Scenes from Edoras

By: Elemmírë

Summary: Four short snippets of the hobbits' time spent in Edoras on their way home to the Shire. Book verse with a tad bit of movie intertwined.

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings does not belong to me, nor am I making any profit off either its story or characters.

Author's Note: This was originally written for Marigold's Tale Challenge 32. The elements Marigold gave me to include were: a juggler, Rivendell, Berilac, & Éowyn. The story must also contain a mother and/or sibling.

 "At length after fifteen days of journey the wain of King Théoden passed through the green fields of Rohan and came to Edoras; and there they all rested. The Golden Hall was arrayed with fair hangings and it was filled with light, and there was held the highest feast that it had known since the days of its building." ~J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King: 'Many Partings'

"I wonder if I could ever learn to juggle like that?" Pippin remarked casually. His green eyes studied the intricate movements of the two jugglers walking back and forth in the small market square of Edoras, amidst the gathering crowd.

"I would imagine that takes a lot of practice, Mr. Pippin," Sam replied. He too was amazed at the talents the two seemingly adolescent boys displayed as they tossed the small spheres made of horse-hide into the air with increasing rapidity. Each lad was juggling a total of six spheres altogether, but soon they were juggling the spheres back and forth with one another combining them.

"Many of the young children have learned how to juggle throughout the ages here in the Riddermark," Lady Éowyn explained to the hobbits.

"It is useful play that helps improve their hand and eye coordination, which will be important when they grow older and must learn how to spear targets while riding," Éomer, King of Rohan, added. He and his sister were taking the four hobbits on a tour around Edoras. Of the four, Merry was the only one to have set furry foot inside the chief city of the Horsemen, but that had been for far too short a time. The hobbit had left as soon as he had arrived, offering his sword and services as esquire to King Théoden, who summoned the entire Rohirrim to gather and ride to the aid of Gondor.

Merry tore his intent gaze away from the jugglers to look up at Éowyn. "As Shieldmaiden, did you learn how to juggle too, My Lady?"

Éowyn turned her defiant grey eyes upon her only brother. They sparkled in mirth. "After our mother died, Théodred and Éomer took it upon themselves to include me in their games, but it has been a very long time since we've done so." She laughed, a warm pleasant sound once more that did not speak of the bitterness she had felt for so long in her young life.

Despite the loss of he who had been like a father to him, Éomer was overjoyed to see his sister's happiness. In two more days would be the funeral of King Théoden, followed by another huge feast that would celebrate the life of the late king.

The hobbits continued to watch the juggling display in apt fascination, but were mindful of Frodo and the growing crowd of onlookers. After a short time during their extended stay in Minas Tirith, the Ring-bearer tended to shy away from the crowds that had seemed to gather wherever he went. It had grown tiresome rather quickly to the small, quiet hobbit who had always valued his privacy. Today, however, Frodo was grateful that the attention of the people of Edoras was not upon him. Instead, the crowd was respectful of the King and Lady's honored guests, mingling with the hobbits, but also making sure to keep their distance and not obstruct the little ones' view of the impromptu presentation.

When the two boys finished their juggling, a polite applause broke out amongst those gathered. "Should you like to look around a bit, my friends?" Éomer spread his arms wide, encompassing all the market of his people had to offer.

With little encouragement needed from the royal siblings, the hobbits meandered about the little sqaure taking everything in. While Frodo and Sam were perusing the various goods being offered (and sampling the occasional tidbit given freely to them to taste), Merry was admiring the quality craftsmanship of a finely tooled set of tack. It was meant for a horse, however, and would be too big to fit Stybba, his new pony given to him by King Théoden during the War.

Pippin, meanwhile had cornered the two boys and was asking them all sorts of questions about juggling. He had been especially fascinated by the display.

"Here," the younger of the boys said. He handed Pippin three of the leather spheres and showed the hobbit how to hold them properly in his hands with one in his right and two in his left.

When his cousins and Sam came to collect him, they found Pippin throwing one ball into the air, creating a rhythm with it before trying to add a second ball. Throwing up the two spheres was relatively easy.

"What have you got up to, Pip?" Merry asked, just as the tween tried tossing up the third ball to the mix.

His concentration broken, the three small spheres went flying and scattered across the stone path. Sam just barely saved his Master from tripping over one and falling. "Pippin!" Frodo admonished.

Pippin gave them an apologetic grin before scampering about to retrieve all of the spheres, Frodo handing over the one he had nearly slipped on. "These lads were kind enough to show me the basics of how to juggle. I was trying my hand at it," Pippin explained.

He turned to the two boys and handed them back their leather spheres. "Thank you. You both make it look so easy."

