My thanks to the members of the Livejournal community bilbos_study for advice and support.

DISCLAIMER:  Professor Tolkien’s wonderful characters don’t belong to me, I just get to think about them day and night.

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A ROHAN TAPESTRY

Chapter One:  Written in the Heart

“They are proud and wilful, but they are true-hearted, generous in thought and deed; bold but not cruel; wise but unlearned, writing no books but singing many songs, after the manner of the children of Men before the Dark Years.”  Aragorn, ‘The Riders of Rohan’, The Two Towers

“No books!”  Frodo cried out in amazement.  He wondered if he had heard Éomer correctly.  “None at all?  How… that is, why…”

“I have not seen you speechless before, Frodo!” Éomer chuckled.  On this last night of travel through Anórien, he sat in the grass with the hobbits, telling them more about his homeland.  “We do not write our tales, but sing or recite them.  You will find our scrolls few, but our memories long and practiced.  Even the youngest among us learn to recite the lists of the kings and the history of our land.  Our hearts and minds are as keen as our swords, as true as our horses.  Such is Rohan, my friends.”  His eyes shone with pride and love.  “The grasses whisper our names, and the hills know us.  The stars shine there as upon no other land, and our deeds are written in the wind.  Can you not hear it?  We need no scribes to record what we can never forget.”

Frodo stared up at Éomer in wonder.  He had never known or imagined a people without books.  Even the Dwarves had left a written record of their brave but doomed attempt to reopen the mines of Moria; Gimli carried the ruined book with him in a special pouch, even now.

“No cookbooks?” Pippin asked, as surprised as Frodo.

“What about ledgers, sir?” Sam asked.  “Accounts, trade, business records?”

“For what purpose?” Éomer asked, his voice kind.  “Once sworn, a Man’s word is his bond.  Anyone who cheats another in trade, or does not repay a debt owed, is not long welcome among my people.”  He grew solemn.  “My people,” he whispered.

“They are your people now,” Merry said.

“I know,” Éomer sighed.  “However, I would that Théoden rode still among us.  It is a triumphant, but final, return home for my uncle.”

Frodo saw Merry’s eyes well with tears, reflecting the starlight.

“There is no shame in weeping, Merry,” Éomer said quietly.  “And do you see, Frodo?  Merry needs no book to remember my uncle.  The words and deeds of Théoden King are enscribed in your cousin’s heart as surely as a pen might mark a page.  He will tell his children, and the tale will live on.”  He got to his feet.  “Rest well, my friends.  Tomorrow we reach Edoras.”

The hobbits watched him walk away, a Man tall and proud.  They all liked the young king who, they had discovered with amazement, was a year younger even than Pippin.  They sat beneath the stars for awhile, talking quietly and listening to the sounds of the camp and the murmurs of the host who accompanied Théoden King to his final rest: Galadriel, Celeborn, and their folk; Elrond, his sons, and many from Rivendell; Gandalf; Legolas and Gimli; Princes Faramir and Imrahil; soldiers and knights; and the once grim and secretive Dúnedain, riding proudly in escort to King Elessar and his new queen.

“They’re like Elves, sir,” Sam said unexpectedly.  “King Éomer’s folk remember everything, and talk just like poetry.”

“I think you’re right, Sam,” Frodo agreed.

“Let’s check the ponies before turning in,” Merry suggested.

“You know that the Rohirrim are taking good care of them!” Pippin laughed.  “But I’ll come with you.”

“So will I,” Sam said, scrambling to his feet.

All four were very fond of the ponies Éomer had given them.  Frodo had named his Strider, to the great amusement of Aragorn and the Dúnedain.  Pippin, for the most part, rode amongst the soldiers of Gondor on his pony, Toby; but Aragorn had given him leave to ride alongside the other hobbits when he wished, sharing stories and song.  He was also occasionally able to wheedle Gandalf into lifting him up onto Shadowfax, at which times the wizard’s rich chuckles could be heard mingling with the hobbit’s tinkling laughter.  When Merry was not on the wain that bore Théoden’s bier, he rode Stybba, brought to Minas Tirith by the Riders.  And Sam had a sturdy pony as well, a gentle brown one he called Ivy.

Frodo stretched, then stood up, gazing at the brilliant stars.  “It’s so peaceful out here,” he murmured.  The summer days were warm, but the grasses rustled in the evening breeze, cool and fresh under his still-tender feet.

Pippin, Merry, and Sam smiled at one another.  As wearying as it was, riding through the seemingly neverending sea of grass, the two weeks of travel from Minas Tirith had worked wonders for Frodo.  He slept better out here than he ever had on the heights of the city, ate with greater appetite, and was more lighthearted than he had been for a long time.

