did the loss of the Silmarils cause the Land to be laid waste - yet if so, how can it ever be healed, as they can never be won back. The Quest of the Silmarils ended with the First Age. I suppose the Trees could be the primal Grails - in a sense they do reapear at the end of LotR - the White (silver) Tree of Gondor & the Mallorn (gold) Tree of the Shire. Is that it? The Silmarillion proper begins with the Two Trees which are lost, bringing an end to the 'Golden Age', leading to Middle earth's slow, inevitable, descent into the Wasteland state, & it ends with the Two Trees of Middle earth in the Shire & Gondor.

To what extent was the Ring Quest a Grail Quest, as much as an anti-Grail Quest? To have both Aragorn's journey & Sam's end in the birth of new Trees seems symbolic.

It is significant that the more one pays attention to Tolkien's statements about the Land, the more 'alive' it seems, the more a conscious participant in events. The very earth of the Old Forest, not just the trees, seemed to move & have a will of its own. It is perhaps the most intensely 'feminine' presence in the story - certainly, it seems to be the most permanently 'present' feminine presence. It has 'moods', which can be so powerful they overwhelm the individuals who move across its face. Its as if Middle earth herself is also aware of her woundedness & is seeking healing, & that healing is symbolised by the two Trees.

[Aiwendil]

Davem wrote:

There were the Silmarils, of course - did the loss of the Silmarils cause the Land to be laid waste - yet if so, how can it ever be healed, as they can never be won back. The Quest of the Silmarils ended with the First Age. I suppose the Trees could be the primal Grails

I think that the grail-quality of the Silmarils derives in large part from the Trees, since after the destruction of the trees the Silmarils alone contain their untainted light. If we look at the 1920s - 1930s mythology, the Silmarils will in fact be won back at the end of the world, after which Feanor will present them to Yavanna to be broken, and the Trees will be renewed. But the scale of that myth gives it more of a saviour/doomsday quality than a grail quality.

[mark12_30]

Originally Posted by davem

If Tolkien is correct in saying that at the end Frodo feels like a broken failure that must affect his expectations of the outcome of his journey West.
...
I am struck by his responses in this chapter to his wounding, because he expresses the extremes of both defiance & despair, hope & hopelessness. ... He is dogmatic, judgemental & condemnatory - towards himself most of all.

This seems unnatural? Really? Everyone doesn't live like this on a daily basis???

Originally Posted by davem

Once he is able to rest & make a decision he accepts the task of taking the Ring to the fire - but does he make that choice out of defiance or despair? Is there a point when he simply resigns himself to do the task at hand, because he believes it has been ordained that he will do it, &/or die in the attempt, but that either way he has no real say in the matter? .

Again-- yes to both. Why does that surprise? To me it seems like a daily occurence. For instance, today. And yesterday. And the day before that.


To quote another INFP. : I think Frodo is "Very I, very N, very F and very P..." Introvert, Intuitive, Feeler, Perceiver. At least, that's my guess.

Originally Posted by Aiwendil

I would say neither; rather: he knew that accepting the task was the morally right thing to do, unequivocally, regardless of how he felt about it. I don't know whether he felt despair or defiance or hope or all three; but I think that his decision was made without respect to these things. Later, when he effectively makes the same decision at Amon Hen, Sam correctly analyzes his predicament: he is not trying to make up his mind at all; he knows exactly what he ought to do - he is only working up his courage to actually do it.

"Called, Appointed, Annointed." Three different, but related things. In Frodo's case, the calling was when he inherited It (or before); the appointment was at the Council; and the annointing-- I would say, numerous cumulative, illuminative events, dreams, and encounters along the way.

[Aiwendil]

Mark12_30 wrote:

To quote another INFP. : I think Frodo is "Very I, very N, very F and very P..." Introvert, Intuitive, Feeler, Perceiver. At least, that's my guess.

An interesting way to look at it. I suppose I agree. This makes me wonder about analyzing the other characters this way, particularly in the interest of contrasting them with Frodo. Aragorn, for example, strikes me as a definite T (Thinker) and perhaps a J (Judging) - perhaps INTJ or ENTJ.

I suppose one could say that Frodo's character arc amounts to a movement to an even more extreme INFP.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

So, let us move on with the chapter-by-chapter course. Flight to the Ford: the end of the first book. This chapter continues with the scheme of the last chapter, it is a long, epic and quite thrilling chapter.

The start, and most of the chapter, works with the uncertainty of Frodo's fate (and even the end, which is a brilliant and very dramatic, one almost sees the scene moving in front of him - and fortunately, or at least myself, don't see it in the movie adaptation. The whole book, as the others will as well, ends with a cliffhanger). The Morgul-wound is presented at the beginning as something very sinister, of evil nature, and it is emphasised twice (by both Aragorn and Glorfindel) that "not even them" can cure what the would caused. Frodo is slowly becoming more and more disturbed by the wound. He moves slowly closer to the Wraith world, at night everything seems more solid to him, and in the end, without any effort he sees the Ringwraith as they really are. The dreams and hazy visions, especially the one when Frodo walks in his garden at Bag End, seem to me really close to this hazy perception a person has when he is ill and having fevers etc. I actually remembered that the first time I read this chapter, I was ill, and I felt similar to Frodo. It is interesting how a story can strongly imprint the memory of the situation in which you were when you read it (another very strong experience I remember was reading Treebeard when I was eating jelly bears. But about that in due time ).