The boys laughed. "It takes quite a lot of practice to get to the skill level we are at. But once you get the basic juggling of three objects down, the rest is easier."

Pippin wistfully eyed the little leather spheres, silently wishing he could be able to play with them for longer. "I guess I need much more practice."

The boy that accepted the spheres handed them back. "Keep them, Master holbytla. Continue to use them to practice with and one day, should you return to Edoras, you can show us your skill."

"Are you sure?" Pippin asked, not wanting to accept. He was merely happy for what seemed the first chance in months to be a tween again and play if only for a few moments, instead of yielding a sword.

"Yes, we have others and we can use nearly anything to be found to juggle with. Please take them to remember us by. They are but a small, paltry gift for one whose deeds are more mighty than ours will ever be." The two boys gave the four hobbits a small bow before running off to share with their friends they had met the famed hobbits.

Merry scanned the small market with his sharp eyes. "Now where have Éomer and Éowyn got off to?"

* * * * *

" 'What! My Bill?' cried Sam. '...There's another wish come true!' ...Sam would not go to bed until he had visited Bill in his stable." ~J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King, 'Homeward Bound'

"At the last we come to the very heart of Edoras, my holbytla. For as you know, we of the Riddermark cherish our horses above all else," Éomer said. He indicated a long building made of stone and wood behind him. The facade was intricately carved with scenes of horses roaming in the fields, to engaging in battle.

The four hobbits felt very small as they stood in front of the large wooden doors with gilded handles sculpted into the bust of a horse. They craned their necks as they looked up ... and up ... and up. Even Merry and Pippin, who had grown tall for hobbits after drinking Ent draughts, felt rather small again given the structure's vast size.

"Most of our peoples' herds roam freely about the land or are stabled in the areas where the common-folk dwell." Éomer indicated the building behind him with a sweep of one hand. "These here have long been the stables of the King of Rohan and the Rohirrim since days of old when the lands of Riddermark were given to Eorl and our people by Cirion, Steward of Gondor, after the Battle of the Field of Celebrant," Éomer explained with more than a touch of pride to his voice and bearing.

It had been late evening when the procession bearing the King's wain had entered into the chief city of the people of Rohan yesterday; the hobbits had dismounted and been escorted to their guest room by Éowyn and their ponies had been seen to by the waiting stable hands. Even Merry, who had stayed briefly in Edoras, had not seen the inside of the King's stables where the most finest of horses Rohan had to offer were kept (save only the wild Mearas, of course).

Éomer opened the heavy wooden doors to the enormous stable

Sam stopped in the doorway of the stable in awe, having never seen the likes before. "Why, I bet you could fit an oliphaunt in this here stable. My Gaffer will never believe this!" he whispered, staring down the endless double row of stalls. A great horse stood in each one, a single iron link chain the only method used to contain them. Shadowfax, as the lord of horses, had his own stall at the very end of the long building. It was centered between the two rows of stalls and was easily the largest of any. There was no chain to his spacious abode; a rope was the only thing baring the Mearas from leaving the stall, as if that could stop him. In fact, Gandalf often let the rope hang loose, allowing the great horse to come and go as he pleased, which suited Shadowfax just fine.

"This puts the stables of Buckland to shame," Merry remarked. He walked over to the nearest stall and reached up to pet the large bay horse that came forward and leaned its head over the chain to its stall, whickering softly in greeting.

"Berilac would absolutely love this."

"Which of your family is Berilac again, Merry?" Éowyn asked. During their stay at the Houses of Healing in Minas Tirith, Merry had told her much about his family, but while she grew accustomed to hearing the various names and degrees of relation, she could not place whom was whom in the hobbit's large family. She hefted a bucket laden with carrots and let the hobbits feed them to the many horses as they wished.

"He's my only first cousin on my father's side." Merry explained. "Beri's father, Uncle Mac, was in charge of the stables and breeding at Brandy Hall. Beri is following in his footsteps, for he loves the ponies and Buckland's are widely renowned in the Shire as being the finest. If we ever visit here again, I will have to bring him with me if I can pry him away from Brandy Hall. ...Come to think of it, Uncle Mac would be rather impressed too."

"Of course! We would welcome any of your family to visit, as we would any of you. I'm only sorry that you did not travel here initially under more pleasant of circumstances." The honored Shield-maiden knew how Merry had fretted so over not joining the final battle before the Enemy's Black Gate and had made himself ill with ease, not knowing the fate of his cousins and his friend, Sam.