It was good to see.

*~*~*~*~*

Late the next day, they reached at last the eastern border of Rohan.  The River Snowbourne, beside which they had been riding for days, now bent to the south and sparkled merrily before them.  The path leading up to Edoras was lined with men, women, and children, who cheered and threw flowers.

When the wain passed between the barrows of the kings, the singing voices of the Rohirrim surrounding him, Merry was suddenly overcome with grief.

“Do not be downhearted, my friend,” a nearby Rider said to him.  “Théoden King lived nobly and died with honor, and will never be forgotten.  Soon will come the proper time to mourn, but this day we rejoice.  Look up!  Do you not see the Golden Hall gleaming in the sun?”

“I do,” Merry replied.  He lay a hand upon the bier and bowed his head.

“You’re home, sir,” he whispered.  “We’ve brought you home.”

Outside the gates, at the foot of the summit upon which Edoras rested, Éomer unexpectedly called the procession to a halt.  Aragorn and Arwen rode forward and turned to face the Company.  One by one, Aragorn motioned to Faramir, Imrahil, Gandalf, Galadriel and Celeborn, Elrond, Frodo and Sam, Legolas, and Gimli to join them.  The crowd quieted, gazing in awe at Galadriel and Queen Arwen, and at the holbytla who must be none other than the Ringbearers of whom they had heard so much.  And they marvelled at the change in the lord Aragorn, looking now every inch the ruler of Gondor and the Reunited Kingdoms.

“Éomer King,” Aragorn called out in a strong voice, “the Free Peoples of Middle-earth request permission to enter your realm.  We come in peace and in friendship.  Will you receive us?”

Éomer slowly rode forward, every eye upon him.  He and Aragorn had decided to take Gandalf’s advice that something ceremonial would be appropriate.  The common folk needed to see Éomer take his place as Théoden’s successor, and also recognize that the High King esteemed and respected him.

“I welcome you to Rohan, in peace and in friendship,” Éomer said gravely, nodding in turn to Aragorn and Arwen, then to the representatives at their side.  He turned to face the crowd.  “My people, will you receive them?”

“Aye!”

A mighty roar of approval was heard, and Éomer smiled.  As trumpets sounded from the heights of Edoras, the young king urged his horse forward and led the way up to the city.

** TBC **

A ROHAN TAPESTRY

Chapter Two: The Barrow of the King

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; but the words of the song brought a light to the eyes of the folk of the Mark.

But Merry stood at the foot of the green mound, and he wept.

‘Many Partings’, The Return of the King

The funeral of Théoden was completed with great ceremony.  He lay at rest in a newly-constructed barrow, joining those that lined the road outside the gates of Edoras.  At the feast that followed, Éomer was officially acknowledged as king in front of the fairest company ever assembled in the Golden Hall, and he urged his people to now put aside their sorrow.

Many had been surprised when Éomer announced that Faramir and Éowyn were to be wed, but the betrothed couple was so obviously in love, all who saw them rejoiced.  Merry was glad that Éowyn had found such happiness, but for the most part he sat quietly throughout the feast, eating little and saying less.

Meduseld would serve mainly as a dining hall until the host departed, and here also some of the honored guests  -- including King Elessar and his queen, and the hobbits -- were housed.  Most, however, stayed in the tents or open-air pavilions scattered about the wide lawn surrounding the hall.  

“Lady Éowyn is only 24,” Pippin announced the next morning at breakfast.  He inhaled the delicious aroma coming from a basket of freshly-baked bread, and reached for the butter.

“That’s awfully young,” Sam frowned.  “How can her brother allow her to marry?”

“It would be nearly unheard of in the Shire,” Frodo agreed.  “The race of Men come of age younger than do hobbits, but still...” He frowned.  “How old is Faramir?”

“Thirty-six,” Pippin replied instantly.

“You’ve gathered quite a bit of information, you rascal,” Frodo grinned.

“Can I help it if I happen to overhear things?  With all the Elvish and Rohirric flying about, I pay attention whenever I hear a bit of conversation I can understand.”  Pippin put a piece of bread on Merry’s plate.

“Speaking of Rohirric, I believe I heard your name in that song yesterday, Merry,” Frodo said proudly.  “Twice, in fact.”

“That’s a fine thing,” Pippin grumbled good-naturedly.  “Am I the only hobbit to go through this war without hearing his name in song?”

“Perhaps you can teach the minstrels one of Bilbo’s bath songs,” Frodo grinned.  “They’ll soon be singing them the width and breadth of Rohan, and you’ll be remembered as a lore master.  Can you imagine such a thing, Merry?”

