The Winged Shadow

Title: The Winged Shadow

By: Pervinca

For: Marigold’s Challenge #6

Beta: powerwriter

Summary: Saradoc Brandybuck confronts his son about one of the darker parts of his journey.

* * * * * *

S.R. 1420, Buckland

“Careful with that, please, Merry,” Frodo cried, as he watched his younger cousin struggle with a bookcase that had belonged to Bilbo. The books had all been emptied from it, but the case was heavy enough by itself. Ent-draught or not, Frodo was not certain that Merry was strong enough to carry the bookcase by himself.

This was the last load of furniture to be moved from Crickhollow back to Bag End, and Frodo had wanted to oversee it personally. It had also given him a chance to see Merry’s parents, who had raised him after the death of his own parents, before Bilbo adopted him. Saradoc seemed to have some idea of what his son and nephews had been doing during the previous year, but Frodo had the feeling that Merry had somewhat summarised the story, and for that he was thankful.

“Yes, Meriadoc, let Pippin help you,” Saradoc called, for he and Merry's cousin, Berilac, had also come to help with the move.

Frodo let out a sigh of relief as Peregrin offered to help Merry with the bookcase. Standing nearby, Saradoc heard the sigh and chuckled.

“I see your journey has done nothing to increase your trust for those two.”

Frodo gave his cousin a small smile. “Oh, I would trust Merry and Pippin with my life. I just don’t trust them with my furniture.”

Saradoc laughed again. “Well, that is understandable. I don’t know how well they have adjusted to their new height.” He placed his hand on Frodo’s shoulder. “I meant to ask you earlier, are you sure you don’t mind Merry staying with us for a few days. If you need his help in Hobbiton, that’s perfectly fine…”

“Oh, no, Saradoc. You and Esme need him more than I do. I have Sam and the Cotton-lads to help me. In fact, I’m planning on sending Pippin home as soon as we get to Hobbiton. His family has hardly seen him either.”

“That’s a good idea, lad. Eglantine must be nearly mad with worry.”

Berilac noticed that Merry and Pippin seemed to be having trouble loading the bookcase into the cart, so he ran over to help as well. Once it was in, they all smiled. That was the last of it.

At that moment, a cloud passed over the Sun, blocking her warmth for a moment. However, that was not what caused Saradoc Brandybuck to shiver.

He had been watching Merry, Pippin and Berry as the cloud passed by. The way his son and nephew had reacted to the sudden shadow was quite disturbing. Pippin had dropped to the ground in terror, with his hands clamped over his ears. Merry had backed against the cart, clutching his right arm, his face twisted in pain. Even more frightening was Frodo’s reaction. Frodo had been standing next to Saradoc, but now he had crumpled to the ground, his maimed right hand grasping at his left shoulder. If possible, he looked like he was in more pain than Merry.

Saradoc bent down slowly and placed is hand on Frodo’s back. “It’s all right, Frodo-lad. It was just a cloud.”

Frodo’s clouded blue eyes met Saradoc’s. His face seemed completely drained of colour, but he managed to nod. Accepting the Brandybuck’s hand, Frodo let Saradoc help him to his feet.

Merry and Pippin had also recovered, but in stark contrast to Frodo, their faces were bright red. They appeared to be very embarrassed by their reaction to the cloud. Berilac moved close to Merry to ask him something, but Merry dismissed the question with a shake of his head.

“Frodo, what was that all about?” Saradoc asked, in a lowered voice.

Frodo replied in much the same way as Merry had. He shook his head. “Never mind, Uncle Sarry. For my part, I can tell you that I just had a painful reminder of something that happened on my journey. You may have to ask your son if you wish to know more. You are his father, and it is not my place to tell you.”

Saradoc did not know which had been more worrying: the way the lads had reacted, or Frodo’s cryptic explanation of why they had reacted so. He glanced at his son, and knew what he would have to do.

* * * * * *

Merry pushed his chair away from the table. “That was simply delicious, Mum, but I don’t think I could eat another bite.”

Esmeralda laughed. “Who are you and what have you done with my son? Thank you, dearest. I knew I would have to make your favourite.” The laughed dwindled, and Merry noticed tears in his mother’s eyes. “We were so worried, Merry, and we missed you so much.”

“I know. I missed you too.” Merry meant that. His parents had often been on his mind while he had been away. “I wish I could have let you know where I was going, but we had to keep it a secret.”

“We understand that, Merry,” said Saradoc. “Fredegar explained that to us.” He had been watching his son the whole night for any signs that the event of the afternoon might be repeated, but nothing had happened. From this, Saradoc had guessed that it was something about the cloud that had caused the strange behaviour of his son and nephews. He would just have to wait until Esmeralda had gone to bed. He was certain he did not want his wife to hear what Meriadoc might have to say.

Unfortunately, waiting for Esmeralda to go to bed ended up being more difficult than it sounded. She wanted to spend as much time with her son as she could, asking him about everything from the new King, to whether Merry planned on marrying Estella Bolger now that he was home. Eventually, her eyelids seemed to droop just a little, and she smiled tiredly.

“Well, I suppose it’s time for me to go to bed,” she said, with a yawn. “I’ll leave you two to talk about lad business.” She lightly kissed them both on the forehead.

“Good night, dearest,” said Saradoc. As soon as Esmeralda had left the room, he focussed his attention on his son. “Want to have a smoke with your dear old Dad, Meriadoc?”

“Of course, Father.” The serious tone of Merry’s voice made it obvious he knew what his father wanted to talk about.