Speaking of Sam, the little gardener was taking a bunch of the carrots and feeding them to the horses as he went down the line, admiring their beauty and their shiny, silky coats. After each horse received a carrot, Sam would give it a good scratch behind the ears. One large mare nudged him playfully in the chest with her velvety muzzle. The horse had misjudged her strength and power and sent Sam sprawling onto the hay-strewn floor. "Now just you see here!" he said indignantly, getting up with help from Frodo and brushing off the fine clothes given to him by Aragorn in Minas Tirith.

At the end of the stables, Shadowfax gave a warning snort and tossed his head, stamping a forefoot. He had grown protective of the four little ones his Istari loved, as much as any of the others who had encountered the hobbits along their journey far from home. Understanding she needed to be more gentle, the mare bowed her head and flattened her ears in apology to the odd little creature standing before her.

Sam laughed and fed the mare an extra carrot. The horse's ears pricked up again and gave a soft whiny in appreciation, having learned that hobbits were amazing little creatures.

Towards the very back of the large stable, near to Shadowfax's stall, was a section of several smaller stalls with low hanging chains. "As these are the Royal stables, this is where the children of the King would keep their ponies until they grew big enough to manage a fully-grown horse. The last ponies to reside in here were those of my cousin, my sister, and myself; no ponies have stood in these stalls since. We thought it fitting that the steeds of our honored hobbits reside here until you continue on your journey homeward." Éomer showed the four hobbits were their steeds were housed, much to all their pleasure. They saw firsthand that their smaller steeds were being well looked after by the stable hands ... and by Shadowfax.

Sam fed the pony given to him a carrot and he was thankful this sleek pony did not resemble old sturdy Bill save for the fact that they were both ponies. Whereas Bill's matted coat had been a light brown with a golden mane and tail, along with a white blaze and socks, Sam's new pony was a deep chestnut color with a black mane and tail and no markings upon its body.

Sam sighed as he stroked the pony's neck. He missed Bill so very much that he had not yet been able to bestow a name upon his new pony. Sam wondered for the umpteenth what ever became of the run-down pack pony that had showed such spirit and endurance to accompany the hobbits to Rivendell and then later the Fellowship. He feared the old lad had become food for the wolves outside of Moria, but he was still full of hope that Bill made his way to safety ... somewhere. Why, perhaps the pack pony would be waiting for him to return to Rivendell; maybe he'd even have learned Elvish from Asfaloth and the rest of them fine Elvish horses.

Shadowfax left his stall and came to stand by Sam, bending his graceful neck to nuzzle the little one who's passion was to help things grow. Merry, Pippin, and Frodo watched their friend and knew that he was grateful for this fine new pony, but that his heart continued to long for the tenth member of their Fellowship.

* * * * *

"Then the Riders of the King's House upon white horses rode round about the barrow and sang together a song of Théoden Thengel's son that Gléowine his minstrel made, and he made no other song after. The slow voices of the Riders stirred the hearts even of those who did not know the speech of that people ..." ~J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King: 'Many Partings'

"Come now, Master Merry! We have sung for many days now of the great deeds of our kings and the history of our lands. Share with us a tune from your own lands, if you will!" one of the Riders called out, lifting his mug high, the ale sloshing over the rim.

Everyone was gathered in the Golden Hall of Meduseld to celebrate the funeral feast of King Théoden, Thengel's son. Being the smallest guests--not to mention the most honored along with Aragorn, now King of Gondor--the four hobbits were sitting on the first row of wooden benches before the dais of the great hall, their furry feet dangling (Merry and Pippin's were closest to the floor).

"Oh, I'm afraid I'm not much of the singer. My cousins Pippin and Frodo are better suited for that," Merry said. He didn't feel like singing just yet and the slow song Gléowine had made earlier in the day still lay heavy on his heart, as did the burial itself. Pippin had picked up on the glumness in his cousin's voice and so he set out singing some of the Shire's traditional songs in his sweet lilting voice, to appease the Rider's request and hopefully his cousin's mournful heart as well.

Merry had been very grieved earlier in the day when the King was buried at long last in the resting place of the Lords of the Mark. With reverence, Merry had born the arms of the King and laid them to rest with his entombed body in the house of stone as a final gesture to Théoden's noble heroics in battle. The tomb had then been covered with great turves of green grass until a great mound was formed over the land and its top was covered with the simple, yet elegant white simbelmynë flower that only grew on the seven other burial mounds of former kings of Rohan.

A nudge broke Merry of his sad thoughts. "Here you are, my friends, the finest ale Rohan has to offer." King Éomer passed out four mugs to the hobbits. More of the finest ale was passed around the hall in honor of Théoden King and also to toast the announcement of Faramir seeking Lady Éowyn's hand in marriage.