But Merry just smiled faintly, and pushed scrambled eggs around on his plate with the bread.

“You’re learnin’ their tongue right quick, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said.  “I felt like I should have understood what they were all singin’ about, but couldn’t quite get it.”

“I felt that way, too,” Pippin admitted.                                          

“It’s an interesting language,” Frodo said.  “We share many words in common with the Rohirrim.  I understand they originally lived up north before settling here.  I’ve spent a lot of time riding with Éomer’s men, learning what I could.”

“I understand, sir,” Sam said quietly.

Frodo nodded.  “I want to be able to tell Bilbo everything when we get back.  He’ll never get the chance now, to meet people like these.”

“Merry, did you understand any of the song?” Pippin ventured.

“A bit,” Merry said.  “If you’ll excuse me, I think... I need to go for a walk.”  He hopped down from the bench and left the room.

The three remaining hobbits sat for awhile in silence, only speaking when one friend or another stopped by their table to offer greetings and wish them a good day.

“Frodo,” Pippin said at last, “we have to do something.  It isn’t good for Merry to go off alone.  He’s just getting quieter and quieter, and has barely eaten since we got here.”

“He formed an unusually close bond with King Théoden,” Frodo sighed.  “He obviously isn’t ready yet to put his grief into words.”

“He didn’t look too good, sir,” Sam added.

“He’ll talk to you, Frodo,” Pippin persisted.  “He always has.  Maybe you should—”

“I will.”  Frodo got to his feet.  “I think I can guess where to find him.”

“You’re not to be walkin’ about too much yet, Mr. Frodo,” Sam warned.  “Remember what Lord Elrond said.”

“I’ll take it slowly,” Frodo smiled.  “You stay here and finish your breakfast.”

“I don’t think Éomer’s folk know anything about second breakfast, or even elevenses,” Pippin said as Frodo left the hall.  “Sam, let’s see if we can talk the cooks into making a few changes to the dining schedule...”

*~*~*~*~*

The barrow of Théoden, constructed of fresh turf laid over a stone house guarding the king’s body, was flanked by torches that would be kept lit day and night for one cycle of the moon.  Frodo found Merry sitting before it, looking wan and sad.  He sat in the grass next to his cousin.

“Hullo, Frodo.  How did you know where I’d be?”

“When my parents died, I visited their graves over and over... only then did I truly believe they were gone,” Frodo said.  “I felt you would be here; but it was encouraging to be told by nearly every Man in Edoras that ‘Sir Meriadoc’ or ‘Théoden King’s swordthain’ had been seen headed down to the gates.”

“I became a thain before Pippin.”

“Never underestimate the tenacity of a Brandybuck,” Frodo said lightly.

“Frodo...” Merry frowned as he noticed his cousin rubbing his feet.

“They’re still a bit tender,” Frodo admitted.  “But it would take more than a few steps down a hill to keep me from finding you.”  Everything about them was still and quiet, no sound except for the wind rustling the grasses around them.  "Merry, are you ready to talk about it?”

““N. . no," Merry said haltingly.  "It was all... too dreadful.  When he was killed, my heart just broke in two.  And then it was so dark...”

“It's all right," Frodo said softly.  "You said that Théoden had become as a father to you.”

“Yes.  He was so kind to me, Frodo.  I wish you had met him.”

“So do I.”

Merry turned to Frodo with a small smile on his face.  “You don’t suppose Pip will teach them any of the more scandalous bath songs, do you?”

“He’s probably singing one right now,” Frodo said.  “He wanted to check out the bathing rooms today.”

“We’d better get back there, then.  I’d hate for the ‘prince of the halflings’ to lose whatever dubious reputation he’s managed to acquire.”  Merry wavered to his feet, then sat down again suddenly.  “I... feel strange...” he managed to say.

Frodo looked closely at his cousin, who appeared to be shivering in spite of the warm sun.  “Are you feeling sick?”

“I hate barrows,” Merry burst out suddenly.  "They're dark, and cold..."

“We’ve certainly seen more than our share of them, from the inside out,” Frodo agreed.  “But there are no wights here, Merry.  Nothing will disturb Théoden’s rest.  He lies in honor among his ancestors, and is well loved by his people.”  He put an arm around his cousin’s shoulders.  “Only the Elves live forever,” he said quietly.

“Everyone tries to leave me,” Merry murmured with a faraway look in his eyes.

“What?” Frodo frowned.  “What did you say?”

“I didn't say anything,” Merry said, confused.

Alarmed, Frodo felt Merry’s hands and forehead.  His cousin’s brow was overly warm, but his right hand and arm were like ice.

