As usual, these characters do not belong to me, except for Saro and Bob Ferny, darn it! I write this only for the pleasure of visiting with dear friends in Middle Earth, and get only reviews. The characters and places belong to Tolkien/New Line/Peter Jackson. If you want to sue me, blow yer eyes out, you can’t squeeze blood out of a turnip.

I dedicate this to my husband, Beornomir, the love of my life, and to Ruby, whom I miss, now and always. I also dedicate this to Billy Boyd, Dom Monaghan and Sean Bean, to PJ, and last, but not least, to Tolkien. Oh, and let me not forget Mr. Wet Rat, himself, the man who lent new meaning to the word “reticent”- tha Steelso, Stewart. Still miss ya, Steelso! You can kill me later if you can find me!

Also to Pearl Took, Pippinfan88, Marigold, Heartsings, littlehobbitgal, Mysterious Ways, Thovie, Daughter of Olorin, Blue Iris, randomwriter96, sappho, halethrim, Pansy Chubb, Brassy Bane, galadrielwannabe, Black Jaguar12, TxQueen, halethrim, Platinumblond612, Hai, Anne-Marie, Actias luna, Evindim, pmochizuki , Elrawien and Zebbo at The Billy Place, MPfan, Pipsqueak at WME along with RB and all the other mods, all the denizens of the original Ernil i Pheriannath thread (yes, that means you, too, lost sailors!) at Ye Old forum and all my lovely, loyal Loons who share in my Zen Boydism, as well as many others too numerous to name, especially those who have been kind enough to E-mail me about The Bee Charmer...

Also…(DRUMROLL!) Let me give hearty thanks and much gratitude to my wonderful, wonderful Beta-reader, my queen of corrections and counselor of conundrums, Lin. May you always walk in the Light.

So, speak “friend” and enter!

Welcome to the universe of the Bee charmer...

The Bee Charmer

Chapter 1

Of Honey and Battlefield Dressings

Pippin kissed Diamond goodbye, and after a lingering embrace – he never could give her a brief one – exited the side door of Great Smials. “Good morning, Sigismond!” he bid his stable-master, then took the reins of his pony. “And good morning to you, Dapplegrim.” He stroked the pony’s nose affectionately. The pony was a tall pony, long of limb with a long, graceful neck. His coat was a lovely white with silver-grey dapples. Being quite tall for a hobbit, Pippin had searched far and wide for a pony such as this, and now many of Dapplegrim’s colts frolicked about with the mares in the paddock. These were the swiftest ponies in the Shire, and of all of these ponies, Dapplegrim was the swiftest. Usually Dapplegrim had a somewhat noble air about him, but this morning he seemed in a fanciful and fine mood. He whinnied, nodding his graceful head, and then nosed Pippin about the pockets. Pippin laughed, withholding that which the pony was searching for until Dapplegrim began to blow hard from his nostrils; only then did Pippin produce the desired item, that being a few slices of dried apple.

It was a fine day in early spring. This year’s harvest was planted and growing well. He had caught up on business, and was now free to attend lesser matters - lesser, but not unimportant. Last spring beekeepers in the West Farthing had taken quite a blow to their apiaries when sickness spread through their hives, and many had turned their hands to other business, at least for a while. The result was a shortage of honey, with prices soaring, when it could be found at all. News had been had that there was a new supplier east of Buckland, and Diamond wanted honey.

Diamond and Pippin’s son Faramir, called Faro by those who knew him best, had been visiting Brandy Hall for the last six weeks. Merry and Estella’s son Theomac and Faro were of an age and quite good friends, just as their erstwhile fathers had been. Since Pippin had to go that way to fetch their son anyway, Diamond had insisted on his setting up trade with this supplier. Perhaps this suppler had managed to keep his apiary disease-free.

Great Smials was a hive of sorts, itself, and its many inhabitants required a great amount of provender, honey included. Diamond had been at Pippin to get honey for some time now, and Pippin knew he dared not ignore the request. Diamond was fond of honey, and Pippin meant not to disappoint her. She would be most put out if he neglected this request any longer. One thing Pippin avoided at all cost: putting Diamond out of sorts. He knew better.

And that is how he came to be riding along Stock Road shortly before sunrise, a basket of bread, fruit, boiled eggs and salted pork behind his saddle right next to a flask of passable wine. He would forgo the White Hart Inn and stop over at the Oak and Acorn – he wanted to put some distance behind him. The third inn on the way, The Lark and Rose, was the best of all three inns on Stock Road, but that was too far to go in one day, even with a very early start and with a pony as swift as Dapplegrim.

Around three-quarters of the way, not quite yet in the Woody End, he dismounted and took a late second breakfast; he slipped the bit from Dapplegrim’s mouth and gave the pony his head, the better to munch the clover that covered the low, rolling hills. Wild bees droned about. Pippin noted that there were far fewer in these parts than had been the case this time last year, and he hoped the bee bane had not spread too far.

Lying on his back and chewing a bit of dried apple, Pippin looked up at the clouds. The sun shone her face on him quite brightly, and he closed his eyes. Somewhere nearby he could hear the hooves of Dapplegrim shift and the homey munching of clover. A bee hummed somewhere near his ear, and a slow smile spread across Pippin’s features. He let his mind wander back until his memory paused, stopped, turned faces and voices over in his mind. He could almost feel the stony ground of Hollin beneath his feet as he dozed off…

It was rough going in Hollin, no question about it. They were all weary and ready for rest, and Pippin was so tired he was tripping over his own feet, which is how it happened. One wrong step and he had fallen from a narrow and winding path down a rough, steep slope, fetching up in a deadfall tree. One of the branches impaled itself in his leg. Legolas and Boromir had scrambled down, nearly falling themselves- and Legolas an Elf and all! If Pippin hadn’t been so frightened and in such pain, he might have laughed at the Elf.

When the Man and the Elf drew near, Boromir sucked in his breath, producing a sharp hiss. "Ah, Pippin, your leg" he breathed. Boromir steadied the leg while Legolas looked it over. They concluded that the wound, while bad enough, was not overly deep or near a bleeding vessel. Boromir gently drew the wounded leg off the impaling branch to Pippin’s silent and drawn out "ouch" which he had mouthed while scrunching up his entire face. Boromir lifted the hobbit in his thick arms and carried his wounded passenger back up the slope.

Aragorn had been anxious to treat the wound, but Boromir was quick, and had a dressing out of his pack in a flash. "Don’t worry, Pippin,” Boromir said, voice even, calm and soothing. “Just because I can inflict a wound in battle doesn’t mean I’m so very clumsy at healing, you know. If one of my men is hurt, or if I am hurt, and no healer is around, a dressing can perhaps preserve a life. That’s why I bothered to learn the skill." With a calmness and confidence which put Pippin at ease, Boromir stooped beside the wounded Hobbit. "Now, this will stop the bleeding. Aragorn will clean the wound as soon as we find a safe resting place.” He swiftly and neatly bound up the wound, giving a grunt of satisfaction when done. His glance swept the hobbits from hovering Ring-bearer to worried Merry, biting his lip, finally coming to rest on Pippin’s frightened face. “That’ll stop the bleeding. But it could become putrid, and I know of something that can stop that.” He pointed a little further back on the trail. "Do you remember that big, hollow tree just there? That’s a bee tree. I’m going to get some honey. Honey will protect a wound and keep it from growing foul and gangrenous.” He gave Pippin an affectionate pat on the arm. "Rest a bit, and watch this! Perhaps you might learn a trick or two!”

Legolas tried to persuade Boromir to let him get the honey, but Boromir would have none of that. They watched the big man approach the bee tree. A cloud of bees swarmed there, so many that the Company could hear the buzzing from where they sat. Pippin was not the only one who thought that Boromir was about to get himself stung to death.

What followed was nothing less than amazing. Even Legolas and Aragorn were as astonished as Pippin himself was. Boromir slowly walked up to the tree holding his shield up like a great dish. He reached one large, long arm into the tree and pulled out comb after comb of honey, eventually filling the shield. He smiled through it all, and not once was he stung. The big man walked calmly back, popping a bit of honeycomb into his mouth and savoring its sweetness.

"Well, I’ll be blessed!" Aragorn said softly and appreciatively. "He’s a bee charmer!"

Soon the wound had been cleaned, treated with honey, and swiftly and neatly re-bound by Boromir. The meal that evening was wonderful, consisting of the regular fare, but ending with honey-cakes Sam had been able to produce in a pan. There was plenty of honey left, enough for the next two days rations, plus enough to use during changing of wound-dressings.

Pippin woke with a start. What a dream! Why, he could almost feel the wound on his leg! He sat up only to find a wild bee had lit on the site of the old scar and stung him. Brows knitted, he plucked out the sting, then rubbed his leg, examining the scar as he continued to examine the memory. He grinned, recalling how Boromir and Aragorn had let him sit on their shoulders over the next two days of the journey.

Rising, he collected Dapplegrim’s reins. “And now, my worthy friend, I shall ride upon your back,” he said softly. “Sometimes, I do wish I had those shoulders to ride upon once more. What a tale! I shall tell it to Faro and Theo. Not every hobbit has had a chance to ride such noble steeds as the King of all the Free Peoples, and the Heir to the Stewardship and throne of Ithilien!” Dapplegrim met Pippin’s gaze with his bright eyes and nodded as if in agreement. “Now, shall we make for the Oak and Acorn? The innkeeper’s mare will be delighted to see you once more, I warrant!” Dapplegrim nodded again with a low whinny. Pippin stroked his long neck, then remounted. He took one last deep breath of the sweet scent of spring wildflowers and went on his way.

The Oak and Acorn had been built some five years earlier. It sat nestled halfway through the shaded path through Woody End, and was built of timbers from that quiet stand of trees. It wasn’t a fancy inn, but it was well maintained and cozy. What the inn lacked in amenities, it made up for in the quality of ale and the fine food; the innkeeper’s wife knew how to turn a fine joint of venison, with just the right amount and kind of spices. The bedding and chairs were quite comfy, if not fancy, and there was usually singing and dancing among the guests. After Dapplegrim had been seen to in the small but scrupulously clean stables, Pippin took his evening meal, sat about the great-room and enjoyed a smoke and a song with his ale, retiring early to rise early yet again.

After a breakfast of porridge, he was once more on his way, and Dapplegrim’s pace was such that he arrived at Brandy Hall in the mid-afternoon. As he entered, he expected a warm welcome from Merry and Estella. What he got was a servant requesting he join Merry in the study. Pippin tapped on the door and opened it to find Faro and Theo sitting before Merry’s desk, with Merry scowling at both of the youngsters.

When Merry saw Pippin, he gave a great heave, as if relieved of a burden. “Glad you’re here, Pippin,” Merry said in a subdued manner. “I’m sorry you haven’t had a proper welcome. It seems we have a little problem with our sons.”

“Faro?” Pippin, brow knitted and arms crossed, regarded his son. Faro was familiar with the pose. His father only crossed his arms like that when he had decided to be difficult, expected an explanation or was about to give someone a piece of his mind. The young Took could easily see why the Big Folk of Minas Tirith had mistaken his father for a prince. Faro seldom saw this side of his father, but he knew it when he saw it. Lost in thought, Faro kept silence until Pippin’s mouth became a grim line and his jaw clenched with ire. No more reticence would be tolerated, and Faro knew it. The young hobbit shifted in his seat and slumped in defeat.

“We took our ponies out without asking, Papa,” Faro admitted. “We stayed gone all day yesterday, and didn’t get back until well after dark. Uncle Merry sent us to our rooms. We have only just been allowed out so that Uncle Merry could give us a talking-to.”

“Tell him the rest, Faro,” Merry said, his voice low, his blue eyes flicking from one young hobbit to the other.

“We… well, we went to the Lark and Rose. There was a lass there. She dared us to go into the Old Forest, and, and… well, we did.”

“You did what?” Pippin said, his voice raising in ire. “Faro, do you have any idea what could have - Och!”

“Finish it, Faro,” Merry said, grim but patient in a very terse sort of way.

“I took a spill from my pony and hurt myself, but it’s all right. There was someone there who helped me.” Faro pulled up one leg of his breeks, revealing a neatly bandaged leg. “He was one of the Big Folk, you know, like the ones you know, and he was very nice. In fact, he was as nice to us as the King and Queen were, only he was… different. He seemed noble, somehow, like a prince, and yet not.”

Pippin examined the bandage carefully. His face was drawn with concern for his son, but Faro saw some other emotion there, too, one he couldn’t quite read. Pippin looked at Merry. “That’s a battlefield dressing, or I’m a troll,” he half-whispered.

Pippin looked hard at Merry, and Merry shook his head. “I know what you’re thinking, Pippin,” Merry said. “It’s just a coincidence, I’m sure.”

Pippin sat down hard on the floor, bringing an expression of alarm to the faces of Faro and Theo. He looked from one lad to the other. “This fellow, this Man,” Pippin murmured. “He did have a name, did he not? What was his name?”

“Pippin, I don’t think he…” started Merry, but Pippin cut him short with a hand raised, palm out, for silence.

“His name, Faro,” insisted Pippin. “What was his name?”

“Beeman, Papa,” answered the young one, “He said his name was Beeman. Only, that’s not the funny part.”

“Funny part?” Pippin retorted, “What could possibly be funny about any of this, young hobbit?”

“Well, he said his first name was Boromir,” said the lad. “Just like your friend from the quest, Papa! Isn’t that funny?”

But Pippin wasn’t laughing…

Chapter 2

In a Cabin in the Old Forest

In a cabin in the Old Forest lived a bee-charmer. It was a small but very scrupulously kept cabin. In the small, neatly kept abode there were a few benches on which to sit, a narrow bed, and many shelves holding pot after pot of honey. Honey was how he made his living, dealing mostly with the folk of Bree, though he had a select few customers in Buckland. The Man who lived there was a solitary Man. He was a very large man, and though he chose to keep himself to himself, he was very, very lonely. He sometimes wondered why he had come here.

A long, hard road followed far behind this man. He had left another life, after all, and such a life it had been! Ah, but that was in his past, over and done with. Now he had a new life, and the big Man guessed it was about to become a lot more interesting. And all because of two young hobbit lads who had needed his help.

He had known from the time that he saw the young ones, how not? He had been instantly taken with the pair of young halflings, the one with his father’s eyes shining from his face, and the other with the same mischievous grin as his own sire…

Hobbits! His life had become complicated since the first time he had laid eyes on a hobbit. He was not the least bit sorry for it, either, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t been hard, oh so very, very hard, and oh so complicated. Why had no one warned him about hobbits?

It was only a matter of time now, and so the man swept his floor and tidied up an already tidy cabin. He put a big pot over the fire in his little hearth, and dropped in six skinned rabbits, wild onions, carrots and potatoes. He added salt and pepper and a sprig of wild rosemary. The pot soon sent out a fine, toothsome smell.

The big man moved the table to stand just outside his front door. His cabin was, after all, quite small. While the table served well for his solitary meals, the addition of more than three guests would compromise comfort, however small the guests may be. The day was a fine one for a meal outdoors. The memories of shared repasts out-of-doors increased the Man’s delight at serving this meal outside the confines of four walls, and he had to laugh a little at himself. Stepping back, he surveyed his work, shook his head with dissatisfaction and walked back into his cabin to see what he had to make the table homier. He had several small lamps which held beeswax candles. These he set on the table, taking care to place them just so. He had a few wooden dishes he had carved for himself. Five were what was needed, and he had six. An empty honey-pot served as a vase, and in it he placed wildflowers.

As the day wore on he made further preparations, not in his cabin or at his table, but within himself. He was about to go through something of a trial, and he knew it. Why had he not thought to get some pocket-handkerchiefs? Heaven knew they would be needed before this day was over.

With a broom made from twigs, he occupied his body while he tried to prepare himself for what was certainly about to happen. He tended to feel badly when he allowed his emotions free rein. The old wounds would hurt, and it would be hard to breathe. Ah, the chances of fate!

He swept his little yard clean of debris and set the benches at the table. He went into his cabin, swung the pot out of the hearth to cool, and then lay on his narrow bed to rest. Already his old wounds were hurting. He reflected that there were many kinds of wounds. Wounds of the spirit he found particularly painful and difficult to deal with. Ah, he had never been good at that sort of thing, no matter how much or how long he had dealt with them..

He listened with trepidation for the sound of hoof-beats and footsteps. He was excited and filled with dread at the same time. This was not going to be easy, but then little in his life had been. Oh, but he was so tired! He lay trying to catch his breath. His sharp eyes drooped, once, twice, three times…he shook his head. No! Do not sleep just yet! You are only tired, that’s all, just tired. You’ll feel better soon, you will, you always do. He sat up and shook his head, taking slow, even, deep breaths. Yes, much better now.

Outside he heard the singing of a robin, the notes stitching the air like fine embroidery. Suddenly the notes stopped, truncated in their sewing, the silken thread that had seemed to stitch the sunbeams together broken. Yes, in the distance, there it was: the steady clop-clop of ponies’ hooves. He rose and changed his shirt. It would not do to been seen like this. Always attentive to his dress was the bee charmer, and were the ladies of Bree not glad of it! He smiled to himself. You old dog, you!

Well, there was nothing for it but to face the day. He stepped close to his door, but did not open it. His old wounds began to hurt again. Breathe, you fool, just breathe! he thought.

He could hear them now.

"D’you smell that, Papa? Oh, what’s he got cooking, I wonder?"

"Is that all you can think of? Goodness, one would think this is just a visit to a shop or an inn!"

"Don’t be so hard on the lad, he doesn’t know! And neither do you."

"Oh, come now! But look, a cabin! And look, a table! He is expecting someone."

"Now don’t get your hopes up, really, you can’t know…and it cannot be anyway."

"Oh, come now, really!"

"How can you believe it? It can’t be! I just think you’ll have your hopes dashed is all."

"I know, I know…" (this rather impatiently) "Still, I have to see."

"Yes, and seeing is believing."

"Yes, yes!" (Very tersely)

"Now, now, don’t be like that."

"Oh, do hush! Here we are..."

The big man wanted to throw open the door, but found he was frozen in place like a statue. Oh, what a state you have made of yourself! What is there to fear, after all? Oh, but you do fear, don’t you? Yes, you fear indeed. You’re just being selfish again. Remember what Galapas said! Do not stand in your own light, for you cannot see what the shadows that dwell there conceal! Stand always in the True Light, where all is revealed. Ah, here they come! Make ready, now…

He threw the door open, stepped through it, put his hands on his hips, and trying to look as cross as possible, he forced a very stern countenance and shouted "Hoy! So there you are, you truants! About time, I say! You woolly-footed little rascals have nearly missed luncheon! What will you be about next, missing tea?"

Chapter 3

You Have Some Explaining to Do

"Well, that was dignified," Faro commented. "What do you say to that, Theo?"

"Yes, Faro, I quite agree," said Theo.

The two hobbit lads looked at each other and laughed.

The so-called respectable hobbits known as Peregrin Took and Meriadoc Brandybuck had launched themselves like small missiles at the big man in the yard; a mad scramble of hugs and shouts had ensued, ending with the big man being knocked on his back, pulling Merry and Pippin with him.

"Do you remember when they took us to Bree? Butterbur’s dogs?" Faro asked his cousin.

"Oh, yes! I remember…the big wolfhound and the little terriers," Theo answered.

"It’s just like that, isn’t it?" Faro asked.

"Exactly so, I’d say," replied Theo.

They watched the so-called adults roll about in the yard, making a mess of themselves in the process. The lads had never seen their fathers behave in such a manner before, and they were agog. Agog, aghast, and very amused. The, ahem, adults’ shouts of laughter had never been louder or more heartfelt, and it seemed the two lads saw years roll away from the faces and forms of their respective fathers.

"You know, Faro, if we did that, they would tell us to act our age,” Theo noted.

"Yes, I know! Amazing, is it not, Theo?" Faro replied.

It looked as though this display was about to subside, but just when it seemed to settle itself, the shouts and the hugs and the rolling about started all over again. The two lads shook their heads in wonder. The three, er, adults in question had finally begun to calm themselves and had sat up. They had exchanged looks with smiling faces, and then suddenly Pippin burst into tears. The big man looked distressed. Merry handed Pippin a handkerchief, commenting that Pippin never seemed to carry one. The big man hugged Pippin tightly and playfully planted a big, noisy kiss on top of Pippin’s head. After a bit, Pippin managed to contain himself, then stood, and, planting his hands on his hips, looked sternly at the big man.

"Oh, dear, I know that look,” commented Faro.

"Yes, and so do I. Here it comes, now! Ssh! Listen!" Theo said.

"You!" Pippin wagged a finger under the big man’s nose. "Where on earth have you been? What on earth have you been doing? All these years, and we thought you were dead! Dead! How did this come to be? You have a great heap of questions to answer, sir! You have some explaining to do!"

"Yes, Pippin, I do, and it will take a long while,” answered the big man. "And in the meantime, I propose to serve you two and your sons luncheon. I shall be most put out if you refuse."

"Well," said Merry dryly, "then we shall not refuse. I know what you are like when you are put out."

The two lads watched the big Man kneel and brush off the two fathers, who, in turn, were brushing off the big Man.

"They shall never finish the job like that,” commented the younger Took.

"Oh, I shouldn’t worry too much; that smell, whatever it is, is too tempting,” replied young Mr. Brandybuck, rubbing his hands together.

"Rabbit, Theo, it has to be rabbit! I’d know that smell anywhere,” answered Faro.

"Yes, I suppose you do... it’s your favorite,” Theo said.

"And everything is your favorite,” replied Faro.

The big Man had risen, gone into the cabin and brought out a good-sized pot, from which the savory smell of rabbit stew had been creeping out to tickle appetites of man and hobbit alike. He vanished back into the cabin, then returned with a small keg of ale and a loaf of bread. Again he vanished, returning this time with cheese, wine and mushrooms. Lots of mushrooms. Enough for an army, it seemed to the two lads. It was all the invitation the two growing lads needed, and they made a straight line for the humble table in the yard. It wasn’t fancy, but the two young ones had been taught not to be prigs. All was meticulously done and this was obviously a sincere gesture that came from the heart, plain for any Took or Brandybuck to see. Besides which, it would be rude to turn down such an offer.

With the hobbits now seated comfortably on the rough benches, Boromir served them himself, smiling gently as he did so. The two lads had a hundred questions to ask the big man, starting with "Are you really him?"

“Am I really he," Boromir gently corrected. “Indeed, I am." The man bowed low to the young hobbits. "Boromir, former soldier of Gondor, at your service, and your families’.”

"But how is it that you are not dead, and why has no one heard from you?" asked Faro.

"That’s a long story, and a complicated one, and one I would tell your fathers first,” Boromir answered gently, patting the young Took’s shoulder. "So like your father. I knew who you were the moment I saw you."

Pippin smiled to himself, remembering how Boromir had been with a fool of a Took, himself, those many years ago. Almost as if he were an older brother had Boromir been to both him and to Merry. Pippin had often thought that Boromir would have made a wonderful father, and one of the saddest things of all, when he thought of Boromir as dead, was that Pippin would never get to see any little soldiers being dandled on the big Man’s knee.

Little is dearer to a hobbit than family and friends, for they are the very stuff of life, given to wealthy and poor alike, and they are riches that cannot be measured. When he had thought of Boromir dead, it had been as though a thing of immeasurable price had been taken. It was that which, as long as one has it, one is never truly bereft: brotherhood. Had it not been for Merry, his dearest friend, cousin and brother of the heart, Pippin might have despaired far more. Good old Merry. There was never anyone like him: for Pippin there never would be anyone like Merry. More rare and precious than mithril is the friendship that lasts through every stage of life, and Pippin had always known somehow that the bond between himself and Merry was just that.

But for the time being, Pippin was consumed with curiosity as to what had happened to Boromir. Merry could see it written all over his cousin, could tell that an empty spot in the conversation would drive Pippin to distraction with curiosity.

And so Merry steered the conversation in the direction of himself and Pippin, filling the time with stories about the days of reconstruction in the Shire. Stories were told of engagements, weddings, first children and new responsibilities. Faro and Theo had been crestfallen at the prospect of not hearing this Man regale them with tales of his adventures, which surely must have been many, varied and wondrous. Sitting and listening to their fathers talk small hobbity small-talk had a most soporific effect on the hobbit lads and they were soon nodding at the table. At last the two boys laid their young heads on the table and soon were sleeping. Boromir carried each lad into his little cabin, and tucked them into his bed. While for a Man it was narrow, it was plenty roomy enough for two hobbit lads.

The afternoon was golden, the air fine and clean and filled with the fragrance of wildflowers. With stomachs full and pipes now filled, the three old friends sat in silence for a bit, simply enjoying the time and the quiet together. It was the comfortable silence of old and dear friends, and there is no thing anywhere like it, for in saying nothing at all, everything was said.

At last, the time had come, though, and Boromir knew he had to make a start, sooner or later. He might as well get it over with.

"As you said," Boromir began, "I have some explaining to do."

Chapter 4

As I Lay Dying

For a long while Boromir sat at the table, fingertips tented together, eyes looking at nothing. He took a few deep and even breaths. He massaged his left arm with his right hand. His breath hitched a little, and he briefly winced. Through all, his old friends waited without comment. They knew that long-held memories need time in the unburying. "How to begin?" he murmured.

"Why, at the beginning," answered Merry. "Then you go to the middle part and then the end."

Boromir smiled. Dear Merry, always the one with common sense and a practical bent. Boromir drummed his fingers on the tabletop, poured himself a small amount of wine, sipped it and set the cup down.

"Very well, from the beginning, then." He drew in a breath, raking his fingers through his hair. "Difficult it was, to watch you two being taken by the Orcs. I had failed all the Company – nay, all of Middle-earth! – when I tried to take the Ring, and failed the two of you in double measure." He sighed, and Pippin patted his arm, while Merry hitched his chair closer and laid an encouraging hand on Boromir’s. Boromir gave them a sad little smile and blinked hard several times. "So difficult to watch," he murmured mournfully, and then he bravely took up the thread of the tale once more.

"But I was wounded, very badly wounded, and I knew enough to know that death hovered at my side, ready to still my breath. As I lay dying, so many thoughts filled my head, but always at the fore were two things: the fate that would meet my two friends, great of heart though small in stature, and the fate of my people. Somehow along the way, I had begun to see the two not as separate matters, but linked. If the Shire was in danger, all things were in danger, including Gondor, for if we could not defend all the Free Peoples, then Gondor had failed. It is, after all, the duty of Gondor to protect her smaller neighbors, and if these are not free and happy, then none of us can be free and happy. Without peace and prosperity in the lesser lands, there was no peace or prosperity for any. There is nothing in this world more precious than freedom, and if it is to be kept, sometimes blood must be shed. Sad, but it is the way of the world. One might wish it not to be so, but wishing will not make it thus. Perhaps some day…ah, but I digress.

“When Aragorn came, I felt some comfort. I am sure he told you of our last words together, and I do not doubt that he was honest in this at the least. There has never been another quite like him, as you two know well. It took me over-long to see this, but in the end, I knew it must be that he would be High King. It comforted me in my dying moment that the last thing I should see of this world was the face of my future King. I remember the light fading around us as I gazed into his eyes, until finally all I could see was his face, like a beacon. How it shone!

“Then all became darkness. I was frightened.” He threw back his head and laughed at the sight of their faces. “...yes, I, Boromir, son of the Lord Steward of Gondor, was very frightened! And then, there in the darkness, that perfect darkness, I saw a fragment of light, white and brilliant as the first star. The light grew, and I felt myself drawn to it, and... words fail me, but there was something of peace and beauty in the light. I began to hear voices, lovely to hear, and sweet to my ears.

“I heard the voices speaking, and I had a sense that something... no, some One, was looking at me, or rather, through me, as if every detail of my life was being considered.” He stared into Merry’s puzzled eyes, but Pippin was nodding thoughtfully. Boromir’s look again grew abstracted as he continued. “Throughout this time I had an overriding sense of peace and bliss. It was like nothing I had ever known, and yet it was full of wonder. It is a thing strange to consider, but I could…feel…well…love, perfect love, and a sense of great welcoming, and I wanted so much to stay, to abide there forever.

“And One of the voices, greater and more powerful than any other, told me I might not stay. How I was crushed! I did not want to go from that place. The Voice said that I might not stay, for there were things left undone, things that I must do before gaining my rest. Hearing this told, I felt an overwhelming yearning, and it seems to me I begged for mercy, though the perfect love had never ceased. At last I bowed my head, but in my sorrowing heart remained a question. The Voice asked what it was I wanted to know, and so I said, "What are the voices I hear? What is this singing?" And the Great Voice said, "This is the sound of Creation Unfinished."

Boromir bowed his head and for a long moment the three old friends kept the silence. At last the man looked up again, a curious smile upon his face.

“And that is the last I remember of that wondrous place. Ever since, I have greatly longed to be within it once more. Ah, it is so very wonderful! But the mercy I had begged was not to be granted, or perhaps a differing mercy was intended. When I woke, I was on the banks of the Anduin, cold and in great pain. I could hear voices, different voices, not like the voices in the light. These were the voices of flesh and blood.

“They were the Wild Folk of Dunland, small and brown, and scarcely clothed. Three of them grasped me and pulled me from the river’s verge to a nearby fire. One of them had a small stick, which had been bored out, of the sort they use to project their darts. He dropped it into a pot of water that steamed and boiled over the fire, and fishing it out again, thrust it into one of the wounds in my chest, and began to suck blood out of my chest. The pain of this was nearly beyond my bearing, but I was too weak to struggle or even to make a sound. After the small man had finished his dreadful task, the little hollow stick was left in place and my wounds were bound. Then an old woman came with a cup, and this she emptied, drop by drop, into my mouth. After this, I slept. When I woke, the tube had been removed from my chest. A terrible weakness consumed me. I could not raise my head, or even a hand. They fed me broth, and more of the brew the old woman had given me, and then I slept more.

“Oft did I wake, and during these wakenings I was consumed by a deep melancholy, for my heart still yearned to return to the Light and the perfect love I had felt there. In my benighted mood, I wondered if this was my fate: to endure torment at the hands of the Wild Folk. Too, I wondered if I was being healed only to be turned over to the Enemy, or to be ransomed. Yet ever did they give me succor and kindness in full measure. Even so, in my heart would I speak to the Light, asking to return, pleading for answers to all my questions. I despaired then, for I felt my pleas went unanswered. What a fool I was! For I knew not that already the answers to my questions and pleas awaited me, biding the time until the student was ready for the Master’s lessons.

I know not how long I stayed with these little Wild Folk, for I had lost count of the march of days, though I have no doubt they were many. After some time more, my saviors built a rough but sturdy little contraption, and they bound me to it, and pulled me behind them on a track deep into the wilds.

I had a burning fever, and I was weak and in terrific pain. My waking moments were but brief, for the brew they gave me to ease my pain kept me in a drowse. But after what must have been many days, I began to come to myself, to see my surroundings, strange though they might be. My clothes had been taken from me, and I wore only the loincloth of the Wild Folk. Their Shaman, who often sang over my sickbed, had painted my body with many spells. I was not allowed to rise, and the people saw to my every need. Day by day we moved further into the wilds, my only shelter a lean-to of oiled deerskin, my only hearth a small, smokeless fire and my only house the earth, under the roof of sun and stars. I began to notice the phases of the moon, and it slowly came to me that I had been with them for over a month. They cared for me as if I had been an infant; it seemed to me somehow I had been reborn to the world, and I began to think of myself in those terms. I was no longer Boromir, son of Denethor. I was a creature made anew, having nothing to do with that previous life that grew ever more distant to my thought. I do not know if this was how things were, or if I was perhaps a bit mad by that time. Whatever might have been the truth, whether rebirth or madness or yet something else, it did not matter. My old life was over with. I had betrayed my people and thrown away both my own honor as well as that of my family by trying to take the Ring, and so I felt I had no place in Gondor. I was now a Wild Man of Dunland.

Chapter 5

When I Was a Wild Child

I am not given to introspection, or at least, the Boromir who once lived was not so given (so the big Man continued). What a remarkable thing it is to have a childhood, when you think of it. Yet more remarkable it might be considered to have two: I was now in my second childhood. I had much to learn, and when I was strong enough, the Elders of the Clan who cared for me allowed me to wander at my will within the camp, but not outside its bounds. I was watched over and tended to whether in the light of day or throughout the night’s shadows.

My Clan was the Grey Wolf Clan. I was given a new name, though at the time I did not know this, as I could understand nothing they said to me. As the days passed I gradually began to pick up a few words, and then a few more, and I began to be able to speak and understand more fully what they were saying. So I learned my new name meant “Waxing Moon of the Wolf-Clan”, for they believed that, as the moon dies and is reborn, so had I died and been reborn, and just as the moon waxes, so had I.

I was given my Clan Mark, the crescent moon and a single star, on my chest. They used a sharp stone and charcoal to do this, and though it pained me not a little, the Shaman said without it the Grandfather would not know me and so would not protect me. The Grandfather, so they call Him, is that One Voice I had known in the Light, the Father of All, and the Creator of Creation Unfinished. I was taught to speak to the Grandfather every day without fail, and upon retiring. I have taken this advice to heart, and now all I do is done only after I have spoken to the One Light.

So many questions did I ask of Him, (here Boromir glanced briefly skyward with a gentle smile) for the mysteries which confounded me were not a few. My heart tells me that He does not make terms too hard for those who seek Him. Should I ever find myself able to map the Realm of Spirit, I am convinced I would find it is vast, forbidding none whom would seek it. It is open, I believe, to any that have want of it. By following the dictates of that Highest of Powers, one might presently live in a new and wonderful world, no matter the circumstances at hand. Well may you look askance! (Here the Man laughed, it seemed, with delight) Aye, you mishear me not! I, Boromir, that fellow who once was so proud he became in truth stiff of neck would tell you now that my seeking ever for glory and power, as the hound courses ever the game, came to understand those very things were my undoing! For did I not attempt to wrest the Ring from Frodo? Did I not dismiss that which I learned of the lore of that evil thing which was Sauron’s greatest machine of war, enslavement and death?

I came to understand I had been greatly wanting in any true power, nor had I learned overmuch of other glories than that found in battle; this, therefore, was the greatest mystery and most profound riddle. For what reason had I been granted life amid my death? What was it I was to do? For what reason did He grant life to me anew? I could not believe the reason was to seek power or glory as I had understood power or glory. Having been granted a new life by a Power greater than any, through the glory of His perfect love, I must understand that in truth, there is little of real power among the living.

I had sought to take the Ring to Gondor, by force if need be, to give to Minas Tirith a gift of great power and to bring glory to Gondor and to myself. And in doing so, did not even this Man’s most foul deed work against his willfulness, serving at last Him Whom is the Light? For by this time, the Wild Folk had learned of the fate of the Enemy, and that Hobbits had played a great part in it, and that one of these —followed by another— had gone into Mordor itself to bring doom upon the Great Eye. I knew then that my most foul deed had served the purpose of the Creator, furthering the Ring-bearer on his way. My desire for power and hunger for glory had been my undoing, but not the undoing of Him Who Made All. Therefore, I reasoned, I should in my new life cease the seeking for power and glory for myself. Yet I wondered: How was I to fulfill the tasks, whatever they may be, for which I was returned to the living? Plainly, I could not do this by increasing my desire to glorify myself or take power for myself. Therefore, I must fulfill my purpose by serving the Light.

And had the Light not set me in the midst of the Wild Folk? I came to believe this was for one purpose: I must truly begin anew. I must become a different Man, better than the Man I had been. I could accomplish this in but one way. I must seek knowledge of a more lofty nature than that which I had found in my former life. I must recognize that I was, in fact, very much a child yet again, understanding I had many lessons to learn, and so I set about learning as much as I might from the little Wild Folk, and learn I did. I sought out all they had to teach me, for had they not taught me to speak with Him Who Made All? And had I not found some small amount of wisdom in speaking with the Grandfather as they had taught me to do?

I was also taught that every woman of the Clan was mother to me, and my sister, and somehow also my daughter, just as every man was my father and somehow brother and son, all in one. I cannot explain it, but somehow each woman was more than my own mother to me, and each man more than my own brother! (Here Pippin’s mouth formed the name “Faramir”, but the Big Man did not seem to notice as he went on with his tale.) And a woman (he said thoughtfully), a woman might not be treated otherwise until she is wed, and then a man must treat his bride as his most cherished relation. And so began my life as a Wild Child.

Now the Wild Folk, while fearful to some, are a fascinating people. Contrary to what you may have heard, they are quite civilized after their own fashion. They have rules and laws, just like all people, though their ways are different.

For instance, child-rearing. Smile — yes, you might smile! As I was now a child, albeit a rather large one, I was treated as such. Now there was a young fellow in that Clan that bore me ill will from the first, and he gave me a lot of trouble. The last straw, for me, was when he took my evening meal and threw it in the fire, spitting at my feet. I rose and drew back my hand to strike him, and the Elders stood between us. We were dragged to the outskirts of the camp and made to sit across from each other. The Elders bound one of his arms to one of my arms, and we were forced to live so bound until we understood that we could do nothing for ourselves without the help of the one for the other. It was a lesson I shall never forget, for there is much wisdom in this.

I was taught that I must never kill anything without a reason, not even a mouse. When an animal is killed, every part of it must be used, even the teeth. I was taught that we must honor every creature whose life we take, for it has a spirit, just as we have spirits.

As I grew up I was taught how to use the d’chut, the little tube-stick they use to launch their darts. The darts are dipped in plant decoctions that stun a small animal quickly, and can stun a person, too, and so only the Shaman is allowed to make the poison and oversees all the darts that are dipped in it. Before too long, I was allowed to hunt with the rest of the men, but in their eyes I was still but a boy, and so I was never left to my own devices.

It was a quiet life, with its own charms. It is my great hope that these little Wild Folk will live on, but life is very hard for them. They do not bear young in great numbers, while my own people, under the care of King Elessar now do, forcing the Wild Folk out of the best hunting grounds. Winter famine is nothing new to them, and they endure many hardships, and yet they go on. I grew to admire these tough little people.

Soon I had been with them for more than a year. It seems strange now, but time flew while I was there. We traveled not a little, always setting up a new camp in its season. I learned how to make a life anywhere I went, and that my home was wherever I wanted to be, for where I went, there I found myself. I fancy I could make a home at the top of Caradhras now and satisfactorily at that.

Time went on until I had been with them nearly three years. Then, on a night of full moon, I was called before the Elders, and they told me I was about to be told my life. This was done in the form of a story, and the story goes like this:

Once, a man had been cast out of his father’s clan, and he drowned himself. His body lay at the bottom of the river for many seasons. Then, one day, a man of the Grey Wolf People went fishing. His line was caught in a snag at the bottom, and the man nearly broke his fishing stick pulling the line loose. When he got the line loose, he found he had caught the skeleton of the man who had drowned himself. The Wolf Clan man saw the skeleton, and, fearing he disturbed a troubled spirit, he fled.

But he forgot he still held his fishing stick — (here the big Man laughed at the image) — and pulled the skeleton after him. The man, exhausted, finally stopped. Only then did he see the skeleton was still with him. He looked at the skeleton, and saw that it was a confused disorder of bones. The man took pity on the skeleton, and sorted out the bones. The man took some berries and some dried fish and placed it in the mouth of the skull. The next morning, when the man awoke, the skeleton was no longer bare bones, but a man. The Wolf Clan man raised up this man as if he were a son and soon the mysterious man was whole enough to look after himself, and make his way in the world. So the Wolf Clan man placed many Blessings on the man, and bid him, ‘Go, and despair no more, but build a new life for yourself, as you yourself have been remade.’

And so I came to understand that the Wolf Clan looked upon me as a son, but knew I could never be whole again unless I went out into the world, to finish what they had started, the building of a new man, myself. It saddened me greatly to leave my new family, but I knew the good of what they told me when they told my life. So with many tears and many warm embraces, they bid me farewell, and said they hoped I would return to them someday as a whole man. A feast to fare me well was given, and the Shaman blessed me with these words, which I now translate to the Common Speech so that you may know the good of it. With drum and dance and song, this was the blessing:

Grandfather, we offer now to Thee

to build with and to do with

as Thou wilt Waxing Moon,

the Son of the Grey Wolf Clan.

Release him now from the bondage of self,

that he may better do Thy will.

Strengthen him in difficulties, that victory over them may

bear witness to those he would serve

of Thy Power, Thy Love, and Thy path of life.

May he do Thy will always!

Set his feet upon the path of Your choosing,

That he may walk always under your guidance,

And keep him safe from all evil chance.

Bless him with joy in all he does,

That he may know the greatness of your love,

And return him to us

Safe and whole.

I know in my heart their pleas were heard, though I have known not a little sorrow along with great joy, and my path has not been always a pleasant path. But they were right to let me go, for I could not become whole again unless I went out into the world to learn more of why I had been given a second life. Thus, though I would miss the Wild Folk in no small way, I knew I must go and so, go I did. I miss the Wild Folk terribly, and hope that all is well with them. Many little mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, sons and daughters do I have in that Clan. Under their tutelage I learned as much as I could until they could teach me no more. It was time to leave them.

They returned my clothing to me and gave me supplies, and in that spring, I left them to finish building my new life.

Chapter 6

Aimlessly Wandering, Wondering to Myself

The next few years (the Big Man continued. His audience remained riveted to the story, though in the manner of hobbits, while listening, Pippin poured out more wine and Merry refreshed everyone’s plate from the serving plates, for nothing eases a story like good food and drink.) I spent as a wanderer, drifting from village to village, hamlet to hamlet. I have had many trades in my third life, for this is what it was. My first life had been in Gondor, until the time…well…you know what I did. I died that day. And then I was reborn to the Wild Folk, and sent out into the world. That was the end of my second life, and now I was on my third. (He laughed softly at the wonder in his listeners’ faces.) Yes, many might count themselves lucky to live a second life. But let me not digress.

For a while I worked with a blacksmith, and learned much about the care of horses and their trappings. When I moved on, I took work in a vineyard. Those were good years, but always restlessness followed at my heels, and sooner or later I would move on. I continued to speak with the One Light, and grew more and more in the way of self-examination. I was learning how to be anew . I was now Boromir the Traveler.

I had spent my first life acting out a part, like a mummer, without knowing why. I still do not know all the reasons, but I have learned much. I will not trouble your hearts with this, however. Suffice to say that I shed many years worth of sorrow, fear and anger.

I found I was beginning to understand myself in earnest a bit more now, yet still, I knew my path would be a long and hard one before I could find a measure of peace. I took ship, and worked for a time as a common sailor, but found difficult the long stretch of days and weeks at sea, and so I ended that quickly enough. Life at sea was not for me. I love the sea, but upon reflection it was not the right or wisest course to follow. It would have been too easy to just forget myself, and in so doing, lose myself. I did not desire this; I had come too far to do that.

And so I traveled far and wide, and came to know much of the world that I had not seen before, and to see things as the eyes of strangers saw them. That is the most difficult thing I have learned, seeing through the eyes of others, but a skill I highly recommend. I stayed with an old hermit called Galapas for a while. He lived in a cave. We spoke long into the night on matters of the heart and soul, and much I learned from him. He was very old, and I did not wish to leave him, so even when I moved to a nearby hamlet, I would go and visit with him. He was kind and exceedingly wise, and much I know of the One Light, I learned from him. One lesson I treasured above all was learning the way to find communion with Him Who Created All. In this way, I found that all my questions and pleas had been answered, when I had foolishly believed them to be both unaskable and unanswerable, and these I would share with you now. May they serve you all your lives as they have served me.

Here the narrative seemed to end. The hobbits did not stir, staring with wide eyes, taut with anticipation. Boromir looked from one to another, smiled slightly, and closed his eyes. Bowing his head humbly he spoke soft and low these words:

“I asked of the Light strength, that I might achieve,

I was made weak, that I might learn humbly to obey.

I asked for health, that I might do greater things.

I was given infirmity, that I might do better things.

I asked for great riches, that I might be happy.

I was given poverty, that I might be wise.

I asked for power, that I might have the praise of men,

I was given weakness, that I might feel the need of the Light.

I asked for all things, that I might enjoy life,

I was given life, that I might enjoy all things.

I received nothing that I asked for - but everything I had hoped for.

Almost despite myself, my unspoken prayers were answered.

I am, among all men, most richly blessed.”

Boromir raised his head once more, and his friends saw in his face an inner peace. It seemed to Merry and Pippin that Boromir’s spirit glowed within him, lending a kind of inner light and joy. Such a departure this was from the Boromir they had known those many years ago! He was still Boromir, yet now the grim desperation, the worry, weariness and sadness was so much diminished that the pair of hobbits were filled with a kind of wonder. Both of the cousins were filled with questions concerning this change. Had their friend dug deeply into himself and dragged out these worrisome things, as a badger digs out prey? This seemed quite likely. Yet what of other things which could well haunt the big Man? What of his sense of dishonor and shame and treachery which were the scars of the soul left by the Ring? Both Hobbits wanted to ask about these matters, most especially the inquisitive and unquenchable Pippin, though neither would speak of them. They were, after all, Hobbits. They would not make much of these questions lest too much be made of them. Obviously, their friend saw clearly this wonder and the unasked but obvious questions for now he laughed merrily, and it seemed to his friends that Boromir was very young and carefree and yet at once both old and wise. The hobbits found his mirth catching, and laughed a while with their friend. Boromir paused and poured wine for them all, and raising their cups, they drank a silent toast among themselves. After a little while, Boromir sobered, and took up the tale again.

“I learned many things from Galapas. He was as a father to me, a father the likes of which would be a blessing to any man. He was my best and greatest teacher, and I was honored to have him as my Master. In him was the wisdom of many ages.

“He died by our fire one warm summer night. I made his grave, and bid him farewell, and knew we would see each other in the Light. I stayed in the little hamlet for two years at least, though it may have been a little longer. I find that now, I lose track of the weeks and months more easily than I used; it is odd, and I know not why this has happened, but it matters little to me now.