Apparently Pippin had finished his bout of singing and was now concentrating on downing his ale. "I think I'm going to require another pint in order to judge this ale as being the finest in all the lands." He winked conspiringly at Merry.

Merry perked up and took a swig of his own pint, savoring the rich, hearty wood flavor of the ale. It was certainly good, but it was no ale from the Shire, that much was certain.

The men of the Rohirrim were now trading off drinking songs, although they refrained from their more bawdy drinking games on this night. "Have you any songs about drink in your lands, Master hobbits?" called out another of the Riders.

A collective groan rose from Gandalf, Frodo, Sam, and Aragorn. Pippin, however, wasted no time in hopping up onto an empty table in the middle of the melee of Big Folk, dragging Merry with him. "Come, Cousin! We cannot let an opportunity pass by to sing about the Shire's finest."

Merry shook his head. He still didn't want to sing ... but the chants of the Big Folk and Pippin's pleading green eyes were enough to finally sway him. With mug in hand, he took his place opposite of Pippin. The younger hobbit tapped out a starting time with one large, furry foot and on the count of three, they began to sing and dance about the table.

Merry laughed as Pippin nearly kicked a poor fellow in the face and he started to enjoy himself. The two hobbits swung around each other, linking arms, stamping their bare feet, waving their mugs of brew, and slapping their legs as they sang with gusto. Merry couldn't help but give a sheepish grin when he did kick a man in the face accidentally. Pippin reached over and pulled a very reluctant Frodo up onto the table with them. Aragorn was smiling and Gandalf was laughing and clapping at the hobbits' merriment; Sam just shook his curly head and finished off his own ale--he knew better than to get involved in the cousins' drunken revelry.

Here the three hobbits stopped their dancing and paused for dramatics. The men of the Rohirrim waited in anticipation, some leaning over the table eagerly.

Comes from The Green Dragon!"†

The three sang out loudly before clanking their tankards in a toast and drinking from them as fast as they could. Merry leaned back as was his wont, putting his all into it and draining his pint in record time, beating Pippin to the finish. Frodo, who still often felt ill after his ordeal (and being a hobbit of a more proper gentlehobbit upbringing) sipped leisurely at his ale. He found himself chuckling at his favorite cousins' antics.

"Thank you! I win!" Merry grinned at Pippin, relieved to be feeling like his old self again. King Théoden would not have wanted him to grieve indefinitely.

"Thank you!" Pippin crowed in return to the gathering of Big Folk.

Frodo was smart to hop off the table before his two wayward cousins could coerce him into participating in another drinking song. As it was, he felt he reached his limit for the night and was growing very tired. He and Sam soon left the Golden Hall for their beds, taking their leave of King Éomer, Lady Éowyn, Aragorn, and all the others. Long into the night did the feasting last; voices were raised in song, as mugs were raised brimming with ale.

* * * * *

† Lyrics by Phillipa Boyens

"When the feast was over, those who were to go took leave of King Éomer. ... and the people of Lórien and of Rivendell, made ready to ride ... and Arwen Evenstar remained also, and she said farewell to her brethren. None saw her last meeting with Elrond her father, for they went up into the hills and there spoke long together, and bitter was their parting that should endure beyond the ends of the world." ~J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King: 'Many Partings'

It was the last feast to be celebrated before the guests of Rohan were to leave on the morrow. Frodo felt a pang of regret and sorrow rush through him when he observed Arwen and her father, Lord Elrond, take their leave of the feasting and merriment. He watched from the terrace as they exited the Golden Hall and walked up into the hills to speak together for the very last time. For the first time since his quest to destroy the One Ring ended, the small hobbit saw that there were still those who's happiness and fulfillment must be paid with an anguish other than his own. Frodo swallowed back his sorrow and lifted a hand to clutch tightly the white gem Arwen had bestowed upon him by the fountain of the White Tree in Minas Tirith, a week before all left for Rohan.

"Do not let their parting cause your own heart to suffer further despair, Tithen min." A warm, heavy hand descended onto Frodo's narrow shoulder and the hobbit looked up into the eyes of the High King of Men. Gandalf and the Lady Galadriel were with him.

Aragorn too, had a sad look about him. "Soon after his affairs are settled, the one I knew as Father will take the last ship to leave Middle-earth, never to return. His wisdom, grace, and love will be missed dearly by many.

"Arwen and Elrond's parting is sure to be bitter--not as one would assume in the sense of resentment or hostility--but bitter rather in the sense of sorrowful mourning that will last until far after the end of days."