“You should be in bed,” Frodo said.  “I’ll go find someone.”  He would run back up that hill to get help, sore feet or no, if he had to. 

“Don’t leave me," Merry murmured.  He closed his eyes and leaned against Frodo.  “I’m so cold...”

Frodo looked around worriedly; there was no one in sight.  There was something very wrong with Merry, and he wished he had thought to bring one of the ponies.

"Stand up,"  Frodo said gently, getting to his feet.  "That's it... now put your arms about my neck, and your legs... there, about my waist.  That's it.  Remember how I used to carry you pig-a-back like this, when you were young?  Close your eyes, and hold on.  You're safe, Merry.  Everything is all right."

Frodo took a deep breath and started back to the gates with Merry on his back, his cousin shivering and murmuring strange things.

** TBC **

A ROHAN TAPESTRY

Chapter Three:  The Black Breath

“Already he had come close under the Shadow before ever he rode to battle.”  Aragorn, ‘The Houses of Healing’, The Return of the King

“Éomer King...” Éomer looked up as one of the Rohirrim stepped inside the tent where he had been discussing Rohirric wedding customs with Faramir.  “You asked to be informed if any of the guests were in need...”

“What has happened?” Éomer asked quickly.

“The sons of Lord Elrond were seen carrying two of the holbytla into the feast hall.”

“Are they hurt?” Éomer asked, getting to his feet.

“I do not know, my lord,” the man said apologetically.  “I know only that it was Sir Meriadoc and the Ringbearer, Master Frodo.  They--”  He stepped aside quickly as both Éomer and Faramir rushed past him.

Éomer didn’t say a single word all the way to the spacious room that had been set aside for the hobbits, but Faramir could tell he was very upset.

“Really, Frodo,” Pippin was saying teasingly as they entered the room, “just because Merry is now tall as an oliphaunt and heavy as a troll, you still should have been able to carry him all the way up here.”

“I tried,” Frodo said, trying to see around Elladan to where Merry lay on one of the beds.  “Elrohir, how is he?  Is he awake?”

“Frodo,” Éomer said urgently, coming to the hobbit’s bedside, “tell me what happened.  Did someone offer insult to you, or Merry?”  Frodo sat up, alarmed at the intensity of the Man’s gaze and voice.  “Are you injured?”  Éomer continued.  “I will not have any of my guests treated without honor, or given cause to--”

“Éomer, no one harmed us, I swear it,” Frodo assured him.  “We’ve been shown nothing but respect and friendship.”

Éomer looked into Frodo’s clear blue eyes, and saw there nothing but truth.  He sighed, and visibly relaxed.  He had not wished one of his first acts as king to be punishment for one of his people.

“I am sorry if I frightened you,” he said, his voice more gentle.  “Has Merry taken ill?”

“I’m not certain what it is,” Frodo replied.  “He’s been very quiet since entering the city, and hasn’t been eating well.  This morning I found him sitting by your uncle’s barrow, and he started to...” Frodo frowned.  “He started saying strange things, and seems to be fevered.  But his right arm is very cold.  Elladan and Elrohir found us.  Elladan, you don’t need to... ohhh, that feels wonderful,” he sighed as Elladan began rubbing his sore feet.

Frodo had carried his cousin nearly half the distance up the steep path when Elladan and Elrohir spotted the two hobbits, alarmed by Frodo’s flushed face and Merry’s pallor.  Frodo had been a bit embarrassed over being carried the rest of the way, but was too out of breath – and worried about Merry – to protest.

“You will be fine, Frodo,” Elladan smiled.  “I suggest that you stay out of the sun for the rest of the day.”

Sam stopped pacing around the room like a caged Warg long enough to glare at his master.

“He will.”

“And try not to walk about too much.”

"He won't.”

“I won’t,” Frodo echoed.  “But what about--”

“Elladan,” Elrohir said quietly from where he sat by Merry, “would you find Aragorn, and tell him that he is needed?”

“What’s wrong with Merry?” Pippin burst out.  “Is it like... before, when he stabbed that wraith?

“Pippin, what are you talking about?” Frodo asked.  “Is there something you and Merry didn’t tell me about what happened after he stabbed the Witch King?”

“Of course there is,” Pippin said matter-of-factly.  “There are lots of things we haven’t had time to tell you yet.”

His face grave, Faramir knelt by Merry’s bed and took the hobbit’s right hand in his large, warm one.  As Frodo had said, it felt icy cold.  Merry tossed restlessly in what appeared to be a fevered dream.

“Do not lose your way in the darkness, my friend,” Faramir said softly, tucking a blanket around the hobbit.

“Darkness?” Frodo asked anxiously. “Pippin, I think it's time to tell me what happened.”