“For every home I had a different name. I did not wish to return to Gondor. My brother, and everyone else for that matter, thought me dead, and so I thought it would be unjust to thrust myself back into all…that. I wanted no more of war or politics. I wanted something quieter and simpler. Besides, had I returned to Gondor, I would have brought a chest full of troubles along with me for my brother and the King to deal with. I knew that many would know of my misdeed, and I did not wish to burden anyone with the problem that the “old” Boromir would represent. I had done a terrible wrong, I had dishonored my country and myself and so I had exiled myself.

“For a time, I worked as a gardener for a wealthy merchant. So often I thought of dear old Sam while I did that! I learned that gardening is a wonderful thing, and that there is great pleasure in watching a thing grow, and that sometimes we must pull out weeds, all the while keeping the soil worked and fed, and that we must prune back certain branches. All I learned in gardening can be applied to the life of a man. There are times and seasons, and ways to cut and prune and shape. There is the seedtime and the harvest, and the time when the soil must rest. There is the sweet springtime and the bitter frost, and then the rebirth. It is little wonder that Sam has his own kind of wisdom, and I hope I shall see him sometime soon. There is much I would say to Sam, much that needs to be said. Moreover, I would wager he could school me more than a little in gardening, for it is a thing I still would pursue.

“But, as I said, always was I restless. I felt I had not found my way just yet, or rather, I think, the Light did not think I had. For I have learned that I can understand if I listen very carefully to what the Light says, speaking to the heart. One need only be willing to listen, and one can hear.

“When next I moved on, I took a job with a merchant as a driver. Now that was an interesting job! Once, I actually made a delivery to Gondor itself. To Gondor! Yes, even unto Minas Tirith, itself! It was good to see Gondor coming back into her own, to see the White Tree at the fountain, and best of all to see smiles on the faces of her children, a sight that was once all too rare. I was afraid I would be recognized, and nearly was. But I was known then under the name of Beeman, which I still use today, and I managed to win my way out of it. When I returned I gave my notice. I would not take that chance again.

“After that, I moved further west, and thus, closer to the Westmarch. There was a farmer who had no sons, only daughters, and he needed someone to help him. He offered me a small house and a wage and all the food I could grow in exchange for my labor. I settled in, and there I lived quite happily. He had a daughter, and, well, I loved her! Oh, she was so pretty, pretty and bright as an apple on Midwinter’s Day. And she was so sweet, and, well, we wed. Her name was Ruby, and she had green eyes and hair of gold, and a voice like a little bell. She was my first real love. Ah, what a memory!

“My happiness, however, did not last, for she died in childbirth and the babe with her. He…he was a little boy child. I – I named him Faramir.”

Boromir glanced once more skyward, his eyes filled with sorrow unspoken in word, but not in manner. He hung his head, struggling to master himself, and the two Hobbits heard a soft choking sound. The big Man once more rubbed his left arm. Pippin glanced toward the cabin in which his own Faramir lay sleeping, while Merry studied Boromir’s face. His countenance was drawn with grief still keenly felt, as silent tears coursed down the rugged features. Merry placed a hand over Boromir’s hand where it still rested on the left arm of the Man. As Pippin turned his gaze once more to his old friend, he gently brushed Boromir’s hair out of the Man’s face with soft, soothing nonsensical sounds, and Merry could see Boromir’s ashen hue and blue lips – a sure sign the Man’s health was not all it could be.

The three friends sat quietly for some time. Somewhere in the trees a mourning dove cooed and a robin sang, piercing the air with exactly nine perfect notes. At last, Boromir seemed to summon the will to go on. “I was torn to pieces. I thought I would die with them. When I was not working, I sat by their graves and talked to them. I know that they are in the Light, and that I will see them again someday, for part of my very soul went with them. Oh, I am sorry, Merry, do you have another handkerchief?” (here Merry pressed a handkerchief – the same one Pippin had used earlier since no other was at hand – into Boromir’s palm) “Ah, so hard and cruel a thing. I thank you. No, it is only a few little Pippin smudges, it will do just fine. Thank you so much. I am sorry. Ah, me…

“It was two more years before I could think of anything but them, and I knew if I did not move on, I would follow them in death. So, though it pained me to leave their graves, I moved on. I miss them so. I shall never forget…No! I cannot dwell on it! It was too awful.

“I wandered, taking work where I could, and always, I spoke to the Light, and the Light to me. The Light led me down what path it would have me travel, and I follow always in good faith, for the Light has not led me astray. Then one day, I found myself in Bree.

“In Bree! I worked at the livery there for a while, but I longed for more solitude, and when I heard the old beekeeper from these parts had died and none had taken his place in the market, that settled it. So I came to the Old Forest with a few honey-pots, and well…here we are. I knew no one lived here, and so felt I was doing no wrong in making my very first home, belonging to no one but myself, right here. It is humble, but I am more at home here than I have ever felt myself elsewhere, save in the White City itself. I suppose I shall always long in no small measure for the lands from which I sprang; yet I feel I have come home. The Light has led me to stay here, and so I have, and now you have my explanation. I hope that it has satisfied.”

Chapter 7

Of Beehives and Battle Scars

"Well, I don’t know about Pippin, but I am quite satisfied with your explanation." Merry said, "So now how many lives have you had?"

"I count this one as four." Boromir smiled. "I think this one shall be most fruitful."

"It will be more fruitful still, if you built yourself some bee-hives instead of just raiding bee-trees." Pippin said. "I am sorry about your wife, Boromir. I think I could not stand it if Diamond died. I would dearly love to introduce you to her..." His voice trailed off at the sight of the Man's face. "What is it, old friend?" he said, as Merry rose abruptly in alarm. "Does something pain you?"

"Is it your old wounds?" Merry said on the heels of his cousin's question. Both hobbits pressed closer, as if they could pour their own strength into their old friend. Boromir's arms went out, and he hugged them close for a long, wordless time before releasing them. As he sat back, they saw his face was pale, but resolute.

"What is it, Boromir?" Pippin whispered.

The Man shook his head, half-lifting a hand, palm out, as if to stop the words.

"Bo--" Merry began, and stopped, a swift light of understanding growing in his eyes. He grabbed Pippin's arm just as the younger cousin began to speak again. Pippin looked from Merry to the Man in confusion. "It's the name," Merry said under his breath.

The Man was nodding. "Boromir is dead," he said. "I heard about it, in Minas Tirith. They laid him in an elven-boat with his weapons, and it bore him through the Falls of Rauros and down to the Sea. His father saw him, and his brother, though it might only have been in dreams."

"Boromir is dead," Pippin echoed in a whisper.

The Man smiled. "Beeman is my name," he said, holding out his hand. When Pippin automatically laid his own hand in the large one, Boromir closed his fingers in a gentle grip and pumped his arm up and down. "So pleased to make your acquaintance," he said, eyeing his dear friend closely.

Pippin had the look of a dreamer, wakening.

When Boromir released Pippin's hand, he found Merry's hand thrust out and waiting. He took it, and the hobbit shook his hand vigorously. "So pleased to make your acquaintance," Merry said, and turned to Pippin. "Pippin," he said brightly. "Have you met my new friend, the Beeman?"

“Ah,” said Pippin jovially, laying a finger along his nose with a wink, “Well met, good Beeman!”

"We missed you so, Boromir. How we missed you!" Merry added warmly.

“Yes, dear friend, how we did miss you!” Pippin said. “We once had a dear --- friend named Boromir, did you know? A common name in Minas Tirith, I expect --- I should imagine many babies were given the same name, after Lord Denethor named his own firstborn Boromir. Quite a popular name, I expect.”

Boromir laughed heartily, his mirth coming forth as swiftly as had his distress. "I have missed you two just as much, I assure you. I heard much of your deeds during the War," he said, "Do you have any interesting scars?"

"Well, we both have a few." Merry replied, "Mostly mine is just the arm…I suppose you know? Yes, I thought you might. It gets very cold sometimes, and aches a bit, but I’ve done just fine."

"I see. I am sorry, Merry. I wish it had been otherwise, that you had no discomfort from your wound, but you paid a price for a deed well done. I am very proud of you." Merry blushed a little at this. "And you, Pippin, how fared yourself?"

"Well, I have a few scars. The one on my brow you can see, and this one here, where my skin sort of just burst when the troll fell on me, oh, and this one here on my leg; see how it goes round the knee?"

"Very impressive!" Boromir said, studying the scars on Pippin’s leg, then the one on his brow, next examining a twisted scar on Pippin’s arm. He saw a smaller scar on Pippin’s small hand. "What’s this one from? It goes all the way through the thick of your thumb."

Pippin snatched his hand back, and Merry immediately began to howl with laughter.

"Don’t start, Merry!" Pippin scowled.

"Oh, that, now is a scar from a quite serious battle." Merry grinned.

"Merry, stop," said Pippin through gritted teeth. Plainly this was a tender subject.

"Really, Pippin, it was!" Merry grinned.

"Merry, it’s not funny."

"Oh, Pippin, don’t be shy! Tell the Man about it!"

"No!" Pippin glared.

"Oh, he’s just being modest."

"Just leave that tale to lie, Merry, if you please?"

"Please, Pippin, it really is quite a story!"

"It was a very good pudding!" Pippin scowled, positively glowering.

"I have never understood why you just didn’t let it have the thing."

"And it was a very big squirrel, as you well know!" Pippin said, nearly squeaking with indignation.

"He’s very sensitive about the Great Squirrel Pudding Incident."

Boromir shook with laughter, wiping a mirthful tear from his cheek. Oh, but how he truly had missed these two! He had always felt he should like to see them again, but until this day, he had not realized how much they meant to him. They had always been a balm to his heart, and it seemed they still were. Being with them again was like slipping into a pleasant and familiar dream.

Theo and Faro awoke, yawning hugely, and they all set to the rabbit stew once more, after which Boromir had amused the hobbit lads with a few tales. Merry and Pippin insisted that Boromir go with them to meet Diamond and Estella. First they would visit Brandy Hall, then journey on to Great Smials, stopping at the Oak and Acorn on the way to rest. At first Boromir had hemmed and hawed a bit, then Pippin had sweetened the invitation by offering to help build some bee-hives, while Merry offered to supervise. It had always been hard to refuse these two, but when the younger hobbits joined their fathers in insisting he come along, he couldn’t turn down the invitation

"Mercy!" he cried, "I surrender! Please, upon my honor, I am your prisoner!"

Theo and Faro jumped up and down in excitement. "He’s coming home with us! Hooray for Boromir!" they shouted.

“Boromir,” Pippin said suddenly, “I should very much like to show you my pony, Dapplegrim --- will you come with me a moment?” Leaning close to Merry, he whispered, “Talk to the lads, will you? About Boromir’s...” Merry laid a finger aside his nose and gave him a nod and a solemn wink, and Pippin led Boromir to the shady area under a great oak where the ponies were tied.

“Stay here with me a moment, lads,” Merry bid them, “for I have something to talk with you about. It concerns our friend. You know how Pippin and I still have some ill memories of the War?”

The youngsters nodded, and Merry continued, “Well, you see, Boromir has some very ill memories, so very ill I’m sure he is trying to forget it all. It is all too common in those who are long at war. It’s a kind of melancholy. You see, he was at war his whole life, from the time that he was himself but a young lad, if you can imagine that. The High King told me there is a name for it. It’s known as Old Soldiers’ Melancholy. Our kind, hobbits, that is, well, we seem to have the wisdom in such matters: we do not make much of such things, else too much be made of them. It is only good hobbit sense, really. The kindest thing to do would be to say nothing of who he really is to anyone. When he is ready to speak freely with others about his memories, he will do so.”

“Is it like an open wound in his heart, Papa?” Theo asked.

“Yes, Theo, you have the right of it,” replied Merry. “Understand me now, none of us would ever ask you to tell a lie, especially Boromir, for he counts honor as a most valuable thing. Lying would be wrong, you must always be honest lads. What we are asking you to do is simply not let on that he is the Boromir, Lord Boromir. He wishes to be known as Boromir Beeman, and forget a while his sadness, or rather lay it aside a wee while. Do you both understand?”

“Oh, yes, Uncle Merry, don’t worry!” Faro said, his eyes wide with sympathy and understanding.

“We wouldn’t want to cause him to think of things that make him sad, or bring back unpleasant memories,” added Theo. “He must have very good reasons to feel that way.”

“And we hobbits do have good sense about such things,” Faro nodded sagely.

“Indeed we do,” said Theo, with a firm nod of agreement.

“And since it isn’t really lying…” added Faro.

“Only waiting for him to decide when to speak of it…”said Theo.

“Well, then,” Merry said, “I’m sure he will be most grateful for the graciousness and kindness of you both.” Smiling and giving the young ones a pat on their shoulders, he turned to join Pippin and Boromir, who appeared to be going over every dapple on Dapplegrim’s starry hide.

“They aren’t fooling me one bit,” whispered Theo.

“Nor me!” replied Faro. “They just don’t want us to let on to our mothers because they are lasses, and they’ll blab the news to everyone. And then we won’t have him to ourselves anymore!”

“You have the right of it!” nodded Theo.

“Lasses!” Faro said, rolling his eyes.

“Boromir has his reasons, I’m sure,” Theo said.

“And I am quite sure they are good reasons,” Faro replied with a firm nod.

“Very good reasons!” Theo agreed.

“Grown-ups! They must think all young folk are daft!” Faro observed.

“Aye, there’s the truth of it!” Theo agreed, then hissed “Quiet, now, don’t let on we know the truth of it, here they come!”

"And what are we to call you, sir?" asked Faro. “May we call you Boromir, or shall we call you Mr. Beeman?”

"Well, Mr. Beeman would be fine," said Pippin.

"For now…" Faro said, a bit mournfully, "I had rather hoped for ‘Uncle Boromir’ – that be would be splendid."

"Peace!" Boromir interjected, "How about ‘Uncle Bom’? Once upon a time, I had a young friend who called me by that name."

"A wonderful compromise!" Pippin said, then added, “Now, the day is growing old, and we should soon be on our way to Brandy Hall. As it is it shall be quite late before we get there.”

"Very well, let us make ready." Boromir said, rising.

"Oh, dear! I forgot! Diamond will wring my neck! She said I have to bring her some honey, she shall be very put out if I don’t bring it. I’ve been asked to get it a dozen times, and I keep forgetting." Pippin said, a note of alarm in his voice.

"Not to worry," Boromir chuckled, "You are, after all, at the home of a bee-charmer. Now, I shall make ready, and we’ll go."

For Evendim, who knows why.

Chapter 8

Brandy Hall

Estella liked to keep her hands busy when she felt worried, so she had taken up her knitting in a cozy sewing room near the kitchen so as to be close enough to hear when the tea-kettle whistled. The kitchen was a smaller but no less functional or comfortable version of the enormous Hall Kitchens. It was located near the Master Apartments, which the Master of Brandy Hall and his family had occupied for many generations, Tucked away in Brandy Hall near a door leading into a grand rose garden, it was Estella’s favorite place in all the world, for here she could be Mrs. Meriadoc Brandybuck, and forget a while the duties of the Mistress of Brandy Hall.. She had decided to knit a scarf for dear Faro, a lovely green one that would set off his eyes. Her needles clicked busily, yet not so much that Estella could forget the ticking of the clock nearby. She worried about them: Merry, Pippin and the lads. How not, when they said they were going to that place to see one of those people, of all things! True, Merry and Pippin refused to think all Big Folk were capable of ill deeds, and she supposed she shouldn’t just judge summarily when she hadn’t even met the Man, but still, she worried. Her train of thought was broken by the shrill summons of the teapot, and she stepped out of the little sewing room to get herself a nice hot cup of tea.

She had only just finished spreading a little plum jelly on a piece of toast when the kitchen door swung wide. Rufus, the stable-master, walked through the door carrying a crate filled with small crockery pots sealed with beeswax. “They’re back, Missus,” he said with a wide smile, “and they’ve got honey. Lots of it! I’m to tell you Master would like some coffee, and he asked for a lot of it, for himself and the Thain, and…” here he lowered his voice to a near whisper, “there’s a Man with ‘em, Ma’am! A right big one, too. I expect he could drink a gallon of coffee all by himself, Ma’am.”

A Man! Now, what was this about? Estella mused, What in the world were they doing bringing a Man home with them? The King’s Edict forbade any Man but a merchant to enter the Shire and then it had to be a matter of commerce, so he must be a merchant… But why under heaven would they bring a merchant into Brandy Hall, and at this hour? And why coffee? Merry is well aware of how dear the price of coffee is here, why it had to be shipped all the way from the South! Surely he would not bring an important dignitary here at this late hour and without telling me beforehand! And a big one, too, from the sound of him. A gallon of coffee? Just how big was this Man, and just how much coffee could a very big one drink? Estella knew her obligations as hostess; if coffee was called for then it must be served, even if it meant depleting their stores of the precious coffee beans to alarmingly low amounts.

Just then Theo and Faro burst in, all elbows, eyes and excitement. “Mum! Mum!” Theo shouted, loud as only a young hobbit can be. “We have company, Mum! He’s a Man, and he’s ever so big!”

“Steady, Theo!” she laughed, “It isn’t as if you’ve never seen a Man before! Rufus told me he is very big, but he has little doings with the Big Folk. Surely he isn’t the size of a troll! Besides, Bucklanders have always been tolerant of our Big Neighbors, as well you know.”

“But Aunt Estella, this one really is big!” Faro said, as excited as his cousin. “But here he is, see for yourself!”

Indeed, the lads spoke aright, for at that time Merry and Pippin entered, laughingly dragging a Man through the door by the wrists. And no ordinary Man, either. This one was one of the biggest she had ever seen.

He was smiling broadly, his eyes sparkling with delight. He barely had time to crouch down as he was dragged in, the crown of his head just skimming the frame of the round door. He was clad in simple but immaculately clean and tidy clothing, and though his posture was stooped due to his height, there seemed to be a quiet dignity about him as he looked about the cozy kitchen. On his face he wore an expression of wonder, as though he had just stepped into some magical realm. Then his eyes met hers, and though the broad smile faded to one gentler, his delight at the sight of her was no less.

"This must be the famous Estella Brandybuck!" said the Man, and, bowing most graciously, he took her tiny hand in his big one and gingerly brushed her rings with his lips, as though she was a princess. This was not the action of a commoner with little knowledge of the proper etiquette: To kiss the smooth, soft skin being considered forward at best and at worst vulgar and unrefined. "Boromir Beeman,” smiled the stranger, “at your service, My Lady!" Estella was, like Boromir’s bees, quite charmed. She felt her surprise and worry immediately melt away like butter in the summer sun. Her heart spoke to her: there was something special about this Man, though she could not have said what. “My dear, I am greatly honored to meet at last the Star of Buckland,” he continued, “Merry and Theo have told me so much about you, and I see now their boasts were not idle.”

He stood, quite forgetting he was in the home of hobbits, after all, and banged the top of his head against a roof-beam. Estella giggled, blushing to her toes. So gracious and graceful but a moment before, the lapse into a clumsy bump against a roof-beam was particularly amusing to her. But though the Man had made her laugh, she felt she had been praised by a noble prince, and it made her feel like a princess. Why, he even knows my name means ‘star’! She thought, I wonder if he is highborn; his manners speak well of him, so this may well be. We shall see…

"Estella, my bright and shining star," Merry said, giving Estella a tender kiss, “this is our friend, Boromir Beeman. He’s the new honey-merchant we got wind of last time we were in Bree, do you remember?”

“Yes, Merry, of course I remember,” Estella answered. “I was counting on sending you to Bree after some honey, if for nothing else then for medicinals, but I see now you can save yourself the journey. Boromir is your first name? My Merry and his cousin often speak of a Boromir they knew but…”

“Oh, yes,” Pippin interjected almost forcefully, drawing odd glances from both Merry and their Mannish guest, “Boromir is a rather common name in the south, you know. Boromir the First was a Steward who was stabbed by a Morgul blade. He lived, but he suffered greatly until his death. He was a warrior brave and true so many soldiers name their sons Boromir, as well as giving them names of other great warriors of old.”

“Then there was a Boromir the Second?” Estella politely asked.

“Yes, but… but it was he that the Orcs…” said Pippin, and looked aside.

“Yes, dearest Pippin, I know,” Estella gave Pippin’s hand a pat. “And I know how you miss him. But let us not speak more of it just now -- I believe my husband wanted some coffee, as I’m sure you all do, since Rufus told me you wanted a fair quantity. Come, Mr. Beeman…”

“Please, call me Boromir, dear lady,” said the big Man, once more smiling warmly.

“Very well, then, Boromir!” Estella took the arm he offered her, noting his manners were quite polished. “To the dining hall, where the ceiling is higher and hopefully you can be more comfortable.”

As Boromir walked forward, he remembered the roof-beam and instead bumped the candelabra, sending it swinging only to have it swing back and catch him at the back of his head. Candles rained down on his head and shoulders, and the two lads giggled. Estella gave the pair of youngsters a sharp glance, then led Boromir (rather carefully) to the dining hall. The hall, usually used for large gatherings, had a much higher ceiling, which would prove more comfortable to one of the Big Folk. As their guest entered the dining hall, he could at last stand upright, and Estella couldn’t help but notice the lads had been correct: this one was, indeed, quite large, even for one of his kind. A low stepping-stool served for Boromir to sit on. It was sturdy enough, but made for awkward seating as Boromir’s knees jutted up higher than his elbows.

"Well, at least you have manners befitting hobbitry! Please, do sit! If only to keep you from further harm to yourself!" said Estella graciously, trying to not appear as though she was taken aback by the size of the Man.

"This is quite an honor, I must say. I have longed these many years to see the inside of a hobbit home, and the Great Smials and Brandy Hall most of all. All this is, for me, a dream come true." Boromir said. It was quite true. He felt as if he was under some gentle enchantment, because he had desired this for so long. Many times had he attempted to imagine what a visit to a hobbit home might be like, but he found his imaginings fell short, so to speak. Now he found the experience utterly charming, exceeding his every expectation. The abode was balanced between graciousness and coziness, somehow; elegant, yet completely homey.

As for Estella, she felt quite taken aback. Not since Gandalf had one of the Big Ones seemed so taken with hobbits. Moreover, such a handsome fellow, too! Why, if he were but a hobbit, the lasses from every Farthing would have set their caps for him, though she found Men to be a bit thin for her tastes. But to his credit, how graceful in manner he was, and how very well spoken!

“Will you be staying the night, Boromir?” she asked.

“Yes, he will,” Merry answered in Boromir’s stead. “Tomorrow Pippin and Faro were to go home, but since we have met with our old friend…”

“You were in the War?” Estella asked.

“Yes,” Merry again spoke in Boromir’s stead, “that was when we met, you see…”

“Merry, will you kindly allow our guest to speak on his own behalf?” laughed the hobbitess. “Goodness! Did you leave your manners in the Old Forest?”

“To answer your question concerning the War -- yes,” Boromir said, attempting to smooth Estella’s ruffled feathers, “We did indeed meet during that time…” Boromir’s voice trailed off.

Poor, dear thing! thought Estella, I doubt not in the least he is suffering from the Melancholy, and badly, too.

“Were you at war a long time, dear?” she asked gently, patting his hand, which she then noticed was covered in scars. Trying not to stare, she forced herself to look into Boromir’s eyes. Oh, dear, she thought, this one has many scars, deep scars -- I can see them in his eyes as plain as plain! Oh, Estella, you have put your foot in your mouth, and no mistake!

“Yes, sweetheart, he was at war a very long time, for the people of his city battled the Enemy for generations,” Merry said. This time Estella did not reprimand her husband for interrupting or speaking out of turn, but only looked at him gratefully.

“Oh, you poor thing!” Estella cried. “And here I’ve been so ungracious. Why, you must have been under the sword since you were a mere babe. Please forgive my stumbling about in your past, so to speak, my dear Man.”

“There is nothing to forgive, Lady,” Boromir assured her warmly. “In truth, we were trained from the cradle, hearing song and story of great battles and mighty heroes of old as we grew. We knew no different way, so for my people war was a matter of course, and not at all unusual.”

“You are very kind to say so and I do not doubt the truth of your words,” Estella replied, her hand still resting on the much larger and battle-scarred hand. “But I can still tell a cat from a cobbler, as we say. You are letting me off the hook, and you are kind to do so. I shall take more care in future when I speak.”

“You mustn’t worry yourself overmuch, Lady…”

“No, no my dear fellow! I do understand very well. Merry and Pippin still have a bit of a turn now and again. We who are closest to them understand. The worst scars are those which lie unseen.” The sincerity in Estella’s words was genuine. “I shall make it up to you, I hope, with hospitality. Now, you are far too thin, I should say, though I am no judge of Men. I have some cold roast beef and a fresh loaf, and the coffee should be put on. Whilst it’s brewing, I shall bring out a little something for us to nibble upon.”

“You are most kind,” Boromir replied, “but if it is to your liking, I would rather enjoy a cup of tea. Comfrey would suit me best at this hour, if it is not too much trouble or my request unseemly, Lady.”

With that, Estella vanished back into the kitchen. No sooner was she out of earshot than Pippin heaved a huge sigh. “I was beginning to think she was going to pick until she snagged a thread and unraveled the whole thing!” he whispered. Inwardly Merry and Boromir chuckled. Pippin was a famously bad liar.

“You have a very sweet and pretty wife, Merry,” Boromir said. “And no dullard, either, I see! But let me say now that if I played any part in ill memories for either of you, I am sorry.”

“Well, my friend,” Merry said warmly, “if I said that there were no ill memories, you would know I was less than truthful. Pippin suffered the loss of you the most, I think, as the Orcs knocked me unconscious before you fell. He has suffered nightmares, as have I, but now we know what happened, the burden will be much lighter, I am quite sure.”

Boromir reached across the table and took the hand of each of his friends, regarding them in silence for some time. Then, closing his eyes and bowing his head as if in their honor, he said “If the Orcs had not been ordered to take you both alive, I know beyond the shadow of any doubt that you two would have stood firm by me in my hour of need. Indeed, you both would have fallen where you stood by my side. You two would not desert me, my brothers in arms. This brotherhood is a long and sacred one, born of honor and love – and of blood nobly shed; a most high and noble thing, and beyond worth any counting can tell. I cannot think of a love more high and pure, that you two were willing to stand beside me in battle when you could just as easily hid yourselves away and spared yourselves much suffering.”

The three friends were distracted by the sound of sniffling, and they saw the youngsters were struggling to fight back tears. “What is it that troubles my young friends?” Boromir asked gently.

“All our lives, everyone has told us our fathers were heroes,” Faro sniffled, “but until now, they only seemed like old tales. They didn’t seem quite real, and now…”

Theo nodded his agreement. “It was like the stories we heard about the Bullroarer,” he added. “Not any more. You see -- we heard so much about you, from our fathers and even from Prince Faramir. But when we knew who you were, well; now it is all so real and true. It’s almost like you are the stories, as real as can be. They will never be just stories again. Now we can see that our fathers really are heroes, and before, well, they were just very interesting fathers, like any hobbit fathers with exciting tales to tell.”

“Then the long journey here was well worth the trip,” said Boromir. “Glad I am to serve such a purpose, for those who come after your fathers should never forget all they did to keep the homes and families of the Shire from falling into shadow. You are both quite right, your fathers are heroes, and as great as any heroes of old.”

“Theo,” said Faro, “perhaps we should go to bed now, before your mother comes back. She will see how red our eyes are and start asking all the right questions.”

“Yes, that’s a good idea,” Pippin smiled, his own eyes misty with pride in these two young ones. “We ride to the Oak and Acorn tomorrow, and so we must rise early.”

Theo nodded his assent, and bidding Boromir and their fathers goodnight with tighter than usual hugs, the lads went to the room they were sharing.

“Boromir, why did you ask for tea instead of coffee?” asked Pippin. “I know too well how much you like your coffee: You were never without it at Rivendell or on our journey.”

“You’ve not forgotten that, have you, my friend?” Boromir said. “Truth be told, I find coffee outside the South to be a bit weak and not at all to my liking, and besides…” Here he stared at the tabletop. “Well, I find that I have quite lost my stomach for it. Faramir and I always broke our fast with coffee together. Every time I drink it, I miss him so terribly! ‘Tis a hard price to pay, but I spare my brother many woes by keeping my presence unknown. Well earned and well deserved is the crown which rests upon that noble brow, and I would not have it tarnished for the sake of my comfort.”

“Not at all to my liking, indeed! You liked it well enough when Sam brewed a pot! I think rather it is the latter reason and not the former. Well, old friend,” Merry said, “don’t despair of never seeing Faramir again. Fate can be a contrary master.”

“Aye, very true,” added Pippin. “Your destiny is yet unclear, my friend. You may yet be together some fine day! Stranger things have happened, and will happen until the end of time, as well we learned those many years ago. You shall see! I spent far too much time in the presence of Elves and Wizards to ever believe otherwise, and were it not so, just look at yourself! I thought I would never see you again in this life, yet here you sit with us. Right here in Brandy Hall!” Here Pippin once more placed a hand over Boromir’s hand, a gesture that seemed almost protective. When he resumed speaking, his voice was soft and gentle. “It is not such a far stretch of the imagination that you may someday see your brother again. Take heart! Despair, as you know, is not the friend of hope.”

Boromir sat silently, considering a while the things he had just heard from his friends. Then, raising his eyes from the tabletop, he gazed at his friends, and his heart seemed to be much lighter. “Right the both of you are,” he said. “Sometimes when I miss my brother sorely, I find the Light seems dim. It may well be we shall see each other some bright morrow! I still forget at times that it is not my will which wags the world, but that of its Maker. I thank you both for the reminder.”

Down the long hall inside the room the pair of young hobbits shared, Faro and Theo were squirming into nightshirts and turning down their bedclothes. A single candle lit the room as they chatted before turning in for the night. Faro, popping his head out of the neck of his nightshirt yawned, “He’ll never fit in a hobbit-bed! Where do you think he’ll sleep?”

“Well, I heard that Gandalf used to stay at Bag End sometimes,” said Theo thoughtfully, “and cousin Frodo would push two beds together. I suppose the grown-ups will have to manage on their own.”

“I wish we could tell our friends about all this!” Faro commented, snuggling into his pillow.

“So do I, but perhaps we won’t have to keep it secret too long,” Theo said, now yawning himself. “What a grand day we’ve had, Faro. And tomorrow will be another one, I’ll wager.”

“And the sooner we get to sleep, the sooner the day will begin.” Faro said, blowing out the candle. He was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow again.

“Asleep so soon?” Theo grinned, “Just like Uncle Pippin; you could fall asleep standing like a pony. Goodnight, Faro…” But he only got a soft snore as an answer.

From inside the room, they could hear down the hall the adults talking as they drifted off to sleep. The next thing they knew it was morning, and after hurried preparations, they were on their way to the Oak and Acorn before the first cockcrow.

Estella rode in a wagon with the two youngsters while Merry and Pippin rode ponies; Boromir rode one of Brandy Hall’s sturdy draft-ponies, nearly so large as a small horse, that had been trained to bridle and saddle as well as harness and wagon. The youngsters had wanted to ride as well along with their fathers and Boromir, but their fathers had decided against this since the youngsters had played truant on their mounts. Faro’s pony, one of Dapplegrim’s foals and with the same starry coat, had the best of it as she had no burden to bear, being tied to the back of the wagon.

The pair of young hobbits had sulked a little at first, but being good-natured lads, soon enough they found themselves enjoying the ride. Boromir taught them to play The Queen’s Cats, a word-game Boromir had taught their fathers when the Nine Walkers had traveled no more than a half-day’s march from Rivendell. Merry and Pippin had forgotten about the game, and were delighted to see the scene once more played out, this time on a more leisurely (and far safer and more comfortable -- and predictable) journey. The game had driven the rest of the Fellowship to distraction as Boromir and his young hobbit friends never tired of it. Estella, however, loved the game and joined right in. Theride was a pleasant one with the skies clear as glass and just enough breezes to carry the scent of wildflowers to the travelers.

They did not stop to eat, but took their meal on the road, which suited Estella just fine; she had not visited the Oak and Acorn in a while and always enjoyed chatting with the innkeeper’s wife. Soon enough the party was ensconced at the Oak and Acorn. A supper of roast pork and ale to slake thirst was called for, and was excellent. After a bit, drinking songs began to be sung. There were many hobbit drinking songs performed, and then one of the carousers called for a song from Boromir. He stood, a bit shy at first ,which quite surprised Merry and Pippin, who had always thought Boromir didn’t have a shy bone in his body. He scuffed his boots on the floor and said “I fear I am poor of talent in the art of singing drinking songs…”

Pippin raised his mug and shouted “It’s not your fault, friend! A Man must toil twice as hard to be half as good at something as a hobbit!”

“Which luckily, in the case of a certain Took, is no great feat!” Boromir retorted with a wink, “This song I learned upon my first visit to a tavern frequented by young soldiers when I was but a lad. I hope it shall serve.” Blushing just a bit, he cleared his rich baritone voice and began, and here you will find what he sang:

Here we all are, at the end of the day,

Friends we've become and friends we will stay.

Roll out the barrel, set up the cask,

Swilling down ale is our pleasant task.

Pull up a chair,

Take off the weight,

Call for a bottle,

Share with a mate.

Ruby red wine or foaming ale,

Cider is fine and cheers without fail,

Draw out the cork, open the bung,

Drink up, boys! There are songs to be sung!

Boromir’s friends and fellow patrons applauded the effort, agreeing the Man had a quite good voice and raised their cups and mugs in salute. These hobbits, it seemed, had challenged him, as one on their own terms, and had not found him wanting. He smiled broadly. The fourth life of Boromir was now well on its way.

Chapter nine

Great Trials, Great Smials

“It won’t be long before we’re home,” Pippin said, “so why don’t we stop for luncheon now?”

They had come to the field of clover where Pippin had rested on the way to Buckland. It was a most agreeable place for a picnic, and Estella had filled a basket with fresh bread, cheese, strawberries and cold roast beef she had purchased from the innkeeper of the Oak and Acorn.

The sun was just right, the day not too hot and not too cool. The pastoral scenery of low, rolling hills covered in clover seemed almost like something in a painting, serene, quiet and a treat to the senses. The ponies, relieved of bridle, bit and harness were hobbled so as to be able to graze to their heart’s delight. The little company of travelers helped Estella set out their meal on a blanket and enjoyed the simple but satisfying repast. The youngsters rambled about in the clover, playing games and joyously wrestling like scrappy pups. Their voices, light, high and sweet, seemed to be the embodiment of spring in the Shire.

Restored with food and rest, they went on at a steady pace until at last they came to the hill-country Pippin called home. Only once more did they stop as the sun lay low over the hills and valleys. This time Merry and the young ones helped Estella bring forth the remaining food and drink without their customary chatter, for they were familiar with the habits of Pippin at this time of day. He wouldn’t eat until he had observed his daily custom of looking to the West at sunset. While he was usually alone at this time, observers of Pippin’s odd custom would often sense a kind of sadness in the Thain, though his sunny nature would return quickly enough. But today Faro, noting his father’s smile, nudged Merry’s elbow and silently nodded in the direction of Pippin and Boromir. Pippin’s somber sunset mood was missing this day, and the reason was apparent, for Boromir stood by the Thain’s side, one hand resting on Pippin’s shoulder as the sun descended lower and lower. Solitary no more in this observance, Pippin obviously enjoyed this custom now, whereas before he had always done so alone -- and with a wistful, silent sadness.

They ate hurriedly, for the lamps had to be pulled out and placed on the wagon before the sun dipped completely behind the hills. The Great Smials beckoned, sprawling among the hills in the distance, and soon the little procession arrived at their destination.

“And none too soon!” Faro said, obviously eager to see his mother -- he had been visiting in Buckland for some time, and as much as he enjoyed it, he was always glad to return to hearth and home. Pippin bade his son go and inform the Mistress of the Great Smials of the arrival of the party. Hildigrand, the son of Sigismond the stable-master, hurried from his cot to tend the ponies. All except Dapplegrim, that is, for Pippin would suffer none but Sigismond or himself to tend his precious mount.

Like Brandy Hall, the Great Smials had, set aside but still connected by a long, tubular hall, a section that contained the private abode of the Master and Mistress. Known as Lesser Great Smials, or, as its inhabitants called it, simply Lesser Smials it was both cozy and roomy, and among the many guestrooms there, one was very large with high ceilings, built when Gandalf had become a close friend to the Old Took and subsequently the entire clan.

Lesser Smials had its own door, painted a bright red and enjoying a silver knocker and bell all its own. Faro scurried down the long hall that led from the Thain’s apartments and down another hall that forked off to the left. He knew exactly where his mother would be: in the large room looking out over the Gardens, a room which Diamond had made into a classroom in order to teach the children of less fortunate hobbits their letters, numbers and history. She took her responsibilities as Mistress of the Great Smials seriously, and was of the opinion that she could improve the fortunes of the poor by way of the gift of knowledge. Most hobbits never learned to read, and though she had not the capability to teach all the children of the poor in the Four Farthings, she could teach the children of servants and field-workers and herders in her employ.

When Faro found her she was at her desk with a stack of slates examining the work of her charges. Faro paused in the doorway and silently watched her a moment. While it is true that all young everywhere think their mothers the most beautiful creatures in the wide world, Faro was convinced that there dwelt nowhere a more beautiful hobbitess than Diamond Took. Watching her now, seeing her dark hair half-fallen in a shadowy cascade of nearly black waves which were dusted liberally with chalk from the slates, he felt his heart swell with pride in her.

He silently slipped up behind her and placed his hands over her eyes. “Guess who?” he smiled.

“This must be the handsomest lad in all the Shire!” She turned and embraced her son. “Oh, look at you, all travel-stained; I was warned you took after your father in seeing just how dirty it is possible for a young hobbit to get! There is clover stuck in your hair. Where is your father?”

“He’s seeing to Dapplegrim. You know how he dotes on that pony, why, one might think the beast is Shadowfax himself!”

“There’s the truth if ever it was said, but true also it is that Dapplegrim is the finest pony ever shod. There are none to rival him, at least not in my memory, or in my father’s; and for that matter there are none that rival him in your father’s affections, either. I cannot blame him for spending so much time with Dapplegrim, for the beast returns his master’s love in equal measure.” She tousled Faro’s hair and then held her son at arms length. Her gaze fell on the bandaged leg of her young one. Her brow furrowed with concern. “What’s this?” Diamond bent and examined the dressing on Faro’s leg.

“Oh, I suppose you could say it’s the start of a long story, Mum. Speaking of which, if you’re to have the whole story, perhaps you’d best come and meet our guests.”

“Guests? Oh, that father of yours! How like him to bring guests without telling me,” she said, sounding cross but with a look on her face of fond amusement. Faro knew she had grown accustomed to unexpected behavior on the part of the Thain. In fact the youngster believed this very thing was one of many reasons she adored his father.

“Theo and Uncle Merry and Aunt Estella came with us, Mum,” Faro said, seeming to leave the statement dangling at the end.

“But there’s more.” It was not a question.

“Aye,” Faro continued. “He’s a bee-charmer, Mum, and he sells honey.”

“Thank goodness, I have been after your father for the longest time to find and set up trade with the new supplier! What is his name, and who are his family?”

“Oh, you don’t know them,” Faro said. “Perhaps you should tidy your hair, Mum, you have so much chalk in it you look like a floured dumpling.”

“You look like a dumpling!” She laughed, and gave her son a little tickle. On the way back to Lesser Smials she stopped at a washroom and bathed her face and hands, brushed her hair and re-pinned it, then plucked clover from her son’s autumnal curls. Faro let her go on to their private quarters alone whilst he stopped in at the larder and searched the pie-safe, where he found a platter of apple tarts. Taking the entire platter, he hurried after his mother and caught up to her just as she walked through the door to the sitting room.

He heard his mother give a high squawk of alarm, and then there was a loud thump. As he walked into the room behind his mother he said, “Did you bump your head on another ceiling, Uncle Bom?”

Having not quite recovered from the start of finding a Man in her sitting room, Diamond gave another squawk when Faro spoke from behind her, which in turn startled Faro, causing him to let a few tarts slide off the platter. Backing away from the stranger, Diamond tread on one of them and her foot slipped. She found herself sitting quite hard and suddenly on the floor. With an expression of concern on his face, the strange Man stepped forward, trod on another tart, and sat down hard beside his hostess. He shook his head and got carefully to his feet, offering his hand to Diamond, red-faced with embarrassment.

Faro howled with laughter. “You shall have bumps and bruises both fore and aft, Uncle Bom!”

“Imp,” muttered Boromir, “you are far too much like your father.”

At this time Merry and Estella entered from the side door, followed by Pippin. “Well,” said the Thain dryly, “I see you have made your introductions in the grandest style. Come, my dear,” Pippin laughed. “No doubt you have made yourself comfortable, but let us greet our guest with a little more conventional hobbit hospitality!”

“Has fate no mercy for the Mistress of the Great Smials?” Boromir continued to mutter, “Far too much alike, indeed!”

“Peregrin Took!” Diamond scolded, “Why on earth did you not… Faro, why didn’t you… oh, never mind! I should know better than to even ask!” Diamond’s hair had fallen again, and she blew at a stray lock that had fallen over her large dark eyes. “Father and son,” she muttered, “like peas in a pod, I declare.” She took Boromir’s hand and allowed him help her up. “Please, sir, forgive my screeching at you like a cat with a trod-upon tail, I did not know you were… I assumed you were a hobbit.”

“Don’t you think he’s a little large for a hobbit, my dear?” teased Pippin.

“I hope I have not caused you to think ill of me, Lady,” said the Man, bowing low. She offered her hand in greeting, and he brushed his lips in gentlemanly fashion over her rings. “Most fair Lady, legend of your beauty has preceded our meeting. I beg your pardon for our unseemly introduction, as it were, and hope I may redeem myself in your eyes.”

Pippin stepped forward and stood at Diamond’s side. “My dearest, this is Boromir Beeman, an old friend of Merry’s and mine. Boromir, I am very proud to introduce you to my darling Diamond.” Pippin slipped an arm around Diamond’s waist and kissed her cheek. Boromir could hardly help but notice the look on Pippin’s face. Plainly he adored his wife, and from the way she looked at her husband, the feeling was mutual. Few and far between are couples that remain eternal sweethearts, thought Boromir but this pair is among those rare and blessed few. Indeed, he saw that she was quite beautiful, possessing looks that rivaled even the Ladies of high Elven courts. Her skin was like cream, her cheeks rosy, her dark eyes like black diamonds fringed with lashes so long and thick they resembled those of porcelain dolls made by the finest doll-makers in the South.

“Diamond Took, the famous Diamond Took,” Boromir said. “Indeed, I have been told of your great beauty. Alas that words fail miserably in the description of the Mistress of the Great Smials.”

“You flatter me, good sir!” Diamond responded, blushing prettily.

“In truth, my Lady, I do not,” replied the Man, “for word of your beauty runs far and wide! Why, in Bree, your husband is the envy of every hobbit. My friend is a fortunate one indeed, for word is also told of your wit, wisdom, grace and kindness. No doubt you wed Pippin out of pity!”

“Truly she did, Boromir,” Estella laughed, “Pippin was sick with love for her! He would have pined away had she refused his courtship.”

“And I shall still pine away if I don’t soon have a bite to eat,” Pippin laughed. “Come, Boromir! We shall do as we did at Brandy Hall and go the Dining Hall. Mind your head! I do not wish to have all our ceilings re-plastered, for I see by the dust on your shoulders you already have another lump on your head.” Turning to Diamond, Pippin continued, “He nearly brained himself at Brandy Hall. Faro, bring those tarts with you, if you please. Some wine and cheese would go well with those, so if my sweet wife would be so good as to show Boromir the way, I shall just run to the kitchen and cellar, then we may all enjoy food and drink together.”

“I’m sure Mister Beeman would like to wash up first,” Diamond said, noticing that Boromir offered his arm instead of simply following her like a common tradesman. “You are mannerly, sir,” she commented, “I perceive you were brought up well, perhaps at Court?”

“In the White City, Lady,” he replied. “As a young lad I started out as a Guard of the Citadel just as your husband did, so yes, I was gently reared, though later, as a soldier, my manners slipped betimes. Still, breeding tells, they say, and I have never lost my manners; they were at times but mislaid a while, for even a soldier in Minas Tirith must comport himself with gentility in all his affairs.”

Absorbed with the conversation, Boromir forgot yet again that he was in the home of hobbits. Twice more he bumped his head on roof-beams before he even had got as far as the washroom. Merry went ahead with the two lads to the dining hall while the pair of hobbit ladies and Boromir made use of the washroom. Boromir bowed to Diamond again as he held open the door to the washroom so she could tidy her hair yet again and clean the apple tart from between her toes. When she came out, he held the door once again for Estella with yet another courtly bow. When the ladies were done he took his turn, while the ladies took advantage of the opportunity to chat.

“You’re going to like this fellow,” whispered Estella, “why, he’s almost princely in manner. He is quite well spoken and seems such a kindly fellow; I wonder he was ever a soldier! He cannot have been a very good one, I think, not with that gentle demeanor.”

“Yes, I agree, he does have a gentlemanly air about him.”

“Perhaps his father was a scribe, or his mother a lady-in-waiting.”

“Perhaps,” Diamond said. “Does he have family?”

“No, I am sad to say. He is a widower, and lost both wife and babe during the birthing.”

“Oh, poor thing!” Diamond clucked her tongue. “Such a pity. Yet he seems kindly disposed, and is quite handsome. He may yet find a bride. I confess, when I heard his name I was confused, for I have never heard Pippin or Merry speak of another Boromir.”

“Nor I,” Estella nodded. “I’m told his is a common name in the South, though.”