The two Brandybucks took out their pipes, and smoked in silence for a few moments. Finally, Merry broke the silence. “I suppose you want to know what happened earlier today.”

Saradoc smiled. “I can never hide anything from you, can I Merry?”

“It’s only fair. I can never hide anything from you either.” Merry took a deep breath. “Where to start…”

“Was it the cloud? Did something happen on your journey to make you fear clouds?”

Merry had to chuckle at that. He was quite certain that his father had spent most of the evening trying to work out what had happened. “Not exactly, Dad. It was the shadow more than the cloud itself.”

Merry’s explanation was beginning to sound as cryptic as Frodo’s had, and that was frustrating to Saradoc. “Merry, enough riddles. Frodo said that he was reminded of a painful moment of his journey, but you looked in almost as much pain as he did. What happened?”

“Do you remember the Big Folk who attacked Crickhollow?” Merry asked.

Saradoc nodded. “A lot of folk thought that they might have been some of Lotho’s ruffians, but I don’t believe that.”

“And well you shouldn’t. Those Big Folk had no Master but Sauron himself.” Merry nodded grimly as his father gasped. “They were called the Nazgûl, or Ringwraiths, but we just used to call them the Black Riders.”

“Yes, the guards at the gate said they were wearing black. Riding black horses, too.”

“My first encounter with them was in Bree. Foolishly, I went for a walk, while Frodo, Pippin and Sam stayed at The Pony. Strider – that’s the King – said I’d been affected by the Black Breath. I passed out in the middle of the street. The Black Riders attacked the Inn that night, but luckily, we stayed in a different room.”

Saradoc listened in silent awe. Merry had told him a very abridged version of his tale, it seemed, but he had heard rumours of an attack on The Prancing Pony.

“After that, we did not see the Black Riders again until Weathertop. The leading one – they call him the Witch-King – stabbed Frodo in the shoulder. That’s probably what Frodo meant about a painful reminder. Sam tells us that the Nazgûl cry used to make the pain come back. He was lucky to survive the stabbing, but Elrond of Rivendell managed to heal him.

“We were spared the terror of another meeting with the Black Riders for a good while after that. Frodo seemed to think one flew over us while we were on the Great River, and I don’t dare disagree with him. He would know best.” Merry took another deep breath. This was more difficult than he thought it would be. “Well, as you know, Pippin and I hitched a ride with some Orcs across Rohan, and we were rescued eventually.”

This was one frightening part of the story that Merry had told his parents about. The scar on his forehead was impossible to hide.

“Some time later, Pippin looked into…well, Pippin did something foolish, and another Nazgûl passed over us. They had started to use these ugly flying creatures, you see. And most of the time, the only hint we had of them – aside from this terrible feeling of dread – was a shadow passing across the stars.”

That explained why they had reacted so. But Saradoc guessed that Merry had more to tell him.

“That was when we were separated. Gandalf took him to Minas Tirith, and I was left behind with King Théoden. Minas Tirith is quite close to Mordor, and no doubt, Pippin heard the Nazgûl’s cry a lot while he was there. That’s why he cowered on the ground like he did.”

“And what about you, Merry?” Saradoc asked, becoming worried about what Merry’s experience with these Nazgûl had been.

“I told you that I rode to Gondor with a fellow called Dernhelm, who turned out to be the Lady Éowyn. When we came there, King Théoden…” Merry stumbled for a moment, as he remembered the dear old man that had become like a second father to him. “The Witch-King attacked him. Éowyn stood between the Nazgûl and Théoden – he was her uncle, you see – but the Witch-King broke her arm with his mace. He had not seen me, so I crept up behind and stabbed him in the back of his knee.” Merry held up his arm to look at it. “I cannot begin to explain the pain I felt in my arm as I did so. But then, my arm went so cold, and I couldn’t use it. Éowyn had the same problem, because she stabbed the Witch-King too, and killed him.”

“The two of you managed to destroy one of those dreadful creatures?” Saradoc asked.

“Well, yes. Apparently, there was some prophecy that said no living man would be able to destroy him, and that turned out to be true. It took a woman and a hobbit to do it.” Merry shook his head. “But it was so frightening, Dad. I thought I was going to die. I kept thinking about you and Mum, and Estella, but Strider managed to bring me back. Pippin helped too, I suppose. Just having him there made me want to stay.”

Saradoc reached out to take his son’s right hand, and was thankful to feel warmth in it. He had been so terrified that it was going to be icy cold.

“Now every time a shadow passes above me, I hear the Nazgûl’s cry and I remember the pain of stabbing the Witch-King. I had hoped I would never have to tell you about it.”

“Meriadoc, why would you hope that? You helped to remove a great terror from this world – you should be proud of that! I am so proud of you.”

Merry met his father’s eyes, and smiled. Then, he did something he had not done in a good many years. He threw himself into Saradoc’s arms, and sobbed.

Saradoc held his son close and let him cry away all the pain.

The next morning, Meriadoc was walking in the gardens of Brandy Hall with his parents. Another stray cloud passed over the Sun, and Saradoc froze, expecting the worst. He had agreed with Merry that the more terrifying parts of the journey should be kept secret from Esmeralda, but now it seemed like they would have to tell her.

However, the shadow passed over Merry, and he simply looked back at his father and smiled.

The End

A/N: I took me a little while to come up with the idea for this one. While the title obviously suggested something to do with the Nazgûl, I didn’t want to do anything to predictable. I hope this little story fitted well with the title!