One important thing in this chapter is the appearance of Glorfindel. Despite being a minor character, he makes the impression of someone really powerful and important. Among all shadowy things, Frodo sees him slightly glowing on the first sight, his touch warms Frodo, and in the end, as we all know, Frodo sees him clearly even in the Wraith world. However, the strongest impact, I believe, would Glorfindel's character have on someone who read Silmarillion. His description of a golden-haired Elf warrior would raise connotations even stronger. I was thinking this time that CT should have attempted to issue the tale of Tuor and Gondolin, because then, eventually, a person might read it first and then start to read more things from Tolkien, and while reading FotR and suddenly seeing (dead) Glorfindel, he would be surely surprised and delighted.

We learn a little more about Aragorn as well - using athelas, and more interestingly, that "his heart remains in Rivendell". Why? What is that supposed to mean, one may ask on first reading? I must say I noticed this part especially this time and I really like it.

Concerning the overall depiction of the journey, I think it's wonderful. One may learn lots of geographical information about the land, but the picture of the journey seems so vivid! I may also note here that I remember I liked much all the hints about Angmar when I read LotR for the first time. I did not particularly know what it is, but I liked it and it was beautifully scary shadow somewhere in the dark.

And last of all, the trolls episode, which provides but a slight relief, but is similar to the relief provided by the tales of Beren and Lúthien in the former chapter (although this one is much more "hobbitish", of course, and is not followed by immediate disaster, like in the former chapter). I would like to point out several little things: like that Frodo says that Sam will end up as a warrior or a wizard, while Sam ends up as a Great Elven Warrior, and Frodo is completely unaware that the more this will apply for the two remaining hobbits. Also, note in Sam's poem that the hero - Tom - although probably a hobbit, has boots. Had this been an old hobbit traditional song, it could signify its ancientry, dating back from the times when the hobbits were still wearing boots. But why would Sam - Sam! The hobbit who practically never left Hobbitton, thus, was not even used to hobbits wearing boots, like the Bucklanders - make his character wearing boots? Yes, one can say "to fit the rhyme", but the thing is that a hobbit would probably not even think about putting in the boots for a rhyme, simply because he does not think about boots normally. Or did Sam simply use an old story and built on it his own song? Maybe.
Another thing which caught my eye this time was what Frodo said about Bilbo giving away all the treasure he got from the Trolls - that he felt it is not rightfully his when it comes from loot. What a groundbreaking approach would that be for many treasure hunters (and I had to think of my RPGing group, that I should promote this idea to them - someone might try to accept that way of acting for his character).

So, what did you find about the chapter? How did you feel about it, now, or when you read it for the first time? Have you anything to comment on something? Does something "stand out" at you?

[Formendacil]

Apparently, since 2008, this has been the one chapter of Book I that no one had very much to say about. If one takes that fact at face value, it's a bit baffling, because the pre-2008 discussions are vibrant and this is certainly a chapter with some important things going on: most especially the climax of the whole first book, but also the resolution of events at Weathertop and the introduction of a particularly interesting side-character, Glorfindel.

Glorfindel might actually be more interesting post-LotR than he was at the time of writing--or even the time of publication--because Tolkien didn't decide right away that this was THE Glorfindel of "The Fall of Gondolin," though given his characterisation as unusually potent in the other realm, it seems clear that Tolkien was toying with some sort of a connection from the beginning.

Considering that "The Fall of Gondolin" was basically the first tale written of the Lost Tales, the first fully-fleshed out story of Middle-earth, and considering also the importance given to the Gondolin legend as a matter of background in The Hobbit, I think it noteworthy that an actual character from that tale gets drawn into the LotR.

Another, far more minor thing, that caught my eye is that, early in the chapter, after tending to Frodo's wound, immediately before he goes in search of the athelas, Strider draws Sam to him and tells him what he knows or suspects happened with the Black Riders and charges him with protecting Frodo.

It's a small thing, but the text definitely says that he sends Merry and Pippin to do one thing and draws Sam over to speak to him quietly. In other words, it could be said that Strider treats Sam like the leader of the three hobbits.

This marks a change, I think. Although Sam has always been the second hobbit from the point of view of the reader, having been introduced as Frodo's travelling companion before the two others unmask their conspiracy, the events previously always put Merry in a position of leadership. It's possible, of course, that Strider isn't deferring to Sam as the senior hobbit (he actually is the oldest after Frodo), but recognises that he's the one with the deepest affection and concern for Frodo. Even if so, however, the way Strider does it still seemed to represent a bit of a shift--it might actually be the first time in the book that presents "Merry and Pippin" as a distinctly junior (more disposable?) pair of hobbits. Previously, if there were pairs at all, it was as much Frodo/Merry and Sam/Pippin as Frodo/Sam and Merry/Pippin.

(Or not--I am sure counterexamples could be found, but knowing the textual history of Book I involved a lot of shifting of hobbit names and roles, I think there could be a shift here, and the previous chapter discussions talked a lot about the hobbit personalities--especially Merry's--and this seems a pertinent addendum thereto.)