“No disrespect to the poor fellow, but I think were he measured against the other Boromir, he might be found wanting.”

“No doubt – still, he must be a fine fellow, or he could never count himself a friend of our husbands.”

“True, true, and he is very much a gentleman.”

“And fair to look upon,” Estella said, “and not only that, he is very good with our sons; the lads think he is simply grand. He shall make a fine father someday.”

“With the right woman to wed, I’m sure you are right. Hmmm…”

“I know that look, Diamond Took!” Estella giggled behind her hand.

“Don’t you dare pretend you do not like match-making every bit as much as I do, Estella Brandybuck!”

“Tell me, aren’t you due to pay a visit to the weavers’ shops in Bree? The way our sons are growing, they could do with a new pair of breeks or two.”

“I think you are right,” Diamond agreed, “and whatever else we may find, I’m sure we can find some… things… which are well-fitted.”

“He’s coming out!” Estella hissed.

“Don’t worry, he’ll never see it coming ‘til it’s too late!”

“Come, Boromir!” Estella smiled, “You look as though you could do with a bite and a drink.”

With a comely hobbitess on each arm Boromir made his way to the Dining Hall, unaware that the pair gave each other a knowing wink behind his back.

When they got to the Dining Hall the lads with Merry were moving a sturdy, low chair to the table. “Gandalf’s chair!” Diamond said, “I see the idea occurred to more than just myself! Boromir, I believe you will find it a good fit. There you are, Pippin! Loitering about the wine cellar, were you? Come, Boromir! Let me show you around Lesser Great Smials while the table is made ready. Faro, be a dear and go fetch us a fresh loaf and some of that lovely shortbread – and bring a pitcher of milk, you know how Theo loves it.”

Diamond and Estella showed him around Lesser Smials, Diamond being flushed with pride for her home, Estella being amused every time Boromir had a run-in with a ceiling, roof-beam or bookshelf. Diamond seemed more concerned with head injuries and damage to her abode. It wasn’t as though he was a clumsy oaf, he moved with grace and an economy of motion. It was more the sheer size of him.

They paused here and there to show Boromir a painting or a small sculpture, and the Man would make quiet, thoughtful comments, admiring a deft brushstroke or the particular lines of a carving or statuette. Diamond, like Estella, was completely taken with him. Why, he might have been a prince in disguise, like in some old fairy tale. The more Diamond and Estella showed him around, the more they determined to find a mate for this man, and the ladies often stole glances at each other and tittered like young ‘tweens. Finally Diamond completed her tour with the room Boromir would be sleeping in, opening the door to show off the Man-sized bed. This, too, had been for Gandalf.

“How wonderful of the Tooks to keep the things he no doubt found great joy and comfort in using,” Boromir murmured, “I feel quite unworthy of them. Mithrandir was indeed both great and wise, though betimes a bit gruff. That he is sorely missed I doubt not in the least.”

“Oh, but you mustn’t feel unworthy!” Diamond asserted. “I’m quite sure he would want you to find just as much comfort and joy in them as he found, and besides, it shall be good to see them once more of good use. We have had no Big Folk visit us since Gandalf left. But I did not know that you knew him!”

“Aye, Ma’am, I knew him well, he was a frequent visitor to our… to the White City and its archives.”

“Perhaps you might grace us with a tale or two, some time.” Diamond once again took his arm. “But now I’m sure you have a place at our table made ready! Come and sit a while! I am sure you must be tired and hungry, and could do with a repast before retiring.”

Indeed, his place at the table was ready and his friends sat comfortably awaiting his return, but upon entering the room, Boromir spied something that drew him like a moth to the flame. Over the mantle, Pippin’s sword had been mounted, and this Boromir carefully took down after glancing at Pippin for approval. Diamond watched Pippin for a reaction since the Thain didn’t usually give his approval for the blade to be handled. With some surprise, she saw Pippin nod with a wistful smile. The Man unsheathed the blade and looked at it appreciatively. Along the blade many words had been engraved in Elvish, and these he studied intently, running a finger along the fine etchings. Somehow Diamond felt sure he knew exactly what was inscribed there. She watched him appraising the blade with a fine eye, his appreciation of the thing surpassing by far any interest he had earlier shown for the number of fine artworks she had on display. It was as if he were seeing a thing of beauty once beheld, but never forgotten. He examined the edge of the blade, and then turned his attention to the hilts.

“I see Pippin has not neglected this blade. I confess I am not at all surprised – but he was so young to carry this beautiful thing! He should have been out and about and into mischief at that age. Nevertheless, I am eternally grateful for his deeds. It is sad to know one must grow up all too quickly, but he did just that, and I am very proud of him.” There was a sad little smile on the Man’s face, and he seemed to be caught in some not-so-distant memory.

Then he took the blade by the hilt and indulged himself in a bit of swordplay, at first a little awkward for the size of both blade and Man. After a few passes, he seemed to find the balance of the blade. Estella and Diamond watched in fascination at the speed and graceful movement of the shining blade, and the two youngsters voiced their enthusiasm at the display. The Man seemed almost to be dancing, his body turning and bending in a dance of terrible grace, the glittering blade seeming to weave a silvery net about him. He held the blade point up. It looked so small in his hands. Once more he admired it, appraising it as a Dwarf might a fine piece of metalwork, turning it over in his large hands as if it was a fine piece of art. Out of his pocket he took a soft cloth and wiped the blade down, re-sheathing it, and put it back in its place.

“You must have been a magnificent swordsman,” Diamond said softly.

“So it is said,” Boromir replied with a wry but oddly grim smile. Somehow it made Estella and Diamond sad to see that smile. “I feel I did my part.” The Man continued, “However, that part of my life is behind me now.” The wistful expression faded, and he turned to give Diamond a warm smile. “I think Mistress Diamond will be pleased to find more than enough honey for her larder when the wagon is unloaded in the morning. Allow me to say it is both honor and delight to meet at last the families of my friends, and to visit their homes. It has been many years since I saw your husbands, and they were always kind to a humble once-soldier.”

“And are you content, now that you are no longer a soldier?” asked Diamond.

“I find I quite enjoy my quiet life. Proud was I to serve my city and my Lord… yet I find I love peace and quiet, and the simple beauty of the world so well made for us to dwell upon.”

“My goodness!” said Estella, “You are very tall for a hobbit! You certainly are like no Man I have met before, if what you say is true. I rather thought men did not love the earth so much as we hobbits do. It is good to see I have been misled.”

“Sweet Lady, many years did I strive to learn this, and it is a lesson I shall never forget. I am quite content to let the world of Men wend as it will. I would rather spend my years as one of you, who hold more dear food and drink and the good earth, than to battles and great deeds. Too many corpses has war made, though it can be a glorious thing when needed.” He paused, and Diamond again saw the ghost of some sad memory flit across his fair features. Then, seeming to vanquish the sadness with a deep sigh, he continued, “But it is no bad thing to lead a simple life, and I have found grace in it.” But he quickly averted his eyes, as though some memory remained heavy upon his heart.

Now, Diamond Took was no fool, and she sensed there was something in the spirit of the Man that had taken great hurt, and found greater healing in a new life. Her heart, like Estella’s, was the heart of a mother, and as we all know, mothers seem to have a sense for a wound of the heart. It is the ageless desire of the female heart to soothe all hurts in the opposite sex, in their sisters, and in children. Though they had only just met him, both ladies felt a need in this Man, and their so-female hearts went out to him.

They stayed up late, enjoying light, pleasant conversation and laughter. Diamond was given the full tale of Faro’s injury and the subsequent visit to the Old Forest. Faro and Theo fell asleep at the table, and rather than have their parents wake them, Boromir carried them to the room they shared. Gandalf’s bed, Boromir found, was decidedly comfortable and plenty roomy enough for him to sleep well.

The following day Estella and Diamond spent together, while their husbands and sons spent the day with Boromir discussing the building of beehives. Materials to build them were loaded onto the wagon, and the rest of the day they spent on the paddock. Pippin chose a team of ponies sired by Dapplegrim and out of a draft-mare, and these he offered as yearly stipend in advance for honey, beeswax candles and royal jelly. The ponies were tall, like their sire, but sturdily built, like their dam, and would serve quite well for Boromir’s draft-ponies when the beehives helped produce a great quantity of honey for market-days.

The following morning Boromir left with the Brandybucks, his draft-ponies in tow and the wagon loaded with materials for beehives. Pippin embraced Boromir tightly.

“You are not to make a stranger of yourself, sir!” Said Pippin, “If you are too scarce, I shall hunt you down and take you to task!”

“Do come visit again soon, Uncle Bom,” Faro said, “next time, I’ll show you my favorite fishing place!”

Diamond and Estella stood talking together; amused that Boromir had his lap full of the pair of young hobbits. From the gate, Boromir and the four hobbits could hear their soft laughter, like that of little silver bells. They wondered what little jest had them laughing so. Those two were always finding one thing or another to laugh about, and this morning it seemed they had found something which must have been quite amusing.

“Now don’t forget!” Diamond whispered, “I shall come to Brandy Hall in a fortnight, and then…”

Estella laughed gaily and hugged Diamond. “Until then, Diamond, farewell. I shall see you soon.”

“Yes, and what fun we shall have!” replied Diamond, giving the Man and the hobbits a wave. “They are growing impatient, darling, you’d best not wait or they may grow suspicious.”

“Not to worry! He shall never see it coming, until it is too late!” Estella said, then climbed up beside Theo and took the reins.

Pippin, Diamond and Faro stood at the gate and watched the wagon disappear down the lane. When Diamond turned to go in, she thought she saw a tear on her husband’s cheek, but before she could be certain, Pippin brushed at his cheek with the back of his hand. She must be mistaken, because the Thain seemed very happy indeed.

Chapter ten

Candles and Matches

In the Old Forest the air can be terribly stuffy in high summer. Boromir, Merry and Pippin had been most productive and studious in the building of beehives. The Tooks had quite an extensive library at the Great Smials, and a wealth of wisdom in setting up and maintaining an apiary had been put to good use. Within a short walking distance, the three companions had set up Boromir’s apiary, and the stuffy air was thick with bees, which meant the hives were dripping with honey.

Boromir also sold candles, as beeswax was plentiful, and Merry, being a fair hand at herb-lore at this time had suggested adding essences to the wax the way one might with soap. After a few false starts the right ingredients had been found, and the candles were now bought on a regular basis by the best and most influential of families as well as the finest ale-houses and inns in the four Farthings along with Buckland, Bree-land and in Tookland. He also made shipments to outlying countries, and Boromir’s wallet was swiftly becoming quite fat.

Boromir now had a barn in which he kept his team of ponies and a sizable market wagon. Market day came twice weekly all over the Shire, though Boromir sold his wares only twice a month. Once in the month his honey, royal jelly and candles was eagerly bought up by the hobbits of Buckland, and on his other market day he would rise early the day before and make the long drive either to the Great Smials or the Breeland. At Merry’s and Estella’s insistence, he had become accustomed to starting these journeys at Brandy Hall. Buckland or the Breelands were the most profitable markets, but also the busiest. At the Great Smials, Pippin had offered to take over distribution, a situation which profited them both. Whether selling in Bucklebury, or traveling to one of the distant markets, he usually made for Brandy Hall first thing in the morning when preparing for market days. Rising well before dawn, the Brandybucks would see him off well rested -- and well fed, of course, Estella always fussing that he never ate enough to keep a mouse alive. If Estella, Merry or Theo wanted to visit with the Tooks, they would often ride along with Boromir when he was going in that direction, and back again when market was done, singing the miles away, or telling stories, or counting the stars overhead. When the Tooks wished to visit the Brandybucks, they could ride with Boromir on his return to Brandy Hall, and later one of the Brandybucks would drive them home again.

If you'd been a little bird in the Old Forest and were inclined to eavesdrop, you might have heard many conversations between the two hobbits and their old friend. Some were serious, some nostalgic, some were sad, some were stimulating, and some were funny. Then there were other conversations that were a combination of any or all of those things.

On this particular day, Merry and Pippin had come to keep Boromir company as he set up yet more beehives and loaded the wagon for the next morning’s trek to Combe and surrounding communities and farms.

Boromir hoisted the last crate of honey-pots into the wagon. It had been very hot that day and he had taken off his shirt. This was something he would not have done in front of matron or maiden, manners being manners, but today there was no one here but himself and his favorite pair of hobbits. When he had taken off his shirt, Merry and Pippin had tried not to stare at the masses of scars on his chest and shoulders. By rights, Boromir should have been dead. The scars had freshened some very bad memories for the hobbits but, as all their kind are wont to do, they made little of it. They found the Clan mark on his chest quite novel, though.

There had been a lively discussion of this mark, as neither Merry nor Pippin had ever seen such, but then the conversation turned when the day’s work was done. Now the subject of Diamond and Estella’s attempts at matchmaking came up. Boromir said, mopping his sweaty brow, “Please, make them stop. I’m sure they mean the best, but I assure you, when I’m ready to find a love of my own, I will find her.”

“Haven’t you liked any of the girls they’ve introduced you to?” asked Merry.

“They are well enough, I suppose, except for that one; what is her name? Her father has the creamery.”

“Oh, Amarantha Nobottle. What was wrong with her?” Pippin asked.

“Much too fond of herself is Miss Nobottle. She spends more time looking in her looking glass than at anything else! She is very rude to the less-fortunate, too. Very embarrassing.” Boromir paused a moment. “Oh, then there was that niece of old Butterbur. I do not wish to be unkind, but, well, she is as twitchy as a squirrel; it makes me rather nervous. I suppose the others are well enough, but really…”

“What about the baker’s daughter? She seemed fine,” Merry said.

“All she ever talks about is money! I have never in my life seen any woman who so loves money. This in itself is bad enough, but she is loath to part with a copper penny of it! For all the good her money does her she might as well be a pauper. 'Rich in purse, poor in spirit,' as my old nurse Ioreth used to say.”

“The hooper’s cousin?” Pippin asked hopefully.

“Doesn’t like hobbits.”

“Really? That’s terrible!” Merry said disapprovingly. Pippin shook his head and clucked his tongue.

“Small minds command small hearts, as Ioreth told me many a time. I cannot abide that kind of thinking. The thatcher’s daughter would have been quite nice, but she had a fit if I so much as looked at a serving-girl. One poor lass suffered the sharpness of her tongue simply for smiling at me. Why, you would have thought the girl was dressed in the skin of one rabbit, and a young one at that!”

After the laughter of the hobbits had played itself out Merry asked, “The butcher’s sister?”

“Too bossy,” said Boromir, tossing straw into the stable rather furiously. “She should become a soldier; she would make a wonderful sergeant.”

“The fuller’s widow?” Pippin asked.

“Far, far too nosy. Gossips, and drinks heavily. Her nose is a red as a beet from her over-tippling. Tells lies, too.”

“The knacker’s oldest girl, how was she?” asked Merry.

Boromir shuddered in answer, but said nothing. Merry and Pippin nodded their heads. Boromir raked his hand through his sweaty hair. “Please, I beg of you, make them stop.”

“I can’t make Diamond do anything, Boromir,” Pippin replied. “Once she’s set her mind to do something, she doesn’t stop.”

“And Estella, too,” Merry added, “When the two of them get together, it gets worse. I’m afraid this will go on until you do find someone.”

“That doesn’t sound encouraging, because I’m not sure how likely that is to happen.” Boromir said with a sigh.

At this time, Merry and Pippin gave each other a look, and then Merry said, “I think we should talk about something else, now.”

“Yes, I agree. There is something Merry and I have discussed, and we mean to have out with you,” Pippin added.

“Oh, dear, what’s this, then?” asked Boromir.

“It’s your health, Boromir,” replied Merry.

“Yes, you may pretend all you like, but you must see a healer. We have seen how you, well, change colors sometimes, and have trouble catching your breath.” said Pippin.

“And then there’s the pain. No, do not pretend,” Merry said, cutting off any protestations before they could be made. “We see you holding your chest and your left arm; I had an uncle who had problems like that. You need to see a healer. There are decoctions and concoctions that can help. Foxglove may be all that is needed.”

Boromir studied his friends. No, they were not going to let this go. He might as well give in. “Very well, I’ll see a healer the next time I’m in Bree.”

“Promise me,” Pippin said, arms crossed on his chest. Hobbits, like his own people, Boromir knew, take promises very seriously.

“Very well! Very well!” Boromir raised his hands in supplication. “I promise I will see the healer as soon as may be.”

“Good,” said Merry. “We have only just got you back, it wouldn’t be right to let you die a second time so soon. Now who wants a nice swim? It’s so hot I think I shall melt like a candle in the sun.”

“Now that,” said Boromir, “is a wonderful idea. Besides, we should see how your young ones fare.”

They made their way a short walk beyond the apiary, where a small stream ran down to the Withywindle. Boromir had build a small dam of stones, and it made a little pool just big enough for bathing, fishing or even a little swimming. Theo and Faro enjoyed all three when visiting. Seeing their fathers and "uncle" approaching, they held aloft their catch.

“May we swim, now, Papa?” Theo asked. Both youngsters were flushed with summer’s heat and the excitement of hauling in a good catch, and they were eager to take a refreshing dip in the little pool.

“You may,” answered Merry. “In fact, we all shall. Don’t just throw your clothes on the ground! Hang them in that bush, that way they shan’t get all muddy.”

They stripped to their small clothes and waded in, splashing and shouting, followed by their elders. Boromir had brought a comb, some soap, a razor and a small mirror with which to bathe and shave, and, sitting on a flat stone beside the pool, he employed these straight away. He was right in the middle of shaving when he had a feeling he was being watched. Sure enough, Faro had paddled up to where Boromir’s feet dangled in the pool, and the youngster now watched him with curious green eyes. Apparently, Faro was, like Pippin, imbued with a cat-like curiosity. “Does it hurt?” Faro asked.

“No,” replied the Man, “no more than getting your hair shorn, unless I nick myself.”

“Why do Men have hair on their faces?” Faro asked, brow knitted, “And do you call it a beard, like dwarves? Or is it fur?”

“We call it a beard,” Boromir said, “and I no more know why we have them than I know why Hobbits have hair on their feet. We are all as the Creator would have us be.”

“But we don’t scrape the hair from our feet, why do Men scrape hair from their faces?”

“I suppose we strive to keep ourselves tidy and to look our best, Tookling.”

“Do the ladies scrape off the hair from their faces? I have never seen one with a beard.”

“We are not Dwarves, Faro, our women have no hair on their faces.” (here Boromir spared a sharp glance at Merry and Pippin) “Excepting the poulterer’s daughter.”

“Why do you shape your beard like that?”

“Because, well, actually I do it this way because the ladies like the look of it.”

“Even the ones Mum introduced you to?”

“It is my most fervent wish that they do not. Peace, youngster! How many questions can a young Took possibly ask?”

“What a silly question! What is wrong, Uncle Bom? Didn’t you like any of the ladies?”

“Why is it my need for a mate (here he glared once more at Merry and Pippin) is fair game for idle talk? Besides, you are far too young to discuss such matters, Tookling. Now will you kindly go and play with Theo and let me finish shaving?”

“Good heavens! Shaving makes you very grumpy, Uncle Bom, you should just let your beard grow like that of a Dwarf,” Faro said, then splashed water at the Man and dove under the surface of the pool, as sleek and swift as a young otter.

Pippin listened to the conversation with no small amount of amusement. Boromir could be very patient with the young, as well Pippin knew from his memories of the Fellowship. He was, however, less patient with the ladies Estella and Diamond had chosen as a match for him. Surely it could not have been as bad as he is making it out to be, thought Pippin. But then he observed his large friend’s countenance and decided that maybe, just maybe, it was as bad as he was making it out to be, after all.

Since Diamond and Estella had taken upon themselves the task of finding a match for Boromir his life had become a series of nightmarish evenings spent with girls he either had nothing in common with, or that could scare the paint right off the wall. This latest one, though, was the last straw. He couldn’t take it any more. Boromir finished shaving and set aside the razor and mirror. He shot another glaring glance at Merry and Pippin as he slid from rock to pool.

“You’ve got to make them stop!” Boromir said grimly. Merry and Pippin looked at each other and sighed.

“I told you, Boromir, I’ve tried to talk to them, we both have. It’s done no good at all,” said Pippin. “In fact, I think it’s only made them more determined than ever!”

“Pippin, I swear, this last one, the poulterer’s daughter, you’ll recall…well, it is just too much. I can hardly be expected to be charmed by a girl with a better mustache than my own!”

“All right, all right! We’ll speak to them,” Merry said, “but don’t expect them to listen. I can tell you right now they won’t.”

“Well, at least I’ll have a little respite while you four are off in Long Cleeve. Faro and Theo will be fine here with me. In fact, I’m looking forward to spending time with them.”

Boromir loved his new home, loved spending time with his favorite hobbits no matter where they were or what they were doing. He had grown to love their wives and children, but he was a Man who was at the end of his rope. Time and experience and a desire to remake himself had cooled his temper and made him a more thoughtful Man. But as we shall see, this can have some unexpected results: Boromir, after all, was Boromir, a Man who hated to be out-maneuvered, even by two lovely hobbit ladies. Merry and Pippin did their best to placate him, and he knew in his heart they were helpless and blameless in the matter. He was also quite sure they secretly found a great deal of humor in the matter, and he was right. He could tell now by the way that the two looked at each other when they thought he wasn't looking. Very well, then, he would just take matters into his own very capable hands. Always had done, always would.

Every year the Tooks and Brandybucks traveled together as a respite from their heavy obligations. This year they would go to Long Cleeve and then to the White Downs. Their sons felt they were old enough now to let their parents go without them, and had nagged their parents to let them stay with Uncle Bom until both sets of parents at last relented. They had been reluctant, but when Boromir insisted the lads would be not only welcome, but also excellent company for him, the parents had at last agreed. The fathers with their sons had arrived two days earlier, knowing they could trust Boromir to look after his charges, yet lingering because this was the first time their sons wouldn’t be traveling with their families.

The four hobbits arrived on their ponies, bags stuffed with clothing and fishing gear. The youngsters loved to go fishing; so today they had been allowed to spend the day at the pool while their fathers kept Uncle Bom company. If they were going to travel with Boromir to Combe, he had to get his market-wagon ready.

Enjoying a swim with their fathers and Uncle Bom at the end of the day was a special treat for the young ones. Though the responsibilities as Masters of Brandy Hall and Great Smials were heavy, both Merry and Pippin liked to spend as many pleasant hours with their sons as possible. Besides, they would bid them farewell before dawn, so a pleasant swim and fresh fish cooked right on the verge of the little pool was a treat not to be missed.

The next morning the lads bade their fathers farewell before cockcrow after a hearty breakfast. From Dapplegrim’s back Pippin looked worriedly over his shoulder. He scolded himself for his reluctance to allow his son to stretch his wings a wee bit. Then he noticed Boromir had an expression on his face like a cat about to get into the cream. Shame on you, Peregrin Took! he thought. Boromir would never let our sons get into any trouble. Still, that is rather an odd expression he is wearing…

The trip to Combe was quite a lark for the youngsters, and Boromir found he wasn’t at all lonely with this pair to keep him company. He had turned a tidy profit as well, and stopped by a bakery to purchase a carrot cake and some sweets for the youngsters. That night he took Faro and Theo to the banks of the stream that fed his little pool, and there they camped for the evening. As they sat around the fire, Boromir waited patiently. He knew it was but a matter of time. He eventually got what he was been waiting for.

“Tell us a story, Uncle Bom?” Faro asked. The expectant look on his face reminded Boromir so much of Pippin in his days of the Fellowship. He couldn’t help reaching out and ruffling Faro’s golden-brown curls… so like his father!

“Yes, do!” added Theo, his large blue eyes dancing, “Tell us, how did you reach such a great size, and how did you get to be so strong?”

It was then the idea Boromir had hatched was put into play, just as if he was planning a battle strategy.

“Well, it’s a secret,” he said. He waited patiently.

After about two or three minutes, the young ones said as one, “Tell us! Please? Please?”

“Well, you mustn’t tell, you know. It’s an old soldier’s secret.”

“We won’t tell, will we, Faro?” Theo said, leaning closer in that way that made him look so much like his father.

“Very well, if you promise.” Boromir said, knowing hobbits take promises very seriously. He regarded the two, wondering if what he was doing was right, then he shrugged internally, thinking, this is, after all, war…

“We promise!” Faro said, his green eyes sparkling.

“Yes, yes! Now tell us!” added Theo.

“All right,” Boromir agreed solemnly. “Don’t bathe.”

“Don’t bathe?” Theo looked puzzled.

“Don’t bathe, not until you are fully grown,” Boromir said again. “It stunts your growth and makes you weak.”

The rest of the visit Boromir spent feeling greatly satisfied, as long as he stood upwind from his young charges. When letters from their parents arrived saying they had returned, he sent the youngsters home. His strategy was about to pay off handsomely. It was only two days later when Pippin and Merry showed up. Boromir could read their faces as they approached. They were familiar with his schedule by now, and intended to catch him just as he finished his market day work. They knew. Oh, yes, they knew. He began to laugh out loud. Pippin and Merry approached him, scowling.

“Boromir,” Pippin said crossly, “You have to sort this out! They smell like wet rats!”

“Not ‘til you call your wives off,” Boromir said firmly. “No more match-making!”

Pippin looked furious. He crossed his arms. Boromir looked right back at him. He very consciously crossed his own considerable arms. Green eyes locked with green eyes. Boromir meant to win this contest of wills, and waited until he saw Pippin first begin to flag, then altogether wilt.

“I knew it!” Merry crowed, “I win! You owe me a beer!”

“Oh, be quiet, Merry! This isn’t funny.”

“Well, actually it is,” his cousin retorted, “You’re just not ready to laugh yet.”

“Oh, Merry, hush!” glowered Pippin, “You aren’t helping.”

“Well, I don’t blame him. Have you seen the poulterer’s daughter?”

Pippin sagged. “Yes,” he muttered, shuddering.

Some two weeks later Boromir lay in his narrow bed. He was listening for that presence he called the Light. The still, small voice that any can hear -- if they listen hard enough -- told him he had done well so far, but he still had much to do.

He would keep his promise to see a healer in Bree, but after that, he would need to go to Hobbiton. It was time to pay a visit to Sam. He had tried so hard to forgive himself for trying to take the Ring, but it was hard. Somewhere inside himself, he still felt he ought to be punished. He knew the Light had forgiven him, but somehow he could not forgive himself. Perhaps when he talked to Sam, this inner wound would heal.

With the exception of missing Faramir very much, life was now very good for Boromir. There had been no more matches. He now had everything he needed: his own home, good friends, plenty of money and the companionship of Merry and Pippin, their wives and their two young ones. Yes, life was…matchless.

Chapter 11

What Friends Do

Boromir spurred his mount on, pushing her to keep going when he knew the effort might well be the death of her, but he dared not stop now. She was exhausted, covered in lather, and her sides heaved like a great bellows. He dared not take time to rest until he caught up with Faramir and his men though it seemed he had been pushing the mare for countless leagues now. At last he spotted them following the trail left by iron-shod boots. Perhaps his horse would be spared after all.

Faramir’s grim countenance spoke to Boromir of the desperation which held sway over them all as he reined in his mare. As soon as he caught up to them he dismounted, but had gone no more than a few paces when he heard his mount hit the ground with a heart-wrenching grunt of pain and exhaustion. Turning, he walked back to where the mare laid, her sides heaving and bright, bright blood foaming from both mouth and nostrils. Her large, liquid eyes rolled with agony and terror. He fell to his knees at the mare’s head.

“Poor thing,” he murmured, “fate has dealt us a cruel hand, bold lady. You should never have had to suffer this fate.” In his mind’s eye he could see himself and Faramir when they were boys, as they clung to her back. He could almost feel her mane against his beardless cheek as they raced along the bridle path, his arms holding her around her long, graceful neck. With one hand he stroked the side of her head affectionately, drawing his dagger with the other hand. “Great is your heart, lady, yet to my sorrow it has burst. Sleep now, and take your rest.” Though it wrenched his heart to do so, he must fulfill his duty to her. He owed her a merciful death, and there was nothing to do now but fulfill his obligations to her.

His dagger was quick and true, slicing through the great vessels in her neck. Her blood gushed forth in a dark freshet as his eyes filled with tears of sorrow and anger, tears which fell with a soft splash into the growing pool of blood. He spoke softly to her as she slipped away to suffer no longer. Somehow the death of this wonderful beast angered him even more. “Those monsters will pay, this I vow, lady,” he bent and kissed the side of her head as she breathed her last. Rising, he wiped the bloody dagger on the battered grass, sheathed the blade and caught up with Faramir.

On they went, the brothers and their men, even eating on the run, mile after brutal mile. They dared not tarry. At last they caught up to the Orcs and hemmed them in against a sheer rock wall. Exhaustion burned off like fog under the bright sun upon seeing what they had done. In his nineteen years of life, Boromir had never been this angry. His rage was a perfect rage. There was no merciful death for the Orcs that day. Even gentle Faramir hacked at them, hewing them down in righteous wrath.

How could they? How could they? He had always known the evil Orcs were capable of, but until this day he had never considered just how evil they could be.

How could they?

It was… monstrous…

Boromir woke with a wail of grief, bolt upright. He was wet with sweat. His chest and left arm hurt horribly, and the wetness on his face was not from sweating, but tears born of ancient heartache. Ever was it thus, when these nightmares visited their outrage upon him, but this time it was much worse. By the time the pain became more manageable and his emotions were mastered, it was nearly dawn. No sense in trying to sleep now. Merry and Pippin were right. He must see a healer.

A bit of bread with butter and honey and a cup of tea served to break his fast. After a quick dip in the little pool he was ready to harness his ponies. Having loaded the wagon the previous evening, he was soon on his way. It had become his habit to begin his marketing from Brandy Hall. There he normally would spend the remainder of the day as well as the night, rising early yet again. After rising from Estella’s breakfast table, which was always laden with what would amount to a fine feast in Gondor, he would soon be on his way to the Breelands. Today, however, he departed from his usual stop at Brandy Hall. The Tooks were visiting, and Boromir knew if he started his journey there, by the time he had finished greeting everyone he would be far behind schedule.

So this day, he departed from his little house on the edge of the Old Forest. He sighed, thinking of his promise about the healer. He never had liked seeing a healer, but he knew he could not put it off any longer. Besides, he had made a promise, and Men of Gondor, like hobbits, take promises very seriously. He was well on his way before the dew had time to dissipate. Later in the afternoon, it would be unbearably hot, but this early in the morning, riding in the lane shaded by huge oaks and ancient alders, it was warm, but still quite pleasant. He looked up through the branches. The sky was a wonderful, crystalline blue, and the day was turning out to be more pleasant than he had hoped. Looking about from the wagon, he took in the landscape. His new home was so green, very green, and very beautiful. He breathed in the clear air and smelled freesia and wild lilac.

“Well, Boromir,” he said to himself, “you used to wonder what it was about this place the hobbits love so much, and now you know. Even in Imladris, even in the Golden Wood, you used to hear them speak of it with such great love. You wondered how any place could be so wonderful that they would love it as much as you love Minas Tirith, and now you know. You have fooled about and fallen in love with it, yourself. And there is much here to love, indeed. If only Faramir… ” He sighed and smiled sadly to himself.

“What would Galapas say at a time like this? Ah, I can hear him now! ‘Do not dwell in the times which are passed. Rather, look at the days passed as a garden you may visit, yet in which it is not wise to dwell. Among the fragrant petals are thorns that may tear the flesh and blind the eye to the blessing of the present.’ A most wise and kindly old man was my Master Galapas, and I miss him sorely. So much he saw with his blind eyes! Ah, here we are at the fork of the road.”

Bree, as usual, was all a bustle. Dry weather left the streets dusty, and the trafficking of buyers, sellers and citizens stirred the dust, making for thirsty traveling. A cool drink of water would be welcome, and he knew there would be plentiful offers of ale and wine from his customers. Today was a good day to accept such hospitality. As he passed by the first few residences, a group of children -- little urchins from poor families of both Big Folk and Halfling -- spotted him and ran behind his wagon calling out to him.

“The Beeman is here!”

“Beeman! Beeman, it’s the Beeman!”

“Honeycomb, Beeman, honeycomb, please?”

He smiled at the young ones, the children of Men and Hobbits, who played and lived side by side. This was why he so loved this town, and he wished there was more places like it. This was always his favorite part of market day in Bree, the greetings from these young ones, for Boromir held the young of all people as life’s great promise for the future and life’s great treasure of the present day. As was his custom, he stopped his wagon and pulled a rather large earthen pot and a basket from under his seat. These little ones, being poor, would rarely or never enjoy sweets as the children of the more well-to-do might. They were thin and ragged, but well scrubbed, and though faded, patched and worn, their garments were not unclean. Life was not easy for them, yet their bright faces and cheerful voices gave no hint of their suffering, and their large eyes glittered with delight when they saw him. He had brought some extra honey-and-seed cakes, and these he handed out to each child along with pieces of comb dripping with honey. Smiling, he watched them eat the little cakes with an appetite that bespoke food too little and not often enough. The honeycomb they liked to chew. It was probably the closest thing to candy these ragged little things ever got, and it did Boromir’s heart good to see them enjoy his gifts.

He watched them scurry off after giving him thanks. From the inside of a doorway a woman with a mop and bucket watched him, a smile on her pretty face, her hazel eyes shining warmly at his kindness. Dabbing her brow with a worn handkerchief, she nodded to him as though he had her thanks as well, then she picked up her mop and bucket and disappeared into the residence where she was, no doubt, no more than a servant. Climbing back into the wagon, he traveled down the street, listening to merchants and customers in the daily barter, squabble and gossip of a busy market.

“This bread is stale, I can’t pay you that much for it!”

“Aye, ‘tis a fine pup, and out of old Goatleaf’s Maisy, no better deerhound in these parts!”

“The price is dear, but we’ll take him.”

“I’ll sooner pay a pig for a penny-whistle as sell you this wool at that price!”

“Look, the Beeman is in town! It’s candles I shall buy for her wedding gift.”

“Did you know she was married?”

“You mean before now?

“There is the Beeman! Will you look at the size of that boot! The shoe-maker says it takes a cow and a barrel of shoe-tacks for him to go properly shod.”

“And did you know she had the nerve to say my pickling spices were all wrong?”

“But father, it is such a pretty hat, and I need a new one so badly!”

“Well, your old one is looking more like a bird’s nest than a hat. We’ll take it.”

“He’s a good son to his mother, but he always smells like cheese and garlic.”

“Madam, your little one has just taken a bite out of this. You’ll have to buy it now.”

“They say he fought in the war along with the Thain and the Master of Brandy Hall, but I have my doubts. He is too gentle to be a soldier, so my mother says.”

Boromir lifted a friendly hand and waved, muttering to himself through his forced grin, “May not a soldier be a soldier and also know something of gentleness? But I suppose your mother fought in many campaigns… the prattling old man-trap.” Ah, there was the bakery. Boromir loved doing business there, for he had a prodigious sweet tooth, and the baker made wonderful pastries. He was always generous with them, so Boromir always stopped here first. There were also some smaller inns and boarding houses as well as more than a few little shops where he sold both honey and candles. In between, he located the healer. He was told to return at half-past two, so he went to his last stop, the Prancing Pony, to complete his deliveries and take his mid-day meal.

By this time the air had become quite hot and stuffy. Being a Southerner by birth could have its advantages, for when one is born in a kindly clime, Boromir reflected, one understands the value of a more leisurely pace, especially in high summer. The Prancing Pony was cool and dark, a perfect place to escape the heat, and he could smell the toothsome aroma of roast beef. The inn was busy and noisy, as it ever seemed to be, and he rather enjoyed watching people. He was perhaps a little more sociable than he had been, and he knew his friends had had a healing effect on him in this way. The two hobbits had changed since he first met them, yet somehow they were the same. Merry was still more studious and serious, though he seemed to laugh a bit more than he used to. Pippin was still just Pippin; Boromir had never met any creature that seemed to so love life and song and laughter as Pippin Took, yet now he seemed a bit more serious at times, and seemed to weigh his actions a bit more than he used to. Yes, they all had changed, and he wondered what his friends might think of the changes in himself.

The wives and sons of both his friends had become dear to him, and he wondered if he would ever find that happiness that comes with a wife and family. Once he had almost known this happiness with his Ruby. After all this time, he still missed her, and still mourned the baby boy that had died with her. He found himself feeling a little envious of his hobbit friends in that regard. Still, he supposed he might someday love again, but who could say? At least he would never have to suffer an arranged marriage as so many of his former station had.

He was brought out of this reverie by a bit of a scuffle between two women. Apparently, one had made some remark about the father of the other woman, and they were becoming quite loud. One of the women was the servant girl who had smiled so prettily at him in the doorway with her mop and bucket. She was not smiling now. The other woman pushed the servant girl. It was time to go; he did not wish to be caught here if an outright catfight ensued.

He walked out of the inn into the midsummer sun and squinted his eyes in the bright light. Such a beautiful day... and to have to spend making deliveries and sitting with a healer, to be poked and prodded and questioned! He sauntered across the busy street and walked into the healer’s front room. Along the wall were many shelves holding numerous bottles and jars of unguents, ointments, balms, powders, rubs, oils and potions along with herbs, and yet more herbs tied in bundles among the rafters. The place smelled perfectly awful. The old man who served Bree as a healer was a bit bossy and overbearing but thorough, and soon his examination was over. His troubles sprang, of course, from his old wounds.

Merry had been right. The healer wanted him to take a brew of foxglove mixed with willow-bark and a few other noisome-smelling ingredients to be boiled and consumed as a medicinal tea. He was assured that if he followed the healer’s advice, his discomfort would ease and he would breathe more easily. It cost a pretty penny, but after all, a promise is a promise; in addition, he knew, as Galapas had oft said, that pain was inevitable, but suffering need not be. His friends were right. He needed this medicine, though he hated to admit this to himself.

As he was just about to leave, a woman burst through the door. She held a bloody handkerchief to her nose. Boromir recognized her immediately as being one of the arguing women at the Prancing Pony, the servant girl, in fact.

“Now, Saro, what’s this about, this time?” asked the healer, shaking his head in disapproval.

“What do you think? It is not easy having a man like Bill Ferny as your father. Everyone takes his misdeeds out on me. For all the good it has done me, I might just as well have stayed in Combe,” the woman said. “It seems I shall never be Saro, but only ‘that foul Bill Ferny’s daughter’ no matter how I try!”

Bill Ferny? Oh, that fellow, thought Boromir. Poor thing, her life must be a nightmare. He decided to take his medicine and get out of the way. The woman’s nose was bleeding a river and would need to be set. Boromir hoped it would not spoil her looks, as she was quite pretty. Perhaps not a beauty, but she was certainly easy on the eyes. She did seem a bit, well, scratchy, though. He supposed this was understandable. She really ought to leave Bree and her father’s ill name behind her. Perhaps she was too poor. And she had tried moving from Combe. If only she could find a good man to marry, she could leave the name Ferny behind her. If any man knew the good of a fresh start, it was himself, after all.

Wrapped in these thoughts, Boromir stepped out of the little shop back into the sunlight. After the dimness of the healer’s rooms, the bright light robbed him of his vision, and he had to squint his eyes down to slits. Something bumped against a leg and he heard an “Oomph!” followed by an “Och!” He looked down and saw none other than Peregrin Took, sitting on his backside in the dusty street.

“Pippin! I am terribly sorry, I did not see you!” He helped Pippin up and brushed dust from his friend. Pippin batted his hands away irritably and Boromir bit back a smile. The hobbit stood with his arms crossed in what Boromir recognized as his one and only don’t hand me any nonsense pose. The sight made Boromir smile.

“What are you doing here, Pippin? Had I known you would be coming this way we could have ridden together.” Boromir grinned. So, he thought, as if I do not know what you are up to, you rascal! Looking in on me as if I am a wayward child, are you?

“What am I doing? Why, spying on you, as if you haven’t figured that out,” Pippin said, impudent as ever.

“Yes, I thought as much.”

“Then you haven’t forgot whom you are dealing with,” Pippin said imperiously. “If I can spy on my own cousin, I can certainly spy on you!”

“I see. So this is how you treat your friends!”

“In fact, it is! You can depend on me for a great many things, my good Man, among them making sure you kept your promise to take better care of your health.” Now Pippin gave him that sunny smile and a nudge with his elbow, and they strolled down the street at a leisurely pace. “That is what friends do, you know, they look out after each other. And sometimes that means doing things you might not like so much.”

“Speaking of keeping promises, I made one to myself,” Boromir said. “Would you be interested in joining me in a visit to the Gamgee household?”

Pippin smiled at him warmly, as if he had long expected this conversation would eventually come up.

“Of course I will come with you. I was wondering when you would get around to it.” The friends paused at the hitching post where Dapplegrim waited. As Pippin gathered the reins the pony regarded Boromir with bright eyes and nodded his head as if in greeting. “But tell me about your visit to the healer.” Pippin said, leading his precious Dapplegrim to the back of Boromir’s wagon, where he fastened the reins. He climbed into the wagon alongside Boromir, and the Man and the Hobbit set off.

“It is my old wounds which plague me,” Boromir said. “The healer says I must have some scars around my heart and lungs. He gave me some herbs, just as Merry said, and though there is no cure, I can use the herbs to ease my pain and help me to breathe easier.”

Pippin laid his hand on Boromir’s arm and gave it a gentle squeeze, his face a picture of both gratitude as well as sorrow, but said nothing. Speech was of little use to these two just now. The unspoken words said everything the friends needed to say.

“How is Merry, and how are your wives and sons?”

“If by that you mean did you stay at Brandy Hall, and did Diamond and Faro come along, the answer is yes. We are all fine, and Diamond and Faro are at Brandy Hall right now, with Merry.”

“I see,” Boromir said, struggling not to smile. Apparently all the members of both families had conspired to spy on him. “Pippin?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think perhaps…?”

“Yes, they will all want to come along. A visit with Sam and Rosie is overdue anyway.”

“Then perhaps it is time…?”

“If you are saying you are now comfortable enough with Diamond and Estella to tell them who you really are, then I would agree it is time to do so. Once Sam sees you, they will find out anyway.”

Boromir looked at Pippin, eyes shining and smiling broadly. Only Faramir had ever been able to read his heart like that.

“Pippin?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you. You are a most excellent companion, and a good friend.”

Pippin returned Boromir’s smile, and without having to say so, told Boromir the feeling was mutual. They arrived at Brandy Hall in time for a late supper, and Boromir had to give an account of his visit with the healer to Merry and the others. Without a word, Estella put the copper on and made preparations to set coffee brewing for good measure, as Merry examined the herbal tea Boromir had purchased, sniffing it and wrinkling his nose at the smell. As the brew steeped, Merry pushed the honey-pot towards Boromir.

“You’re going to need to sweeten it well, going by the smell of it,” Merry said. Even with the honey to cover the taste, it must have been awful, and Merry had to laugh at the face Boromir made when he drank the tea. The Man wished he could be drinking the same tea as Diamond, just plain tea, no fussy herbs. Even Estella's coffee would be nectar by comparison. “I suppose you know we’ve been wondering for a while when you were going to get around to visiting Sam.”

“So I’ve been told,” replied Boromir, nudging Pippin’s elbow. “I cannot help but wonder what else about me has been discussed.” Diamond choked and nearly spewed her tea at the last statement, and Boromir looked at her just in time to see Estella elbow her friend with no small force.

Boromir’s eyes and Diamond’s locked. An unbearable silence ensued, lasting long enough to bring all conversation to a dead halt. He looked from Diamond to Estella, who cleared her throat and pretended to be pouring cream into her coffee, which, Boromir noted, appeared to be a thing most strange since there was not a drop of coffee in the cup.

“Estella, either you have changed the way you take your coffee or you have begun to give your cat her cream in your cup,” Boromir observed.

Estella sighed and slumped a little, looking at Diamond. The silence became awkward yet again. At last Boromir could bear it no more.

“Ladies,” he said softly, schooling his voice carefully so as to sound as gentle as possible, “am I right in assuming you two have something you would like to say?”

“All right! All right, then, we confess!” Diamond exclaimed. “Estella and I think… well, we have begun to wonder… well, you see, it’s just that things are so different since Merry and Pippin found you in the Old Forest.”

“Different? Would you be so kind as to explain this?” said Boromir, reaching across the table to lay his hand gently on her forearm.

“Well, it’s Pippin,” she said.

“Pippin…?” Boromir appeared very confused.

“When he looks to the West at sunset, he is never melancholy anymore, as he used to be. And… well, he used to have such terrible nightmares. He would call out, call out for Boromir, his friend whom the Orcs attacked. Since I first met you he hasn’t had the nightmares any more, not even once, and… ”

“And Merry had nightmares just the same,” Estella said, “but then you came, and his nightmares stopped, too so…”

“So we began to wonder how this could be,” Diamond added, “but we didn’t want to ask Merry and Pippin, in case they had some agreement with you. We thought there must be a reason you wanted to keep a secret, if it is true that you really are the Boromir…”

“And we did not like the idea of just asking you, either,” Estella continued. “Because if you are who we think you are, and if you have a reason for not wanting anyone to know, it would put you in a very bad place. You would be forced either to tell a lie or to tell us to mind our own business, and I think you do not like either choice.”

“We want you to understand,” said Diamond, “that if you really are the Boromir we think you are, and if you wish to keep your secret, the secret would be safe with us. If you are the one, then surely you must know how dear you are to our families. In fact, it would be as if you are family, as every member in the Fellowship is a part of the family, in a manner of speaking, and families stick together.”

All this time Boromir had sat listening to the ladies, his head bowed, his fingers tented, as though in some deep thought. Diamond and Estella looked at each other worriedly, each wondering if perhaps they had gone too far. Boromir’s shoulders were shaking, and the ladies were sure he was struggling with some dark and ancient hurt. Estella, ever the most tender of heart, went to him and laid her hand softly on one trembling shoulder. He raised his face to them, and to the surprise of all Boromir laughed.