*~*~*~*~*

When Elladan returned with Aragorn, they found Faramir, Éomer, and the three hobbits deep in discussion.  Elrohir remained at Merry’s side.

“His rest is more peaceful now,” Elrohir said to Aragorn.  “I did what I could.”

“Aragorn, do you still have any of that athelas?” Frodo asked hopefully.  “From what Pippin and Faramir have told us, I think Merry might need it again.”

“I now know much about that plant, Frodo,” Éomer said before Aragorn could reply.  “I have not seen it growing within the borders of Rohan.”

“That will be soon amended,” Aragorn said.  He took Elrohir’s place next to Merry and gazed down at the hobbit, concerned.  “I will see to it that athelas is planted wherever Men ride, or hobbits abide.”

“Can you do something, Strider?” Pippin pleaded.  “Didn’t you heal him, back in Minas Tirith?”

“I helped Merry find his way back to us,” Aragorn said.  “Healing, Pippin, is a process that takes time.”  He frowned in concentration.  “There is great sadness and loss within him.”

“He said... at Théoden’s barrow, he said everyone always tries to leave him,” Frodo murmured, his eyes filling with tears.  “I didn’t know then what he meant, but maybe I do now.”

“Tell me,” Aragorn said.

“We’ve all been talking,” Frodo continued.  “We think that...”  He stopped as Merry opened his eyes.

“What am I doing here?” Merry asked faintly.  “I’m cold...”

Frodo started to go to his cousin, but one look at Sam’s face stopped him.

“Faramir, would you...” Frodo looked up beseechingly, and Faramir smiled and lifted him from his bed onto Merry’s.  With Aragorn’s help, Frodo gathered up his cousin’s blanket-wrapped form and held him close.

Merry looked up at Frodo, seeming not to notice anyone else in the room.  “Are you going to leave me again?” he asked plaintively.

“I’m right here,” Frodo said reassuringly. “Keep talking, Merry,” he encouraged.

“You...” Merry’s eyes filled with tears.  “You went to live with Bilbo.  And then you would have left us at Crickhollow, and Rivendell, and... and then Gandalf took Pippin away, and...”

Pippin started to say something, but Frodo shot him a warning glance.  At least Merry was finally talking, even if it had taken this strange illness to at last let it happen.

“Théoden tried to leave me behind,” Merry sobbed, “and then he was killed, and I couldn’t stop it.  I... it was so dark and cold...”

“Pippin found you again,” Frodo said soothingly.  “And Gandalf found Sam and me, and we’re all back together again.  We’re here, Merry.  We’re all here.”

Merry suddenly started to cry uncontrollably, shaking in Frodo’s arms.

“This is what he needs most to heal,” Aragorn said.

“The wraiths were near him five times, you know,” Pippin said worriedly.

“Five?” Elladan frowned.

“The first time was in Bree,” Pippin said, “and then Weathertop, and on the river when they came at us, and one flew over us on its way to Isengard, and then outside the City when he...”  He stopped for breath.

“That is a great deal of exposure to the Black Breath – the Enemy’s greatest weapon,” Aragorn said.  “Such subtle poison can take root within even the most courageous man – or hobbit – and make its presence known when we least expect it.  Perhaps the feelings of despair it planted had the power to haunt Merry still, bringing hurts old and new to the surface during the funeral of one he held dear.”

“Yes,” Frodo said.  “That's what we were talking about when you came in.”  He rocked his cousin gently, as with a child.  “It’s all right, Mer.  It’s all right.  You’ve been so very brave.  When is the last time you really let yourself cry, you silly hobbit?”

Finally Merry’s sobs gave way to small sniffles, and he looked around, becoming more aware of his surroundings.  Frodo pushed a finely-made pocket-handkerchief into his hand.

“Where did you get that, Mr. Frodo?” Sam asked curiously.

“It is one of mine,” Éomer said, his eyes twinkling.  He winked at Frodo.  “The people of Rohan may not have many books, but we do have a few civilized comforts.”

“It’s all right to grieve, Merry,” Pippin said.  He climbed up on the bed to sit next to his cousin.  “We just don’t want you to get lost in the process, or stop talking to us.  Or stop eating,” he added fervently.

“I know,” Merry whispered.  “Théoden wouldn’t want that.” 

“Indeed, he would not,” Éomer agreed, coming to stand by the bed.  “And always remember, my dear friend, that Théoden King did not abandon you.  He is right here.”  He touched his hand to Merry’s heart, and then his own. “Sir Meriadoc, you swore fealty to my uncle, and the love you feel honors him, and me, and all of Rohan.  I name you Holdwine of the Mark, friend and citizen of this land in full freedom and privilege.”