Galadriel sat down on the terrace bench next to Frodo, with a grace only those of the First-born possessed. She eased the white gem from the hobbit's diminutive grasp, giving it a stroke with one finger thus making it glow with a soft white light. "Be eased Frodo Baggins of the Shire. This night has been long in coming in the Ages of the world. It was many, many years ago when my granddaughter and Estel first met in the woods of Imladris. They were destined to be together. Elrond has long foreseen that it would be in Estel's hand that the future of Men lie." She smiled gently at Aragorn, her eyes sparkling with the light of the stars.

"I, too, have long foreseen this in the Mirror." She gave Frodo a knowing look and the hobbit remembered the Lady's Mirror that showed things that were, things that are and some things that have not yet come to pass.

"Elrond has long feared his daughter's choice and it has not been easy for him to endure, for he knows that by marrying a mortal Man, Arwen herself chooses that of a mortal life. It is not her lot to die until all she has now gained will be lost, but Elrond respects Undomiel's happiness and loves both her and Estel more than words can say. Thus, he gave them his blessing, but would not allow his only daughter to be bride to any Man less than the King of both Gondor and Arnor reunited."

Frodo turned to face Aragron. "So in order for you and Arwen to marry, you had to become King first? And in order for the King to return, Sauron had to fall?" the hobbit confirmed.

"Aye," replied Aragorn. "It is through Elrond's loss and your own sacrifices that the kingship of Men is restored." The King gave a gentle, reassuring squeeze to his dear friend's hand.

"Gandalf named you well. You truly are Bronwe athan Harthad--Endurance beyond Hope, as Sam is Harthad Uluithiad--Hope Unquenchable.* Everything I am from these days forward, I owe to you and Sam. Most especially, my family's return to the throne of Gondor and my marriage to my beloved, whom I have long awaited. For that, I will forever be in your debt and gratitude, Frodo son of Drogo." Aragorn noted how Frodo shivered in the warm night and pulled his Elven cloak about him more tightly. The former Ranger of the North pulled the Ring-bearer close and held him to facilitate the warmth. Would this little one ever be free from influence of the great evil that had wounded him so?

"But Sam and I are nothing but merely two simple hobbits from the Shire," Frodo protested. "I did nothing. It was Gollum who destroyed the Ring in the end, not I."

Gandalf, who had remained silent until now, spoke. "Do you not remember Elrond's words from the Council at Rivendell, my dear boy?" the wizard asked, leaning on his white staff and peering down at the hobbit. His eyes twinkled with merriment, but there was also a sadness hidden in their depths. If it were not for him, this small being with the greatest of hearts would not be suffering so.

"It was said that this quest may be attempted by the weak with as much hope as the strong. Yet such is oft the course of deeds that move the wheels of the world: small hands do them because they must, while the eyes of the great are elsewhere.** " Gandalf laid a gnarled, worn hand on the hobbit he had watched grow up from a wee lad, running about in the Shire up to no good as often as not.

"As I've said once before, Bilbo was meant to find the Ring all those years ago and therefore, you were also meant to have it. The task of carrying the One Ring to its final destiny could not have been accomplished by any other ... not even by Bilbo were he still young and hale enough. It truly was the hour of the Shire-folk to shake the towers and counsels of the Great."

At the mention of his beloved uncle's name, tears sprang to Frodo's eyes. "Dear Bilbo," he sighed heavily. "Oh, how I wish he could be here to witness all of this. I miss him so and I cannot bear to wait any longer to reach Rivendell to see how he fares."

It was then that Frodo truly realized the plight of Lord Elrond--he would have the opportunity to see Bilbo at least once more before the old hobbit undertook his final journey, but Elrond would never see his daughter again once he sailed to the Undying Lands. There the great Elven lord would live until the end of Arda, having chosen immortality ages ago.

New tears fell from the Ring-bearer's eyes, grieved for his friend he was. He found little solace that night in the comfort of Aragorn, Galadriel, and Gandalf. It was only in his dreams later that he felt peace when he again had visions of a silver curtain that rolled back to reveal white shores and a far green country. When he awoke in the morning, Frodo had no recollection of his dreams, but his heart felt more eased than it had the previous night.

~The End~

*– Bronwe athan Harthad is the name given to Frodo by Gandalf in HoME (vol. IX, Sauron Defeated: ‘Many Partings’) and means Endurance Beyond Hope. ("... I name before you all Frodo of the Shire and Samwise his servant. And the bards and minstrels should give them new names: Bronwe athan Harthad and Harthad Uluithiad, Endurance beyond Hope and Hope Unquenchable."

** from J.R.R. Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, 'The Council'

As in the timeline located in the Appendices:

July 18: The funeral escort of King Théoden sets out

August 7: The escort comes to Edoras

August 10: The funeral of King Théoden

August 14: The guests take leave of King Éomer