He laughed so hard he couldn’t speak, so hard that tears coursed down his cheeks. The muddled expressions on the faces of Diamond and Estella seemed to make him laugh even harder.

“What in the world!” Diamond finally managed.

She looked to her husband in confusion, only to find Pippin doubled over with laughter himself. Wiping his eyes, Pippin took Diamond’s hand. “My dear, we do not laugh at you and Estella,” Pippin said, “It is only that on the way here, Boromir brought this very subject up, himself.”

“Then, he really is…” Diamond said, rising from her chair to stand beside Estella before the Man.

“Yes, I really am,” Boromir answered, finally mastering his laughter. “Truly, I do not laugh at you, my dear, dear ladies. I did indeed discuss this with Pippin on the way here, I should have known you two would figure it out in one way or another, so truly it is myself I laugh at. However, more than this, I laugh with relief. I liked not at all keeping my secret from you, for from the first I liked and admired you, and now you are dear to my heart. The secret weighed heavily upon me, and I am glad to have the weight of it taken away.”

“Well,” said Diamond, arching one brow, “we shall have plenty to talk about on the way to Hobbiton, then. You, sir, owe us the telling of your tale in full.”

“You shall have it in full,” Boromir answered warmly.

“And please, you foolish Man,” Estella said, “Do not think us incapable of understanding why you wished to keep your secret. If your reason was good enough for our husbands, it will be good enough for us.”

“We will look after your secret, Boromir!” Diamond said, “You have been a great friend to our husbands, we have heard all about how you looked after them.”

“’Twas no trouble to look after them,” Boromir smiled, and with a wink to Pippin added, “That is what friends do, you know.”

Authors Note: I did not write The Mewlips, the poem is Tolkien’s from the excellent book A Tolkien Miscellany. As usual the characters are not mine and I make no money from this not for profit story. Thanks to my reviewers, I both fear and love feedback, and it means a great deal to read your opinions. Thanks also to Lindelea, who is a most excellent author, and whose suggestions and help with editing I could not do without.

Chapter 12

Of Mewlips and Mysterious Nightmares

In the small hours of the morning a gentle summer rain had fallen. This was good news to the travelers, for the roads wouldn’t be so dusty, at least on the first leg of the journey. As Boromir rose and washed his face he could smell Estella’s ham cooking in the private kitchen. Estella had a way with a good ham, and the anticipation of enjoying the fruit of her culinary prowess made little fountains well up under Boromir’s tongue.

The table in the great dining hall was laden with every kind of tasty breakfast item a Man could ask for, except for one thing. As the hobbits joined him at the table, Pippin recognized the look of longing on Boromir’s face.

“I know that look! Many a time I saw you looking like that on our journey,” Pippin said, helping himself to a large portion of mushrooms, which he spooned atop a small mountain of eggs. “You always looked like that when you were thinking of Gondor and missed being at home.”

Boromir sighed. “You always had a knack for reading my heart,” Boromir replied. “I was only just thinking of these little white cakes we have in Gondor. Every morning Faramir and I broke our fast with coffee and a few of those cakes. I don’t suppose you ever…?”

“In fact,” said Merry, “we did have them, when we were in Gondor. We grew quite fond of them, though I admit to my astonishment I have never thought to send a letter asking for the recipe.”

“Pray, do not let it spoil your appetites that I was thinking of home,” Boromir said, “Besides, the feast that sits before me has no rival. Galapas would have something to say about my mood, I am certain.”

Pippin stopped in mid-chew to look quizzically at his friend and Merry said, “Well? Aren’t you going to tell us?”

Boromir laughed, thinking that he should ever be aware of leaving any statement open-ended with a hobbit, then answered, “He would say that one can only achieve peace of heart and mind by wanting what one has, not by having what one wants.”

“How so?” Merry said.

“Well, if you think you can only be happy by having what you want, then you’ll never be happy, because as soon as you get what you want, you’ll only begin to want something else. The wiser course lies in wanting what you already have.”

The hobbits all stopped chewing for a moment and there was not a single sound of the tap of fork on plate as they pondered what he had just said. The scene was quite comic, but Boromir only allowed himself a smile. He would not have his friends think he was laughing at them. But hobbits take their repasts quite seriously, and soon they returned to the business of eating, though Merry nodded and remarked, “Your Galapas sounds like a very wise fellow.”

“I hope you will tell us more about him, once you have finished telling Diamond and Estella your story,” Pippin said around a mouthful of ham.

“I can scarcely wait to hear what you have to say,” Diamond added, though she had been careful to swallow before speaking.

“If we don’t leave soon, I shall certainly die of curiosity,” Estella said adding cream to her coffee. “The tale is bound to make for an interesting journey! I see we will have some of that ham to take with us. Diamond and I made custard pies yesterday, and there are still plenty of those to take along as well.”

“Don’t forget the pickled eggs!” said Theo.

“Or the dried figs!” added Faro.

“We know, we know,” Diamond said, “or the seed-cakes, or the mushrooms, or the cheese…”

“Which roads do we take?” asked Boromir.

“Once we get on the East Road it is a fairly straight shot,” Merry said.

“Will we stop at Whitfurrows and Frogmorton?” Diamond asked.

“I should think so,” Pippin replied. “Our journey will last some few days, weather allowing. We shall sleep under the stars for quite a few nights, and I don’t see why we need be in any great hurry. Instead I would like to show Boromir how we hobbits take a holiday. It isn’t so far that we couldn’t get there in two days if we wanted, but I should very much like it if we would take our time. A night or two in a real bed will be a welcome respite, but I’m looking forward to making camp. The lads love it, and you, my pet,” Pippin said to Diamond, “have been far and away too busy of late. You could use a little time to forget your duties, and the moon will be full. How lovely my darling wife is in the moonlight! And the fresh air will do you good, no doubt.”

“We can all benefit from this little holiday, cousin! It has been a long time since we took our families camping together,” Merry said, his eyes brightening at the thought. “We used to go together often, Boromir; Pippin’s family and mine. Our duties seem to multiply, while the time we like to spend with our families seems to dwindle. We should set more time aside for such things. It seems the older I grow, the shorter grow the days. At this rate, we shall be old and grey before you know it.”

“We shall all be old and grey before we even get on the road, if we sit here talking much longer,” said Pippin. “Let us make ready. I’m sure Diamond and Estella are ready to hear Boromir’s tale, and to be truthful, I should like to hear the account again.”

“Have you supplies left in your wagon, Boromir?” asked Merry. He knew a Man moving through the Shire as a merchant would be expected to carry merchandise.

“Aye,” he answered. “I expect I shall be leaving some with Sam. It is only fitting, after all.”

“Then let us make ready and go,” Merry said, rising from his seat. “I have tents enough for us all, though you, Boromir, may have to stick your feet out of yours!”

“No need to worry for my feet,” Boromir said, “I have my own tent in my wagon.”

The morning was still young when they set off. The youngsters were allowed to drive the coach belonging to the Tooks as a special treat, while the adults rode with Boromir in his wagon. They were well on their way on the East Road before Boromir finished his tale

“My goodness!” Estella said, “What a story you have to tell! Rescued by Wild Men, tutelage by a wise old hermit, love found and lost, self-banishment, and now living in the Old Forest!”

“I am so sorry you feel you can never see your brother again, Boromir,” Diamond added. “You sacrifice much for the sake of Prince Faramir and the King. But there is another sacrifice I would speak of just now.”

“As would I,” Estella said. “Diamond and I have often thought of that Boromir before we ever knew you were he, indeed, since we first learned of what you did at Amon Hen.”

Boromir, suddenly intent on studying his boots hung his head and said, “What I did at Amon Hen…”

“Yes,” said Diamond. “You were willing to die to save our husbands. For that, we loved you before we ever knew you, and though our Beeman is dear to our hearts, you are even dearer to us now. And so long have our husbands grieved your loss, now that you are here, it is as if a dark curtain has been drawn aside for them.”

“I thank you for your kind words,” Boromir said, “but please, it was no more than any friend would do. I could not desert my brothers-in-arms. I would rather have died where I stood by their side, my sword in this good right hand, than to leave them to the tender mercies of those… monstrous, monstrous… creatures.”

“Nonsense!” Estella cried. “Many would have deserted them. You did not. We know how badly you wanted to go home to your city and your family, yet you chose to fight, when you must have known what would happen to you.”

“And we are glad you did not die, as we thought,” Diamond added. “Though it saddens me to think you shan’t see your brother again, if you had not come, well, Merry and Pippin would still be grieving you. But can you never let your presence be known? Must you remain ‘dead’ to those you love at home, and to the King?”

“There may be another way, but if there is,” Boromir said, head bent, “I cannot see it. It is a matter of honor, I fear. I cannot bring shame on my brother’s name, and I cannot bring confusion to the King’s Court, which my presence would certainly do. The Kingdoms of Anor and Ithil are at last safe and secure, and in good hands. It is my duty, dear ladies, that I do nothing to disturb this time of peace and prosperity. It is the least I can do, since… ” Heaviness settled around him, and he was loath to speak further. “I should have been more wary of Sauron’s wiles,” he continued, his voice so low it seemed he spoke only to himself. “So desperate was I to save my city that I forgot the dangers of ignoring good counsel. Deeds both rash and ill, indeed, ought to be settled, in this life or the next. I choose to make my payment in this life.”

“Well, you know best in that matter, I suppose,” Estella said, patting his hand warmly. “But I cannot pretend I am content that your brother must think you dead, still. I am sorry if my words upset you, but it just doesn’t seem right, somehow.”

“In truth, neither am I content,” Boromir said. “But if there is another path, it is yet to be revealed to me. But if no other path is to be revealed, I will remain where I am. I feel I have been led here, for what purpose I know not. So though I would it were different, yet I am satisfied to dwell here, close to my friends. But come, let us not dwell on it! Galapas used to say that most of the things we find worrisome are things that never come to pass, or things we have not the power to alter. Wisdom lies rather in understanding which path is passable, and then having the courage and faith to follow that path.”

“That is certainly food for thought,” said Merry, “And speaking of food and paths, our path has gone on long enough without food! Just ahead is a shady spot that is perfect for resting and eating. Who wants some more of that ham?”

Just around a gentle bend in the road they spied the place Merry spoke of: a rutted path, which veered away and then rejoined the East road. There they idled away a little over two hours before moving on toward Whitfurrows. They were traveling in the manner of hobbits on a holiday, which meant they could take their time. A third of the way to Whitfurrows they stopped to camp for the night. There was a rough, well-rutted road that led away from the East road to a little garth just far enough away to afford the travelers quiet and privacy. The hobbits had made good use of it many times, as well as others who passed by or through on their way to who-knows-where. The garth was a peaceful and pleasant place to rest or to eat, or both. Tents were pitched and wood gathered by Merry, Theo and Faro while Pippin and Boromir tended the ponies. They then built a fire, over which fat sausages were broiled and potatoes baked.

The travelers sat in a circle around the fire, listening to the juicy sausages sizzling. Waiting for their simple meal to finish cooking, Theo and Faro decided now would be a perfect time for a song or story. Their elders suggested a few, but the youngsters, protesting these were far too tame, were in the mood for something exciting, and in the manner of the young everywhere, they requested a ghost story.

“I have just the thing,” said Pippin. “I wager you’ve not heard this one, Boromir!”

He laughed softly. “I haven’t had such a tale since I was but a lad,” he said. “Give us the tale, then.”

“Well, it is actually more a poem than a tale,” Pippin said. “It goes like this:

“The shadows where the Mewlips dwell
Are dark and wet as ink,
And slow and softly rings their bell,
As in the slime you sink.

“You sink into the slime, who dare
To knock upon their door,
While down the grinning gargoyles stare
And noisome waters pour.

“Beside the rotting river-strand
The drooping willows weep,
And gloomily the gorcrows stand
Croaking in their sleep.

“Over the Merlock Mountains a long and weary way,
In a mouldy valley where the trees are grey,
By a dark pool's borders without wind or tide,
Moonless and sunless, the Mewlips hide.

“The cellars where the Mewlips sit
Are deep and dank and cold
With single sickly candle lit;
And there they count their gold.

“Their walls are wet, their ceilings drip;
Their feet upon the floor
Go softly with a squish-flap-flip,
As they sidle to the door.

“They peep out slyly; through a crack
Their feeling fingers creep,
And when they've finished, in a sack
Your bones they take to keep.

“Beyond the Merlock Mountains, a long and lonely road,
Through the spider-shadows and the marsh of Tode,
and through the wood of hanging tees and the gallows-weed,
You go to find the Mewlips --- and the Mewlips feed.”

“Well,” said Estella, “That should serve to keep us a-jitter tonight!”

“Splendid!” Faro said.

Curious as to Boromir’s liking for the poem, they turned to look at their friend. Pale of face, he seemed to be staring into the fire, then, with a shake like a wet dog, he muttered, “What a… what a poem,” He smiled sheepishly and, seemingly unaware his friends could hear him muttered under his breath, “Monstrous… monstrous… ” Then he cleared his throat and, looking around the group, he laughed half-heartedly.

“What is wrong, Uncle Bom?” asked Theo.

“Did the Mewlips frighten you?” Faro asked.

“Well, of course!” He winked at Pippin, and then turned his attention to the sausages and potatoes.

“Food’s ready,” he said, almost absent-mindedly. He walked to his wagon to fetch a blanket for them to sit on while they ate.

“Is he all right, d’you think?” Pippin said to Merry. “I don’t care for they way the Mewlips affected him. Did you hear his tone? All flat-like and, well, it sounded almost… dead.”

Merry appeared deep in thought for a moment, then whispered, “Perhaps it reminded him of something unpleasant, from his years at war.”

“That sounds likely,” Estella observed. “Let us not disturb unkind memories further, shall we?”

“Yes,” Merry said hastily, “Let’s just eat and speak of other more pleasant things.”

When Boromir returned with the blanket, whatever shadow had crossed his heart seemed at first to have fled, but he became more silent than usual the rest of the evening, mostly staring into the flames. He ate but little, and had to be prodded by Merry to take his medicine. His mood lifted a little when the youngsters sang some silly songs, and for a while all seemed well. But in the small, cool hours of the morning Pippin was suddenly awakened by a sound he could not at first identify. He crept out of his tent, taking care not to disturb Diamond. He followed the sound. As he neared Boromir’s tent, he found the source of the noise. Boromir, apparently in the grip of some unpleasant dream, seemed to be thrashing around in his sleep. There was a loud gasp as of one wakening from a terrible nightmare. Pippin was very still, mindful of not letting Boromir know he had disturbed anyone. He could hear Boromir breathing shakily.

Then he heard his friend speaking softly: “Monstrous, monstrous…” was all he said. At last Boromir’s breathing became easier, and it seemed to Pippin his friend must have laid himself down again. Pippin listened for the steady breathing of a sleeper for some time, but only heard the sound of tossing and turning. He quietly padded back to his tent, sure that the poem about the Mewlips must have stirred up something unpleasant in Boromir’s mind, like a careless stone thrown at a hornet’s nest. He was sure Boromir did not sleep again that night, at least not before Pippin, wondering what the problem might possibly be, dozed off again.

Chapter 13

Fireside Tales and Moonlight Dances

The dawn broke in golden beams through ragged purple clouds, but as they took their morning meal of bread, fruit and cheese the clouds scudded away. Pippin watched Boromir for any further signs of distress, but this morning it seemed he had shaken off whatever it was that had disturbed him, and he seemed eager to start the day.

As they journeyed on Merry and Pippin gave Boromir a full accounting of the Scouring of the Shire. Although their friend had heard the tale he had not yet gotten it first-hand from the hobbit heroes, and many details that had been left out or only sketchily covered was filled in.

“I wish I could have been here to assist you,” he said. “To think that my own kind would do such terrible things in this kindliest of places! If such a black deed were ever to be repeated, be sure I will be there at your side. While I live, let no Man be so foolish as to cause the Shire any distress! My home lies in Gondor, yet it also is here. One thing I do not understand, though: Why has the King not placed an Emissary here? Were such an office to exist, the chances of Men invading the Shire would be far slimmer. Why, ‘tis no more than common sense and good statesmanship!”

“Well,” Pippin said, “Actually that is my post as Thain. You see, the Tooks are much like the line of Stewards.”

“Yes; I do understand that, yet it makes sense, at least to my mind, that the King should send an Emissary to stand by the Thain. With a Man posted as your assistant, the rest of the Shire would see that Men are to be accountable for their actions, and that as Emissary his presence would be a symbol of fealty and good will.”

“I had not thought of it like that,” said Merry. “You may have a point!”

“Well, at any rate,” Boromir said, “whatever the King’s reason for not posting an Emissary, I’m sure it is a good one.”

“And I’m sure you are right,” agreed Pippin. “I am equally sure we shall be in Whitfurrows by tomorrow, and in a timely enough manner to restock our roving larder! We shall stay at the Robin’s Nest Inn tomorrow night. They have a tasty steak and kidney pie there, and the ale is quite good.”

That night they pitched their tents on a small hillock covered with wildflowers. After eating around the fire, Boromir and Pippin turned to face the West as was their custom. Pippin was tempted to ask Boromir about his disturbing dream, but having had such dreams himself, thought it best to leave his worries unspoken. If Boromir wanted to speak of it he would listen, but being familiar with such woes himself, he knew it was best to wait until his friend was ready to speak of it.

There were few trees, so the open sky afforded them a broad view of the moon and stars. There they spread their blankets and lay on their backs, rather like the spokes of a wheel with their feet outermost, and compared notes on the names of the constellations, and how in the Shire a constellation had one name with a story behind it while in Gondor it had another. Faro and Theo loved the new stories and names, asking question after question of Boromir. Often Merry and Pippin exchanged smiling glances, recalling their friend’s patience with them on the quest. The hours passed swift and pleasant, and that night Pippin was relieved to note the shadow on Boromir had retreated. Yet he wondered what it was that had so disturbed his friend.

They woke just before dawn, and as the sun rose, they looked all around them in wonder. Heavy dew had settled on the field of flowers, and the myriad colors of the petals seemed to have been sprinkled with the dust of diamonds as the sun hit the dewdrops. The air was fragrant. Butterflies, like winged jewels, flitted and floated through the air, and the little company sat in their wagons for some time just to watch the scene before setting off once again.

And so their journey went on, to Whitfurrows, where they were glad to find bath and bed and market at which to purchase more supplies. Restored, they were on their way before noon the next day towards Frogmorton, with another two nights beneath the stars between the towns. At Frogmorton Merry and Pippin showed Boromir the place where they had been arrested, and they secured rooms at the Floating Log. Frogs-legs were the specialty there and were to the liking of all the travelers, the dish being new to Boromir. The hobbits were amused with his appetite for them, and Estella remarked that she had at last seen Boromir eat enough to satisfy her. They replenished their supplies yet again, for Faro and Theo were at that age when young hobbits consume thrice their weight a day, seemingly. Estella and Diamond made a point of buying mutton and mushroom pies as well as a deep, wide basket full to the brim with blackberry tarts.

The last camp before they turned towards the Three Farthing Stone was a leisurely two-day affair off the main road some way, under the shade of three great oaks. Here the youngsters pleaded for stories of the Fellowship, and there was plenty of time to accommodate them.

“Just fancy that, Faro,” said Theo. “Walking and walking for leagues and leagues, climbing that horrid mountain, fighting goblins!”

“Yes! And slaying dark creatures: orcs, and troll, and even a Black Rider...” Theo kicked him, and looking at the faces of the grown-ups he hastily amended, "and visiting Elves!"

“I should remind you, lads,” Pippin said, “Gandalf was fond of reminding me it was no hobbit walking-party, and he was right. It was very uncomfortable, very dangerous and exhausting. There were times I thought I might simply collapse, so tired I could almost sleep on the march.”

“And frightening, too,” added Merry. “Also, we missed a lot of meals, I can tell you.”

“Well, I imagine it was all those things, especially frightening, for a hobbit,” Faro said.

“Yes,” said Theo, “but I wager Uncle Bom wasn’t frightened, him being a warrior and all.”

Merry, Pippin and Boromir exchanged glances. The three shared a small smile, and then Boromir said, “Oh, but I was frightened, not a little, and not seldom, either.”

“But, Faro,” Pippin said, “like you, I thought Boromir could never be frightened at first. But then…”

“What?” Faro asked, eyes wide.

“Yes, tell us!” Theo added.

“Well, we had come down from Caradhras,” Pippin said. “That was when we began to hear them: the Wargs.”

Even though they had heard the stories before, the young ones gasped appreciatively. “Oh, yes,” Merry said, “Their howls were enough to freeze the blood. We hardly dared sleep, or even stop to rest for long. We did not know what to do or which path to take. Boromir wanted to go by way of the Gap of Rohan, but Gandalf said that would take us too close to Isengard. It was Gandalf who wanted to travel through Moria.”

“No one could make up their minds what we ought to do,” Pippin said. “That was when we heard the Wargs howling. Gandalf asked who would wish to travel in the dark with those foul creatures on our trail, and I shall never forget…”

“What, what?” asked the youngsters.

“As I remember, we listened to one particularly long, chilling howl. There was a very long silence, when no one made a single sound, and then Boromir said suddenly, ‘How far is Moria?’”

Boromir laughed, “Aye, looking back now, that was rather comic, was it not? But at the time, please believe me when I say I was very frightened. That your fathers have told you I was brave, I doubt not. However, mind you to remember that one must first know fear to know bravery. If not, then what may seem a brave deed is in fact probably foolishness, for only a fool walks knowingly into danger without fear.”

“Even so,” Merry said, “Boromir killed many Wargs, afraid or not. Some will tell you that Men are slow, due to their size, but do not believe it! His sword rivaled even Aragorn’s for speed and accuracy. We would not have got far without him.”

“And for that we are very grateful, dear Boromir,” Diamond said.

“’Twas nothing,” Boromir said. “I was happy to be of service, as a matter of honor as well as fealty. Besides, I had grown rather fond of Merry and Pippin, not a little, and in a very short time. I saw straight away that they were not only loyal but also brave in their own way, to insist on going with the Fellowship. But I confess it was a bitter thing to see them suffer hardship and danger, and I wished to do all I could to guide them in the right direction and to keep them safe. They nearly froze on Caradhras, and Pippin in particular frightened me half to death.”

“Here, here!” Merry said, “Pippin fell ill on the way down. But that is another story.” Yawning hugely, Merry continued, “It is high time we got some sleep! We shall rest here for another day before we finish our journey. We should be able to make the Three Farthing Stone by day after tomorrow, and then it’s on to Bag End.”

“Bag End,” Boromir said. “I have pictured it in my mind many times. Why, I can almost see the door of it, bright green, with a brass doorknob in the exact middle. So often have I thought of Frodo and Sam setting out, with young Pippin in tow!” Boromir heaved a sigh, his brow knitted, as if something weighed heavily on his mind.

I know what you are thinking, you great goose, Pippin thought; you are wishing you might have mended things between yourself and Frodo. And so do I, though I know Frodo would only laugh, and tell you he understood more than you think. But should I tell you this, you would never believe me, thinking I only wanted to smooth things over for you. I wonder if that is what your bad dreams are about? When you say ‘monstrous’, are you accusing yourself? If only you could have talked with Frodo! He could have set things straight for you and eased your burden. But at least there is still Sam. Best you talk the matter over with Sam; he will know what to say. Good old Sam. He will never understand that he is wiser than he allows.

But he only said, “Yes, we should all turn in. I need to rise early, to check my snares for rabbits. And tomorrow, Boromir, you shall do the cooking! Diamond and Estella have yet to sample your rabbit stew!”

The following day they spent walking, telling tales and sharing songs. The snares had yielded a generous catch, and while Boromir cooked, the hobbits went berry picking, bringing back a basket full of the wild fruit. These they stewed over the fire and served over toasted bread, sparing the blackberry tarts for a picnic at the Three Farthing Stone. They had found a little spring where they could bathe in the cold, clear water, and that night Pippin danced with Diamond under the stars as Merry sang a sweet love song to Estella. The youngsters found the whole affair quite uninteresting, and before the song was done they had fallen asleep leaning against Boromir on either side. Boromir sat very still, so as not to wake them, watching the two couples with a wistful smile. No one saw or heard him as he turned his face skyward and whispered, “Oh, Ruby, how I miss you.”

Later, as the rest of the little company slept, Boromir found his mind wandering back to Bree and thinking of Saro Ferny with her mop and bucket, smiling wistfully at him as he handed out treats to the children of the poor, and thinking of those warm hazel eyes, he fell into a peaceful sleep.

Chapter 14

Of Wishes and Squirrels and Round Doors of Green

Pippin woke early the day they were to finish the last leg of their sojourn. Silently he slipped out of the tent he and Diamond shared, yawned hugely and stretched so hard he went up on his toes. The sun had not yet risen; the tag end of the night slowly dimmed the remaining stars. He gave his ribs a good scratch, then strolled to the remnants of the fire to add wood for the cooking of their morning repast. As he placed the wood over the coals, he heard footfalls behind him.

“Good morning!” Boromir said cheerily. Pippin turned to see his friend smiling and scratching his own ribs. “I hope you rested well. As for myself, I slept like the dead.” He joined Pippin by the coals, crouching to help the hobbit blow them back into a small flame.

“Well, you are in a fine mood this morning,” Pippin observed. “I’m glad you rested well last night.”

There was a short silence as Boromir regarded his friend. “May I assume from your remark that you noticed I do not always rest so well?” Boromir finally said, sitting down tailor-fashion before the fire.

“Och! No, I did not intend to imply anything of the sort. I am sorry.” Pippin heaved a sigh. “I wasn’t going to mention it, but since you brought it up, yes; I have noticed it.”

“I see,” Boromir replied. He picked up a twig and began to draw in the dust around the fire.

“Please, don’t feel discomfited because I know about the nightmares,” Pippin said, laying a hand on Boromir’s shoulder. “I may be an inquisitive fool of a Took, but I will not ask you to speak of it. All I ask is that you remember this: If you ever do wish to speak of it, you can tell me. I promise to keep your confidences. But let us speak no more of it! If you wish to talk with me about it, I am more than willing to help, and if not then I can respect your wishes in this as well. You do not have to say anything. I shan’t press you.”

Boromir continued to scratch in the dust with his twig, and then he raised his eyes and looked at his friend. A small, sad smile crept across his features. “You are the most excellent of friends, dear Pippin. How wise you have grown! Come; let us leave such matters behind us today. This is a day for better things! How shall we start the day today?”

“Why, with breakfast, of course, you great goose!” Pippin said, poking Boromir in the ribs. “What else?”

Boromir playfully rolled his eyes and shook his head in mock disbelief. “Hobbits! Someone really should have warned me about hobbits.”

“Well, I like that!” countered Pippin, “I’ve yet to see you turn down good hobbit fare.”

“Nor are you likely to,” Boromir said. “You cook. I’ll fetch some water.”

By the time the rest awoke everything was ready. There was tea and toast with a variety of wild berries, and bacon fried crisp yet still chewy, and porridge steaming in the big iron pot with pools of melted butter atop, and afterwards a visit to the little stream to wash their faces and hands. Having washed and put away the pots and pans, along with tents and blankets, the ladies and youngsters scrambled into wagons and onto saddles As Pippin dallied a moment to talk to Dapplegrim, Boromir noticed Merry eyeing him. He raised his eyebrows in a silent question—What is the matter?

Careful to speak softly, Merry said, “Boromir, I beg your pardon, but I must ask… the poem about the Mewlips, did it disturb you because of… That is, was it because...”

Hastily Boromir placed a finger across his lips for silence, giving an almost imperceptible nod. “I never told him, you know,” he whispered. “Pray do not mention it now, he will only think we’ve kept secrets from him. He was too young to hear it then, and too afraid. If he finds out now that we never let on, he will only feel left out. Best to let it lie as it is, at least for now.”

Merry silently nodded in agreement, but he doubted the reasoning. There must be more to it than that. Perhaps this was a wound which might well fester as long as his large friend lived, for some wounds are too deep ever to heal completely. For now, Merry would, as Boromir said, let it lie, as it were. Besides, it was as plain as plain Boromir had enough on his mind. This journey was important to him; that much was easy enough to see. First things first. The visit with Sam would be several steps closer to the healing Boromir sought, and he seemed well enough for now, all things considered. Besides, the weather was fair this morning, and the day held the promise of good things to come. Merry gave an assertive nod to himself and took his seat in the wagon beside Estella. “Pippin, when you and Dapplegrim have finished your counsels, may we please be on our way? It is getting hot already!”

“All right,” Pippin shouted back, and took his place beside Diamond.

The ride to the Three Farthing stone was but a short one of only fifteen miles or so, passing swiftly and pleasantly. The young ones gave Boromir a good accounting of Sam broadcasting theLothlórien earth to the four winds, blessing the Shire with a time of plenty. Boromir wanted to stop the wagons and have a good look at it. “Ever since then,” Faro added, “it is said that if you walk around the stone four times and make a wish, your wish will come true. Make a wish, Uncle Bom!”

“Only if you two will make a wish with me,” he replied. The youngsters dismounted and, each of them taking one of Boromir’s hands led him around the stone. After the fourth time around they pulled him to a stop.

“Now,” said Theo, “You have to face the stone and make your wish. And you have to wish it four times.”

“I wish… ” Boromir began. Only, what should he wish for? “I wish, I wish for…”

“No!” Faro said, “You have to close your eyes, silly!”

“And do not say the wish aloud!” Theo instructed.

“All right,” Boromir said obediently. He faced the stone and closed his eyes. Feeling somewhat foolish, he thought, Of course it is nonsense, but it cannot hurt to make a wish.

The older hobbits watched his face for some clue as to when he was going to make the wish. Boromir scrunched his face, and then seemed to settle on something.

“Ready?” asked Faro. Boromir nodded. “Then let us all make our wishes.”

“Do not forget, Uncle Bom,” Theo added sagely. “Wish your wish four times!”

He stood very still for a while, and then nodded his head. “Done and done,” he smiled at the youngsters. “Must I make another wish for nuncheon?”

“Nuncheon?” Theo said quizzically.

“That is what we call our midday meal in Gondor,” Boromir explained.

“Nuncheon, eh? What a funny word!” Faro said.

“Well, whatever you may call it, I’m quite ready for it,” Theo said.

Beneath the shade of a nearby oak they spread a blanket. Estella pulled out the blackberry tarts while Diamond found the pickled eggs and a generous wedge of cheese. Boromir ate but a little, unlike the hobbits. Wherever do they put it all? He wondered as he sat, his back against the oak, and watched the hobbits continue to eat. After the tarts, he watched Faro and Theo playing tag. He was sun-drowsy, and had nearly fallen asleep when he saw a squirrel run up to the blanket they had sat on and grab one of the leftover tarts in its mouth.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Pippin cried, eyeing the squirrel balefully.

“Oh, for goodness sake, dear, just… ” Diamond began.

“Pippin, don’t… ” Merry added.

The squirrel took off with Pippin in pursuit. He vanished over a small hummock, and a loud howl was heard.

“Not again!” Merry laughed. “He will never learn!”

“This I have got to see this with my own eyes,” Boromir said, rising swiftly to run over the top of the hummock.

There was Pippin, a squirrel firmly attached by paws and teeth to his hand. He was swinging the squirrel around in a futile attempt to get it to let go and flailing about, kicking up an impressive cloud of dust in the effort. This made it seem as if he was using the pugnacious little beast to dust himself off. Boromir laughed until he thought his ribs would crack, and the tears flowed down his cheeks. To make matters yet worse, when the squirrel finally let go of the hobbit, it pounced on the tart, chattering angrily. To Boromir’s surprise, Pippin, not to be bested by the creature, reached for the prize yet again, but withdrew when it lunged at him, ferocious in its defense of the tart.

“Squirrels! Foul, accursed little beasts!” Pippin shouted as the squirrel flicked its tail in righteous and victorious fury. He kicked dust at it and the squirrel lunged yet again. Pippin, finally accepting defeat, turned and stumped back to join the others. As he walked by Boromir, who was bent double with laughter, he glared at him and barked “Not a word!”

Back at the wagon, Diamond cleaned Pippin’s most recent battle-wound. It wasn’t much of a wound, but enough so that it needed binding, which Boromir was more than happy to do in silence, though it was quite an effort to keep from grinning at the very least. But Pippin was never a sullen creature and soon his bright spirit reasserted itself (in spite of, or perhaps because of Merry’s teasing) and they departed to complete their journey.

They hadn’t gone far when Pippin noticed Boromir bouncing his legs up and down nervously. He tried to ignore it, thinking perhaps he shouldn’t point it out in front of others, but when the Man began to bite his nails, it was too much for Pippin.

“Boromir, will you please stop? You have fidgeted all the way from the Three Farthing stone!” Pippin scolded. “What’s wrong? Do you need a privy?”

“Very funny, Pippin. No, I am just a little –– bah! What is the use? All right, I suppose I’m a little on edge.” Boromir shuffled his sandaled feet, trying not to fidget.

“It’s only Sam! I assure you he won’t bite you.” Pippin said with a little laugh.

“Ah, Pippin, I know what you’re doing, and it won’t work. This is not so simple as it seems.”

Pippin studied his large friend’s face. Well, he thought, it is not as though I was born yesterday, you great goose! Do you think I do not know what this is all about? You have to face Sam in order to face yourself. Well, you shall get your wish, and I hope it shall put matters to rest for you.

“You’re doing it again, Boromir,” was what he said aloud, without a trace of humor.

“Sorry,” Boromir muttered and stared at his feet.

“All will be well,” Pippin said, patting Boromir’s knee. “Please, don’t work yourself into such a state.”

Boromir said nothing, but looked doubtful, his brow creased in deep thought. Diamond patted the back of Boromir’s scarred hand in an almost motherly fashion. “Don’t worry, dear,” she said. “I don’t understand why you are so jumpy, but I do say it distresses me to see you this way.” She thought of his “condition,” as she put it, and hoped that he wouldn’t start gasping and changing colors on them. He was a dear man, and her Pippin loved him so.

The wagons and saddle-ponies eased up the Hill, and soon they were there. So many times had Boromir heard of the famous Bag End, and now, here he was at last. The little round green door looked exactly as he had imagined it would. He thought of old Bilbo, sitting in the morning sun and smoking a pipe as a wizard approached, looking for his burglar. He thought of Frodo and Sam, leaving Bag End on that fateful day with young Pippin in tow, no more than a lad. He thought of the occupation of the Shire, and the Scouring. He thought of the Lady and of Gandalf, and how he wished he could have at least seen them ere they departed, especially Gandalf. Most of all he thought of poor Frodo leaving for the Grey Havens without his Sam –– and of so much left unsaid and un-mended between himself and the Ring-bearer. It had been a long road that had led him here, where he knew he must some day come.

The little troop poured out of their wagons and walked to the door. Pippin tapped with the knocker, and soon the door popped open. And there he was, the very one Boromir had to see and speak to.

“Why, Pippin Took and Merry Brandybuck, and the whole families and all!” said Sam, delighted. Pippin looked around. Sure enough, there was Boromir, hiding behind the doorframe.

“I have a surprise for you, Sam. Hold onto your braces!” Pippin said, grabbing Boromir by the hand and pulling him forward. Boromir allowed himself to be led.

He tried to speak, but at first nothing would come out. He cleared his throat, and managed, “Hello, Sam.” He immediately felt that it was the most idiotic thing he could have said. Why had he not thought of something kind or clever or funny? Boromir’s heart raced as he tried desperately to read Sam’s face. He took several deep, slow breaths. Light-headed, he leaned heavily against the doorframe. Slowly he sank until he all but sat on the doorstep.

Chapter 15

What Grows in Sam’s Garden

Merry rushed to his friend, alarmed by Boromir’s appearance. “You didn’t take your medicine this morning, did you?” He scolded, “Only look at you, your lips have gone blue. Sam, put on the copper, will you? It's his heart. He needs his medicine. Pippin, do you know where he keeps it?”

“Left breast shirt pocket,” Pippin said, hurriedly dipping his fingers into the roomy pocket of Boromir’s shirt and fishing out the little bag of herbs. He looked at Sam, just standing there, his mouth agape in shock, wonder, and now –– alarm. “Sam? Sam –– the copper –– never mind, stay here with Boromir, I know where everything is.” Pippin rushed down the hall, calling for Rosie. From down the hall Boromir could hear Pippin’s urgent directions and replies in a surprised feminine voice, accompanied by the clank and clatter of pots and pans, then the rapid pat-pat of running hobbit feet and a shout of “Thank you, Rosie! He’s just here, right on the doorstep.” Returning quickly, he knelt and took Boromir’s hand. “Do you think you can get up? I should like to get you inside.”

Boromir nodded and swallowed hard. “Hurts,” was all he could manage, but he struggled to his feet and was soon in the kitchen, resting on a low, sturdy bench, surrounded by anxious hobbits. Merry pressed a cup into his hands. The draught was bitter, but Boromir swallowed it as swiftly as he could. Merry mopped his brow with a handkerchief. Faro and Theo clung to each other, their young faces clearly speaking their concern. Estella stood beside Rosie, holding her hand and murmuring explanations softly while Pippin slipped his arms around Diamond, as much to comfort himself as his wife. “He shall be all right,” Diamond repeated, as much to comfort her husband as herself.

“Will he be all right?” Sam said, at last finding his tongue.

“Oh, I think he will –– See, his color is much better now.” Merry replied.

“But how––?” Sam said.

“Perhaps it is best to let him tell you, himself,” Pippin said. “Only let us give him a little while to recuperate. It is his old wounds that plague him, Sam.” He took a closer look at his old friend, and added, "You look as though you could use a spot of tea and a comfy chair. I know it is quite a shock to you, to see him alive after all this time. It certainly was for us.”

“He’s not looking well,” Sam said, taking a seat, his eyes never leaving Boromir. “How ill is he?”

“He seems all right most of the time,” Merry said, “But of course he has to take his medicine to steady his heart and help him to breathe.”

“You said it was his old wounds––?” Sam said, looking to Merry for the first time.

“Yes, I’m afraid so,” Merry replied. “He took so many arrows. There are scars inside him, the healer says. They've never completely healed."

“He is looking better now,” added Pippin.

Boromir raised his head, his breathing more even now, and his color returning to a healthier tone, as was the tone of his voice when he spoke: “He, him, his! Please, friends! I am yet among the living,” he added with a self-conscious little laugh.

“I can see that right enough, you scoundrel,” Sam said, taking his hand and squeezing it tightly, and then the hobbit suddenly burst into tears. “You’re alive, you’re alive!”

“I hope that fact has not been too great a shock for you, my dear Samwise. I am sorry to have caused such a stir right on your doorstep,” Boromir rose shakily and bowed now, as if to make up for the inconvenience. He was blushing furiously. “This is not how I pictured our meeting, though to be honest, I had no idea what fruit the occasion might bear.”

“Now don’t you go gettin’ up just yet! As for causin’ a stir and wonderin’ about such nonsense, I wish you would put it out of your head for a little while,” Sam said. “Here, now, you just sit yourself down and let me have a good look at you.” Sam studied Boromir closely. He was still a little green around the gills, as the old Gaffer would have said, but it was something more that compelled Sam to look even more closely. Something whispery inside Sam told him that here was a Man that had lost his way and found it again more than a few times, though he was unsure just yet that he had found the right path. More, he was a Man pursued by that most tireless of hunters, namely himself. Obviously, Boromir was at odds with himself, and that’s the worst kind of foe there is to battle.

Sam had seen that look before on the face of his dear master. Here It’s been destroyed all these years, thought Sam, and still It reaches out from the shadows like some cold, hungry beast, looking to devour anything It can get into Its grasp. What do I do? What do I say? What would Mr. Frodo do at a time like this? I’ll tell you what he’d say, I will, ‘Sam,’ he’d say, ‘You know right well what to do,’ and he would be right. I wish he was here, now. But he ain’t. He ain’t, he left it all to you, Samwise Gamgee. So don’t you let him down!

“Well, well, well,” Sam said gently, “Ain’t you a sight. After all this time, here you are, as alive as I am! I only wish my master could have seen you.”

“Frodo is much on my mind ––– and in my heart,” Boromir said. “I hope he did not… that is, that he… ” Boromir struggled with himself. What could he say? What could he do? Had he made a mistake in coming here?

As Sam looked at Boromir, he could not help but see the look of self-doubt and pain stamped on the man’s face. The hobbit looked into his own heart and found there the memory of the brief but powerful grip of the Ring, swift and dagger-sharp, like the grip of icy talons, and the insidious insinuations of its seductive beckoning. Even as devoted as Sam had been to Frodo, the Ring had managed to slip into Sam’s thoughts somehow with promises falsely made yet sorely tempting just the same. The whispering of the Ring, overpowering, like the rancid-sweet smell of death, could blot out a noble nature, fouling the mind as a corpse might foul the sweet water of a clear brook.

As though it were but yesterday the memory of seeing Frodo as he climbed Mount Doom came to him. He could almost see Frodo flinging Gollum away, the latter bearing the grievous marks of the Ring upon him. Thin and drawn and shrunken, all bones under fleshless and tattered skin, Gollum had become a pitiful and ragged creature under a dire doom. For Gollum had become through and through forlorn, ruined and utterly wretched. Sam had not been able to bring himself to slay this pitiful wreck of a creature, for the simple gardener had borne the Ring as well, though but a short time. Yes, the time he had borne the burden was but brief yet long enough for him to guess what agony enslavement to the cursed thing must have meant, never to know relief or peace or even the simplest of joys in life ever again.

Then Sam saw, in his mind's eye, his dear master at the very edge of the chasm, unable at the last to cast the Ring into the Crack of Doom. His poor, dear master! Yes, the two hobbits were linked to this man Boromir in a way that no one else in all Middle-earth could ever grasp. The Ring had touched the three of them, brushed their very souls with madness most foul. Only one other had known that cloying horror, and that pathetic wretch had died as he clutched his dreadful treasure, devoured by the spell of the Ring so completely that he fell to his death unaware of anything but the sickly glee of reclaiming his prize. Who now in Middle earth yet lived, that knew this horror besides himself and Boromir? Sam placed his hand on Boromir’s hand and patted it gently, and as Boromir raised his face, Sam could see a kind of pain and loneliness in his eyes, so tear-brimmed that the green of his eyes looked like seawater.

“Well, then,” Sam said, “Don’t we have some catching up to do? Only not on an empty stomach, if you are hungry. If you’ve already eaten, then a sip o’ ale would go down nice, wouldn’t you say?”

Boromir knelt before Sam and bowed his head in silence; the gesture as one of high nobility to another, wholly sincere and not lightly or frivolously given. Sam embraced him, murmuring softly, “Now, don’t you fret none, I should know better than to offer the likes o’ you plain ale; a fine gentleman such as yourself will want wine.”

“Sam, my dear, dear Sam,” Boromir said, and wept amid his laughter.

“Come on, then,” Sam said warmly. “You must meet my family. This here is my Rosie.”

From behind a long table where she had stood observing this strange meeting stepped forward Sam’s bride, the storied Rosie Cotton Gamgee. She was a pretty, apple-cheeked little thing with soft, golden-brown curls that tumbled about her shoulders and down her back, a small, shapely mouth and large, soft, brown eyes. She gave him a shy smile and dropped him a curtsy. “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” she said.

Boromir rose and stepped forward cautiously, for Rosie seemed to be a little shy. Also, she was in a delicate condition, quite obviously. At last remembering himself, he bowed low, gently taking her hand to give it the courtly kiss of a gentleman high-born. “The famous Rose Cotton Gamgee! Your name precedes you, my dear. I have long wished to put a face to your fair name. Such a shame there is no lovelier flower to name a lass after, for a rose does not do you justice,” he said.

Rosie blushed and tittered. So this was the famous Son of Gondor she had heard so much about, long thought dead, but alive and well and now in her kitchen, bowing before her as though she were a princess. I heard he was a grand one, she thought, and now I see it is true when I had thought that his praises were but sentiment for a heroic death. How wonderful that some things are as true as true!

“May I be so bold as to enquire when the blessed event is to take place?” Boromir asked Sam.

“Please, sir,” Rosie laughed, “It is a hobbit-hole you are in, not a fine courtyard full of nobles! There ain’t no need to ask my Sammy first; we are plain folk here and do not expect such formalities. The little one is due next month.”

Just then what seemed to be a small swarm of young hobbits gathered in the kitchen. The eldest of these was a little lass with golden curls. Rarely had Boromir beheld a fairer child of any race.

“Faro, Theo! Did you bring me some more of those lovely candles?” the lass asked the hobbit lads.

“Elanor! Shush!” Theo hissed.

“Oops… ” Faro said. Pippin scowled at Faro. Merry scowled at Theo. Both of the lads squirmed. Boromir, unsure what was about to happen, but he was sure that something was about to happen, all right. However, Sam diffused the impending crisis, patting the boys on their heads.

“The lads spoke of a beekeeper friend, and I overheard the name ‘Boromir,’ but I never did put two and two together, ninnyhammer that I am. I should have remembered that bee-charming bit. And now, I’m owed a story, or I’m a troll,” was all Sam said. “You young ’uns go and play, now. There is sugarplums in the pie-safe, but don’t be fillin’ up on ‘em! It’s almost time for afternoon tea!”

As the youngsters filed out of the back door, Faro said, “Lasses! They never can keep a secret.”

“I heard you, Faro,” Elanor shot back. “Just remember, it was you told me about the Beeman!”

Pippin held one of Boromir’s hands, Sam captured the other hand, and the two hobbits pulled their friend into the hallway, then led him to the sitting room. Now that he felt better, he noticed his surroundings with no small amount of delight, in spite of his hunched-over walk. It was exactly as he had heard it was, a long, tubular hallway with all the best rooms on the left-hand side, each with merry little round windows giving a view of the lovely, rolling hills of Hobbiton. He had become accustomed now to looking for the sturdiest place to sit, and found a well-built stool on which to perch.