“Thank you,” Merry said.  He felt very tired, and still cold, but... lighter, somehow. 

“Holdwine?” Pippin asked.

“It means ‘loyal friend’,” Frodo said.

“The Mark?”

“Perhaps the rest of your questions can wait until later,” Aragorn smiled.  He felt Merry's brow, which was still warm, then lay a gentle hand on one of Frodo's feet.  “Your cousins need to rest.”

“They will,” Sam and Pippin said as one.

** TBC **

A ROHAN TAPESTRY

Chapter Four:  Clearing the Air

“Time wears on, and the mists are blowing away, or would if you strange folk did not wreathe yourselves in smoke.”  Legolas, ‘Flotsam and Jetsam’, The Two Towers

Frodo slowly awoke to the sweet smell of pipeweed, and a murmur of nearby voices. He opened his eyes to a sight that made him smile. In the windowseat sat Merry, still partially wrapped in his blanket, and in a chair next to him sat Aragorn. Both held lit pipes, and as Frodo watched, Merry blew three perfect rings of smoke out the open window.

“Beat that,” Merry said triumphantly.

“Is it a contest?” Frodo asked groggily. “I taught Merry everything he knows, Aragorn; you don’t stand a chance.”

“And Gandalf taught me everything I know, Frodo,” Aragorn said. He drew on his pipe. “Observe.” He matched Merry’s three rings, and barely managed a fourth, rather shaky one.

“Hmmm,” Merry said critically. “Doesn’t count.”

“I don’t remember falling asleep,” Frodo said, frowning at the king. “Did you slip something into my tea?”

“Nay, Frodo, no such persuasion was necessary,” Aragorn assured him. “You were wearied from your exertion in the hot sun. You slept only a few hours. How are you feeling?”

Frodo stretched and sat up. He felt a bit lightheaded, and his feet throbbed, but not nearly as badly as before. “Much better,” he decided. He reached for the pitcher of water on a table next to the bed, poured a mugful, and drank it thirstily. “Merry, how are you feeling?” he asked anxiously.

“Much better,” Merry echoed hastily. “But Strider wants me to stay in bed today.”

“Does he? You don’t appear to be following orders, you miscreant, and he doesn’t appear to be enforcing them.”

“It was hardly an order,” Aragorn chuckled. “Your cousin needs to rest, and he is.” He set down his pipe, and Merry's, then lifted Merry back onto the bed next to Frodo.

“Come back anytime for a rematch, Strider,” Merry said. “You may not get many chances after this.”

“True,” Aragorn said regretfully. “Arwen has little appreciation for this particular pastime. I may need to arrange a trip to the Shire someday soon.” He smiled and left the room.

“Come here, Mer,” Frodo said. He sat back against the headboard and pulled Merry against his chest. Frodo felt his cousin’s right hand, which no longer felt icy cold, then drew the blankets around them both.

Merry smiled faintly. “We used to sit this way when I was little, remember? When you would tell me stories in bed?”

“Of course I remember,” Frodo said. “I think you still have a bit of fever.”

“Just a little bit,” Merry admitted. “Strider says I caught a chill, and it... all the memories came back, and they made me sad. I just need some sleep, then everything will be--”

“Merry, I know.”

“What do you mean?” Merry asked nervously.

“Meriadoc Brandybuck, I don't believe for a second that you and Pippin just ‘didn’t get around’ to telling me what happened to you when Théoden died. You didn’t want to worry me.”

“What... what did they tell you?”

“That you grew wings, flew into the air, rode an oliphaunt into battle, and lopped off the Witch King’s head while singing 'The Ballad of Isengar Took’ at the top of your lungs.”

“What?” Merry gasped. “I never did any such thing!”

“You silly goose,” Frodo said gently. “I asked them to tell me the truth... or as much as they know, anyway.”

“We told you everything that--”

“... you wanted me to hear,” Frodo said firmly. “Pip told me how he found you, and what happened when Aragorn called you back; and Faramir shared what Éowyn remembered of the battle, and what that cold, awful darkness was like.”

Merry shifted uncomfortably.

“It’s all right,” Frodo said softly. “There are things we’ll never know about what happened to you. There are things you’ll never know about what happened to me, or Sam, or even Pippin. I barely know, myself, what happened to me.” He smiled gently. “Merry, I know you’ve felt abandoned and lonely, time and again. The first time was when I left you – to live with Bilbo.”

“Frodo, I never blamed you for--”

“I think you did; deep, deep down inside, where you didn’t even know about it. I tried to leave you twice after that, to protect you, but you wouldn’t let me. And then you and Pip were hurt and captured, and Gandalf took Pip away, and Aragorn left you with King Théoden, and then even he tried to leave you behind...”