The Gamgee brood (and their numbers certainly qualified them as a brood) were a happy and noisy lot. They frequently tore through the hole, out the back door and back into the front, until Rosie chased them into the nursery. Boromir observed that Sam and Rosie had certainly been, well, rather productive, but said nothing aloud. What a wonderful family they seemed to him, and he wondered if Sam knew how blessed a hobbit he was.

Soon tea (just good old plain tea this time, thank goodness!) was served, and Boromir gave Sam and Rosie his tale. By the time he was done the afternoon was creeping away. Before supper Boromir and Pippin looked to the West together, as was their custom when they were together. After supper, well before the golden sunlight of a long summer day faded, Sam was eager to show off his garden, and Boromir was eager to see it. His days as a gardener were dear to him, and he had a hundred or more questions to ask Sam on the subject. Merry had almost accompanied them, but Pippin put his hand on his cousin’s arm, and with a conspirators wink, whispered, “Stay.”

They watched to two from the kitchen window as they walked and talked. Sam sat Boromir down on a broad bench just beyond the rose-bed and sat beside him, fishing his pipe out of his shirt pocket. Sam related to Boromir his own experience with the Ring, and described what had happened at Mount Doom, how the Ring had, at the last, all but devoured Frodo. Sam wept a little at this, and Boromir wordlessly laid his hand gently on Sam’s shoulder.

“Well, that’s what happened and now it comes back around to us, here and now,” said Sam, removing the stem of his pipe. He handed the stem to Boromir. "Take a look inside that,” he said. “See how it’s all clogged up? It needs cleanin’ out. Folks are kind ‘o like that, too, if you take my meanin’. Beggin’ your pardon, and no offense meant, but I’m thinkin’ you need to clean out your own stem, so to speak. You feel bad on account of what you done, and that’s a good thing. It shows you’re a gentleman o’ quality, plain as day. Only let me say a few things before we go any further. Did you ever think what might have happened if you hadn’t tried to take the Ring?”

Boromir bowed his head, seeming to draw into himself. “Every day, Sam. No matter how I try, it is always on my mind.”

“Well, I thought as much,” replied Sam softly. “Well, I’ll tell you what might have happened. If we had all been together, the Orcs would have surrounded us, and they’d have killed all of us what weren’t hobbits. Then they’d a-taken us all to Isengard, and I shudder to think what would have happened then. Saruman would have got it out of us, one way or t’other. I seen how Orcs work first-hand. They’d a-started with Pippin, on account of him bein’ the youngest and smallest. And in the end, they’d a-got it all out of us. And then it would have got really bad.”

Boromir’s head snapped up. Stamped on his face was a look of horror. His jaw worked, but no words came from his mouth. Sam retrieved the pipe-stem from Boromir’s hand and plucked a slender twig from a nearby shrub. He used the twig to clean the pipe-stem as he continued to speak. “You don’t have to tell me you’re sorry for what happened. The time we had together was only a short time, but we, that is my Master and me, we knew you well enough to know you would never have done what you done if it hadn’t been for that thing.” Putting the stem of his pipe back into the bowl, Sam sucked on it as though to test it, then pointed the stem at Boromir for emphasis. “You was always a fine Gentleman, even if you was a little hard-headed, beggin’ your pardon. Now don’t you go getting’ hard-headed on me about this! My old Gaffer taught me to always respect my betters, but it’s plain you need someone to talk some good hobbit sense into you!”

At this last, Boromir gave Sam a grin. “I would say now that which of us is a ‘better’ is open to fair debate, dear Sam,” he said humbly. “Goodly and comforting are you words to my ears,” he continued. “But for one thing, I would say no more to discomfit you. You see, Sam, I do have to say I am sorry, and in no small measure. I must do what I may to mend my wrongdoing. I cannot go back to the Light unless I do what I can to mend what I harmed, you see.”

“Beggin’ your pardon, but unless I’m mistaken, you do understand that things went the way they did for a reason,” countered Sam.

“Aye, I do understand that,” Boromir said, “But you see, I still must do all I can to make right my wrongs, dear Sam.”

“Well, now you’re talkin’ like a ninnyhammer,” Sam grinned, placing his pipe in his mouth. “See, it’s like my old Gaffer used to say: a black hen may lay a white egg. You just lay enough white eggs and that’ll take care o’ that, if you take my meanin’.”

“Still, my dear Samwise, I must beg your forgiveness.”

Sam watched Boromir closely. No doubt Boromir meant what he said. He needed to put things right if he could. “Well, if it means that much to you, then I’ll go along with it,” Sam said thoughtfully. “But there’s somethin’ else I’d like to tell you.

“Not so long before Mister Frodo left, I came in from trimmin’ the hedges one day. He was starin’ into the fire, and he looked like his heart was mighty heavy. ‘Sam,’ he says, ‘Do you ever think o’ Boromir?’ I told him that I did. ‘When I think of the last time I saw him, I never think of how frightened I was anymore,’ he says. ‘All I see now when I think of him is the torment in his heart. Even now I can hear him as he cried out for forgiveness as I ran away. I could feel the pain in his heart as clearly as if it was my own pain, yet I dared not turn back. How I wish I could have seen him, just once more, just to tell him that I understand. But I never did, and I never will.’ And then he wept. He wept for you. And I wept right along with him. He was your friend, as he told your brother. I know you think we must both have hated you, but we never did, and if you still think that after today, then you are a right ninnyhammer.”

Sam handed Boromir a handkerchief, and Boromir blew his nose loudly. “There’s a dear lad, now,” Sam said. “As soon as you have sorted yourself out, let’s go to the Green Dragon for a nice drink, Merry and Pippin and you and me.”

“A most agreeable suggestion,” Boromir said. “Only one more thing will I ask.”

“And what might that be?”

“Are you going to fill your pipe and have a smoke? An empty bowl cannot give you much satisfaction, I should think.”

Pippin and Merry could only smile as they watched Boromir and Sam laughing together in the fading sunlight. “Well,” observed Pippin, “I knew Sam could grow most anything, now I’ve seen for myself.”

“What have you seen, Pippin?” Merry asked. Pippin could make some wonderful observations. Who knew this better than Merry Brandybuck?

“That among all the other wonderful things, what grows in Sam’s garden is pain’s ease.” Pippin smiled.

Merry could only grin to himself. Let no one call Peregrin Took a fool, he thought. How he has grown from the sweet little baby I used to rock to sleep! I miss my little Pippin terribly sometimes, but what a wonderful hobbit you have grown to be!

But Merry said nothing at all, and only gave his cousin a little hug. It was all that needed to be said between these two.

Chapter 16

Bywater and After

Late summer in the Shire was a fine time for an evening’s stroll to Bywater. The trees that lined the Avenue had been replanted, and thanks to the Lady’s Gift, were thriving, in a seeming hurry to live up to the reputations of the trees that once had lined the road. Reflected stars glimmered on the surface of the Bywater like tiny lanterns. A few hobbits sat outside The Green Dragon sipping ale and discussing the coming harvest. Inside, the inn all was a-bustle; it had become a very popular place, even more than it had been before the Scouring of the Shire.

The first thing Boromir noticed as he entered was a sudden stillness on the part of the customers. None were so rude as to stare, but the Man did draw a furtive glance or two. This, to Boromir's mind, was understandable. Be that as it may, he felt a kind of shame that his kind were held in such disrepute by many hobbits. No small wonder that the King had forbidden Men to dwell in the lands held by hobbits.

Nevertheless, his being in the company of Sam, Merry and Pippin seemed to ease the tension, and after a while the place began to bustle once again, though at a less lively pace. The friends called for ale and gazed around the room with its bluish haze of smoke from the many pipes held in hand or between the teeth. Sam pointed out spots which held a special place in history: here where Bilbo had sat with the Dwarves, there where a conspiracy between the cousins and Sam had been formed, here a window broken out during the Occupation, there where, much to Boromir’s amusement, Merry had somehow got his hand stuck in a pickle-jar so thoroughly a healer had to be fetched from his bed to assist Merry’s release. The jar had to be filled with cold water and Merry’s hand coated in butter to get it out. It was a topic of conversation to this day, and afterward the innkeeper always put the pickle-jar behind the counter when Merry arrived.

There was no furniture inside which would accommodate one of the Big Folk, and so they took their ale outside, where a good many sturdy benches were scattered near the Inn wall. Late summer was the perfect time of year for this, for the air inside the inn was warm. Outside, customers could enjoy the fresher air and a cooling breeze while taking pleasure in the beauty of a summer night’s sky. The four companions sat across from each other, two to a bench, and Boromir and two of the Travelers stretched out their long legs, to varying degrees. The ale was most excellent, as was the companionship of the old friends. The conversation started out as a discussion of gardening, and then meandered, naturally, to the coming harvest and the festivities of the season. Once that topic ran its course, Boromir raised the subject of the Battle of Bywater, and, as each hobbit gave an accounting of the deeds that had been done, other hobbits drifted towards the four companions. These were younger hobbits, old enough to remember those dark times, yet too young to have grasped the seriousness of the situation at the time of the Scouring. As the tales were given, these younger hobbits would bring fresh ale (which delighted the innkeeper, who suddenly decided Boromir was a fine fellow after all) out to speaker and audience alike. As the account wound down, the four friends decided to visit the hill where the heroic hobbits killed in battle had been laid.

The garden around The Bywater Stone monument was fragrant with flowers, and in the moonlight, the petals of the white flowers seemed to glow. Long did Boromir gaze at the monument as he knelt, then reached out, and with his fingers, gently touched the stone placed there in honor of the hobbits that lay there in their long sleep.

His friends watched him as he knelt there, his features sharpened by the light of a torch. Some of the younger hobbits had followed them to The Bywater Stone, and as the Man knelt there in silence, one of them began to recite the names of the fallen. His brows drew downward, grim and sorrow-edged, listening to the calling of The Roll as his fingers drifted along the length of the stone marker. “Do with me and build with me what you will,” they heard him murmur. Then, rising, he bowed his head a few moments. At last, he stood; head high and shoulders squared, and saluted the glorious dead. Turning on his heel, he rejoined his friends, somber for a while. For a moment, he gazed at the starry sky in silence, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as if the air had grown suddenly fresher and sweeter. Then, much to the surprise of his friends, hobbit-like, his mood suddenly lightened.

The three hobbits would discuss this moment many times in later life, for it was this time above all which heralded a change in the man, as the earth is changed when a field is tilled in preparation to the planting. Something about seeing Sam once more and the visit to the monument seemed to have fit into place inside Boromir, like stones joined to make a new foundation. “Bywater changed him,” Pippin would say, “After Bywater, he was just not quite the same. Not a bad thing, all things considered.”

The leisurely stroll back to Bag End was pleasant. The evening slipped away like the water of a brook. The friends enjoyed a bedtime cordial with the ladies and then retired. Upon arising the next day, Merry, Pippin, and their wives noticed something about Boromir. He was very quiet, yet it was not a quiet laced with sorrow. He seemed, Pippin would later comment, like some great caged bird at last set free which perched in some peaceful promontory, observing his former captivity with a kind of serenity and approval.

Boromir spent the next day in the company of his friends, most especially Sam, taking note of gardening tips and reading Frodo’s account of the War of the Ring. Often he would touch the pages reverently, sometimes with a wistful smile, sometimes with furrowed brow, but always with utter reverence, nodding his approval now and again. At one point Sam nodded towards Boromir and whispered to Merry and Pippin, “He’s visitin’ with Frodo, you see? Readin’ Frodo’s words is the next best thing to speakin’ with him. It’s a good thing to see, to my way o’ thinkin’. I do it sometimes, when I’m missin’ him.” Then Sam wiped his eyes and blew his nose.

The evening before their departure, which would take them to the Great Smials, Sam sat near Boromir as they were enjoying an after-dinner tea and cleared his throat loudly. Boromir could not help but notice. Plainly, Sam had something to say.

“Beggin’ your pardon, but I would like to ask you a question,” said Sam.

Boromir gave Sam his full attention, silently raising his brows in encouragement.

“Well, I was just wonderin’,” Sam continued. “I’ve been tryin’ to work it out in my head about you layin’ low, so to speak, no offense intended, mind. It just don’t seem right about your brother not knowin’ you’re alive and all. I know you got your reasons, as you’ve said, but still, it just seems so sad to know he still thinks you’re dead. I ain’t tellin’ you your business, mind, but just think on it. I know the two of you was close, like peas in a pod so to speak, so I know you miss him somethin’ awful. Do you think you’ll ever let him hear from you?”

Boromir stared down into his cup as the clock ticked. Heaving a sigh, he gave Sam a gentle smile. “Well, Sam,” he said, “As you say, a black hen may lay a white egg. I suppose if one of the white eggs were to hatch into something unexpected, perhaps some day… I’ll know the time is right when I see it, if it should ever come to pass. If it is meant to be, I will know the time when it arrives. But I must listen with my heart with utmost unselfishness. However, Faramir is now a Prince. My appearance would turn his world upside down, and might even cause unrest among my people. I must put their needs before my own, you see.”

“Well, I do see, don’t think I don’t,” Sam replied. “But I still don’t like it.”

“Nor do I, Master Samwise. But I made the path I walk on, and must follow its course. I cannot change the past, nor can I see into the days beyond tomorrow,” Boromir said quietly. “The future is hidden from us by the Light, and for that I am grateful in greatest measure. All will be as it should be, even if it is not as we would have it. In that, I count myself greatly blessed.”

“Well, you know best, I reckon,” Sam said. “I guess I just want a story that ends with and they all lived happily ever after. But it don’t always turn out that way, does it?”

“Well, that depends on whom you ask, I suppose,” Boromir laughed. “Also, it depends on how one looks at the outcome. I find I can choose happiness over despair. Before I ‘died’, I thought this way of thinking to be a great folly. Now, I find great wisdom and comfort in it.”

“Well, if you can, then I can, too, I suppose,” Sam said, pouring a second cup of tea. “Still, I wish you could at least see your brother.”

“So do I, Sam.” Boromir smiled wistfully and held out his cup for more tea. “So do I.”

They departed early the next day for the lovely green hills of Tookland, where the Brandybucks and Boromir tarried for almost a week before taking the return trip. Before leaving, Boromir was surprised with a gift from Pippin.

He took Boromir to his stables and led not a pony, but a horse, from a stable. “Dapplgrim’s dam,” Pippin said, giving the horse a slice of apple. “I think you two are acquainted already. I did not tell you about her before I was sure she would not stir ill memories in you. She is why my line of ponies are so tall and swift.”

“Lady Grey?” Boromir gasped. “The horse lent to me by Théodred, ere I left Meduseld? It must be she! Why, I would know her anywhere! For look at the white mark upon her breast; see how it is shaped like a crescent moon?”

“Aye,” Pippin said. “She was made a gift to me by Éomer. She is old, but, as you see, still fit as a fiddle! Only a horse of Rohan could be so hale at her age. Take her, please.”

“I thought she drowned! Yet here she is,” Boromir laughed. “She must have found her way home.”

“Aye, she did,” Pippin smiled, watching his friend stroke the side of the grey mare’s shapely head. “And like you, she found herself living among the smaller folk of her kind. You should take her. It is true she has seen better days—”

“But so have I!” Boromir laughed as the grey mare nuzzled his hand and nodded, as if in agreement. “Now I know where Dapplegim gets his sauciness from. I thought he had learnt it from his master.”

“Then you will take her? Say you will——she needs a master more her size, and I dare say she has a number of years left in her. She’s a lovely lass, she is, as gentle as can be. And she will be a good companion for you, for she loves company as much as her son does.”

“If you are willing to part with her, yes, I will accept the offer,” Boromir said warmly. “Even more dear is she to me because she is a gift from my friend, and because she bore me to the greatest adventure of my life. How I can ever repay such a gesture, I do not know.”

“Never mind that, goose,” Pippin laughed, “you already have! And now, tell me, how do you like a hobbit’s holiday?”

“Oh, it has been splendid! Making camp is much more pleasant when done for pleasure, I find, most especially in such excellent company. I have enjoyed the journey with you, Merry, and your families more than I can say. The visit with Sam… well, thank you for coming along.”

“Oh, pish! It was our pleasure,” Pippin replied. Boromir saw his face suddenly brighten, and Pippin called, “Speaking of Merry, here he is! Hullo!”

“I see you have done as you planned,” Merry said to Pippin. The grey mare nuzzled Merry in greeting. “And how are you, Greyling? That is what we have called her, though she was known as Hasopadwyn.”

“Yes, that is why I called her Lady Grey. She is most wonderful,” Boromir said. The grey mare nodded her agreement. “If memory serves, she had a gait as smooth as still waters. I look forward to reacquainting myself with her in no small measure. A good companion she was. For months did we wander together. We became great friends. At last, I can repay my debt to her. Scarcely can I wait to ride her once again!”

“You shall be doing that soon enough,” Merry said. “We must depart day after tomorrow.”

“How the time has flown!” Pippin said with a sigh. “Harvest time is coming soon, Boromir! After the holiday, why don’t we meet up at your cabin, you, Merry and I? Perhaps we could go fishing, and spend some time in Bree. We can take rooms at The Prancing Pony. In fact I should very much like to reserve the same room we once shared with Strider.”

“A splendid idea, Pippin,” Merry added. “Say you will, Boromir!”

“But of course,” Boromir smiled. “The pair of you are going to be very busy for some time. It will give us a chance to catch each other up.”

“Done and done!” Merry said with a nod and a grin. “By that time Pippin and I will be eager for a little song and ale.”

“Right now I am eager for supper!” Pippin said. “Diamond has a pudding hissing on the hearth as we speak. Soon you shall see why I did battle with that squirrel.”

“Then let us make haste,” Boromir laughed. “I am as hungry as a hobbit, myself!”

Author's Note: Just a word on the warning... I thought it best to add a warning because of the bad behavior of a certain character. I just didn't want anyone feeling they've had a nasty surprise.

Much thanks to my Beta Reader, Lindelea. You could say I'm very "cozy" with the term she suggested, which I thought was a brilliant idea. Thanks, dear lady!

Chapter 17

Saro, Pretty Saro

They had all gone fishing with Boromir earlier, and all had a capital time. They had eaten their catch, and now the bones were being picked over by a virtual cozy of cats. It seemed that charming bees was not Boromir’s only talent; feral cats had begun to show up in his barn and apparently tamed themselves to keep him company. Whenever he was about the barn, the cats swarmed about his ankles, rubbing themselves on his legs and wiping whiskers on his feet, which nowadays were bare more often than not. When he wore shoes at all, it was sandals or low soft shoes.

Merry and Pippin were sitting with their wives and sons in the shade of a great oak that sheltered Boromir’s cabin, smoking their pipes and watching Boromir playing with his many cats. When he was at home, he often went shirtless, but not on this day; not in front of the ladies. His days as a Wild Man had taught him to enjoy the feel of sun on skin, and he was very, very brown. His long hair was now quite bleached by the sun. He had taken to wearing his hair in elven-type braids, recalling his Uncle Imrahil of Dol Amroth, whose Teleri bloodlines were clear to see, as had been the case with his mother Finduilas. His beard he maintained in iron order, and it never looked as though it was neglected. The tavern girls loved his beard, and often commented that it made him look quite the rake and rascal. He still had found no sweetheart, but until he did the company of tavern girls sufficed.

The group of hobbits sat studying their friend. “He seems so much more at peace, now.” Pippin said. There was no need to qualify the ‘he’.

“Yes, he does, quite. He looks better too, since he’s been taking his medicine,” replied Merry, “He’s put on a bit of weight, as well. He was too thin, before.”

“Yes, he does look better. I am very happy for him,” Pippin said, and sent a splendid smoke-ring off on the gentle breeze.

The month of Halimath, which Boromir still thought of as Ivanneth, called Harvestmath in Bree, was drawing to a close, and the day of Yavannië was fast approaching. Harvest celebrations across the entire region had been going on for a week now, and Merry, Pippin and Boromir had eagerly looked forward to spending some time together in Bree. The Harvestmath festival was always celebrated a little later in Bree than in the Shire and Buckland. Merry and Pippin had been enjoying harvest festivities with their families and clans for some days, and now they meant to keep their plans to celebrate with their friend, as well as accompany Boromir on a trip to the carpenters, to purchase furniture. Harvest time now over and winter not yet begun, they could afford a few days of leisure, and Pippin with his family had driven to Boromir’s cabin, where they had arranged to meet with Merry and his family. Faro and Theo wanted to camp beside Boromir’s pool one last time before winter set in, and Diamond and Estella had come armed with fabric, needles and thread: They intended to make curtains for Boromir’s windows, insisting that before he could “catch a bird,” he must first “build a proper nest.”

As Diamond and Estella made themselves familiar with Boromir’s little cabin, they clucked their tongues with disapproval at his “furniture,” meaning, of course, the lack thereof, and jotted down notes on what kinds of furnishings he needed. Included in this list were a proper table, a washstand, chests, wardrobes, a dressing table, and chairs to replace the rough-hewn benches, as well as a settee, at least one footstool, a wardrobe and a proper bed.

Boromir listened to the pair of them fussing about his little abode with a gentle smile. They moved with the grace and beauty of two flowers floating on the surface of a pool. Statements such as “Dishes! He needs a proper set of dishes!” and “A silver service is called for, as well,” were heard quite frequently, along with such observations as “Tea towels! And a cozy, too! My goodness, how has he survived without our help?” By now, he knew better than to attempt to dissuade them. After all, this could not be as awkward for him as the Great Matchmaking Debacle. Besides, they were right when they told him, “You’ve been living like a bear with a fireplace in its den! I do hope you have a bath-house.” Which he now did, as well as having added a bedchamber to his little home: It was becoming more a cottage, and less a cabin.

“You should consider adding a kitchen, dear,” Estella advised. “I can’t imagine how you have managed all this time.”

“Yes, you should,” Diamond agreed. “Your hearth is all well and good, but you need a proper cooker and pots and pans as well. Not to worry, we will help all we can. Poor dear, living all alone, with no gentle lady’s hand to add all the little comforts of home!”

“In fact, I have been considering a kitchen,” Boromir said. “When first I built here, all I needed was a small space to shelter me from the cold and rain, but happily enough my friends see fit to keep me company from time to time. I should very much enjoy offering them all the amenities it is in my power to give. A kitchen would allow me to do so.”

“Well, then, whilst the three of you are in Bree,” Diamond said, “We shall charge you, good sir, to see to the purchasing of materials for your kitchen as well as a visit to the carpenters!”

“Don’t let him get away with buying any old thing, Merry!” Estella said tartly, “Remember, he is a bachelor, and has not had the benefit of the feminine touch in a long while.”

“Not to worry,” Merry said. “Pippin and I will make sure he brings back furniture that befits a home and not a barracks!”

“Well, now that we have settled matters,” Diamond observed, “You three had best be on your way. Mr. Butterbur will be holding your rooms, and you will want to get there in time for a bite or two before retiring. We will be very comfortable here. In fact, I am sure Estella and I will have a splendid time, on our own. Just think, Estella! No Hall or Smials to run, no duties to see to, no one to see, just peace and quiet, away from it all! I warrant there is good mushrooming about! Just think! No one comes here, so I should think the place should be teeming with mushrooms. Do mushrooms teem?”

“They do, here,” Boromir assured. “Just don’t wander far, please. This is still the Old Forest, you know.”

“We know, we know,” Estella said. “Don’t worry! We can send our lads to fetch help, should the need arise. But I do not think the need will arise. Most folks are still wary of this place, so I should think we shall have no trouble at all.”

“Very well, then, we will be off,” Pippin said. “I’ll pick up that blue wool you wanted from the weavers while we’re there.” Leading his precious Dapplegrim and Merry’s sturdy Stybba to the back of the wagon, Pippin made fast the reins, then brought out an oat muffin he had secreted in his pocket. He broke it into three pieces and gave one each to Dapplegrim, then to Stybba, reserving the third piece for the "lady". He scratched Stybba behind one shaggy ear, and then went to the front of the wagon to give Lady Grey her tidbit. “You shall be leading your son and his father, today, Lady Grey,” he said to her. “That is how it is done, eh? Ladies may lead, while sons and sweethearts are willing to follow! There’s a sweet girl.” Then, bidding their loved ones farewell, Boromir, Merry and Pippin climbed into Boromir’s sturdy market-wagon, with Lady Grey in harness and eager to go, the trio set off.

The country night was cool and pleasant. As they approached Bree, the stars were shining brightly. The Star-Kindler had done her work well. It was a perfect Harvestmath night. They headed straight for the Prancing Pony, of course. Once settled in their room, they went downstairs for supper, and after a bite and a drink there, they headed off to the next inn and the next. They were soon in their cups and having a grand time. As they entered their fourth inn, the Fox and Hound, they could hear voices raised in song, as different people took turns singing. Boromir immediately spotted Saro Ferny. Her looks had not been spoiled at all, to his relief. She was standing on a chair, as it was her turn to sing, and this is what she was singing:

When I was a single girl,

My shoes how they did squeak,

Now that I am married,

My shoes how they do leak,

And I wish I were a single girl again,

Oh, yes,

How I wish I were a single girl again!

All around her, folks both big and little clapped time and stamped their feet. Boromir knew the tune to this old ditty, and in his rich baritone voice sang in answer:

When I was a single man,

I sang a happy song,

Now that I am married,

I am quiet all day long,

And I wish I were a single man again,

Oh, yes,

How I wish I were a single man again!

Merry and Pippin encouraged their friend by way of nudging him with their elbows, smiling broadly. Saro looked at him merrily, and sang the reply,

When I was a single girl,

I had a brand new shawl,

Now that I am married,

I have no shawl at all,

And I wish I were a single girl again,

Oh, yes,

How I wish I were a single girl again!

Then, in reply, with the carousers clapping louder than ever and shouts of encouragement cutting through the smoky room, Boromir sang in answer,

When I was a single man,

I had the time to drink,

Now that I am married,

I don’t have the time to think,

And I wish I were a single man again,

Oh, yes,

How I wish I were a single man again!

The inn was filled with a great deal of cheering upon the last reply, along with clapping and whistling, and then someone called for Saro to dance. Another tune was taken up, and Saro began to move. Her feet were a graceful blur, her arms raised above her head, her chestnut locks bouncing, as if even her hair was moved by the rhythm of gaiety. She spun and reeled around Boromir, and as the song ended, she dropped him a pretty curtsy, her cheeks rosy and glowing. Merry nudged Pippin. Pippin nudged Merry. They both grinned, and ordered a round for the four of them.

She sat at the table with the three friends, and Pippin noted the worn but clean frock. Her shoes were shined, but one could plainly see the wear on the heels. Her hands were clean and the nails cared for, but her palms were callused. She had a ready smile, but if he watched, he could see a little sadness edge itself into her eyes. Pippin also noted a bruise on her arm, one that was the perfect imprint of four fingers. Someone had been rough with her. It made the hobbit’s blood boil.

When he found out who her father was, he understood everything at once, and his heart was moved for her. When she realized she was in the company of the famous Took and Brandybuck, she knew these two hobbits had known her father. She lowered her head in shame, her cheeks ablaze with embarrassment.

“Now, now, you mustn’t,” Pippin assured her. “After all, if we chose all our families, the world would indeed be found wanting! We do not have that luxury, my dear. The world must be peopled!”

She raised her eyes, seemingly half-expecting to be taunted. Long did she look into Pippin’s eyes. With his head cocked just so, and a warm look in his eyes, he seemed such a kindly hobbit that she felt quite reassured. Then she looked at Merry, and, finding only understanding in his eyes, she felt assured that they would never shun her, Billy Ferny’s daughter or no.

Boromir, in that way that only he seemed able to master, reacted with his usual mixture of bluntness and nobility. “A dear friend and a most wise counselor once taught me that a black hen may lay a white egg,” he said with a grin. “Some of us came from some very black hens, indeed! Yet an egg may prove otherwise than a hen may have it, in the hatching. I see not a single black feather upon you, lady! No need for you to feel so down-hearted!”

“Ouch, Boromir, you are a horrible jester!” Merry laughed. “Down, indeed!”

“Aye, I fear that was no feather in your cap!” Pippin laughed, rolling his eyes.

Saro looked, one after the other, at the three of them. Her slow smile soon broadened, and suddenly she laughed merrily.

“Well, we have won a great victory,” Merry added. “She is coming out of her shell, now!”

“Please, no more fowl jokes!” Saro said, wiping her eyes. “Now if you shall excuse me, I have a peck of chores to do, and I must get back to work before I go home to roost.”

She rose from her chair and left them laughing, parting with a playful curtsy, then went back to the kitchen to fetch her broom and cleaning rags. Boromir, Merry and Pippin moved on to the next inn and the next. The hours were quickly becoming small, and the inns soon began to close for the evening, Harvestmath or no. They were weaving a bit as they walked, humming the ditty Boromir and Saro had sung. As they came near the Fox and Hound, they saw a scene unfolding before them that was not to their liking at all. There was an older man staggering behind Saro, shouting. He reached forward and grabbed her arm. Instantly, Pippin knew where the finger-shaped bruises on her arm had come from.

“You give me those coins right now, Saro Ferny, or I swear you’ll see the back of my hand again!” slurred the bully.

“I am tired of giving you my money, Uncle Bob,” Saro protested. “All my life I have worked, and all my life you have taken my money!”

“And I am going to take it again, you ungrateful little trollop!” sneered the man. “Who was it took you in when Bill had enough of the burden your mother laid upon him, and her naught but a lowly stale!”

“Stop it, Uncle Bob! She was no stale, and you know it! She was a seamstress and a fine lady--I asked around--you’ve lied about her all my life! You know she was forced into that union after Father… after Father did her such a wrong!” Now Saro’s cheeks were wet. She struggled to pull her arm free.

“She asked for it!” Bob shouted. “Dancing like she was, looking like she did, it was no wonder he followed her into the streets.”

“Father was a liar, a drunken lout and a ruffian, just as you are!” Saro rasped. “She was only going home, as I am going home, now!”

“Is that so?” Bob sneered, and this time his eyes raked up and down her body. “Look at you! Why, you are asking for it, same as her! Time you paid me back for all I done for you! No wonder I never wed, with the likes of you like a stone around my neck! What woman would be my wife, with the daughter of a trollop living in the same house!”

“Why, that drunken lout!” Boromir said under his breath. Then he, Merry and Pippin looked at each other grimly. As one, the three friends ran the rest of the way. In a flash, they were there, hemming in the man and the girl. Pippin, filled with rage and more than a little ale, nearly forgot the difference in size between Man and Hobbit, but Boromir laid a hand on his shoulder. “Allow me, Pippin,” he growled. “I would not have you sully yourself with this… offal.”

Boromir had struggled these many years to keep his temper in check. This, however, was too much, even for a man trying his best to maintain peace. He stepped between Saro and Bob Ferny. He said nothing, but stood firm, his arms crossed and a stern look on his face. Bob tried to reach around him to grab Saro’s arm. Boromir simply moved to the left and blocked him. Bob tried the same trick yet again, reaching around his right side, and Boromir moved to the right. Bob may have been a bully, and he may not have been the smartest man in Bree; he may even have been a plainspoken villain, but he was no fool. This man, whoever he was, was far too large to be bullied by him. Bob spun on his heel, glowering at Saro, and began to move off.

“Well, trollop,” he slurred over his shoulder, a filthy look in his eye. “Looks like your friends are here, so I’ll leave you to it.” Once again, he leered at Saro, and then glared at Boromir, Merry and Pippin. Slowly the glare shifted back to Saro in an expression best described as nothing less than lecherous, as if to infer some vile agreement between the three friends and his kinswoman. Merry was shocked. Boromir was outraged. Pippin, however, positively seethed. He had never been able to bear the sight of a male browbeating or mishandling a female, be the folk in question big or small. Bob saw the Thain then, not just an ordinary hobbit; this was a hobbit not to be trifled with. Yet, even seeing Pippin in such a state, in his drunkenness Bob was unable to rein himself in, and he roughly pushed the hobbit out of his way. “Just you mind you’re messing with a man, you filthy little rat boy! Faugh!” he said, spitting. “Seems she’ll entertain even rat folk! A stale, just like her trollop mother!” At this, he guffawed at his own crude “wit”.

Boromir was just drunk enough to forget he had to hold his temper, and just angry enough not to care. Drunk or no, his arm shot out, swift as a serpent, and grabbed Bob by the shoulder. “I know you didn’t just say what I think you said,” he said. His voice, low and soft, was nonetheless a rather dangerous-sounding growl. His grimace of anger twisted his handsome features into a Warg-like snarl. Neither Merry nor Pippin had ever seen or heard Boromir like this, and it gave them a shiver. “You will apologize for the filth you spout from that sewer of a mouth of yours, or you will pay.”

Bob twisted in Boromir's hold; his eye fell on the hobbits and he sneered, “What, about your little rat-boys? Surely you don’t mind me calling them what they are, naught but cheap pieces of tat, a trollop and a couple o'… ” He never got to finish this scurrilous remark, though. Bob had never been the brightest candle in the sconce, but this was one of his less brilliant ideas and very quickly, Bob measured his length on his back in the street. The fact that he landed in a pile of horse-dung made it all the sweeter to Saro.

Trembling, yet still game, Saro sauntered up to Boromir, took his arm, and winked saucily. She said, “I didn’t know it could be stacked that high.”

Boromir gave his arm to her, and Saro and her three new friends headed off towards her home a few streets away. The three companions halted at the door of her humble home, a little boarding house, worn down but clean, run by good, honest folk. She could not have afforded anything better, but it was a kindly if cramped little place, and though poor in purse, the owners were known to be kindly if plain and humble people, as were their tenants. Boromir escorted her to her door as though she was a fine lady, bowed, and kissed her hand, whispering, “Saro, pretty Saro, will you see me again?”

“Oh, I am so sorry, good sir, yet I must say nay, for you are too fine to be seen with the likes of me,” Saro replied, again hanging her head. “I am sorry you had to trouble yourself with my uncle. I hope we have not spoilt everything for you and your friends.”

“Nay, Lady! I forbid you should even entertain the thought,” Boromir said gently. “You are not responsible for the misdeeds of your kin, and you mustn’t feel it is your fault. They chose their path, just as any of us chooses.”

“Your kindness touches me, good Sir,” she said, her smile quite genuine, if a little sad. “Still, I am sorry for the trouble he caused you.” She seemed to be examining her shoes for a moment, and then continued, “When I was small, Uncle Bob was not like that. But then my father was such a boor, especially during the War. When he left, he simply pushed me through Uncle Bob’s front door and walked away. But the people never forgot what kind of man my father was, and they expected no better from Uncle Bob. We were scorned and shunned, and no one would give Uncle Bob decent work. It started out with him taking a drink now and again, but by the time I was twelve years old, the bottle had him instead of the other way round.”

“I am sorry,” Boromir said softly. “Too many fall into that trap. It becomes a kind of madness. Most of them meet their death from it, in one way or the other. Perhaps I should not have struck him.”

“No one will blame you for that, never fear,” Saro said. “Who knows, perhaps some day he will learn the lesson of consequences. But I do not hold much hope for him, and you mustn’t feel badly you struck him. In truth, I am glad you did. If you had not come along, he would have taken my coins, and I need them for rent.”

“Whatever assistance I may lend, I will do so gladly,” Boromir said, placing his hands on her shoulders. He tugged her shawl more closely around her, and, smiling gently, said, “Say you will see me, please? I have seen you in town many times, and for some while now, I have thought I should like to get to know you. Allow me to escort you to dance or dinner some time soon.”

Saro looked at him warmly, her cheeks flushed, but she shook her head. “Nay, Sir. I cannot. It wouldn’t be proper for me to, to… I am sorry, but I must say no.”

“Is there nothing I can say that would change your mind?” Boromir paused, then said, “Wait, do not answer! I shall simply have to find a way to change your mind. Until we meet again, Lady, I bid you good night.” He bowed in a courtly manner, yet when he raised his head up again, did not walk away, but only stood, looking at her as if he wished to say more, but could not find the words.

From a bit further away, Saro and Boromir could hear Pippin hiccup, then say in a very loud whisper, “Look, Merry, they fancy each other!” and then Merry, in an equally loud whisper, “Pippin, shoosh, that’s not nice.” Saro giggled and went inside, and the three companions headed off to the Prancing Pony. Drinks were still being served there, but people were leaving little by little. There were, after all, another two days of celebrating to do.

The three friends climbed the stair to their room. They lit a fire in the fireplace to chase the chill out of the place, and with a stretch and a yawn, each took a seat before the fireplace. Merry and Pippin lit their pipes, and the friends stretched their feet out to catch the warmth from the fire.

“You look thoughtful, Boromir,” Merry observed. “What do you see in the fire?”

Boromir shook his head, as though he had been brought out of himself by surprise. “Oh, I was just thinking about… well, I expect you know, I was thinking about her. And about her uncle. Most likely, he is doomed to die of his malady, or by subsequent mischance, perhaps stepping some day in the path of an ox-cart, or catching his death in some muddy ditch. It is all too common. What will she do, then? She shall be all alone in the world. I’m afraid people will shun her still, in spite of all her gentle ways.”

“Well, don’t worry too much,” Pippin said. “Perhaps with her uncle gone, people might look at her differently. And perhaps you might yet persuade her to give you a chance, out of pity.”

Boromir laughed. “Well, better pity than nothing at all! But that is for another day. Who knows, perhaps even tomorrow. And you, Merry, what did you see in the fire?”

“Goodness, quite a lot, in fact. I had my first taste of the Black Breath the night we first met Aragorn.” Merry heaved a sigh. “Such memories as this place holds!”

Pippin leaned near Merry and placed his hand on Merry’s arm. “What a fright you gave us,” he said. “Had we known then what we know now, we might have gone no farther than this room.”

“Somehow I find that difficult to believe,” Boromir said. “You two would have gone on, I would lay a wager on it. Never would either of you abandon Frodo. I know you both better than that.”

“Too true, I say,” Pippin grinned. “The Brandybucks and Tooks are famous for being congenitally mad, you know.”

“Speak for your own family, Peregrin Took,” Merry said. “In truth, I only came along because we needed at least one hobbit on the journey with a little sense.”

“Then it is a good thing Sam came with us,” Pippin grinned.

“Do you see what I have to put up with, Boromir?” Merry said.

“You would not have it any other way,” Boromir grinned, shaking his head.

“Yes, there lies the truth,” Merry replied sagely. “It has been that way since he was just a baby, when the hair on his feet was no more than fluff, soft as a catkin.”

“The charm of the Tooks is a perilous thing,” Pippin said. “As well you know, since you are half Took.”

“I am also half asleep,” Merry yawned. “I’m off to bed, and you two had best be as well. We dare not make our way back from Bree without furniture, I dare say.”

With that, they made their way to their beds. The hobbits fell asleep straight away, but Boromir lay wide-awake for some time. He found that his eyes wanted to wander about the room. In his mind’s eye, he could see Aragorn keeping watch over the hobbits, and he wondered what Aragorn was doing, and whether or not he found kingship burdensome, if he perhaps yearned to wander now and again, and if he ever thought of Boromir, and, if so, what he might have thought of Boromir now. When at last he slept, he dreamt of Moria, not long after Pippin had dropped the stone into the well.

Gandalf had made Pippin take the first watch, but when he had not been able to sleep, he had sent Pippin off to rest with a pat and a gentle word or two. Boromir had lain awake then, too, uneasy in the dark foulness of Moria. Pippin had settled down near him, lying down beside Merry, and Boromir had found himself wishing the others would have more patience with the lad. Pippin had been restless, and Boromir edged himself quietly a little closer, thinking, He is only a little thing, just a lad, really. He makes mistakes sometimes. But perhaps I judge the others harshly. Perhaps when they scold him, what I am really hearing is my father visiting his ire upon Faramir. Only look at him. He reminds me of Faramir, sometimes. And heavens help us, sometimes he reminds me of me!

Pippin had tossed as he lay there, and his sigh spoke volumes to Boromir: plainly the ire visited upon him by others paled in comparison with the youngster’s anger at himself. Boromir reached out and touched Pippin’s shoulder, and the hobbit turned his head to look at Boromir.

“Do not fret,” Boromir had said. “I shall help you to learn, Kit.”

“Kit?” Pippin had whispered back.

“Yes. You remind me of a fox kit,” Boromir said. “Often I have thought the same of my brother. You are both like fox kits, I quite think. Both of you are young and curious, and if you have much to learn, then it follows that the foxes have much to teach their kits. So do not fret, Kit. I shall help you to learn.”

“Kit,” Pippin had said to himself with a grin. The youngster had closed his eyes and soon slept soundly.

Then the dream shifted, and instead of Moria he was once again riding his horse to death, once more running, running…

Boromir woke with a start, gasping for breath. For a moment, he was sure his heart was giving out on him. It was as if he had a stone on his chest. He put his hand to his chest and encountered a handful of curls.

“What in the… Pippin? What on earth are you doing?” Boromir lifted himself on one elbow.

“You were having a bad dream,” Pippin said. “I was worried about your heart, so I wanted to listen to it.”

“I see, I think,” Boromir gave Pippin a wry grin. “And what did you conclude?”

“Your heart sounds funny,” Pippin said gravely. “It does not beat like any other I have listened to. It goes lub dush, lub dush.”

“Yes, poor heart,” Boromir said. “But it shall serve. I am all right. Go back to sleep.”

Instead of going back to his own bed, Pippin flopped down beside his friend. “Boromir?”

“Yes?”

“Your nightmares… you remember my offer to listen if you ever wish to talk about it, do you not?”

“I do,” Boromir replied. “And again, I thank you.”

“Well, I just wanted to remind you, that’s all. Go back to sleep. If you have another bad dream, I shall wake you.”

“You do that,” Boromir said.

“I will,” Pippin said. “Boromir?”

“Yes?”

“Before the nightmare, you dreamed of something else. I had forgotten.”

Boromir laughed. “So had I,” he said. “I did not know I talked so much in my sleep, I never used to do that. I am sorry I woke you.”

“Well, don’t fret, Father Fox, I shall be right in the next bed if you have another bad dream.”

“I shall keep that in mind,” Boromir grinned. He watched Pippin go back to his bed. As he fell to sleep once more, he could feel Pippin’s eyes on him. Not altogether a bad thing, knowing there was someone there to watch over him.

Chapter eighteen

Planting Season

The town of Bree, as the three friends knew, was always a-bustle, but Harvestmath made it all the more so, and the “bustle” began at an earlier hour. When Boromir, Merry and Pippin awoke, it was to the sound of musicians performing in the street just underneath their window. This, in itself, was not a bad thing, but the three had awakened with headaches from the previous night’s tippling, and they groaned as one when the minstrels struck up a particularly rousing tune.

“Oh,” Pippin groaned. “Boromir, take us to the Apothecary, and with all haste, I beg of you!”

“Not to worry,” the man replied. “And no need for all of us to go, I can manage on my own. I shall tell Mistress Butterbur that we shall be late in breaking our fast today.”

“And do hurry,” Merry exhorted. “We dare not play truant in purchasing your furniture and the other things, whatever they all are… I cannot think right now. Estella and Diamond will make cushions from our hides if we should fail.”

“I have the list in my pocket——it shall do all the remembering for us, more than we might wish, in fact,” Boromir said. Head throbbing, he dressed quickly and was soon on his way, stopping only to have Mistress Butterbur, the daughter of Old Butterbur, set aside some breakfast.

Walking past the minstrels was the hard part. They were quite good, but still, the sound shot through his pounding head like a bolt of lightning. Thankfully, the Apothecary was open, and he was soon on his way back, a bag of herbs in hand. Stopping in the parlour only to procure three cups and a teapot full of boiling-hot water for the cure, he made his way upstairs. The cure tasted, as expected (or, more accurately, as dreaded) awful, and Boromir had forgotten to bring honey, so they took it unsweetened, then went downstairs for more tea, just plain, good old tea, with lots of honey for sweetening. The honey would speed their recovery, they knew, and it gave them time for the cure to take effect before their light meal of fruit and bread arrived.

They had to visit two different carpenters: one for the ready-made furniture and one for the supplies to build Boromir’s kitchen. The furniture was easy enough as the carpenter proudly displayed more than enough finished pieces ready for purchase during Harvestmath. The lumber and other goods for the building of the kitchen would have to await delivery. Next, they sought out the smithies, for pots, pans, kettles and the like, and for silverware. After that, Boromir arranged for the fabrication of his cooker. The last errand was a visit to the weaver, for the blue cloth Diamond wanted. By the time they were done, they had recovered completely from the aftereffects of the night before.

“Of course you know what this means, do you not?” Pippin said.

“What?” Merry and Boromir chorused.

“Soon it shall be time to make arrangements for the occasion of a second visit to the Apothecary,” he replied with his usual pertness.

“Soon enough, soon enough,” Boromir laughed. “I want to visit the fair-grounds first.”

“Yes, let’s do,” Merry said. “We can get second breakfast there: fresh apple pies, still bubbling hot, fresh seedcakes, summer sausages dipped in batter and deep fried, perhaps a meat pie of some sort. Not pork, though; the cure did not work so well as to permit me to eat pork for now.”

With grunts of agreement, the three walked to the edge of town where the fair was set up each year. Boromir had been to harvest celebrations held by the farmers who lived near Minas Tirith, but this was different. For one thing, it was not so somber as the ones held by his dear but dour people. This affair was alive with merriment and vitality. There were tumblers and jugglers, men with dancing bears and trick dogs and ponies, and the wildly popular puppet shows for young and old—the latter often featuring puppets which looked like local leaders and which were portrayed in comic fashion. One could also find fire-eaters, dancing girls, acrobats, mummers and musicians. Then there were the competitions: for the best sheep, pigs, cattle, horses, and all manner of beasts of burden and companionship. Purses and ribbons were handed out for the best geese, ducks and hens as well. Competitions for the best of hounds and ratting dogs were always popular, and the sheepdog trials drew great crowds, not only for the talents of the animals, but for the boasting of their owners.

Also, there was competition for the best-prepared foods: cakes, pies, pickles, cured hams, dried meats, sweet biscuits, preserved and candied fruits. There were jams and jellies, wines and brandies, ciders, ales and beer of every kind, all vying for the coveted position of First Place with the bright blue ribbon on the certificate along with a fat purse. There were no entries for honey, or for the many treats made from it: the bees had not recovered from the bee-bane just yet, excepting, of course, Boromir’s bees. Boromir always had loved to prove himself, and so was a bit crestfallen at the lack of beekeepers. Perhaps next year, if there were other beekeepers by then, he might compete…

They moved on to the section where artisans and craftsmen displayed their wares. From one of the merchants Boromir bought a beautifully carved pipe, “For Sam,” he said. The intricate carving on the bowl and stem recalled the elvish carvings they had seen on their journey, and once he saw it, he had to have it. It would make a fine gift for Sam, when Boromir’s birthday came round and it was time to give out gifts in the custom of his new home.

Then there were the competitions for tailors. Here Boromir, having been measured by the tailors and chosen the colors and kinds of fabrics he wanted, arranged the making of two new shirts, two pairs of breeches, a new cloak, and a coat.

He also purchased serviettes, handkerchiefs, bed sheets, bath sheets, flannels, and a number of thick woolen blankets. To the everlasting amusement of his friends, he bought pillow shams. The hobbit companions were yet more amused at the acquisition of a bed-warmer. This they could not let pass without a bit of teasing.

“Are you growing soft as you grow older? You have been lacking in your soldier’s discipline,” Merry grinned.

“Who would have guessed you would ever even consider the purchase of such things, all those years ago,” said Pippin.

Boromir raised an eyebrow at the tartness of Pippin’s remark. “Soldier I may have been,” he said, “but I was born neither in barracks or battlefield; and I would have you remember that once I was as gently bred as any Took or Brandybuck, and grew up surrounded by the finery befitting my station. My people would have been shamed to see it otherwise.”

“We know that. Still, pillow shams?” Merry jibed.

“And bed-warmers?” Pippin grinned.

Boromir heaved a sigh. “I can see it will be a long time before either of you let me forget this day,” he said ruefully. But there was humor there in his eyes. This served him well, as he was not done choosing a few more surprising purchases just yet. There were other things, and these surprised the hobbits more than any.

One of the hobbit seamstresses had made many pairs of gloves and matching scarves, and from her Boromir purchased gifts for the wives and sons of his friends as well as for the Gamgees. Just as they were about to leave the garment-makers’ area of the fairground, Boromir stopped so suddenly that Merry and Pippin bumped against him, causing them to drop a few packages. Observing their friend, they saw what stopped him in his tracks: a frock made of wool in cornflower, lilac and pale green.

Turning to Merry and Pippin, he asked, “Do you think it will fit her?”

Looking at each other, Merry and Pippin both suppressed smiles. Then, stepping closer to the dressmaker’s display, they carefully judged the proportions of the frock.

“I think it will do very nicely,” Merry said.

“Oh, yes, a perfect fit,” added Pippin. “The colors are just wonderful, and should set off the color of her hair very well. The cut will be very flattering as well, I should think. I’m sure she would be well impressed.”

“Should I buy it for her, do you think? Or will she consider it improper?”

“Oh, if you present the gift to her properly, under the right circumstances, it should be all right,” Merry said.

“I agree,” Pippin said. “Only… ”

“Only, what?” asked Boromir.

“How shall the poulterer’s daughter ever get her beak through that neckline?”

Merry howled with laughter, not only at Pippin’s jibe, but also at Boromir’s wincing shudder.

Boromir shook his head and pinched his nose between his eyes ruefully. “Why did Galapas have no words of wisdom for me regarding Tooks?”

“Would you have heeded his words, had he given them to you?” asked Merry.

“Probably not,” Boromir admitted. “But please, do tell me sincerely, will she allow me to make a gift of this for her? I do not wish to be perceived as being too forward, or have my intentions read wrongly.”

“Actually,” Pippin said after some consideration. “It all depends on the manner and circumstances in which it is presented. She mustn’t be allowed to think you doubt her virtue.”

“Yes, but in what manner, and under what circumstances may it be given, in which no one could say anything about it being at all improper?” Merry added.

“If we can find a way, we three can pay for it together, just in case anyone wishes to make something of it,” Pippin said.

“You would do this?” Boromir said.

“Of course we would!” Merry said. “After all, it is plain to us you are going to be miserable if you cannot woo her. And we would not see you unhappy.”

“Besides,” Pippin said, “If Diamond and Estella get wind of this, they could decide to take matters into their own hands.”

“Oh, my!” Boromir said, “I had not considered that.”

“Her frock is so careworn, yet I think she would not accept such a gift,” said Merry, his brow drawn in thought.

“Oh, pish,” Pippin laughed, rolling his eyes at Merry’s disapproving glance at his language. “Go and buy it, Boromir.”

“But how… Pippin, what are you thinking?” Boromir said.

“Never mind me,” Pippin replied. “Just go and buy it, and have faith in me! I will find a way. Go! Go, I say!”

Pippin roughly and laughingly pushed Boromir in the direction of the dressmaker’s display as Merry laughed so heartily no one would suggest he did not live up to his name. But Merry spared a worried glance in Pippin’s direction, and wondered what his cousin might be planning. Sometimes Pippin could be such a… well, such a Pippin. He watched with a wary eye as Pippin dragged Boromir over to the seamstress to strike a bargain.

The price given was dear, as all ready-to-wear garments were, but the seamstress, though shrewd, held few defenses in regards to the bartering skills of the Tooks, and soon Pippin had managed to get an acceptable deal. Overall, the bargain was amenable to all parties, and the three pooled their coins for the purchase as they had agreed to do. Now the frock could not be seen as a personal gift from a man to an unattached lady.

With the garment wrapped in heavy paper and tied with string, Boromir added it to the stack of bundled prizes he had purchased. The three companions gathered up the rest of their packages to seek something good to eat after only one more detour: Pippin had spied some red wine from the very same batch that had won the purse and the First Place prize. Having paid for several bottles, he arranged to have them sent to their quarters at the Prancing Pony. While he was busy with this purchase, Boromir spied a small group of “his” little urchins, the ones he always gave treats to when he came to Bree. They were hovering near a pie vendor, their large eyes devouring the treats so wonderfully displayed there. He offered to purchase some of the little pies for them in return for the lads carrying their packages to their accommodations, and the young ones, children of Men and of Hobbits, jumped at the chance.

“Hurry back,” he said, “and there shall be some coins for you as well, so long as you all remember to buy something nice for your mothers and fathers.”

“Pinch me,” said a little hobbit lass to her companion. “I must be dreaming!” But her friend did no such thing. The young ones were far too busy taking up the packages, each making sure the others all had some small burden to bear so that the unexpected earnings might be shared among them.

“Hurry along, or the pies could be all eaten up before you get back,” Boromir called after them.

Merry quietly watched his friend smile as the little ones scampered off excitedly. “I see you have not changed all that much, after all,” he said.

Boromir only looked at him with raised brows: I cannot imagine what you are talking about!

“Oh, don’t look at me like that! Still a soft touch with the youngsters, I see. No, in some ways you have not changed. But in this case, a change would not be good at all. I remember how you used to give Pippin and me a few bits from your own plate, saying Sam’s servings were far too generous. You knew we were still quite young, especially Pippin, and hungry most of the time.”

“I am quite sure I do not remember anything of the sort,” Boromir said, but he grinned at the memory. “Here comes Pippin. Now, what was that I heard about summer sausages and meat pies?”

“We can get the pies here, but I’m not quite sure were the sausages may be found,” said Merry. “Perhaps you may wish to sample some of those lovely mushrooms, so big they stuff them with cheese, bacon and breadcrumbs?” (This last Merry added with more than a little hope.)

“Half a moment,” Boromir said, once more digging his coins out of his pocket. He bought a dozen of the small pies and had them set aside for his urchins, then a half-dozen for himself and his companions. These, instead of being fruit pies, were of chicken. Piping hot and filled with choice bits of chicken, potatoes, tender carrots and peas all swimming in a thick, savory sauce and enfolded in a golden crust, they were so succulent, so satisfying, that the three friends completely forgot about sausages. The same could not be said of the mushrooms, which they devoured in absolute——and appreciative——silence.

Merry and Pippin were only just lighting their pipes when they saw Boromir’s urchins returning, and with them, holding the hand of the smallest hobbit lass, was Saro. Spotting the three, she raised her hand and waved in greeting, smiling as she came. Merry and Pippin watched Boromir closely. He quickly brushed crumbs from his beard and shirtfront and cleared his throat three times, swallowed hard, then stood and bowed as she drew near with the swarm of urchins all around her.

“Pardon me, dear Lady,” he said. “I must pay the children for the fine services they have rendered.”

Eager little hands were held out amid appreciative o-o-o-o-oes and a-a-a-a-a-ahs. The last to receive a pie and one of the shiny silver coins was the littlest one, the youngest of the hobbits, the tiny lass who had bidden her companion to pinch her. Holding the coin tightly, she tugged at Boromir’s sleeve. “Please, Mister Beeman, I want to buy a ribbon for my mother’s hair, and… well, she never had a doll when she was small, and I would like to see if I might find one for her. Then she could share it with me, and we might have grand tea parties together, my mum and me. Have you seen anyone selling dolls? You see, she told me that if she had a doll, or if she could buy one for me, we could have ever so much fun together. Does anyone have any dolls for sale?”

Boromir looked rather befuddled. “I beg your pardon, little miss, but I fear I took no note of such things. I am sorry.”

The little one looked up at Saro with large, soft brown eyes. “Miss Saro, do you know?”

Kneeling by the child, Saro patted the little one’s shoulder and said, “No, Holly, I do not, but I would be quite happy to help you look.” Standing once more, she smoothed her worn skirt and offered a hand to the little lass.

Boromir’s hand stretched out, as if to grasp a moment to speak, as an odd sound caught in his throat, so that he sounded as though he was saying “Ack!” His mouth worked, but no words came. Saro waited patiently. Boromir cleared his throat yet again and finally blurted out, “Will you be attending the Harvestmath Dance tomorrow evening?”

She smiled shyly in return. “Yes… or perhaps… I am not sure.” She gave no reason for not attending, but the three companions saw her fingering the threadbare skirt, and knew she was ashamed to make an appearance in her tattered frock. “I had better go now. I should like to see everything before it is time to go to the Fox and Hound. Good day to you all, I am very glad we met again.” She spoke softly, yet so warmly no one could ever think this was only a nicety to her. “Oh,” she added, “I should say thank you ever so much, for the little ones. You are very kind to them, where fate has not been so very kind at all. You are a good man, a kind, good man and… ” Here she seemed to run out of words, and only blushed, dropping her eyes. “Good day to you all,” she stammered. Then, with a smile, she took little Holly’s hand and vanished into the crowd.

Merry leaned close to Pippin, and putting his lips to Pippin’s ear, whispered, “This, cousin, will not do. Look at them! It is plain they like each other very much. Why must such a simple thing be made so complicated, and by the dictates of wagging tongues!”

“I know, I know,” Pippin returned, “But you see, it is not Boromir, not him at all. She feels herself of lower standing than other maidens, and she is seen as such by others, unfortunately, because of her father and uncle. She must mind appearances, because she is trying to raise herself above the reputation of her family. She cannot afford to be careless. Which is why I am going to put things right!”

“How?”

“You’ll not get that out of me, Merry! You will only try to stop me.”

“Pippin?”

“No!” He crossed his arms, and Merry sighed. He would get nothing from Pippin, he knew, not when he looked like that, as bull-headed as any Took could be.

“Boromir,” Pippin said, nudging his friend, who seemed to be woolgathering. “Let us go and see how our mounts fare! Dapplegrim should have his apple, as should Stybba and Lady Grey. It is Harvestmath for them as well, you know!”

The afternoon sun poured in through the open door of the livery and pooled on the floor, warm and golden as the summer straw beneath their feet. The air smelt of fresh hay and well-tended animals. The stable master greeted them cheerily, waving a hand in the general direction of the box stalls where their mounts rested, munching contentedly on oats and barley. Their beasts, well fed and brushed, nodded their heads, blowing and whickering in greeting, as if to say, Fancy meeting you here! The grooms obviously spent a good deal of time with their charges, stroking them and talking to them, as should be. Dapplegrim and his dam, brushed until they looked as sleek and shiny as silver statues, nodding their heads in welcome out over the half-doors of their stalls. Between them, little Stybba stretched his neck to poke his nose over the edge of his own half-door. His shaggier coat, freshly curried, with mane and tail newly brushed and trimmed gave him an air of elegance of which the pony seemed quite aware. Their masters greeted them, calling their names and praising the grooms for jobs well done.

Boromir, Merry and Pippin gave the young grooms a few extra coins for taking great pains to properly attend the animals in the manner to which the beasts were accustomed. After all, these neat-footed Rohirric beauties were the finest mounts in the area. No hoofed creatures for hundreds of leagues had their prestigious bloodlines or intelligence. These might well have competed at the Harvestmath Fair, but their owners would not suffer their beasts to compete against plainly lesser creatures. As well, they knew the competition would suffer greatly. Their masters needed no purses or ribbons to tell them how valuable these creatures were; Rohan did not freely share the bloodlines of their horses. The stud books in that country were as jealously guarded as the herds.

Before Boromir, Merry and Pippin left them for the evening, each animal was given treats consisting of apples from the finest crops, proudly displayed at the fair. Dapplegrim, her mate, and their offspring were suitably appreciative, imperiously nosing their owners for a little more. After visiting with the animals, the three friends decided it was time to slake their thirst with more than water or cider, and so after a stop at the Pony, where Pippin collected three bottles of the fine red wine, they made their way tothe Fox and Hound.

Pippin made a gift of one bottle to the owner of the inn, calling for glasses, bread and cheese and several servings of mushrooms and bacon. As they finished eating and were about to have a second glass of wine, they heard what they had come here to hear: the sounds of patrons greeting Saro. The three called out to her cheerily, and she rewarded them with a smile. As Boromir caught her eye, she blushed again, but smiled more broadly, revealing a charming dimple and crinkling her lightly freckled nose. They gestured for her to have a seat, but she was on her way to the kitchens, and she told them she had chores to complete before she could sit down. As she walked by, she paused briefly to let her hand brush Boromir’s shoulder, and then disappeared behind the door to the kitchen. Boromir sighed. Merry nudged Pippin. Boromir’s face held a look of longing and his eyes seemed to be seeking something far away.

But Saro was soon done with her duties for the moment, though her work would be long in the doing later that night, after the inn had closed for the evening. Musicians had come to earn their meat and drink and the inn was rapidly filling from wall to wall. Soon the visitors, merry with drink and full bellies, were ready to celebrate into the evening, and began to sing along with the musicians, and then they began to dance. Pippin kicked Boromir’s leg under the table and subtly nodded at Saro. Boromir held out his hand to her, and she rose to join him; here in the inn she could dance as she pleased. It was a part of her duties to make visitors feel welcome and happy, and since this was a very respectable establishment, there was no shame it, for here she was seen as more a hostess than a simple tavern girl.

As the pair joined in a reel, Pippin grinned. They would be working up quite a thirst. When they returned, Pippin began to refill their glasses, including one for Saro. He raised his cup. “To a fine harvest, this and every year!” The other three raised their glasses to join the toast, but as the glasses touched, Pippin grew suddenly clumsy, missing the other glasses entirely. The entire contents of his glass suddenly arced quite gracefully through the air and came down upon Saro, painting her frock from shoulder to hem in deep, red wine-stains. Saro gasped. Boromir gaped.

Merry, however, squeaked rather loudly. “Pippin!”

“I have ruined your frock!” Pippin said. “I am so terribly sorry... my friends can tell you this is not the first time I have got myself into a mess and made a muckle of things. Please, you must let us make it up to you.”

“But… but,” Saro said, her voice tight.

“ ‘But’ nothing, my poor, dear thing!” Pippin said, clucking his tongue. “But we can set this aright! Today at the fair, we purchased a frock. Boromir has many friends where he came from, and we bought this one to give to a maiden who has caught the eye of a dear friend. (This was not entirely false, after all, Pippin felt, and so was not quite an untruth.) But we can purchase another very like it tomorrow. You must accept the one we have, to replace the one I ruined. I shall be greatly dishonored if you do not. You would not shame the Took and Thain so, would you, dear lassie?”

“But I… Oh, I do not know what I should do!”

“You should accept my offer, dear lass,” said Pippin at his most charming. “Please, I beg of you! I shall never forgive myself if you refuse. I fear my friends shall be most put out with me if I cannot put this to rights.”

“But I…”

“Very well, then. Just you wait right here, I shan’t be long!” And with that, he was up and out of the door and quickly on his way. But Boromir sprang up and soon caught up with him.

“I cannot believe you did that!” said Boromir, “I do not know what to….”

“Oh, hold your tongue!” said Pippin, “Go back into the inn, and smile and reassure her! Boromir, I was the son of the Took and Thain, but before that I was the son of a farmer.”

“Are you mad? What has that to do with your behavior?”

“Boromir,” Pippin said, as if explaining something complicated to a child, “The Harvestmath Dance is tomorrow evening! What better time than Harvestmath to plant the seed?”

“I do not understand you, you rascal.”

“You poor, silly Man,” Pippin said, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “What better time than Harvestmath to plan the next harvest?” With that, he trotted off, leaving Boromir scratching his head. Suddenly it dawned on him what Pippin had done.

A farmer’s son indeed, and a shrewd Took and Thain to boot! Plainly, in regards to romance, it was planting season. He laughed aloud, shaking his head, and made his way back into the inn.

A Seed is Planted at Harvestmath

Bluebell Fox curled up in a chair near the looking glass and watched Saro examine herself in the mirror, turning this way and that, and smoothing the fabric of the new frock with her hands. Bluebell, a tall, lovely girl soon to reach her fourteenth birthday, smiled at her friend. As the only daughter of the innkeeper and his wife, Bluebell never wanted for the small comforts of life, and she always gave her old garments to Saro, but Saro always refused Bluebell’s offers to give her a new frock. Saro knew the Fox family, though not poor, was most certainly not well off. Bluebell’s dresses were nice, but not what one might consider expensive in material or make, and Saro accepted her friend’s offers of the occasional garment with much gratitude. She understood these were gifts of the heart from a family that had taken pains to accept Saro on her own merits. The Fox family never judged her simply by her ill family name.

As Bluebell grew taller, the donated skirts needed hemming and the addition of a few tucks here and there, Saro being such a dainty girl. Knowing Saro’s lot in life, Bluebell often mourned the fact that she had never seen Saro in a new garment or pair of shoes. Seeing Saro with her first new dress warmed Bluebell’s heart and brought a gentle smile to her face.

“Here, try these on,” she said to Saro, and handed her a pair of slippers now too tight for Bluebell’s longer, more slender feet. Saro stepped into the shoes and a grin dimpled her cheek. Bluebell had grown a lot over the last little while, and so these slippers were nearly new, with little green wooden beads decorating the toes. “Come, let us go downstairs,” Bluebell said, eyes twinkling. “I cannot wait to see how you are received. You look so pretty! I am glad you had wine spilt on your old dress. Otherwise I might have been deprived of seeing you looking so stunning.” She took Saro’s hand and lead her downstairs, noting Saro’s cheeks were flushed a pretty pink with excitement.

Bluebell held Saro’s hand until they reached the door to the common room. Then, with a gentle push, Saro went through to door and Bluebell stood leaning against the wall to see how things went.

Saro moved slowly and carefully, as though she were dressed in the most fragile of garments, woven from spider’s webs and moonbeams. The men folk in her immediate vicinity tried not to stare at her, but they had never thought of her as anything but a hostess, just a little drudge, an assistant to the innkeeper’s wife and companion to her daughter. They knew her by name, knew her face, had heard her speak and sing, had seen her dance with visitors to make them feel welcome, had left coins on their tables for her service, but they had never truly looked at her. She was merely Saro, poor, threadbare little Saro, an invisible member of the working poor.

Now they actually saw her, and saw her for who she was. More, they saw the lass she might have been but for an unfortunate birthright. With surprise, they now saw a maiden with the potential to make any man proud. But the admiring looks of these men paled in comparison to those given her by Boromir, Merry, and Pippin. The way the hobbits looked at her made her feel proud. Had she had brothers of her own, she imagined they might very well have given her these same looks. Their bright faces and shining eyes gave her a sense of dignity. As they elbowed each other, smiling and nodding their approval, she felt enveloped in gentle warmth. But Boromir—he looked at her as though he beheld the first and fairest maiden to set foot upon Middle earth.

It mattered not to Boromir that she was not so tall or fair, that there was nothing of the Fair Folk or the nobly bred in her countenance. Indeed, Saro was short, almost petite. There were freckles on her nose, and her cheeks were tanned by the sun beneath which she toiled. Her hands were rough and red from her constant cleaning and the baking she did at the public ovens. Her hair, instead of being an immaculately and ornately groomed crown of gold or midnight black was, instead, a soft chestnut color, which she wore pulled back into a single simple braid.

She stood a few feet away from the three companions, plainly enjoying the looks on their faces. As she stood there, the innkeeper’s wife came to her and touched her shoulder gently. They could not make out what words the lady of the inn and Saro exchanged, but they must have been pleasant, because Saro smiled, and then the older woman gently embraced her. At last, placing her hands on Saro’s shoulders, she said, “Now go and have a bit of a visit with your new friends!” She turned the girl and guided her in the general direction of the table where Boromir and the hobbit cousins sat.

“I… I do not know what to say,” she said. “It’s a lovely frock, too lovely to spoil. But I have another frock at home. It will be my working dress. It used to be my best, until now. But—I do not know how I shall ever repay such kindness.”

“There is nothing to repay,” Pippin said. “It was I who ruined your dress. We only put to rights what I did wrong.”

“I—I do not know how to thank you all,” she said, first dropping a curtsy, then, more bold, she took Pippin’s hand and gave it a heartfelt squeeze. “You mustn’t feel badly about the wine, I am much more than compensated. Perhaps I should even thank you for it! Never would I have dreamt that wine stains would come to this, Master Took,” she said, touching the skirt of her new garment with something near to reverence.

“No, no, my dear, you must call me Pippin. All my friends do. Besides, we all made the purchase. If you really must thank us, well, if you would not think it forward, may I make a suggestion?” Pippins said, head cocked and voice soft. At his most charming, Pippin was impossible to refuse, and with his sunny smile and lilting voice, the Thain could be almost enchanting. “It is only the smallest of favors we would ask.”

“It would be my honor to hear your request,” she said.

“My wife, Diamond, and Master Meriadoc’s wife Estella, are both busy at the moment,” he said. “You see, my friend here,” he gestured at Boromir, “has none of the fairer sex to help him make his home a proper abode, and our wives are busy doing just that, so Master Meriadoc and I find ourselves robbed of dancing partners. Harvestmath Dance is, as you know, tomorrow eve. We both love to dance, but I fear Boromir here may prove an ill-fitting partner. Would you be so kind as to spare us the disappointment of missing the Dance? You see, we wish to attend, yet I fear some of the hobbit ladies may well—ahem—think we are, well, seeking female company, and we are both unwilling to indulge them in this regard. If you were there, however…”

Saro bit her lip, deep in thought. Finally, she nodded. “I will. I do not think there will be much gossip,” she said. “You are hobbits of great import, and heroes besides. I think no one will think of even the least little scandal. After all, we shall not go as a couple, but as a maid with respectable escorts. Yes, I will dance with you.” Here she paused and looked at her shoes. “The innkeeper and his wife have a daughter, Bluebell, who has outgrown her slippers. She has given me these, so my shoes will not be so ill matched. Besides, the old ones are so very worn. Those I shall wear for everyday. That way, I can save these for better occasions.”

“We saw you speaking with the lady of the inn,” Merry said. “She seems kind.”

“Yes, she is,” Saro said. “Master and Mistress Fox—that is their proper name—have been very kind to me. They helped me find my own room at the boarding house. It does not look like much, but it is my home. And the owner is a widow. She lost her husband in battle. He and some of the other Men of the village were defending the homes of hobbits. But the ruffians slew many of them before the Breelanders drove them away. She is without husband or even son, for young Tom—he too was slain—and with two daughters to feed, she made her home a boarding house. Many young ladies have dwelt there, and its reputation is without stain, else Mistress Fox would never have acquired the rooms for me. Holly, the little hobbit lass who wanted the doll, she and her mum live there, too. Holly lost her father in a cave-in before her birth. He was trying to build a home of their own between Bree and Whitfurrows, but after a terrible storm, the walls of the smial collapsed, and he was buried alive, poor thing. But just listen to me! I am babbling like a fool.”

“Not at all, not at all,” Merry said with a smile. “You are only excited a little, what with my cousin staining your frock and all. Pray, have another cup of wine with us! That will calm you.”

Saro smiled gently, and with a wink at her friends, said, “I believe I shall have another cup. Only, no toasting!”

Of course, there was no more toasting that evening. Not, Merry and Pippin quietly agreed, that Boromir would have noticed. Their friend said little, but only sat quietly much of the time, listening to Saro as she shared her memories of Harvestmaths past. When he did speak, his carefully chosen words encouraged Saro to continue, starting with asking if Holly had found a doll.

Now at ease, Saro spent a great deal of the time talking quietly, glancing often at Boromir, then dropping her eyes back to her hands in her lap or on the table. Merry and Pippin exchanged glances too, sharing a knowing look or two. Well acquainted with Boromir’s kind and gentle side, they came to understand they had never seen him apply this aspect of his nature in the presence of a maiden he found attractive, though they had seen him do so, and very respectfully, too, with their wives. Never garrulous, Boromir was a man of chosen words in regards to those he did not knew well, and he could even be quite reticent, but this was a different kind of quietness. As the evening grew old (and Saro more sure of herself) the three companions made plans to meet Saro at the pie vendor’s wagon, which would be very near to the center of the fairgrounds.

The hour grew late, and the inn began to empty itself for the night. Saro rose, bade them good evening, and vanished upstairs. As she left, Boromir gave a deep sigh, then, seeing the amused expressions on the faces of his friends, attempted to disguise the sigh with a quite broad yawn and stretch. “The day has been a long one, pleasant as it may have been,” he said. “Shall we retire to our room?”

“Yes, I rather think so,” Merry said with a gentle smile.

Settling in by the fire as they had done the previous night, Boromir sat quietly as Merry and Pippin enjoyed a bowl of pipe weed, watching his friends attempt to out-do one another as they skillfully blew smoke rings.

“So, Boromir, are you happy with the choices you made today?” Pippin said, his tone almost comically casual.

“In regards to what?” Boromir said, giving his friend a wary, sideways glance.

“In regards to furniture and——whatnot,” Pippin said with a slight shrug.

“If it’s the whatnot you are referring to, I am indeed happy. I only hope Miss Whatnot will reciprocate in kind. The pots and pans I particularly like, if indeed you are referring to the purchases I made today. Will your wives approve of the furniture, do you think?”

“Indeed, how not?” said Merry. “That headboard——it set you back a pretty penny, but I do like it. It is not often one finds such skilled woodworking in these parts. I expect it is due to all the harvest holidays. Many of us hobbits have never seen the sea, though we have seen seashells. The shells carved on the headboard——what are they called?”

“We call them Lion’s Paws, though I am sure they have other names among other people.” Boromir said.

“Beautifully carved,” Pippin said with a nod. “I like the little hidden drawers in it. Very clever, that.”

“Then I may assume you think my choices sound?”

“Oh, yes, I’m sure I may speak for Merry as well, when I say you’ve chosen wisely, and I think our wives will approve——of all your choices.”

“Indeed, there is a blessing!” Boromir laughed. “I dare say I should pity the maiden that I might have chosen unwisely.”

“There’s the truth of it!” Merry agreed, “They are so very fond of you. I think they quite enjoy fussing after you.”

“Truly spoken,” added Pippin. “Our sweethearts are very kind-hearted, and love to do what they may for the sake of goodness, but they have especially taken to you. They cannot abide thinking of you living all alone, and worry about you, probably overmuch. Still, I do understand it. I cannot say the thought of you all alone does not bother me, somehow. If you stay all alone all the time, you’ll wind up all alone for all time.”

Boromir scratched his head as he attempted to muddle through Pippin’s little speech. Merry, however, being used to Pippin’s way of speaking at times in a circular manner, had no trouble at all. “Aye,” he said with a nod of agreement. “I sometimes worry, thinking of you rattling about in your cabin without a soul to share your days.”

“But I am not alone,” Boromir laughed. “My friends are always with me, at least in my heart, and I have my work. Also, my cats and Lady Grey are good company.”

“No doubt they are,” Merry said. “But they cannot be of much use for the purpose of good conversation.”

“But Lady Grey and my cats are most excellent listeners,” Boromir grinned. “I can share any confidence with them and they never tell a soul.”

“At any rate,” Pippin said, “I believe I have the right of it when I say that I think you are lonely, and that you might long for female companionship. Do not look at me like that! I know I am impertinent!”

Boromir, laughing, shook his head. “And so you are,” he said, “But you are, of course, right. I had my Ruby long enough to understand the rewards of such companionship. I think the both of you would have come to love her. I am sure of it.”

“I am sure in equal measure that you know best,” Pippin said warmly, and patted his friend’s arm. “You could not have loved her so, otherwise. How you must miss her. I cannot bear the thought of losing my Diamond.” Here Pippin grew silent, his brow drawn as he nibbled on the stem of his pipe. Now Boromir patted Pippin’s arm.

“I pray you do not find out any time soon,” he said. “And I pray the same for Merry. But all this talk of such sorrows has made you two miss your wives, I can tell. Such excellent ladies they are, both. You are blessed, and with such wonderful sons, as well. I should like a houseful of such offspring!”

“Be careful what you wish for,” Merry laughed. “They can be a handful; a houseful might prove too much!”

“I knew a few soldiers with children,” Boromir said. “I always liked to visit them. Children were in such scarce supply in my city. But I want many children.”

“Then you had best see to your task, for you are not getting any younger,” Pippin said with a generous helping of cheek.

“Rascal!” Boromir laughed, and gave him a playful cuff. “Much more of such sauce and you’ll not get much older!”

“I’m terrified,” Pippin said dryly. “But children are not soldiers, Boromir, most especially the lasses, and I should know, as I have three sisters.”

“Surely girls cannot be so difficult as all that,” said Boromir, an expression of doubt on his features, one eyebrow arched.

“Oh, ho!” Pippin rolled his eyes. “If you truly believe that, well, you are badly mistaken!”

“Come, come, now, surely not! I love little girls, they are so sweet and soft, and very affectionate.”

“You only think that because you are so easily wrapped around their fingers, Boromir; I’ve seen you playing with Sam’s daughters, and with other lasses. But sisters, or daughters—they are another matter altogether, I tell you.”

“Now, now, children,” Merry said with his best mock scowl, “Enough of this squabbling. Tomorrow is another day. More to the point, tomorrow night is Harvestmath Dance! I think we should turn in soon.”

“Aye, that we should,” Pippin said.

Boromir saw Merry grimace, giving him a sympathetic glance. Merry knew, of course, why Boromir felt the way he did about little girls, it was because… No! Do not think of it just now, Boromir scolded himself, not when it is bedtime, and dreams lie just beyond the closing of your eyes. You shall have that inquisitive Took worrying himself again. Does he think you are hiding something from him? He would be right to do so… You must think of something else!

Forcing these thoughts from his mind, he watched Pippin yawn, and wondered for the thousandth time how anyone so small could yawn so hugely and so very, very loudly. He allowed himself a grin and a chuckle, but the yawn spread between the three of them like a cold, and he found himself stretching and yawning as well. “I’m for bed,” he said, rising and scratching his ribs. Merry and Pippin did likewise—an onlooker would have found the sight rather comic as the three all scratched and shuffled off to their beds to undress and slip between cool sheets over which cozy blankets lay spread. They bade each other goodnight, making quite a round robin of the business. The day had been a busy one, and they were drowsy with weariness and wine. As Boromir shut his eyes, he turned his mind to the evening to come. The possibility of dancing with Saro under the Harvestmath moon soon drove away any other thought. Sleep claimed them swiftly— and especially for Boromir, peacefully.

After breakfast, they decided to go back to the fairgrounds. To the delight of the three, they ran into some of the little children Boromir thought of as his urchins. Most of the little ones had taken their coins home to their families, so that all might visit the fair. Some of the young ones had lost a parent to ill health or ill fortune, and these were delighted to introduce at last the remaining parent to their friend ‘the Beeman’. Standing near them, and a little apart from the others they saw little Holly, and beside her, holding her hand was a hobbitess who in every aspect seemed the grown-up version of little Holly. In one arm she held a little hobbit doll made of cloth, with wooden beads for eyes and a shock of brown yarn for hair.

“I am so pleased to meet the friend of my Holly,” she said. “I am Lily Thornbush. May I thank you for your kindness, sir?”

“How good it is to meet you, my lady,” Boromir replied with courtly bow. “But if you please, Ma’am, it would be my preference that you not thank me, Ma’am, for it is I who should thank you, so fond am I of little Holly. She is a delight, and my day is made brighter each time we meet.” He looked from little Holly to her mother and added, “ May I ask if you have attended any tea-parties yet?” He indicated the little doll, and Lily smiled warmly.

“Oh, yes, we have had tea, and breakfast, and second breakfast, and soon will be enjoying elevenses,” she smiled. “Her name is Saro, for it was Saro who helped Holly to find the doll maker.”

“A most fortunate happenstance,” Boromir said. He knelt before Holly, and bowed himself still lower to be at her level. “And who chose your doll? Was it you?”

“Saro picked Saro,” Holly said, then, realizing what she had just said, gave a bubbling little laugh. “That sounded silly, didn’t it?”

“Oh, not at all, not at all. Such a lucky little doll, to be picked by Saro.” He gently tugged at the doll’s forelock with a soft smile. “And now she has you and your mother to take care of her. She is a lucky doll, indeed. I wager Saro was more than happy to help you find just the right one.”

“Yes, Saro is always so very nice. She lives in the same place as Mum and me.”

“Does she, now? Saro is very fond of you, you know.”

“Yes, I know,” Holly said. “She is going to come to Harvestmath Dance tonight. She has a new dress. It is very pretty, and some day I should like to have one like it.”

“Oh, but that is the dress of a grown-up lady,” Boromir said. “I hope you shan’t be wearing grown-up dresses too soon, for I would miss my little friend terribly.”

“Don’t worry, Mister Beeman! I shall be a little lass for a while just yet.” She suddenly threw her arms about his neck and hugged him tightly, dropping a wet little kiss on his cheek. “Thank you ever so much for being my friend,” she said.

Boromir held her gently for a moment, and kissed her cheek in return. “No, little lady, it is I who should thank you.” Then he stood and waved at the modest crowd of young ones and parents as they moved off. Pippin couldn’t help noticing the unusual look on his face, as if his friend was remembering something which saddened him, but before he could ask if all was well, Boromir cleared his throat rather loudly, and then with a “Let us find that pie-vendor!” the man turned quickly and strode away.

Pippin watched him walk a few steps ahead before following. He turned to Merry and said, “He bears his wounds secretly and very deep, I fear.”

“Yes, Pip, he does,” Merry said, laying a hand on his cousin’s shoulder. “I know it is hard for you, but we both must let him carry his wounds as he will. You worry too much. I thought worrying too much was my post.”

“Yes, you do it so well,” Pippin grinned. “Here you are, worrying about me worrying! Well, whatever it is, I hope some fine day it will haunt him no more——or at least not so much.”

“I wish that as well, but for now, let us leave it behind, and catch up with him,” Merry said, giving Pippin a nudge with his elbow. “I am sure he has sniffed out the pie-vendor, and I am ready for more of those lovely stuffed mushrooms.”

Pippin beamed. “That does sound tasty,” he said, and they trotted together to catch up with their friend.

Boromir had indeed sniffed out the pie-vendor, and the tables were laden with pies and tarts of every kind, along with the savory stuffed mushrooms they enjoyed so much. Having made their purchases, they set to the pleasant duty of filling their bellies. After they accomplished this task, they decided to retire to their room for a nap, and later a nice, hot bath. The bathhouse overflowed with patrons making ready for the evening, and red-faced attendants bustled about with buckets of steaming water, brushes, towels, and soap. Pippin had changed but little in regard to his bathing habits: They still involved enthusiastic splashing and very loud singing. His voice, though pleasing to the ear, rang loudly throughout the bathhouse. To Boromir’s amusement, some of the other bathers even joined along. Apparently, the bath-song was popular in these parts.

After bathing, back in their room, they brushed their clothing, and then Boromir polished his boots. Regardless of the many times they had seen Men do this chore, the process fascinated Merry and Pippin, and Boromir hid a smile at the close attention they paid to his busy hands. The afternoon dragged on for the three of them, most especially for Boromir, but for the hobbits as well: They were eager to see what would happen at the dance. The remains of the day they filled with small talk and tea, along with the bitter herbs in Boromir’s cup and the comic faces he always made upon drinking it; he dared not miss a dose with Merry’s hawkish gaze on him, knowing his friend’s willingness to give him ‘what for’ should he attempt to skip his medicine.

At last, the skies grew darker and the first stars began to kindle in the autumnal sky.

Before leaving their room, Boromir went to the mirror to inspect his appearance. All but nose-to-nose with his own image, he re-brushed his hair, re-smoothed his brows, re-examined his beard, and re-tugged at his clothing—all for the sixth time in the last half-hour. Hearing the stifled laughter of his friends, he graced them with a look that came near to an outright glare. Of course, this made Merry and Pippin laugh harder still.

“Friends, I am not myself,” he said.

Pippin snickered. “Indeed,” he said, “You are to be pitied, I think. And now you have gone to sulking.”

Boromir, red-faced with embarrassment, stammered. Then, struggling for something to say, sputtered, “Nothing!” He stalked to the door, then, turning to his friends, he paused. His embarrassment slowly abated, and he leaned against the door, laughing so hard at himself that he had to wipe his eyes. “Come, come,” he said, gesturing to them to join him.

The streets were filled with folk both little and large: In Bree, Hobbits and Men shared almost all aspects of their lives, both the joyous and the sorrowful, and this evening they all moved together in the direction of the fair-grounds. So many were there that the three companions walked together in a tight little knot, so that they should not be separated, and though they walked crowded together, they walked nonetheless merrily.

Though they did not notice, one figure walked behind them, careful not to lose sight of them. Pale and weak, it was quite a struggle for him to keep up, but he did manage to do so, and hung back a way, watching as the three friends meet up with Saro, who had brought along her friend, Bluebell Fox.

Already the minstrels had begun to play. Pippin, smiling, held his hand out to Saro. “Lady, will you dance with your friend a while?”

Laughing, she accepted his hand and returned his bow with a curtsy. The tune was a lively one, calling for a dance which involved a great deal of circling about one another as they wheeled around a slender alder in the exact middle of the field. From its branches hung a great many tiny lanterns, lending an enchanted quality to the dancing area, and Merry, Boromir and Bluebell watched Saro and Pippin, smiling and laughing as they danced, wheeling and whirling around the tree. Merry held his hand out to Bluebell, and soon they had joined Saro and Pippin, swirling and spinning about the little alder. The wheeling dancers moved closer together, and as Bluebell caught Saro’s eye, she indicated that Saro should look in Boromir’s direction. Merry and Pippin glanced at their friend and grimaced. The poulterer’s daughter had found him.

“Oh, dear, what ever can he do?” Merry moaned.

“We have made a mistake, leaving him on his own like that,” Pippin said.

The music ended and the next tune taken up. Merry and Pippin, along with Saro and Bluebell paused briefly to catch their breath before taking up the tune. Saro watched Boromir closely. What would he do? She knew what most men would do—they would find whatever excuse they might to get away from an undesirable girl. Though Saro knew the poulterer’s daughter to be kind-hearted, poor thing, she really was a homely girl with her large, sharp nose, bug eyes and tiny chin. So unfortunate, that it made her look too much like a chicken to suit any of the town’s men. Surely, Boromir would scorn her, just as Saro, herself had been scorned by so many.

Then as the music rose, Saro saw something she would never forget. Boromir took the homely girl’s hand and walked with her under the alder, where they took up the tune and danced. He smiled kindly at the girl, and one might never have known whether he felt discomfited to be seen with her. Like something from a storybook—a noble fellow who could never humiliate a woman, no matter what the circumstances, Boromir demonstrated only the kindliest manner with the girl.

Bluebell placed an arm around Saro’s shoulder and whispered in her ear, “Well, will you look at that! I have never seen the poor thing dance before. She has always been left standing all to herself. I do not think I have ever seen her smile so. How happy he has made her!”

“She looks so…different,” Saro said. “See, he is talking with her as well. I thought surely he would have told her some tale to get out of it, but he has not.”

“Because he would not embarrass her so,” Merry said. “If you knew him as we do, you would know that, Saro.”

“He has always seemed quite the gentleman to me,” Saro said. “Only, I did not know him to be so…so…”

“Kind? Charming? Or is it something more?” Pippin prodded.

“Yes,” Bluebell said. “It is something more, I think, but I do not know the words to use.”

“My dear ladies, as Merry said, if you but knew him as well as we, you would understand. She could be a dowager with a hump and warts on her nose, and he would not insult her,” Pippin said. “Nor would he see her made a fool before the whole town. No matter how he may feel about her, it is a matter of principle: To dishonor a lady is to dishonor himself.”

“Yet…it is more than even that, I think,” Saro said. “I do think it has to do with kindness, or perhaps…. Gracefulness. It is as if he feels that treating her as one who is as pretty as any other girl will make her so in her own eyes.”

“Yes, that is the very truth of it, Saro! He is making her feel…well… at ease with herself, I think,” said Bluebell. Her smooth brow furrowed in thought. The word for which she sought was elan, though she would not have known it. “I hope you have the sense to dance with him, should he ask. And I am sure he shall ask!”

“I suppose that is a possibility,” Pippin said, and squeaked as Merry dug into his ribs with an elbow. “In the meantime, lest I forget my own manners, would you care to have a wee dance, Miss Fox? No sense in the rest of us missing out the rest of the tune!”

“I will, kind sir,” Bluebell said with a smile as pretty as her name. They joined the rest of the dancers, and soon Merry joined in with Saro. When this last tune ended, they all stopped for a bit of wine. The poulterer’s daughter, flushed with her first dance with anyone besides her brothers or father, skipped off to chat with her sisters. From a distance they looked like a flock of plump hens. Saro, Boromir and the rest were only just finishing their wine and were about to return to their places near the minstrels when Boromir felt a tug at his sleeve.

“Holly!” Boromir grinned, lifting the little one in his arms.

“Why, Holly,” Saro said. “I am so happy to see you!”

“Hallo, Saro,” smiled Holly. “You look so very pretty tonight! Mother says we must go home soon—it is past my bedtime. But I wanted to ask…”

“Yes, darling?”

“Is it at all proper for a little lass to dance with a grownup? Mother said I shouldn’t ask, but I really would like to dance.”

“Holly…where is your mother?” Boromir asked.

He felt a tap on his arm and turned to find a breathless Lily Thornbush. “Here I am, and this little imp has given me the slip once too often tonight! Holly, you must come away. We shouldn’t be bothering these good folk; they are here to dance with one another.”

“Do not fret, Mistress Thornbush,” Boromir said. “Holly could never be a bother. Would you be so kind as to allow me to dance with her before she must go?”

“Well, I…” Lily looked from Boromir’s hopeful expression to Holly’s small face.

“Please, Mum,” said the child. Her eyes were wide and pleading.

“I suppose one dance can’t do too much harm,” Lily relented, grinning at her inability to refuse her daughter something she wanted so badly to do.

“My thanks to you, lady! I’ll bring her straight back!” Off Boromir went with little Holly squealing in delight. Their companions watched him spin about a while with Holly still in his arms, but then the dance turned into a pony-ride before Boromir returned the giggling lass to her mother’s arms. “Remember now, Holly!” Boromir said, wagging a finger at the tiny lass. “No more running away from your mother!”

“I promise!” Holly said, giggling and bright-eyed. As Lily led her little one away with a smile and a wave, each one holding a doll’s hand, Boromir watched them go.

“No more running away,” he mumbled.

Something about the way he said it caught Pippin’s ear. Looking at Boromir, he saw something sad, some dark memory, flit across his friend’s face, and then he saw Boromir shake it off. “Saro, would you like to—“

“Ladies round the tree!” cried one of the singers. “Gentlemen round the ladies!”

Laughing, Saro and Bluebell skipped off to take their places. Boromir groaned, “Will I never dance with her?” He strode away with his friends to form a circle around the ladies. The musicians struck up the tune and the ladies, joining hands, began to move in a counterclockwise motion about the tree, whilst the gents, also joining hands, moved in clockwise motion around the ladies. Whoops and shouts of encouragement filled the air. Those not dancing clapped their hands and stamped their feet in time. After the dance ended all the dancers were truly thirsty, and wine of every kind flowed, along with beer and cider. Feeling a bit tipsy, Boromir grew bolder, and when the musicians next struck a tune, livelier than any yet heard, he grasped Saro’s hand.

“Now really,” he said with a smile, and cleared his throat impressively. “You must dance with me, Saro,” he said. “I have a dance to show you. I learnt it from a lady of Harad, and I daresay you have never seen its like.”

“A lady of Harad?”

“Indeed. She was a dusky, sloe-eyed lass. Her people are wonderful dancers. I met her at court, when I—when I was still a soldier. Her sire was an emissary.”

“Well, I…are you sure I can learn it?”