Merry started to weep again, and Frodo held him tight.

”Merry, when I was out there in those awful places, in the dark and the cold, weary and hungry and thirsty, so far from home, I wondered if anything we were doing would make any difference, in the end. I know you felt that way, too.”

Merry took a deep, shuddering breath, and clung to his cousin.

“And then, when Aragorn took Pip away to the Black Gate with him, you were alone in that huge city, confused and frightened.” Frodo continued. “You thought we all had left you, again... this time, maybe for good.”

“I hoped not,” Merry whispered. “I hoped so very hard.”

“So did I,” Frodo told him. “And when I couldn’t anymore, I think Sam hoped hard enough for both of us.”

“Oh Frodo,” Merry burst out, “I couldn’t bear to tell you everything. You had enough to burden you.”

“You were never a burden,” Frodo murmured, stroking Merry’s hair gently. “You never will be.”

“Did you carry me all the way up here?” Merry asked suddenly.

“I had a little help from Elladan and Elrohir,” Frodo chuckled. “As Pippin is quick to point out, you're now tall as an oliphaunt and heavy as a troll.”

“I’m sorry I’ve been so much trouble,” Merry whispered.

“You’re never any trouble,” Frodo said in exasperation. “That’s the whole problem.”

“What is?” Merry asked, puzzled.

“You’re always so brave, so helpful, so full of plans and strategies...” Frodo sighed. “Don't forget that sometimes you need us, too.”

“I won't if you won't.”

“As if I could, anymore,” Frodo grumbled. “Sam now reads my mind better than even you do, if such a thing is possible.”

“Speaking of Sam,” Merry said, wiping his eyes, “he said that if he catches you walking any farther than the front doors of the Hall before we have to leave, he’ll lock you in a closet.”

“Sam would never say that,” Frodo declared.  “Not out loud, anyway.”

“Well, I suppose it could have been Pippin,” Merry admitted.

“Where is Sam?”

“I think he went to the kitchens to teach the cooks how to make ‘a proper tea’.”

“Thank goodness,” Frodo sighed. “Éomer’s folk really do need a few cookbooks, Mer. Think there’s time to write out some recipes for them?”

“Well, we won’t be leaving for a few more days yet. Plenty of time.”

“Do you know where we’re going next?”

“Helm’s Deep. It’s a fortress to the northwest, where a huge battle took place. The walls were nearly destroyed. Gimli wants to help rebuild it. And there are caves that he wants to...” He looked up at Frodo suddenly. “I nearly forgot to tell you!”

“Tell me what?”

“Gimli and Legolas came to visit when you were asleep. There are some caves Gimli's all excited about seeing again.”

“What about them?”

“They’d like us to come along. Gimli says that he wants us to see an underground ‘wonder’ that isn’t dead and frightening, like Moria was. I don’t think Legolas wants to go at all, but they apparently made some kind of wager during the battle.”

“Caves?” Frodo said doubtfully.

“Gimli’s just wild about them. I think he’ll be terribly hurt if we don’t come along. He said there was cool sand on the floors that would feel good on your feet.”

“He’s a good friend,” Frodo said softly.

“Mm hm,” Merry said, yawning. He snuggled down into the blankets.

“Have you had any sleep?” Frodo asked.

“No. Someone had to help Sam look after you.”

“I can’t think of anyone better,” Frodo smiled. He slid down a bit, his arms still wrapped around his cousin. “Just so you let us look after you once in awhile.”

“Well,” Merry murmured, “maybe once in a while.”

** TBC **

A ROHAN TAPESTRY

Chapter Five:  The Sundering Seas

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.  ‘Many Partings’, The Return of the King

The next day – the Company’s last in Edoras – the skies darkened and a summer storm let loose its rain, but there had been ample warning by the Rohirrim as well as the Dúnedain, men well-versed in watching the skies.  The guests spent the day together in the feasting hall, sharing stories and tales.  As evening fell, bright torches were lit and minstrels were called to play, and the hobbits were delighted to watch Aragorn dance with his queen many times, and Faramir and Éowyn so happy in the other’s company.

When he saw Frodo yawning, Éomer stopped by the hobbits’ table.

“The hour grows late, my friends,” he said to them.  “Go to your rest when it pleases you, and let nothing disturb you this night.  It has been our great pleasure, and honor, to have you as our guests.”

“The honor has been ours, my lord,” Merry said.  He got to his feet and bowed low, then smiled up at Éomer, his eyes sparkling.