“Do not worry, I have seen you dance. Come, I shall show you.” Taking her hand, he led her to the outskirts of the dancing field.

From a distance their friends watched. Boromir stood behind Saro, and taking her wrists, he raised them above her head, then placed his hands about her trim waist, guiding her to sway, and began to move with her. Though the dance was in no way vulgar, there was something about it that seemed quite sensual. Drums drove the dancers on and on, the pulsing beat calling forth in all who danced all the wonderful passion of a harvest season, rivaled only by the ardent dances of spring. Now, moving around to face Saro, Boromir locked eyes with his partner

Their friends watched with fascination, for this new dance had a definite flavor of the foreign and exotic, like a rare spice from some far away place, perhaps a distant desert or the darkness of a steamy forest, where strange birds in brilliant plumage called to their mates and unknown flowers filled the air with unfamiliar perfume. Saro and Boromir danced as though mutually enchanted, neither seeing or acknowledging anyone or anything around them. At that exact moment, their friends witnessed a remarkable thing: They saw two dancers caught in each other’s eyes, as though in a spell, saw two hearts suddenly linked, irrevocably and completely. As though in a vision, the dancers transformed before their eyes, becoming something else, something new and bright and enduring, like the birth of a star. More wonderful still, when the dance ended, Saro went willingly into Boromir’s arms, and as they embraced, she offered him her mouth, oblivious to all around her. Boromir gathered her trembling form in his arms, as though to do so was to make her safe from any harm, any sadness, any wrong, and kissed her tenderly, as if in doing so he could mend all hurts and dry every tear. The spell was cast, their fates entwined, and it seemed the harvest moon burned all the brighter for all who saw. The seed, planted firmly, quickened, and as the leaves of the alder fell, the spirits of Saro and Boromir rose to join the stars and moon, now dancing invisible to all but their friends.

A new tune rose. Boromir, still embracing Saro, still caught in her eyes, guided her into the crowd of dancers, where the music, this time a slow, romantic song, moved all the dancers about the way the breeze moved the falling, golden leaves of the autumnal alder.

Much thanks to my wonderful beta reader, who has taken time from her too-busy life to beta this for me. And thanks to all my readers! Bless each and every one of you!

chapter 21

What Grows in the Old Forest

Something seemed to be happening just outside the livery where Lady Grey, Dapplegrim and Stybba had been stabled. A small crowd formed a knot in the street where a narrow alley led to the back of the livery. “Dapplegrim!” Pippin muttered, and bolted forward with Merry and Boromir at his heels. As the three companions approached, the crowd of men and hobbits that had gathered there parted to let someone through. Leading this procession, Bree’s resident healer strode forth purposefully, and behind him came two men carrying a third, the latter being tightly wound in a horse-blanket.

“Bob Ferny!” Pippin gasped. He turned to a hobbit——Nob, himself, in fact, now grown older, but the very same hobbit Merry and Pippin had met those many years ago——and asked, “What has happened to him?”

“Nothin’, from what I gather,” answered Nob. “Tom Brock seen him stumble back there a while back. Said he offered t’awd rascal a drink, and Ferny turned ’im down cold. Who’d a-thought, I asks ye? Bob Ferny, turnin’ down a drink, and it free, at that!”

“I seen it happen to him before,” added a man nearby. “That happens sometimes, when a man is so accustomed to drink he cannot live without it, and suddenly stops drinking. If they don’t get some spirits in his belly, he’s like to die of it.” The man frowned and shook his head, pity written across his florid face. “It were awful to see. Old Ferny was taken with the fits. Right foamin’ at the mouth, he was. Pitiful, just pitiful. He will die if he keeps drinking, and he will die if he stops.”

“What shall be done with him, then?” Boromir asked.

“Oh, he’ll be seen through it, though who is to pay the healer will be sorted out later.” The man shook his head yet again. “After he’s got through the shakes and the visions, and he’s not out o’ his head still, they’ll turn him loose. He will be filled with remorse a while, and then he shall find a bottle again. I should rather say the bottle shall find him, for that seems the way of it.”

The crowd, having lost the object of all the excitement, began to break apart and drift away. Merry, ever the worrier, watched Boromir’s face. Plainly, Boromir had become distressed, probably about how this event might impinge on Saro and his budding relationship with her. Merry nudged Pippin and indicated Boromir with a nod of his head. Pippin gave Merry a subtle nod, tapping the side of his nose; a gesture long familiar to Merry.

Pippin gave Boromir’s sleeve a twitch to get his attention. “Come, let us talk in our room,” he said.

Boromir nodded and followed his friends back to their room. He said nothing, but busied himself adding wood to the fireplace. Merry busied himself observing Pippin watching Boromir. He found Pippin’s abilities to manipulate Boromir fascinating. He never understood the mechanics of the relationship completely, and would not have recognized this behavior mirrored in himself. Nonetheless, Pippin never failed to astonish Merry with his skills in handling Boromir, who could be as stubborn as a bull. Pippin possessed a bag full of tricks for this purpose, and Merry wanted to see what trick Pippin might use this time. He was not disappointed.

When Boromir stood up, brushed his hands together and turned to take a seat in the one man-sized chair in the room, he found Pippin had taken up residence in it, leaving Boromir either to sit on the floor or squat upon the hobbit-sized chair. Boromir’s somber expression cracked, and the man found himself laughing in spite of his worries.

“Now Boromir,” Pippin reproached. “Did I not find a way to get Saro to go to Harvestmath dance?”

“Aye, that you did.”

“I want you to listen to me,” Pippin continued. “This unfortunate turn of events changes little, if anything at all. You are not to worry. If you do, and I catch you at it, I shall pluck a whisker from your beard.”

Boromir regarded Pippin with a look of surprise. “You would, would you not? You truly would commit such an act!”

“I would and I shall.” Pippin rose to give Boromir his chair, and waited for the man to sit before he continued. “Now, I think it best that you speak to the healer tomorrow and learn as much as you may about old Bob. Find out what, if anything, may be done. After that, you shall go and speak with Saro, and find out what her wishes are, if indeed she has any. Only then can we decide on a course of action, if any action is even possible. Bob may be bent on his own destruction. This is often the case with people like himself. However…”

“Are you suggesting there may be hope for him?”

“I am,” Pippin nodded. “And I should think that you, too, should know this.”

“I have learned the good of hope.” Boromir smiled. “You are, of course, right. I had only forgotten the lesson for a moment. We must understand, however, that all too often, men like Bob Ferny have but one destination, and that being the grave.”

“And Saro is not a foolish lass,” Merry added. “Surely she has lived long enough to have an understanding of her uncle’s malady, for malady it is, else so many shouldn’t have died of it.”

“And if you are willing to stand by her during this horrible time,” Pippin said, “It shall stand you in good stead with her, all the more. Now, tomorrow is another day, and the hour is late. If we are to handle this situation tomorrow, we had best get our heads upon our pillows, and that right soon.”

“My friends,” Boromir said warmly, “Where in all the wide world could I find more goodly companions? You are both right, of course. And I thank you both with all my heart.”

“Nonsense!” Pippin grinned. “And what shall befall you if I see you are worrying?”

“Shall you pluck my face bare, then?” Boromir laughed.

“As smooth as a maiden’s cheek,” Pippin said, saucy as ever. “Who better to tug at the whiskers of the lion than a favored cub?”

“I thought you were a kit,” Boromir countered.

“Kit or cub, it shan’t matter a whit once I have snatched out your whiskers!”

Merry grinned. Amazing, he thought. I wish I knew how he does it. Why, it’s much like the way he handled Dapplegrim, taming him into such a gentle creature when he was so wild as a colt! “Well, I’m for bed,” he yawned. “The night has been a long one, and I fancy we’ve much to see to before we can return to our wives and sons.”

“Indeed,” Boromir agreed. “I shall not worry, I promise you that. I would as soon keep my beard! At any rate, I am too tired to worry tonight.”

“While you are about tomorrow,” Pippin said, “Merry and I shall make ready to have your purchases loaded on the wagon, so that we may be off as soon as the matter of Saro’s uncle is settled.”

“An excellent plan,” Merry nodded. “And Pippin is right. You mustn’t worry, just you do what you feel you must tomorrow morning, and leave the rest to us.”

“I shall, and I thank you both,” Boromir said.

The three of them settled comfortably in their beds. Pippin could not forget the sound of Boromir’s heart beating so oddly, and he meant to not let his friend worry himself into a state in which his heart might fail him. Lying awake, he listened for the sound of Boromir’s breathing to even out into the rhythm of one sleeping. He didn’t have long to wait. Satisfied with the sound of his friend breathing in peaceful slumber, he rolled over to let himself drift off to sleep, but before he could, he heard Merry whisper to him.

“Pippin, you would never employ such antics to get me to do what you want, would you?”

Pippin grinned a fox-like grin in the dark, and answered in a most sober tone, “Of course not, Merry! I would never do that to you!”

“Didn’t think so,” Merry whispered. “It would never work on me, anyway.”

“Of course not,” Pippin said, struggling to keep from laughing. “Good night, Merry.”

“Good night,” Merry said, then his breathing, too, evened out in sleep.

Pippin lay quiet a while longer in his bed, smiling to himself as he fell asleep.

Boromir woke just before dawn. He did not wish to disturb his friends, so he dressed quietly and quickly and slipped out of their room. He walked to the healer’s home swiftly, shivering slightly with the chill of winter’s approach in the morning air.

He pounded on the healer’s door. The housekeeper, a wizened and venerable gammer with an easy smile even at this early hour, let him in, raising an age-crooked finger to her lips, bidding Boromir to enter quietly. She led him past a long room where an open door revealed a sickroom. Inside it were six beds, empty now, save the one in which Bob Ferny lay. Boromir managed a glimpse of him as they passed on their way to a sitting room to await the healer’s presence. He had not long to wait, and soon the door silently swung on well-oiled hinges as the healer, Linden Fennel, slipped in on surprisingly quiet steps for so heavy a one as he. He poured tea for Boromir and himself, and took a seat in a chair near the fire.

“How fare you, Beeman?” Fennel smiled, eyes flitting across Boromir in a longtime healer’s disciplined search for something awry. “Does the herbal tea help you? Have you come for more?”

“I am well, sir,” Boromir said. “The herbs have worked wonders, sir, and I thank you for your help, but no, I have not come for more just yet. I have come to inquire about Bob Ferny. You see, his niece——”

“Say no more, say no more, I have two good ears, and these old eyes can see a barn by daylight just yet!” Fennel laughed at the expression on Boromir’s face. “Oh, I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable, Beeman! You must forgive me, I am accustomed to speaking too frankly, I fear. Comes with the profession, I suppose.”

“You must have attended the dance last night.” Boromir paused to gather his thoughts a moment, and then said, “I should like to pay you for his treatment, and ask your advice. Can he not be saved from himself?”

“If he can, it must be by his own hand, I fear,” Fennel said. “For my part, I should warn you, his chances are not good. Some men uncork their first bottle at their peril. For those like Ferny, it would be better if the arts of wine making, distilling and brewing had never been discovered. If he can be persuaded to foreswear any wines or spirits, he may stand some chance. If he does not choose to eschew these things, he will die as surely as if he drank poison, for poison it is for men like him.”

“Aye, to be sure,” Boromir nodded. “The demon at the bottom of the bottle lies unseen until too late, and the drink consumes him who sees not the danger, instead of the other way around. Is there nothing you can give him that would ease his cravings?”

“None, sir,” Fennel wagged his head sadly. “I can give him a potion which will help him to sleep, but nothing more, I fear. Are you sure you wish to take on this expense, Beeman? You shall be throwing good money after bad, I fear.”

“I do wish that,” Boromir nodded. He gazed blankly at his now-empty teacup, looking up only when Fennel took the cup and refilled it. Boromir sipped his fresh tea, and asked, “Tell me, have you known of any who may have defeated this malady?”

“Defeated? Nay, that is too strong a word, sir, too strong a word by far.” Fennel uncovered a platter holding fresh bread with butter and honey and a wedge of cheese, offering Boromir something to go with his tea. “This is a demon that cannot be forever defeated, but it may be held at bay. And I do know a few which have done just that. Shall I speak with them, and seek their wisdom in the matter?”

“I should be in your debt, sir.” Boromir took a little bread and chewed thoughtfully. “May I assume, then, that all is not lost?”

“You may, yet do not cling to the foolish hope that there is anything you yourself can do, good Beeman.”

“Shall I go to Saro, and ask if she wishes to speak with you, then? Perhaps your words will comfort her and give her counsel.”

“You do that,” Fennel smiled. “And no matter how it all turns out, I am glad you and Saro have found one another, if I may make so bold. She is a good lass, and deserves a little happiness.”

“She deserves more than a little happiness, I should think. She deserves all the happiness it is in my power to give her. I shall go to her now. I shall see you shortly, if Saro wishes to speak with you, good healer.” Boromir rose, and doing the healer the courtesy of a quick bow, and took his leave with the promise to pay Fennel for his troubles.

Boromir walked to the little boarding house that Saro and her friends called home. He sat on the low steps, took a deep breath, and, closing his eyes, cleared his mind. With head bowed, he spoke softly, “Release him now from the bondage of self, that he may better do Thy will. Strengthen him in difficulties, that victory over them may bear witness to those he would serve of Thy Power, Thy Love, and Thy path of life. May he do Thy will always! Set his feet upon the path of Your choosing.” He sat quietly and patiently then, and counted his many blessings, understanding that he needed to be ever grateful for all the good and wonderful things in his life. Always did this habit instill in him a sense of peace, along with a sensation that for a few moments he stood at the center of all things, and with him stood the Source of All Light.

“Good morning, Beeman! What are you doing here, and so early in the day?” came a small voice just behind him. So wrapped up in his thoughts, Boromir hadn’t heard the door behind him open, and startled, he jumped.

“Hol-ly!” This was, of course, Lily Thornbush. “Dear, dear, what are you about, child? There you are. Why, Master Beeman! You are out and about early. What brings you here at this hour, and will you come in from the chill?”

“Thank you, Ma’am,” Boromir stood and saluted the Thornbushes with a quick bow. “I should wait outside, lest my visit appear unseemly, though your offer is a kind one. I have come to see Saro. Her uncle is… ill. I would rather she not have the news given to her carelessly, and so I have come to give it to her, myself. Do not wake her if she is still sleeping, I am content to wait.”

“Well, you shan’t have a long while to wait,” Lily said, eyes shining. “She shall be down presently. She shall be happy to see you, I am sure.”

Boromir laughed. “Shall I assume, then, she has spoken of me to you?”

“Yes, you may,” Holly answered, as chipper as a sparrow. “She quite fancies you.”

“Oh, Holly!” Lily moaned.

“Have I got it wrong?” Holly said, all wide eyes and curiosity, “I thought she said she fancies him quite a lot.”

“Oh, dear, I am so very, very sorry, Master Beeman, you must forgive—”

“Nay, Mistress Thornbush, you worry yourself needlessly,” Boromir smiled. “She is but a little child, and only repeats what she has heard.”

They heard the light tread of Saro’s feet before they saw her. She sang as she descended the stairs, humming the tune to Bird and Berry when she couldn’t remember the words. Holly, seeing the way Boromir’s face lit up, giggled. “Well, what a lovely way to begin the day,” Saro smiled. “When I said you may call on me, I did not expect such promptness.”

Boromir looked through the open doorway and saw Saro. She was dressed in her working clothes and her old shoes, but she walked differently, now, as though her feet scarce felt the floor beneath them. For a brief moment Boromir forgot what he had come here for, then, remembering himself, he bade Saro good morning, and asked her to walk with him a while. They wished a good day to the hobbits, and as they walked Boromir gave Saro the news.

“Well, I cannot say I am surprised,” she said thoughtfully and without a trace of bitterness. “I have come to terms with this curse long ago. I hope he shall do better, but I know I cannot count on it. I used to blame myself, for I felt I was a great burden on him. After I grew older, I remembered my father, and his father before him. They, too, walked the same sad path as my uncle. My father has been gone for many years, and I do not expect I shall ever see him again. His father could never stop his tippling, and died as a result. As it stands, I know I must go on with my life. If he does better, I shall be very happy, but I shall not live another day with the misery he has made for himself. I shall speak with Master Fennel, of course, but…” She shrugged.

“I feared the news would cause you distress,” Boromir said. “I see now my thinking was wrong. I see now that you are as wise and strong as you are pretty.”

Saro only smiled up at him and took his arm. Boromir escorted her to the healer’s home, and there they took counsel together. Fennel allowed them to look in on Bob, and they found him in the deep drowse of the sleeping potion.

“Poor, wretched thing,” Saro said. She shook her head, clucking her tongue.

“You will notice his arms are bound to the bed. This is to keep him from harming himself, for he shall be out of his head for a day or so, knowing not where is or what he is doing. It shall pass after a while. I expect he shall be confined to bed for a week, perhaps longer, depending upon the extent of the harm his tippling has done. If he does not die of a flux of the liver, he may yet have a chance,” Fennel said. “There has been no black vomit, nor have his eyes gone yellow. Had it been so, I should be advising you to bid him farewell and look to his burial. There is hope for him yet, dear girl.”

“We shall see,” Saro said. “I shall look in on him again before I go home. I really must be about my work for now. Send word to my room, should the need arise, if you would be so kind.”

“I will do so,” Fennel said, walking them to the door himself. He watched the pair stroll away in the direction of the public ovens, where Saro often earned a coin or two doing baking for those who could not or did not wish to do their own. “Well, well, my girl,” he said. “I dare say you have found your champion, and about time, I say.” He nodded his approval, and went back inside.

Boromir bade Saro farewell in the street that ran by the common where the public ovens already burned in the hustle and bustle of a new day. They stood silently for long moments, simply gazing into each other’s eyes. After some time, Boromir kissed her, holding her gently, as if she were a butterfly that had lit in his open hand. Then, kissing her hand, he departed. Saro stood in the street, watching him walk back to the Prancing Pony.

After second breakfast, Boromir, Merry and Pippin were on their way. As it turned out, an additional wagon had to be hired, along with a pair of burly farm boys to help with the loading and unloading of all the purchases they had made.

The two families stayed with Boromir two days more before departing for their homes. Diamond and Estella were well impressed with their choices, and quite enjoyed showing off their own handiwork. Boromir’s home now looked exactly as it should: like a home. Curtains and cushions lent it just the right homey touch, and with Boromir’s furnishings installed, the ladies pronounced it a proper home, and no longer the den of a bear with furniture, though Faro and Theo bemoaned the loss of its rough-hewn charm, declaring that it looked “like lasses have been here.”

“Well, lads,” Estella laughed, “Lasses have been here, and at least one more may show up before all is said and done!”

“She sounds like a lovely lass, Boromir,” Diamond added. “We shall look forward to meeting her. A lady can always use a new friend or two, and I am quite sure Estella and I shall make her feel a part of our little mismatched family.”

“Now, Diamond,” Pippin clucked his tongue. “Don’t count the chicks until the eggs have hatched.”

“In case you have not noticed, cousin,” Merry said, digging into Pippin’s ribs with an elbow, “This is one egg which has begun to crack already!”

“Poor, poor Uncle Bom,” Faro muttered. Theo only shook his head sadly.

As Boromir saw his friends off in the chill of morning, he hopped up in the wagon and sat by Faro and Theo. Gathering the pair of youngsters in his arms, he reassured them that nothing, not even a new wife and a houseful of his own children could ever make his favorite hobbit lads less important to him. “Besides, it is too soon just yet to say which way my wooing will go. Perhaps she will not have me.”

“Papa says she will,” Faro said. “Do you think she will like us, Uncle Bom?”

“How not? A handsome pair of strong young hobbits such as you two!” Boromir smiled. “Besides, she is already the best of friends to quite a few hobbits, and already sees your fathers as her friends. I am sure you two will win her heart, as well. I only hope that I can do so!”

“I hope she can cook,” Theo said. “Not that you are a bad cook, Uncle Bom, but it would be nice to have meals more like the ones we have at home when we come to visit.”

“A lady’s touch does add a little something special, doesn’t it?” Boromir agreed. “But we shall see what we shall see.”

“She would make you very happy, wouldn’t she, if she should become your wife?” Faro said thoughtfully.

“Aye, she would,” Boromir said gravely, schooling his voice to hide his amusement.

“Then I’m sure Theo and I will like her, and we want you to be happy, don’t we, Theo?”

“Very much,” Theo nodded.

“Your words ease my mind,” Boromir said. “I would not wish to lose the companionship of my favorite pair of hobbit lads.”

“That will never happen,” Faro said, giving Boromir a fierce hug, soon joined by Theo.

“Well, then,” Boromir said, “I should let you go, for the day is not growing any longer, and the Took half of you all have a way to travel. In a month or so, you must come with your fathers for a visit, and we shall go hunting for deer. I should like a Midwinter’s Day feast, and venison would go wonderfully with it.”

“Oh, that sounds splendid,” Pippin said over his shoulder. “Let us do that, the lads are very good with a bow. I shall bring my nets, and we can lay aside some partridge as well.”

Boromir climbed down from the wagon and bid them all farewell. He stood watching as the wagon rolled away into the morning mist. His home would feel terribly empty for the next few days, but this would pass with his next market day.

When Boromir returned to Bree, he learned from Saro that Bob Ferny was doing quite well. He had taken a job mucking out the stables at the livery. He took a noon meal with Saro and Boromir, and Boromir found him to be a completely different person than the wastrel drunkard he had first met.

“It were seeing you with Saro that did it,” he told Boromir. “I seen the way of it, and I knew I had to do better, or I would lose my last blood kin, and I would have deserved it, too. I’ve much to put to rights, sir, and I should like to start by telling you how sorry I am I was such a beastly rascal. I behaved like a scoundrel to you and your friends, and I shamed my niece, as no kin ever should do. I mean to do better, and I will do all I can to put things as right as I may.”

With each visit to Bree, Boromir saw Bob slowly coming into his own, sometimes with difficulty, but still doing his best. Fennel gave him work helping to dry herbs, roots and cresses, and with grinding them for potions, poultices and ointments. When Merry and Pippin next accompanied Boromir to Bree, Bob invited them to dine with him, and they accepted the invitation, along with a great many penitent words and gestures. Saro had not moved back to Bob’s home, but she would visit him, and she attended this meal. After they had eaten, Bob stood and spoke. “I asked you all here for a reason,” he said, his voice tremulous with emotion. “I have something important I’d like to say. And I have a token of my love and gratitude for my Saro-girl. It ain’t near what I’d like to give, but… Well, I had it put away all these years. Many a time I thought to sell it to buy my drink. I’m glad now that I didn’t.” He dipped his hand in a deep pocket and retrieved a small cloth bag, emptying its contents in his hand, and held it out to Boromir. “I had a lass, once. I loved her so, but… I lost her, for she could not bear the thought of a life with a drunkard, and she married another. I bought this ring to give to her, in promise to wed. But it were too late. It were my own fault, and none of hers, but it did break my heart. I want Saro to have it. Would you be so kind as to let me give it to you? Folk speak mighty high of you, Master Beeman. I know you’ll take the best care of her, so you will; better than I ever did.”

Saro looked at Boromir and nodded her consent.

Boromir took the ring. It was a gold band set with a tiny pearl. “We had a kinswoman what took a sea voyage, once,” Bob said. “Our great, great, great grandmother, she was. She brought back the pearl. It were in the family for generations, but when I decided I wanted to marry my lass, I had the goldsmith put it in that there ring. Many a family tale has sprung up around that pearl. It were said she got it as a gift from a fellow what took a fancy to her, and asked her to marry him. Which she did, right on the ship, they say. But her husband was lost at sea before the voyage ended. They said a great wave rocked the ship, and he was in the crow’s nest. He was flung out in the water, but it was night, and nobody knew he was gone until too late. She never did remarry. She must have loved him something dear, for the tale goes that she grieved his loss all her life. You was named after her, Saro. It ought to go to you, and I hope it makes you happy, my girl.”

Boromir looked at the ring for a moment. Seemingly acting on impulse, he knelt by Saro and took her hand. “The perfect time for this, to my mind,” he said. “Saro, I offer you my hand and heart, with my love and devotion. Will you give me yours in return? Marry me, Saro, my pretty Saro. Be my sweetheart and my wife, and walk with me all the days of our lives. Say you will, Saro, say you shall be my wife.”

Saro, robbed of speech, only nodded. Boromir slipped the ring on her finger, then rising, scooped her into his arms and kissed her tenderly as Saro laughed and wept with joy. Merry, Pippin and Bob all cheered loudly. The cups raised were filled with tea, not wine, but this did not make the celebration any less joyous.

Diamond and Estella met the news with equal happiness, arranging a trip with their families to visit Boromir so that they could meet Saro. The occasion fell on Boromir’s birthday two weeks before Yule. In the manner of hobbits, Boromir handed out gifts to his dear ones. The lads were given new quivers filled with arrows. Diamond received a set of books filled with old tales from the south. Estella got a new coffee grinder and a large bag of coffee beans. Merry was given a rare book on herb lore. To Pippin Boromir gave a necklace with a fox kit engraved on a small pendant. To Saro he gave a fine wool coat and a pair of fur-lined boots. They feasted throughout the day and late into the night. Whilst passing around afters, Saro brought out a box and placed it carefully on the table.

“Uncle Bob found this in the trunk with my ring,” she said. “We think it is a record of our family history. I can read a little, yet not well enough to muddle through it, and Uncle Bob cannot read at all. I was wondering if perhaps…”

“Your family history?” Merry and Pippin said at once, squeezing in on either side of Saro like bookends.

“Shall we take them and write out your family tree?” Pippin asked.

“Oh, do, please!” Saro said. “So long have I wanted to know more about that sea-voyage. Perhaps now we shall know to tale in full.”

“We shall be more than happy to help,” Diamond said.

“Oh, don’t let Diamond fool you, Saro!” Estella laughed. “Diamond wants to help you learn to read a little better. It is her passion! She would have everyone able to read and write as well as any scholar.”

Saro blinked hard as her eyes filled with mist. Theo and Faro took her hands, patting them gently. “Don’t worry, Saro, we shan’t let her make you spend all your time learning your letters!”

Boromir sat quietly, watching Saro and his friends. A deep contentment filled him, like nothing he had ever known. Only one thought disturbed this perfect moment for him, for he wished with all his heart that Faramir could share this moment with him.

The following day the ladies spent setting a date for the wedding, designing a dress for Saro and making plans while Boromir took Merry and Pippin with their sons hunting for deer and partridge as promised. Saro found, to her delight, that she was accepted as though they had always known her, and she began to understand the close relationship her betrothed shared with these two families. And though winter’s chill now held sway, as she watched the Tooks and Brandybucks drive away, she found herself thinking that wonderful things grew in the Old Forest.

Now, in the Old Forest, there is an ancient magic, and not all of it is goodly, but around the little cabin, the magic must have decided it would be wholesome. Perhaps it was because the Man who dwelt in the sprawling little cabin there was careful to listen to the Light. We do not know whether this is true or not, but it is of very little consequence. All that mattered was the pleasant peace that wove itself into the very airs about his little kingdom. The little cabin——if, indeed, it still could be named as such, for now it was more house than cabin—— had grown, and resembled an old hen with smaller chicks spread out underneath her wings. It was altogether a humble but cozy home. There was a beauty about the simplicity of the place.

Saro visited Boromir again, on the day before Yule, to be exact, that wonderful season the Shire so loved.

A rare dusting of snow had painted the little home and barn with a sparkling white enchantment, the trees seemed to be decked out in white finery, like great lords and ladies. Inside, a fire blazed in the hearth. At the back of the cabin a little kitchen now sat. Inside, a man and a woman talked in low, soft voices. They were quietly but enjoyably engaged in making sweets of every kind. These were put into little parcels, each one including a little animal carved in wood, or a doll or wooden sword.

The man and the woman had conspired to leave that night and secretly drop off each parcel at the homes of several hobbit children, as well as at the homes of several children of men in Bree. Later, the man would take the woman back to her own home.

A spring wedding had been planned, to take place at Great Smials. Pippin Took and Merry Brandybuck would stand beside the Man, Bluebell Fox, Diamond Took and Estella Brandybuck would stand by the woman. Elanor Gamgee and Holly Thornbush would bear armloads of fragrant blooms to perfume the scene; Faro Took and Theo Brandybuck would seat the guests. Mayor Sam Gamgee would perform the wedding.

Saro had come to understand that these good folk had become a mismatched family, indeed, and family was one of the things she and Boromir most needed, especially Boromir, for he had told her his story in full, and her heart ached for the separation of Boromir and Faramir. Perhaps, she thought, it is not so strange, after all, that members of the same family may be born of completely different parents and even races. Perhaps this is one of the greater lessons the Author of All Things and Creation Unfinished wishes us to learn.

A strong but quiet contentment lived in the little home in the Old Forest. The man who lived there had made a remarkable inner journey, but one that was not yet at its end. The Light still called to him, yet was patient, knowing that some things cannot be rushed. Like a seed sleeping in the earth, mortal creatures imbued with immortal souls must be allowed to quicken. The spirit of the man quickened still, but was not yet ready to reach its final stage of growth, and, in so doing, become complete.

The man’s journey was a journey unfinished, like Creation itself. He had a sense of this; his time in the Light had given him that, among many other gifts. Once he had been dead, and then reborn. Like the caterpillar and the cocoon; the transformation was not yet ready to finish itself. He no longer felt guilty for things he’d never done, nor was he unrepentant for his very real wrongdoing. He had made his amends as much and as well as he could for now, and, free and clear of the inner torment that had so been a part of him, he became aware of the deep happiness that comes from a simple life and a giving heart. All false shame had been scourged and soothed out of him, and his heart was no longer heavy, nor his spirit weary. His was a life of balance, now, and he meant to maintain it at any and all cost. He was, in short, a man at peace in the greater sense of the word. This peace would only be complete when his time to return to the Light had come, but until then, I dare say few of the living could say that they had found this kind of happiness.

The woman, too, had found a measure of peace. She had learned much from the man, and had much more to learn, but she found that she, too, could gain from their long talks about life and what goes after. He was to her in one a friend, a brother and a lover. And as she had had no father to speak of, one might also say she was, again in a spiritual sense, his daughter as well. This was the great lesson of the Wild Folk at work, and it had its own kind of magic, and she found this a great and wondrous healer. She was also, yet again, in a spiritual sense, his mother. And this was well, as he had lost his mother as a boy. She comforted him when he missed his brother, and listened quietly when he told her the story of his life, understanding he would not wed her without her knowing everything about him. She was his greatest treasure and his best beloved; all things a woman may be to a man all rolled up in one. He had always loved women, as his Ruby could have told. Women had always seemed to him to be almost magical creatures, mysterious and immutable and mutable all at once, like the sea.

With the kitchen work done and the parcels all packed and loaded, the pair set off in the dark, bundled against the cold and looking in quiet wonder at the magically white world they traveled through. This was one of the happiest times the Man had ever known. His still, small voice whispered a little secret to him, and it said he was about to enter into his fifth life, and this life was going to be a very, very good one.

Author’s notes:

Here, at last, is Boromir’s wedding day, in which nerves are strained, romance is in the air, surprises happen and memories are recalled. I think you’ll get why it’s called The Dance once the tale is told. This one is for the nice lady in Australia who sent me a lovely letter instead of a review. Thank you! It is also for a certain writer I know…and you know whom you are…who said she wished she were Saro. Of course, the few lines of the song are not mine, but Tolkien’s. I should be so talented. And of course, the Caradhras flashback is not mine, not mine, darn it! All Tolkien. I bow before him.

Pippin’s song is based on the Garth Brooks song "The Dance.” I like to give credit where credit is due. Thanks to all my reviewers, both friends old and dear and those who are new.

As usual, the characters are not mine except for Saro and a few others. The rest is just my visiting with old friends in Middle Earth, and all I get for this is reviews.

The Dance

It was a fine day for a wedding, Pippin observed, taking note of the clear sky and the fragrance of spring carried into his quarters on a soft breeze. The spacious garden adjoining the Great Smials was well decorated. Diamond and Estella had worked hard, along with every available servant they could lay hands on. Lanterns hung from the branches of trees and bright ribbons festooned the shrubbery.

The finest wines from as near as Hobbiton and as far as Dorwinion had been purchased and the tables were nearly spilling over with the wedding-feast. Roasted suckling pigs nuzzled plump apples next to tender young pheasants. Flocks of geese and ducks, spit-roasted to deep, golden perfection added their savory smell to skillfully seasoned delights spiced with rare and exotic herbs. Strewn among these dishes sat large silver bowls stacked high with strange, colorful fruits shipped from beyond far Harad to the Grey Havens and rushed by wagon to the wedding feast at the peak of ripeness. At the center of this fabulous arrangement of delicacies reclined a succulent calf, aromatic and juicy. Pickled eggs of fancy birds filled the smallest corners and crannies, and all the tables enjoyed stacks of mushrooms of every description in dishes fine and fancy as well as plain and hearty. Three tables had been put to good use holding cakes, pies, puddings, custards, tarts and endless other sweets and afters. Another table found itself occupied by wines and cheeses next to barrels of ale and beer.

The air was heavy with the scent of flowers. The musicians were tuning up. Diamond had brought out her husband’s violin. Pippin would be expected to play, and though as a lad he had not cared much for it, now he was glad his mother had insisted on lessons. Nowadays Faro was the one sawing painfully at the fiddle, drawing winces from anyone in earshot, just as it had been when Pippin was the one at practice.

But this day Faro was off the hook. Today, it would be Pippin playing the violin. He had been practicing since Yule. As a youngster, Pippin had declared he would never touch a fiddle again once he had come of age, but that had changed when his Faramir had been born. Pippin, grown, loved playing as an adult as much as he had hated it as a child. He practiced often enough, but once his friend’s wedding date had been set, he had redoubled his efforts and he now enjoyed a level of skill previously unreached. He wanted everything to go right, for today was the day his favorite Man was to wed. Pippin would be standing beside Boromir as Witness along with Merry.

Critically, he gazed at himself in the looking glass. Was the suit right? Was his cravat straight enough? Why was his hair always so unruly? He forced a smile. He scolded himself. Just stop it! Stop worrying and enjoy the day, this is a great day for Boromir. He almost raked his hand through his hair, but caught himself just in time. He turned this way and that, looking at his image. Still too thin, even after all these years. Taller, yes, but too thin. And then he did rake his fingers through his hair, caught himself and exclaimed, "Hoy, you fool! Now you have to fix that. You’re hopeless.” The hobbit in the looking glass seemed to agree.

He combed his hair, finally giving up with a sigh. Why couldn’t he have proper hair, like Merry?

“You look wonderful, darling.” This was, of course, Diamond. She had surprised him, and in his surprise, he had jumped a little, with an undignified cross between a squeak and a squawk. He glared at the Pippin in the looking glass.

“D’you really think so? I wish I had Merry’s hair. He always looks as if he was born with a silver comb in his hand.”

“Sweetheart!” Diamond fussed, a rather pained look on her pretty face, “I’ll have you know I love your hair.”

“Oh, come now, really!”

“I do! I like the way it graces your forehead,” she said, standing closer, reaching up to smooth an unruly lock with cool fingers; he could feel her breath on his neck before she gave him a hug and stepped back again. “It really shows off your eyes. And I love the color. It looks wonderful!”

“That’s very kind of…” as he turned to address her, he stopped in mid-sentence. She was wearing a new, deep-green frock. It showed off her dark curls, rosy lips and fair skin. It also showed off her figure quite well, nipping in at the waist and dipping low in the back. “My goodness, sweetheart! You look absolutely…mmmm!” He embraced her. His fingers skittered down her bare back, making her shiver deliciously.

“Pippin! Not now, darling,” she laughed. “But later, we can have a little second honeymoon. This wedding fever seems to be catching.” Her voice was a sweet, velvety purr that made Pippin’s blood suddenly heat. “Anyway, Boromir needs you. He is very nervous, and you do have such a way with him. Go and calm him down, will you, before he combs his hair and beard completely off?”

Pippin sighed. Wedding fever, indeed. He put that sentiment away for use later in the evening. He would certainly take up the offer. Diamond did look ravishing. He kissed his own darling bride, and strode down the meandering hall until he got to the spare bedroom with the highest ceiling, the one that had been set aside for Gandalf all those years ago. High ceiling or no, when Pippin tapped on the door and let himself in, Boromir leapt up from his seat on the bed and rapped the top of his head smartly. He scrunched up his face and made a silent “Ow!”

Pippin burst into laughter.

Boromir had always found Pippin’s laugh contagious, and now he laughed, too, even as he rubbed the top of his head. A little plaster from the ceiling had fallen in a fine dust onto his shoulders.

Pippin ordered him to sit on the bed, climbed up himself, took the clothes brush and walked around him in little bounces, to tidy him up, wearing an expression much like the one he wore when tidying up Faro. Boromir suddenly had the odd feeling that their sizes had been somehow reversed.

Pippin hopped down to the floor and took a step back. He looked at Boromir critically; then with his fingers, he combed back a stray lock of the Man’s hair. He nodded approvingly. “You look just splendid,” he said, and gave Boromir a reassuring smile and a pat on one broad shoulder.

“So do you,” Boromir said, and then, for the first time, he grinned. Yet he fidgeted as well, and Pippin was by now familiar with the Man’s habits. Boromir always shuffled his feet about when he was nervous, and bounced his legs up and down.

“Stop that,” Pippin scolded. “Everything will be fine, just fine, I assure you.”

Boromir heaved a sigh, sliding to the floor, and rested his back against the bed. “I hope you are right. I was all at sea when I married Ruby, too.” He snorted in self-derision, tugging at his ever-unruly forelock, brow furrowed. “No, I’m sure you are right. It’s just that…” He sighed, now smiling sheepishly, every bit a moonstruck lad of twenty summers. “Oh, Pippin, how I love her! She is just the best thing that has happened to me in a long while. She is everything to me. I do so hope I can make her happy.” He bit his lower lip.

Pippin laughed again. He placed a small hand on each of Boromir’s large shoulders and gave an affectionate squeeze, marveling at how like steel the muscles there remained. He could not help recalling the first time he had noticed this in Boromir, so long ago on that cold trek down Caradhras. Boromir had been so kind to him then, and his cousins, and Sam, trying to ward off the deadly cold, and constantly pulling hobbits out of snow banks. It had been Boromir who had spoken against the folly of taking hobbits into the perils of that freezing, dangerous place. It was Boromir who had insisted on the fire that had surely saved all their lives, and later cleared a path through the deep snow, and helped carry the hobbits down the path, starting with Pippin himself.

He found himself suddenly immersed in memories of that horrible time. They freshened in him, echoing and expanding until it was almost like he had been transported somehow to that time and place once more…

"But happily your Caradhras has forgotten that you have Men with you," said Boromir, who came up at that moment. "And doughty Men, too, if I may say it; though lesser men with spades may have served you better. Still, we have thrust a lane through the drift; and for that all here may be grateful who cannot run as light as Elves."

"But how are we to get down there, even if you have cut through the drift?" said Pippin, voicing the thoughts of all the hobbits.

"Have hope!" said Boromir, "I am weary but I have some strength left, and Aragorn too. We will bear the little folk. The others no doubt will make shift to tread the path behind us. Come, Master Peregrin! I will begin with you."

He lifted up the hobbit. "Cling to my back! I shall need my arms," he said, and strode forward——Pippin marveled at his strength, seeing the passage that he had already forced with no other tool than his great limbs. Even now, burdened as he was, he was widening the track for those who followed, thrusting the snow aside as he went.

Pippin leaned forward and briefly touched his forehead to Boromir’s, a habit long in practice between Pippin and Merry when either cousin felt at odds about something one or both might find worrisome. Pulling back, the hobbit gave a small laugh, a twinkle in his bright green eyes.

“Shall I pluck out a whisker or two,” he said, “to remind you not to bother yourself with such doubts? Stop worrying! I know you, Boromir. You shall make her very happy. You shall take care of her, and she will love you until the end of her days. You worry too much, and think too little of your abilities to make others happy. You were a confident soldier; now be a confident groom.”

He grinned at the bridegroom now, and was pleased to see the grin returned. “You have known many difficulties, my friend, and many a woeful day. Today, be happy! Do you not know how much faith I have in you? Do you know so little of me, or think my judgment amiss? I know you…I know you! Trust me, now, as I have trusted you. I would not miss this day for anything, and don’t you miss it by worrying, you great goose! Now,” he said, taking a moment to inspect his charge much as a Captain might inspect the troops, “you look splendid, your Saro loves you and nothing will make her happier than to see you looking so dashing and handsome.” He gave a decided nod and added, “Now, let us make ready! Our ladies await us!”

Boromir suddenly embraced Pippin, laughing aloud, and Pippin, returning his friend’s embrace in untrammeled joy, joined him in his merriment. Diamond was right. He did have a way with Boromir, and both Man and hobbit knew it, and could laugh at themselves about it.

“Very well,” Boromir said with a nod of his own. “Let us make ready.”

“Yes, it shall soon be time for the ceremony,” Pippin said wisely. “Shall we see how Merry is faring?”

“A most excellent idea,” Boromir said, his face now brighter, less worried. “Let us go, before we rumple our suits and have to comb our hair. Again.”

They rose and walked into the long hallway towards the room where Merry and Estella were staying.

When Boromir and Pippin first knocked, then walked into the room where Merry was waiting, both—hobbit and man—couldn’t help feeling chagrined. There sat Merry, cool and calm, his appearance absolutely perfect. Not only did he look perfect; he appeared to be perfectly content. Merry knew he looked perfect. No fussing and worrying for him.

“By the Light,” Boromir muttered under his breath.

“You would know it, wouldn’t you?” Pippin agreed.

Merry laughed at them. “Well, it’s not my fault I’m so handsome! You needn’t disapprove so.”

“How?” Pippin asked, “How ever do you do it? I have never understood.”

“How? Why, the answer is simple enough, my dear ass. I have confidence. You have always worried overmuch, Pippin, though you try not to show it,” replied Merry. “And you, Boromir! You look as though you are about to bolt. One would think a Man such as yourself would not suffer so from restlessness. Get a hold of yourself, my dear fellow!”

Boromir sighed. “You, too? Pippin only just said the same. Am I so disquieted, then?”

“You are, you are,” Merry nodded his head, smiling. “Have you taken your medicine? There’s a wise fellow, then. But there is another draught that could ease your mind. What you need is a little wine.”

“Yes, some wine!” Boromir grinned and rubbed his hands together, remembering the fine wine they had drunk the previous evening, to toast this joyous occasion.

Merry stuck his head out of the door, captured a passing cousin by the elbow and asked that wine be brought to the room. Soon enough, the three were sipping their wine, and this companionable act seemed to calm Boromir a bit, but not nearly enough to suit Merry. He’d had enough experience looking out for Pippin to know what to do; he knew Men and Hobbits were not so different, no more than lads, really, even if they were all grown up.

A story, then. Stories had always calmed Pippin, provided they were not too exciting or frightening. It worked for Pippin, even to this day, he thought, smiling to himself, and it worked just as well on Theo and Faro. He had even used this little trick once or twice with Estella, for thunder frightened her terribly. When she felt frightened, Merry would hold her in his lap, and in a low, soft voice, he would tell her a story, or get her to tell him a story. She’d caught on soon enough, but found she liked it when Merry would ease her mind with a story of some pleasant memory.

Very well, then, a story would be just the thing—though of course he was not about to hold Boromir in his lap! Something nice, some fond memory, something they had in common would be best, something that would make the big southerner forget to be worried for a while.

In order to make his storytelling strategy work for adults, Merry knew he would need to introduce the tale in a manner subtler than that he used for the lads. One simply could not start out with once upon a time, after all. One must make an older listener a part of the tale. This was otherwise known as "drawing someone into a conversation" but it worked out to be the same, in the end. With his mind settling on the desired story, Merry inwardly nodded in satisfaction. Yes, this was the perfect story for this occasion.

“This is very good wine,” Merry began. “Not exactly miruvor, but nonetheless, very, very good.”

“Miruvor,” Boromir said, his face lighting. “I cannot recall the last time I thought of that, I can tell you! What a miserable reason to drink such a fine cordial, but what a good it did! That was a night to remember, now.”

Merry inwardly congratulated himself. He liked to make his listeners think they had thought of the story, themselves. Somehow, listeners seemed to enjoy a tale more when they thought the memory had sprung from their own thoughts.

“What a miserable night that was,” Pippin said. He had curled up on the bed, since there was only one chair in the room. Boromir took a seat on the edge of the bed. He was beginning to relax, but Merry noted he seemed to be perching more than he was sitting. Right. Time to get the story going.

“Do you remember that marvelous fire? How happy we were to have had it? I dare say it definitely saved our lives,” Merry prodded.

“Do you recall the way Gandalf lit the fire?” Boromir’s eyes gittered like those of a lad hearing a favorite tale of heroic proportions retold by an elder. “Remember when he thrust his staff into that bundle of wood and spoke the words of power, and blue and green flames burst forth like a flare—and then he brought forth the Cordial of Imladris. To Gandalf!” Boromir raised his glass.

“Do I ever remember it,” Pippin said. “And I seem to remember you had a part as well!” Pippin then raised his glass to Boromir. “To good old Boromir! If he had not insisted we take as much wood as we could carry…”

“You praise me overmuch,” Boromir said. “I only tried to show a little common sense.”

“Well, it was uncommon sense if you ask me,” said Merry. “Do you remember, Boromir, when we were standing round the fire…”

Boromir chuckled, and now Merry could see him loosen upstart to relax; he stopped perching and settled back comfortably. “Do I remember?” Boromir said, and took a sip of wine. He rolled the wine around in his mouth and savored the taste, and Merry was quite sure he was also savoring the memory now…

The fire had begun to crackle almost merrily, though they were all quite miserable, huddling about the fire as they tried to drive awayfend off the painful cold. Icy fingers seemed to worm their way through every stitch and hem in the travellers’ garments.

Of all the Fellowship, Boromir seemed best equipped to deal with the cold, perhaps because of his fur-lined cape, but far more for his having some knowledge of the White Mountains. He had herded his halflings—for he had come to think of Merry and Pippin as his charges—ahead of him, and now had them standing just in front of him, right by the fire. He used his big body and his cloak as a screen to shield them from the blasts of freezing wind. A piece of wood cracked and crackled, sending large sparks out as it was fully consumed by the flames. It settled, and as it did, a few embers rolled out of the fire pit. They were caught by a gust and blown right under his halflings. Merry nimbly stepped aside, but Pippin had backed up and tripped on Boromir’s feet, falling on his rump in the snow.

"Hoy, Master Took!" Boromir said, hauling Pippin up. He trod on the glowing charcoal and put Pippin back on his feet before the fire. "You are not so nimble on your feet as your cousin, I see."

Pippin scowled at him. Merry laughed. Pippin scowled at Merry. "I am so nimble on my feet, and that fool of a Brandybuck knows it,” Pippin said in protest.

"Actually, Pippin is rather a good dancer,” Merry conceded. "The lasses back home all fan their dance cards for him. Mind, I am not without talent myself in the matter, but yes; I have to defend my cousin. He is very nimble on his feet."

Pippin grinned at Merry and, on a whim, broke into a jig. Merry laughed heartily; this was the cousin he loved so dearly, full of irrepressible cheerfulness even in terrible circumstances. Boromir watched the youngster’s brief dance, and laughingly agreed. Yes, Pippin could dance.

"Well, you are not the only one that can dance!” Boromir said. "I’ve been known to take a turn on the dance floor once or twice, myself.”

Pippin regarded Boromir with a decidedly skeptical eye.

"What?” Boromir exclaimed, "Think you that because I am of a fair size, I cannot dance? I assure you, Master Peregrin, just because I am big does not mean I am a clumsy oaf!"

Pippin didn’t look convinced. Merry laughed loudly. Now the others were being drawn into the conversation. Aragorn especially seemed both interested and amused.

"What are you all staring at?” asked Boromir. "Do you all now expect a demonstration?"

A slow smile had begun to spread across the Ranger’s face. He raised an eyebrow. Legolas, too, was now paying attention. Soon Gimli and Gandalf, Sam and Frodo, each and every one of the other eight of the Nine Walkers were all looking at him.

"What? What?” Boromir said with an exasperated air. "It isn’t as though we have a band to play for us——not so much as a flute or fife, in fact. Besides, this is hardly the time or place.” It was then that he noticed the halflings all exchanging glances. First one, then another began to clap a steady beat. Frodo stood forth and began to sing.

"There is an inn, a merry old inn,

Beneath an old grey hill,

And there they brew a beer so brown

That the Man in the Moon himself came down

One night to drink his fill…”

"So then, this is a challenge?” Boromir laughed. The clapping and singing continued. "You!” he said to Pippin, "This is all your fault, imp! You, at least, shan’t go unpunished!” He lifted Pippin, who gave a laughing yelp, and Boromir began to dance to the tune while Pippin laughed in delight, his legs dangling as his friend half-tossed him in the air. Then Boromir lifted Pippin to his shoulders where the young one had to hold on for dear life, for now the dance increased in speed and vigor. Boromir was indeed light on his feet, his size giving the lie to any doubt. He was, indeed, quite good! The clapping and singing increased in tempo. The faster the song, the faster the dance, and the warrior never missed a beat. Pippin looked more like he was riding a bucking pony than anything else, and Frodo’s song was accompanied by delighted laughter from everyone, even Gandalf, but none laughed more heartily than Pippin and Merry.

Boromir noticed Frodo had a good voice. The song tickled his fancy, and he was grinning as broadly as his halflings were. At last the song was finished and applause broke out along with calls of "well done, well done!” Boromir put Pippin back on his feet, then he, Frodo and Pippin all bowed like mummers after a successful play had been finished and the curtain rung down. For a careless handful of moments, distress and cold had been replaced with the warmth and comfort of joviality and companionship.

Laughter pealed throughout the room. They were on second glasses of wine by this time. All three were now relaxed, though Pippin was more rumpled than he liked. He’d been so caught up in the memory he had forgotten to mind how he sat, though thankfully he was still presentable.

But the real reward for Merry was Boromir, smiling now, at ease, having regained his confidence. Merry was quite pleased with himself. Sometimes, he was very glad to have learned so many skills in looking after Pippin. Yes, at times it had been difficult, but in the end it was always more than worth the effort. A tap on the door silenced their merry noise. Diamond popped her head in, regarded the three friends and smiled to herself. How it warmed her heart to see the three so happy together.

“It’s time, now, my dear Boromir,” she said. “Pippin, darling, brush up your breeches before you go, so you don’t look so rumpled.”

Boromir, Merry and Pippin rose. Saro would be waiting.

The band had begun to play and the music wafted softly through the sweet air. Springtime in the Shire was lovely, and in the gardens of the Great Smials, it was even lovelier. Saro stood under an arbor of fragrant jasmine that the Tooks had collected from the forest and cultivated over generations until the vines produced plentiful and wonderfully scented little star-shaped blooms. Her hair, worn loosely bound in a pale green ribbon, tumbled down her back in a chestnut cascade adorned with jessamine and baby’s breath. Her wedding gown hugged her trim waist in a cream colored silken sheath that flaired gently so that the hem floated gracefully about her ankled. Her mantle, the same pale green as the ribbon in her hair, she wored fastened with a brooch given her by her sweetheart. It was a small gold bee festooned with bright yellow gems seperated by delicate bands of jet. But as lovely as her raimen was, her appearance was most marked by the happy glow of her cheeks and the bright joy that glimmered in her warm hazel eyes. All who beheld her plainly saw that whether dressed as a drudge or a fine lady, on this day her happiness would have made her look like a queen.

Sam stood at the end of the garden, awaiting the bride and groom and brushing or tugging his clothing now and again, just to be sure he looked his best. Rosie was dressed in her best frock, a bright blue trimmed with a delicate pink, and Sam wanted to make her proud. Stealing a glance at her, he beamed. His Rosy made him feel like a new groom every day, and he was never so happy as when he knew he had pleased her. Saro watched him looking at Rosie like a moonstruck lad. He had rehearsed the ceremony endlessly, Rosie had told her. Saro watched his face suddenly brighten, laughter lighting his eyes, and turned to see the cause.

She saw first Merry, then Pippin come barreling round a corner, followed closely by her sweetheart. The three had come to an abrupt halt, and after a little jostling, were now shuffling about, laughing and smiling at each other. They looked all of twelve years old. Then they saw her, and all three gazed at her, open-mouthed at her appearance. She lifted a finger to her own jaw and pretended to close her mouth with her finger. They got the message, and their mouths closed in the same instant, as if one had given a count of three.

The groom and his two witnesses ceremoniously walked down the garden path until they stood before Sam. They turned and faced back down the path as Shire tradition demanded and bowed a kind of hobbit salute to the bride, waiting under the arbor just a short walk away, then took their places on either side of Sam. With Diamond on her left, Estella on her right and Elanor with little Lily Thornbush walking ahead of her strewing fragrant flower petals, Saro made her progression down the garden path. Estella smiled up at her and whispered, "See how he is looking at you? I told you that you look wonderful."

When she arrived at the end of the garden path, she and Boromir stood side by side. He looked at her, and again, she thought he looked all of twelve years old. They knelt before Sam with hands laced together and exchanged vows and rings. Sam placed traditional flower-crowns on their heads and laid the customary kiss on the cheeks of bride and groom, then bade them rise as a couple, once two different people, now joined as one. Boromir kissed Saro and the guests began to cheer.

The kiss was a long one. As it lingered, the guests’ cheers grew louder until the newlyweds finally parted, upon which the musicians struck up a lively tune. Now chairs were cleared away, Sam took his place with Rosie; Pippin joined the musicians, tucking his violin under his chin and lowering it again. He cleared his throat and swallowed. His mouth was so dry that there was a little clicking sound when he swallowed, so he quickly crossed the stage and took a pitcher, which had been put there for the musicians, poured himself a glass of water and took a sip. He raised his fiddle and drew the bow across the stings softly, then nodded to himself. He took center stage, positioned the violin and began to play an introduction. The musicians accompanying him took up the tune as they had rehearsed it so many times.

Boromir and Saro stood amid a circle of hobbits, who stood patiently awaiting the dance, or, as they called it, The Dance. The newly-weds stood in the heart of the circle. Each guest held the hand of those next to them, so that the bride and groom stood in the symbolic embrace of friends and neighbors. This was yet another hobbit tradition, and no wedding could be considered complete without it.

Boromir gathered Saro to him, kissed her lips once more, and then the pair just seemed to melt into a slow, graceful dance. The hobbits all around them "ooo-ed" and "aaaw-ed," impressed with the talents of both bride and groom, and enchanted by the way the two had locked eyes, looking almost as if the world had fallen away from them.

Then Pippin lowered his violin, and in his high, sweet voice, he began to sing. His brilliant eyes lit up and sparkled, and suddenly Diamond fell in love with him all over again. He was singing for the joining of these two, true, but when one watched and listened, one could tell he was singing about that and much, much more, and this is what he sang…

When years go by and we look back on memories

Of The Dance we shared beneath the stars above,

For a little while the entire world was bright,

For a little while we could have touched the sky,

And we never knew if things would turn out right,

We never knew what the next hour might show,

And now I'm glad I didn't know

The way the story would turn out, the way it all would go,

Our lives were better left to sad or happy chance.

I could have missed the pain and tears,

But then I would have missed The Dance.

Looking back upon our story,

All the joy and all the glory,

If I had known, I might have changed it all,

If I had known, I might have refused the call,

If I had known the pains and fears,

If I had known the joys and tears,

Who can say how it may have gone,

Who can say what I might have done?

Years from now when we look behind,

What will we any of us find?

And we never know if things will turn out right,

We never know what the next hour might show,

And now I'm glad that we don't know

The way the story will turn out, the way it all will go,

Our lives are better left to sad or happy chance.

We could miss the pain and tears,

But then we will have missed The Dance.

When years go by and we look back on memories

Of The Dance we shared beneath the stars above,

For a little while the entire world was bright.

For a little while we could have touched the sky,

And now I’m glad I took every single chance,

And I could have missed the pain and tears,

But then I would have missed The Dance…

His voice fell softly, and those who knew him well caught the little hitch in his voice, not enough to spoil the performance, but enough to make the song all the more touching. There was not a dry eye in the garden. Pippin put down his violin and gave a bow, then moved to the bride and groom. They both knelt and accepted his tight embrace and light peck on the cheek.

"Dear Pippin," Saro smiled through her tears, "Unless I’m mistaken, you wrote that for us, did you not?"

Pippin couldn’t speak, and so he nodded his head and wiped away his tears of joy. Boromir knew there was much he wanted to say but could not, and that Pippin knew that he knew this.

Both Saro’s and Boromir’s arms went around him and he got a kiss on both cheeks at once. It made him start laughing in that way that only Pippin had.

"Happy, happy days to you both, my dears." he whispered. He skipped back up to the stage, once more took the violin and began to play a raucous reel. Suddenly every hobbit in the garden began to dance about the bride and groom, hands still linked, a way for everyone there to join in blessing the union. Dance after dance was played, and the feast followed.

The evening stars had kindled, a big half-moon had come out and all the white flowers in the garden seemed to be glowing under the silver light. The wedding feast had been both bountiful and of highest quality, the wine and ale flowed like the Brandywine, the music without question the best that had been heard in many years of weddings. The talk among the guests was that The Thain should play more often.

The hours passed and the guests began to leave in dribbles and draggles, and soon the Great Smials were back to their normal population. Only a few special guests remained, among them Sam and Merry and their families, and of course, Boromir and Saro. Also remaining behind were Lily and Holly Thornbush. Saro’s only kinsman had not come, for his health was still not all it should have been. At times he had been taken by falling fits, and old Fennel had insisted Bob should not tax his abused body by a journey, however short.

A special room with a high ceiling had been prepared for the bride and groom, a room tucked far back into the depths of the Great Smials. There the newlyweds would settled for the night, and would leave in the morning for the Grey Havens, to take a sea-voyage.

Diamond had gone to turn down the bed for herself and Pippin, leaving her husband to show Boromir and Saro to their room. When they got to the door, Pippin opened it for them and bowed in the silliest way. Saro giggled. Boromir knelt, took Pippin’s shoulders in his hands and gave them an affectionate squeeze. Not content with this, Pippin put his arms around Boromir’s neck and gave him a peck on the cheek.

“I must go, now,” he said, “Diamond will be awaiting!” He gave Boromir a playful wink.

Saro knelt and put her arms around him to thank him for his hospitality. Her heart swelled with fondness for her new husband’s adopted family of hobbits, and most especially for Pippin and Merry. On the tail of that thought came the relization that the hobbits were now her adopted family, too. She had known this in her mind, but until now, her heart had somehow missed the point. Her eyes brimmed with happy tears and she blinked them back and swallowed hard. She nearly lost her balance, but the halfling steadied her. Instead of waiting for a peck on the cheek, he kissed her, and right on the mouth, too.

“Not just yet, lassie!” he laughed, “Soon enough you shall fall upon your back!”

Saro shrieked with surprised laughter, blushing. Boromir had doubled over, laughing until his belly hurt. He waved his arms at Pippin as if to shoo him away.

“I bid you both goodnight!” Pippin grinned and wriggled his brows. “Don’t stay up too late,” he added teasingly. “You must travel some way tomorrow!” He turned and walked briskly back up the hallway with a little strut. His Diamond would be waiting…

After a short while, Saro was lying in the bed, gazing at her now-husband with love-drunk eyes. Boromir joined her, and enveloped her in his arms, arms strong enough to crush her, but which settled around her softly and gently. She threw her arms about his neck and drew him to her.

They kissed, at first tenderly, then more passionately. Saro began to unbutton Boromir’s shirt, and…

Pippin’s fingers skillfully worked the buttons down the back of Diamond’s dress. His fingers, once more playing down the skin of her bare back, again elicited a shudder from her. Her frock fell about her ankles like a scarlet puddle, and Pippin took in a hissing breath at her beauty. In only the light of the moon shining through the window, she looked like a creature from a fairy tale. She took his hand and led him to their bed and…

Estella twined her fingers in Merry’s hair as she kissed him. She loved the way his mouth tasted of Old Toby and fine wine. Now he pinned her with his wonderfully large blue eyes, wearing the little knowing grin that made her want to slap him and kiss him all at once. Her hand rested on his chest and her fingers, cool and soft, drifted in slow circles, lower and lower…

Sam and Rosie lay like spoons in a drawer. They were both glowing. Rosie knew that in but a few moments, her Sam would be ready to love her yet again, but for this moment, he lay quietly with his hand on her belly, where a new baby was only just now growing. Sure enough, she soon felt him kiss the back of her neck, then move on to her ear, the place he knew was one of her "tender spots" as he liked to put it. A shiver ran through her, and she turned around so they could share a kiss and…

Saro lay with her head on Boromir’s shoulder. He was stroking her cheek with the back of his hand. She had not been sure what to expect in him as a lover, for she had not yet known any man, but she had not counted on his gentleness and patience…and then, to her delight, she found he knew exactly what to do at precisely the right time. She had never known a lover before, indeed, but she was sure that none could have made her feel quite like this. She sighed contentedly, took her dear husband’s—husband’s!—hand and placed one of his fingers between her lips. She began to gently nibble and…

Pippin cuddled Diamond. They were now at that time in their trysts when Pippin would give her the giggles, making little jokes about his abilities as a lover. Not that there was anything to laugh at, not with Peregrin Took. He could be so silly, though, and loved to make her laugh after they had made love. She looked deeply into those brilliant green eyes, eyes that captivated; eyes that struck to the very soul, eyes that one could drown in. She kissed his lips, which was one of his best features in her opinion. There was a long silence in which they only lay looking into each other’s eyes.

“Darling?” she said.

“Yes, my love?”

“Let’s try to have another baby.”

Pippin grinned. He took her in his arms again. “Well,” he said, “If we are to try, then we had better get to work!” He drew her to him, and their kiss deepened, and then…

Merry laughed. Estella, in one of her silly moods, had put on his coat. It was all she had on, and she was jumping on the bed like a little lass. Merry watched all the right places jiggling as she jumped. He reached out and captured her ankle, making her fall on her back. He crawled across the bed to canopy her, and pulled back the lapel of his coat and …

Sam rolled away and fell on his back, gasping. Rosie always left him feeling like this, all deliciously boneless, warm and drifting-like.

The old moon crawled across the sky, and the sun would be up shortly, but in the Great Smials, few noticed. In the Great Smials, couples did not mark the sailing moon, nor measure the dimming of stars, as they were busy painting the night with moons and stars all their own.

Deep in the depths of the Great Smials, a bride and groom lay together. Now spent, they lay quietly, drunk on the love they found in each other’s eyes, unknowing that even as they lay there, a seed in Saro’s belly had begun to grow.

The morning stole up on the couples like a thief, and the Sun must have puzzled her head at them, as they all slept half the day away, for she did not know they were all tired, now. After all, it had been, for all of them, a beautiful night for a Dance.

Journeys Expected and Unexpected

It was stuffy again in the Old Forest, which meant it was late summer. Already the days had begun to grow shorter. Boromir and Saro sat on little benches under the big oak, quietly peeling potatoes. From a distance, one might think they were barely aware of one another, but a closer look would reveal the truth. Though they spoke not a word, their eyes flicked frequently, seeking the same glance from the other in a conversation that had no need of the spoken word: the language of love. Saro’s belly had already begun to swell, along with Boromir’s pride and joy—and his endless worry. Their honeymoon had been spent at sea, and they would always remember it as one of the sweetest and most precious parts of their lives. They were deeply happy, even though Boromir dreaded the birth. Saro still made market rounds with him, but that would soon have to stop, the midwife said. Diamond and Estella had volunteered to help during the lying-in. Now a nursery and a spare bedroom had been added to the little house; one could no longer call it a cottage or a cabin.

Saro and Boromir rose and walked hand in hand into the house. Saro had picked up the bowl of peeled potatoes, but Boromir took them from her, clucking his tongue and advising her to simply carry their little one and let him do the rest of the carrying. They prepared their meal together, and after eating, they sat at the table and mulled over names for children. Saro liked the idea of giving Boromir’s children names that kept the traditions of his people. Boromir leaned toward giving them two names, one name hailing from Gondor, and a second name more in keeping with his new home. This made good sense to him since his children’s names would likely be shortened or changed anyway by those unfamiliar with the tongue of Boromir’s people.

It was customary now for them to take a stroll in the starlight after they had eaten. They walked, hands linked, down the lane that had been but a short while back no more than a footpath, which, for whatever reason, had broken through the High Hay. By now Saro had learned how Boromir had found the little footpath. He had seen a rabbit dart through and gone after it, determined to have a bit of rabbit for his evening meal. The High Hay had barely let him through. He had managed to get his rabbit by way of a throwing stick, a method used by the Wild Folk. On this particular evening Boromir showed Saro where he had built a fire and spent the first night in the place he would soon call home. He had picked wildflowers as they walked and talked. He gave them to Saro and led her back down the little lane to home, and so to bath and bed. They lay spooned together, Boromir’s arm draped over Saro as he curled himself around her almost protectively, and whispered long into the night. Tomorrow they would have to rise early; it was market day again.

Saro enjoyed the rounds that day, knowing this would soon have to end, and they spent part of the day (and a good deal of money) buying what was needed for the baby. They took a room at the Fox and Hound, enjoying a leisurely visit with the innkeepers’ family. Bluebell gave them news of small goings-on, including the wedding announcement of the poulterer’s daughter Lilac to her Harvestmath dancing partner. Seemingly, her future husband, Charlock Beetle, had not let his stammer stop him from popping the question. He had asked for her hand at The Fox and Hound after a long and romantic meal and a few glasses of wine. Thus emboldened, Charlock had grasped the girl’s hand and sung out “La-la-la-Lilac, will you ma-ma-marry me?” Her answer, of course, had been yes!

Saro and Boromir had their own news to share. Lily Thornbush had become the sweetheart of Evergrim Took, the son of the stable master of the Great Smials. Ev had moved to Frogmorton, and even now was hard at work building his own smial. He had started a livery there, where his knowledge of pony-lore turned him more than a few pretty pieces of silver. Little Holly adored Ev, who had become like a father to her. No wedding plans had been made just yet, but it was common knowledge that announcements would be sent out as soon as Ev finished his smial.

“I see you fretting, Boromir,” Bluebell said, laughing and laying her hand on his shoulder. “Do not fear your little Holly will forget her friend! She is a hobbit, and mindful of dear friends. And were it not so, she is a little girl, and her heart is roomy enough to keep her friends as well as enjoy her new family!”

“True,” Saro agreed. “Also, Evergrim is a Took and from a very respected branch of the family, going by what I hear from Diamond and Pippin. Lily has found herself a good match.”

“Well, all the better when we stay in Frogmorton,” Boromir said. “It seems my list of friends grows longer.”

“And that cannot be a bad thing,” Saro said, eyes a-shine and smiling sweetly.

They bid their friend goodnight and went hand in hand to their room.

The next day Boromir and Saro rose early to enjoy the cooler morning air as they rode home, drinking in the summer morning sun shining through the branches and the deep green leaves that whispered about the rising temperature.

“A kiss for your thoughts,” Saro said, smiling as she lightly caressed his arm.

“I was only thinking about our voyage,” Boromir replied. “Remember the river Lune, how blue it was?”

“How ever could I forget?” She leaned gently against her husband, resting a soft cheek against his shoulder before he looped as arm around her and their minds drifted back to the not-so-distant past.

They had ridden to the Far Downs the day after the wedding, staying the night in Greenholm before making their way to the Grey Havens. There they had booked passage on a small ship. The Loreley, an aged but fit little ship as tight and tidy as a drum-head, often made short journeys along the shores of the gulf of Lune, stopping at the ports of Harlond, Forlond and some newer villages both north and south of the gulf to load or unload goods. Though the Loreley was primarily a merchant ship, passage could be bought by the well-heeled wanderer who sought a voyage for nothing more than the experience of riding the waters and tasting the sea breezes, and well-off honeymooners often vied for the luxurious guest cabin during the warmer months. Boromir’s own merchandise had wound up on the Loreley. This stood him in good stead with Captain and crew, and he had managed to book passage for such a lengthy voyage due to his business connections. He had become quite successful, yet even so, without the favor of the Captain, he could not have afforded such a voyage, honeymoon or no. This was a fine cabin, better even than the captain’s own and situated right beside it.

Their meals were good fare: fresh fish, of course, along with a number of delicacies harvested from the shallows and the deeps. For Saro, this was the adventure of a lifetime. She quickly became accustomed to sailing and even became somewhat enamored of the sea. That was before the sickness had come. The new bride and groom intended to enjoy their little voyage, such as it were, even if Saro did suffer a bit of seasickness. After a particularly unpleasant morning, Saro had lain in bed, simply resting for most of the day. By afternoon she found she felt well enough to ask Boromir to take her out on deck for a breath of fresh air. Boromir dragged a small bench out on deck for her and settled her in it, wrapping her shawl about her shoulders. He sat beside her and held her hand, gazing up at a sky so blue one searched for the proper word to describe it.

One of the men stood nearby and sang a slow, sad song as he took the helm. His voice rose and fell like the tide, his pitch near perfect. Saro found her eyes drawn to the sound and did not realize she was watching the singing sailor so intently until Boromir spoke. “The captain says his name is Dandelion, a rather strange name for a man, I should think. His shipmates call him Dandy.”

“He does have a lovely voice,” Saro said. “I thought at first he was a mere boy, but I see he is rather a very small man.”

“And such a one as is meant to sail the seas, I should guess. For see how the sun has burned him brown? And his hair, too, is bleached by sun and sea.”

“Yes, I dare say he looks as if he could live in the water like and otter,” Saro said.

Dandy, sensing he was being watched, stopped his singing long enough to give them a quick but polite nod of acknowledgement. “Good afternoon, Sir and Ma’am,” He smiled, then grasped the wheel and began to sing anew: This time it was a lullaby. Saro leaned against her groom and closed her eyes. The soft, sweet voice eased her to sleep in the fresh air and afternoon sun. Boromir sat as still as he could. His bride had been quite seasick for the last three days, and she looked a little tired to Boromir. Dandy’s song finally trailed away. He cleared his throat. Boromir glanced in his direction.

“Shall I teach you that last one, sir?” Dandy grinned, his teeth brilliant against the tanned face.

“I beg your pardon?” Boromir said; one brow arched above a glittering eye.

“The lullaby, sir,” Dandy said. “Shall I teach it to you? You’ll be needing to know one soon enough.”

“Do you offer insult, sir?” Boromir said.

Dandy looked long at Boromir, seeing a decidedly dangerous glint in those sharp eyes. “No, sir, no insult! Your bride, she’s a fine, sweet lady, she is, and I know one when I sees one. I also know a mother-to-be when I hears one sicking up in the mornings. Don’t tell me, you poor lost lamb! You haven’t figured it out yet? You’re to be a father, sir!” Dandy waited for this to sink in before allowing himself to laugh at Boromir’s confusion. “So, shall you learn my lullaby, then?”

Boromir slipped his other arm around Saro, cradling her as she slept. A father…of course! Saro was only sick in the mornings, so it couldn’t just be seasickness. Perhaps the little sailor was right. Was he really going to be a father? His mind raced between hope and trepidation, finally settling somewhere between. “Aye, good Dandelion. Your voice is sweet enough upon the ear. Give us the tune again, if you please.”

And so Boromir learned this tune from the little sailor, and learned to sing it well himself:

Oh, rest you well, sweet little one,

Let the waves rock you to sleep,

No tear to shed,

No fear to dread,

My arms around you, safe to keep…

Boromir sang the song for Saro now as they drew near home. The opening in the High Hay had become wider, wide enough to allow a wagon easy access, though by rights the lane to Boromir’s home was not so well traveled as to keep the High Hay from growing back. Perhaps this was the work of the Light that Boromir now carried in his heart, perhaps the Old Forest just got tired of holding this bit of land so possessively. All Boromir and Saro knew was that when their wagon slipped through the High Hay into the lane leading to their cottage, this part of the Old Forest felt like home.

With the wagon in the barn and Saro safely helped down and into the house, Boromir set about caring for Lady Grey as his cats swarmed about his ankles, patting his legs and rubbing their faces on his shins.

Lady Grey suddenly whinnied loudly, tossing her head. Boromir stopped what he was doing, listening for the sound of familiar voices. Instead he heard the hoof beats of ponies galloping up the lane. He stepped out of the barn and looked down the lane.

There they were. Merry and Pippin, of course. Lady Grey only ever whinnied like that when she knew Stybba or Dapplegrim was near. Boromir’s brow lowered at the grim expressions on the faces of his friends. The two hobbits pulled their ponies to a short stop and leapt down before the ponies’ hooves were still. Pippin ran to Boromir while Merry tied the ponies. He was gasping for breath, and tried to speak, then simply handed a letter to Boromir. It was from Faramir, addressed to Pippin. The news was not good.

Gondor and Ithilien were in unrest. Harsh words had been exchanged between many of the greater Houses of Minas Tirith and had spread now to Ithilien, insidious whispers against the King himself. Ministers from Harad had raised suspicions against Aragorn in the matter of Boromir’s death, and the talk was that Aragorn had murdered Boromir.

As Boromir read, Pippin paced, still gasping from the effort of his hard ride. “This will not do! This will never do,” he said, his voice taking on a heaviness rare for Pippin. No sign of the carefree Pippin expressed itself. His distraught state poured out of him like boiling water. His voice trembled with outrage. “I cannot remember the last time I was so angry as I am now! How? Why? This is madness, madness I tell you!”

It was a naked bid for power, nothing less, though who was behind this was yet to be made clear. Of course, there had been no witnesses when Boromir had “died” and so there was no one to deny this talk. People had begun to take sides, and the citizenry were in an uproar. There had been no insurrection, but it was entirely possible, as tempers were flaring on both sides of the argument.

Pippin had caught his breath by now, and he spoke his heart to Boromir. “We must set off right away. You can stop this, Boromir; you are the only one who can stop it, and it must be stopped!”

“Pippin, I cannot leave Saro! And she must not ride! This is deviltry, and no mistake!” He held his head in his hands.

Saro, having come out to great her guests only to hear the rush of bad news, went to her husband, wrapping her arms about him and kissing his brow. “You must go. Faramir is your brother, and Aragorn is your King, and he is your brother as well,” she said. “You mustn’t worry, Merry can look after we women-folk.”

“Merry can’t,” Merry said, “Merry is going, too. But I have written Sam. You know you can depend on Sam Gamgee, and if anyone knows about babies, it’s Sam and Rosie.”

Boromir’s heart filled with dread and fear. They were right, as much as he hated to admit it, they were. This was a disaster in the making. If they struck out quickly enough, and traveled swiftly enough, they may have a chance of averting any violence or other act of insurrection. Who better knew the value of preventing a war better than a warrior? They would have to make ready and leave quickly, probably in less than a fortnight if at all possible. The sooner these tales were sorted out and the King’s name cleared the better for everyone, including Boromir.

Merry said he would post to Rohan for fresh mounts, two ponies and one horse to be brought to the proper markers on the best roads in order to make the journey swifter, and Boromir agreed. He had asked that nothing be said about himself. He did not want any to-do about himself; in fact, he meant to go as quietly and secretly as he could. For one thing, he meant not to stay in Gondor; this was his home, now. Also, he did not want to give anyone time to undermine his ability to dispense with this matter as quickly as possible. After all he had a baby on the way in the belly of the woman he loved. The whisperers and finger pointers would not bother to prepare to question the words of the so-called dead man. This way, with the whisperers caught off-guard they would be ill prepared to deny anything or question his character, and once the “dead” man was seen, these accusations would dissipate like a vapor.

Unspoken, but not unacknowledged, was the fact that some folks were in for a tremendous shock, most importantly Boromir’s brother, his closest blood kin, and so dear to his heart. He had longed to see his brother so deeply for so many long years, but had hoped to shield him from any discord by keeping his presence unknown. He had been willing to sacrifice that part of himself for the good of the brother he so loved. Now his brother would know the truth of it all, and Boromir had no idea how Faramir would react.

To my beta-reader, Lindelea, thanks so much! This story is very special to me, and I'm immensely grateful to you for all the time and effort you put into this story.

Chapter 24

Going South

The first leg of their journey would be swiftest, easiest and safest. The roads were much improved from what they once had been; they were a testament to the wisdom and prosperity of the King. These were new trade routes, easy to travel and well tended.

They pressed on as swiftly as they could. At first the going had been a difficult for Boromir, but after the fourth and fifth days, he seemed to remember his life as a soldier better and could now nod off in the saddle for a few minutes. Still, the trials of the road were not easy on him and medicine or no, he had begun to have a little trouble breathing and a bit of pain in his chest upon occasion. Merry and Pippin said little about it, but he knew they had begun to watch him carefully, and would sometimes press him to stop and rest a while.

He had resisted this at first, but when they reminded him that he would do no one any good if he died on the road, he relented and saw the wisdom in their words. They had been able to take lodgings for a great deal of the first part of this journey, so the going had not been too rough.  But soon there would be nowhere to lodge and they would have to settle into the routine of traveling as far as they might by sun and moon, then making camp to rest and take a meal.

All three were clad in their most comfortable clothing for riding, and Merry and Pippin had brought their elven cloaks, which had held up wonderfully. One would think they were still quite new, and the three, looking at these garments, often reflected on how remarkable a people the Elves were. Boromir had lost his to the falls of Rauros, as it had been folded to pillow his head as he lay in the boat that had served as his coffin. The cloak he carried in his saddlebags now was a deep burgundy. It would serve well enough; though it showed somewhat more wear than the cloaks carried by his hobbit friends. Those elven garments had been carefully packed away along with the livery of Gondor and Rohan. The hobbits had brought them along, to be donned as they approached Rohan.

As they began to settle into the routine of march and camp, Boromir recalled how, when the Fellowship had stopped for rest and repast, the hobbits had always seemed to gather like a small fog bank, bundled in their blankets for sleep, and usually ended up piled together like puppies. He recalled the way they had somehow had an order about who slept where without ever speaking of it. Frodo and Pippin had always wound up in the middle, Merry and Sam taking the edges in what must have been intended as protection for the Ring-bearer and the youngest member of their Fellowship.

History tends to repeat itself, and when they camped for the night, he would find himself between the two hobbits. He did not fail to appreciate the irony of the situation: Once he had been their protector; now, it seemed, their roles were reversed. It took a little getting used to, being burrowed into by a pair of protective hobbits, but it soon became not only habit, but also a source of private amusement. He had never forgotten the ability of hobbits in general—and these two—in particular, to endear themselves, but if he had, this would have been just the example he needed to remind him.

So many years ago, as the Fellowship had traversed along its rough and dangerous way, Pippin had once commented to Boromir that he was “very far away from home,” and Boromir had sensed the young hobbit was in need of companionship and comfort, with Merry being asleep after his turn at watch. Pippin had, after all, been so very young, and used to being sheltered. As Merry slept, Boromir and Pippin sat nearby, listening to the sounds of sleeping companions, and Boromir had done his best to take the young hobbit’s mind off his homesickness and worry. He gave Pippin a heart-pounding account of the fall of Osgiliath, and soon the youngest of the Fellowship seemed to come back from his pining for home. The Man now began to appreciate how Pippin must have felt that day and indeed a great part of that journey. Boromir felt “very far away from home,” himself. As he lay there trying to sleep with guardian hobbits burrowing into his sides, he reflected on the word “home.” He was a man with two homes—twice as much to miss.

Boromir’s days as one of the Wild Folk came back to him fully, now, and it proved very useful. He began to teach the hobbits as much as he could of their ways. It was a good way to pass the time, and it taught the hobbits just how remarkable those Folk were. He showed them how to build a rough lean-to when weather was unfriendly, and how to select materials, showing them how to choose broad flat leaves to slip into the thin branches that were woven together to make up the framework of the temporary shelter. He showed them how to set snares for rabbits after the fashion of the Wild Folk, and which wild plants were good to eat, and a great deal about tracking. They had been both fascinated and disgusted that Boromir knew how to live entirely off insects and wild plants.

Soon they began to meet up with the mounts sent by Rohan, and with fresh beasts to ride, the journey went along efficiently and with greater speed than he had deemed possible. Sooner than they hoped, they had crossed the Greyflood, and so went into Dunland, where Merry and Pippin had hoped to catch a glimpse of the Wild Folk. Boromir told them that this would most likely not come to pass, as this was the time of year the Wild Folk wandered to the highlands, descending only when the fish they caught to dry for the winter would be spawning.

As they drew closer to the river Isen, Boromir grew more silent and grim, and worry weighed heavily upon him. Pippin did his best to lighten his friend's heart, with some measure of success, but he still worried about the Man. With Merry he kept constant vigil on Boromir’s condition, and would stop and stubbornly refuse to move an inch until Boromir had seen to his medicines. Merry knew the herbs used, and watched to make sure Boromir didn’t skip any nor botch the measurements. They had rested two days at Tharbad, taking this time to smooth out their plans and strategies. Details here and there still needed to be ironed out, and much would have to be decided in the moment, as it were, being unable to cross certain bridges until they got to them.

Soon the water meadows began to appear, and Merry knew they would be meeting the Rohirrim ere long. Now they were on the lands that Boromir knew so well. As they made ready to camp at the end of the day, Boromir asked Merry to ride ahead to the Golden Hall, and speak to Éomer alone, and secure an oath of silence in his behalf, explaining Boromir’s plan to catch the detractors by surprise. Rohan had ever been a friend to Gondor, and Boromir felt sure of securing this oath.

Secretly he had come back into the lands where he once had ridden proudly and freely. Only once before had he come here secretly, when he was still a half-mad wanderer. That time was behind him, now, and he could barely stand the thought that he had done so.  It irked Boromir to slink into these lands as a thief in the night, but he knew this served a higher purpose. Had he been the man he once was, he would have ridden headlong into the situation, perhaps causing yet more chaos. But that man no longer walked the earth; he had grown used to living quietly, and keeping himself to himself, and had learned to weigh matters more slowly and cautiously.

Boromir needed to speak to Éomer personally and privately; he wanted to know as much as he could find out about where each member of the Council of the Sceptre stood: who stood fast, on which side, and who had yet to take sides, if any. He wanted news of Faramir: where he might be and at what time, and how best to break his news to his brother without revealing himself to the enemies of the King. As Boromir spoke, Merry and Pippin once more saw how Boromir had become the renowned Captain-General and High Warden of the White Tower. He seemed to have mapped out who he needed and when, where he needed to be and at which time, and how to approach all these things in the most efficient manner possible. He seemed to be able to think of several things all at once, and how to dovetail one strategy into the next.

 Merry recalled the words of Éomer upon learning of Boromir’s supposed death — "Great harm is this death to Minas Tirith, and to us all. That he was a worthy man; all spoke his praise. More like the swift sons of Eorl than to the grave Men of Gondor he seemed to me, and likely to prove a great captain of his people when his time came.”* Merry wondered what it would have been like to have Boromir present for the King’s coronation. His heart flagged a little at this thought—from what Boromir had told him during this time he had been…well, broken.

Yes, broken, in heart, mind and body. Merry had worried about Pippin so at the time, as he knew Pippin had come to see Boromir as both a hero and a brother. Pippin had been so young and impressionable at that time, and Merry had thought it a dear thing to see the lad find a hero to emulate. Merry had grieved for Boromir, but he had grieved for Pippin’s sake as well, knowing he had seen Boromir fall, filled with black Orc arrows. Many times had Pippin wept quietly, and, Merry was sure, while thinking no one knew. Pippin had been sure no one understood what Boromir had meant to himself and to Merry, and Merry felt Pippin had had a point. Only Frodo and Sam had really, truly understood. Both had had dealings with the Ring, and both knew how it could stalk the spirit and tear down even toughened defenses. They understood that Boromir, in his despair over his City, had been easy prey. Also, they knew that if Sauron could take Boromir as a thrall, this would have frozen the hearts of the Men of Minas Tirith. They came to see this still more fully after seeing Gondor and witnessing for themselves what the constant threat of Mordor had done to the spirits of those who dwelt in the White City.

Now Gondor was once more threatened, this time from within, and Boromir would not— could not—turn his back on her. He sat now, speaking in depth to Merry and Pippin of his thoughts and fears and plans. Boromir spoke of his need to take council with his brother Faramir. His brother would know more and best of the ways of the Council of Gondor and the Sceptre, for the laws of that land and the lesser fiefdoms were ancient and tested by time, and had been written in order to prevent just such problems as now arose. Boromir explained more fully the intricacies of this situation. Pippin understood this in better detail than Merry, for he had long studied the histories of Gondor, being a Knight of that place. Pippin understood that this matter was complicated and delicate... very, very dangerous.

For beneath the King in authority were the Lords of the realm. These Lords held fiefs from the crown. In Gondor at the end of the Third Age, the vassals of the Stewards included the Lords of Lossarnach, Ringlo Vale, Morthond, Lamedon and Anfalas, and the Prince of Dol Amroth. These Lords held their lands through hereditary succession, like the Crown and Stewards, and from their ranks were drawn important royal officers, or even successors to the throne.

Too, they also had a role in the Council of Gondor, whose advice the kings or, in the absence of a king, the Stewards were obliged to consider, depending on their character and the power of their situation. The traditions of the Dunedain suggested that the Council was based on the Council of the Sceptre in Númenor itself and had not changed much over the centuries in either power or role.

These were complex matters, and Boromir had never had the will to learn to deal with them. Boromir had been a doer, not a great thinker. And like many of his brothers in arms, he had a soldier’s contempt for politics. Faramir, however, had always had both will and ability, as well as the faith of his followers in all matters. His help was imperative. All of them were about to enter into the very eye of a political storm, and Boromir would need to depend heavily on his brother and Éomer.

Pippin watched as the words brought a troubled look to his friend’s brow, and, concerned that these heavy words might worsen Boromir’s condition, made light of the matter by making up quotes from tavern girls that, in a bawdy way, lamented the loss of their Boromir. This was the best medicine Boromir could have taken, as his heart was instantly made lighter and happier; whatever might happen, he could always count as brothers these two small soldiers.

Yes, members of the same family could indeed be born of different parents and different peoples. Boromir grinned, thinking how his family had grown. 

Their fire banked and the travelers bundled in their blankets, the three settled in for the night.

But Pippin couldn’t sleep. They had not bothered to keep watches as they had just before and during the War of the Ring, as they now rode instead of walking, and with three mounts, and the times being far less perilous. Had anything been a danger, the horses would have awakened them in plenty of time to take what action may be needed.

How unlike that journey this one had been! The first time he had gone on a journey of this scope he had done it for his cousin and friend, neither knowing nor caring much about anything outside of the confines of his homelands. Now he made this journey for the good of the King and all the countries and fiefdoms that could be affected by the turmoil sure to erupt if he and his friends did not intercede.

But there was another reason this journey was important to him, and that reason lay softly snoring next to his dearest friend. He had always loved Boromir. In fact, from the first he had liked him, admired him, then grown to love him. He had grown to love him because Boromir had grown to love Merry and himself, and love begets love just as hate begets hate. The love he felt for the Man was different now, because Boromir, as well as Pippin himself, was different.

He still saw Boromir as a hero—he always would— but he also saw him in a different light now, and at once. He had, after all, changed in many ways, yet in some ways he was not so different at all. He seemed somehow more complex than he had ever been, and that was saying a lot, yet at the same time, he was simpler, more, well, hobbit-like, Pippin supposed. It was as though a part of Boromir had been wiped clean, the part that had made him so grim and unhappy, and in its place was something of a mystery, a sojourner on an inner journey, a pilgrim of the heart. Still a hero, but a different kind of hero, now. He knew no one braver, as it took a brave Man indeed, or hobbit, for that matter, to look deeply inside one’s own heart. Boromir had been on a pilgrimage that few were honest or brave enough to make.

Pippin knew that this sojourn would never be complete unless Boromir could see his brother. So often had Boromir spoken to him of Faramir, always with great affection, when they had been on their quest, and Boromir had spoken of his brother as well since coming to the Old Forest, but not so often and not in great detail, as he had before. It was an open sore in his heart, and it would never be healed until the brothers were reunited.

Pippin imagined that had he been in Boromir’s place, it would be much like never seeing Merry again, and the thought made him shudder. How that would break his heart, never to see Merry again! It made his heart recoil, and at once flood with sadness for Boromir and Faramir. Well, that would soon be taken care of, and he hoped all would go well. He was, in fact, fairly certain it would indeed go well. Faramir would see. He had that ability to look into a person, and he surely would be able to see the changes in his brother, and to know how and why those changes had happened.

But Pippin, and Merry as well, had a bit of a problem, and neither knew how to solve it. The King had issued a decree that Men were not allowed to live within the lands held by hobbits. They had said nothing to Boromir about it, indeed no one had, as the Old Forest was looked on with suspicion, and no one cared if Boromir lived there. While it was true that Bucklanders were particular in that they were more accepting of their bigger neighbors, Pippin didn’t know a single hobbit that had anything bad to say about Boromir, and considering the love of gossip many hobbits had, that was quite a feat.

But Pippin knew this issue would be raised, if for no other reason than to convince Boromir he must stay in Gondor or Ithilien, and Pippin did not believe for one minute that Boromir would ever be happy to live in either place for the rest of his life.

Boromir’s talk of the thing he called the Light was something that Pippin found to be fascinating, and he knew that this was the one thing that had helped Boromir to go on when he might have died or despaired. And Boromir believed the Light wanted him to stay in the Old Forest. And his friend had Saro and a baby on the way. That was all Pippin needed to know about it. Boromir must be allowed to go back to his home in the Old Forest.

Pippin put down his pipe and walked over to where his friends were sleeping, and stood quietly just watching them, the way he sometimes watched his son sleep. He reached over and adjusted the blanket over Merry. Boromir’s hair had fallen over his face, and Pippin softly combed it back with his fingers, the better to see his friend’s face. Boromir’s nose twitched in his sleep, making Pippin grin. He loved how people looked when they sleep, their faces smoothed out in peace, calm and serene and free from the cares of the everyday world. He found the faces of the sleeping to be somewhat beautiful, whether old or young, hobbit, man, dwarf or elf.

 Well, Elves are just nice-looking people anyway, and they don’t sleep like other people do, but never mind that, he thought. What am I to do about this, Boromir? How do I remain faithful to the King, and see that you are allowed to return home, too? You must be allowed to come back home! You have your Saro and your baby coming, and your bees and your many cats, and, you great goose, you have whole families of hobbits that would like to keep you nearby. Just look at you. You may be big, but sometimes, I feel as though I should be taking care of you, just like you once looked after Merry and me. Do you know that I wanted to name my son after you, but couldn’t, because when I thought of you I got a big lump in my throat? And dear Merry. He loves you, too, you know. What are we to do about you? How are we to solve this problem? How I wish Gandalf were here now! He would know what to do. I’m afraid you are stuck with a pair of hobbits to solve this problem. This is so complicated, but we will do our best, Merry and I. Sleep well, my friend, and dream of your sweet lady and fat babies. Somehow, we will take care of this. I don’t know how, but I must, and so I will. How I hope these problems don’t make your health worse. I see you struggle for breath sometimes, and when I think how strong you once were, it breaks my heart.

Pippin, without realizing it, had his arms crossed in that pose that signaled no nonsense would be tolerated. He went back to his pipe, and continued to watch Merry and Boromir sleep, and his thoughts turned to his Diamond and his son.

*Not, repeat, not mine. These are JRRT’s words. I only wish I could write so beautifully.