“I am glad to see you and Frodo feeling so much better, Merry.  I will see all of you tomorrow before you depart.” Éomer turned to Sam.  “And I thank you for your assistance, Samwise; word has reached my ears that you have been a frequent visitor in our kitchens.  I must say that the fare at our board has improved noticeably in this short time.”

“Tweren’t nothing, sir,” Sam blushed.  “Just a few hints about a proper, er, that is, a different use of spices and herbs.”

“She’s too young,” Pippin announced suddenly.

“Who is too young, Peregrin?” Éomer asked.

“Lady Éowyn.”  Pippin frowned up at the young king.

“Don’t mind him, my lord,” Frodo sighed.  “It’s been a long day, and Pip’s had a bit more ale than is good for him.”

“He is correct nonetheless, Frodo,” Éomer smiled.  “My sister is indeed young to be wed.  Our lives do not always take the path we had imagined.  I am young to be king, and Peregrin is young, as your folk measure it, to be one of the High King’s own knights.  However, oftimes age has more to do with the experiences that life brings us, than with the number of years we have lived.  Do you not agree?”

“Yes,” Frodo said.  He helped Pippin to his feet.  “Lady Éowyn is happy, my lord.  Faramir is truly a good man.”

“I know,” Éomer said softly.

“There are some lovely lashes... some lovely lasses here,” Pippin giggled.

“You’re too young,” Merry said firmly.

*~*~*~*~*

The next day dawned clear and warm, but the celebratory mood of the previous evening was nowhere in evidence.  As the tents and pavilions began to come down, Frodo, Sam, and Pippin sat together on the broad steps of the Hall, watching in silence.

“It’s just awful,” Sam said at last.  “It was hard enough sayin’ goodbye to folks we’ve only known for a short time, like Captain Faramir.  And it’ll be dreadful hard when we have to say goodbye to Strider, once he has to leave us to take Lady Arwen home to Minas Tirith.  But can you imagine--”

“No,” Frodo said quietly, “I don’t think we can, Sam.”  Like the others, he coud sense the air of mourning emanating from the Elves.  “Maybe they can’t even grasp this, themselves.  This is more than namarië – farewell – to them.  Elves always wish that their folk will ‘fare well’ until they meet again, even if it takes thousands of years.  But they’ll never see Arwen again, not anywhere, ever.  It’s beyond their experience.”

“Elladan told me that she and their dad were gone all night,” Pippin said, watching Lord Elrond.  His sons stood by his side, and all three looked grim.  “Wonder what they talked about?”

“I doubt we’ll ever know,” Frodo said.  He touched the jewel Arwen had given him and closed his eyes for a moment.  Thank you, Lady.  May you live in joy.

Merry came out of the Hall and joined them.  He was holding a small but exquisitely-crafted horn.

 “That’s all you’re taking, isn’t it?” Frodo asked knowingly.

“It’s really beautiful,” Pippin said.  He reached over to trace the green and silver inscriptions.  “A gift from King Éomer?”

Merry nodded.  “He and Éowyn took me to... sort of a treasure room.  There were swords and gems, and gold coins... you can’t imagine how much.  Maybe it was like the dragon cave Cousin Bilbo was in.”  He smiled.  “They wanted me to fill up a chest and take some of it with me.  Like when Strider offered all that treasure to Frodo and Sam, I guess.”

“You couldn’t do it either, could you?”

“No,” Merry sighed.  “I didn’t even want to take this, but they insisted.”

“It’s a good choice for you,” Frodo said.  “You can hang this next to the horn of Buckland, and remember everything you did, and everyone who holds you in their hearts.”

“And it reminds me of Boromir, too.”  Merry looked at Frodo.  “Do you still feel angry about what he did?”

“I never really did,” Frodo sighed.  “It was the Ring, Merry.  It was truly evil, and I don’t blame Boromir any more than I blame Sméagol.  Boromir loved his city the way we love the Shire.  The way Arwen loves Aragorn.  The way--”

“...Sam loves Farmer Cotton’s Rosie.” Pippin grinned at Sam’s sudden blush.

Frodo put an arm around Sam’s shoulders.  “Perhaps that much,” he smiled.

“Strider’s so lucky,” Merry said suddenly.  “Arwen gave up everything for him.  Everything.”

“She loves him, Mr. Merry,” Sam said.  “I hope we’re all that lucky, someday.”

“It’s time,” Merry said, getting to his feet.  “They’re bringing the ponies.”  He looked around, inscribing in his memory the sight of the Golden Hall, gleaming in the morning sun, and the view from the heights.  He would come back someday, he just knew it.  And Éomer had been right – he would never need a history or lorebook to remember Rohan, or its folk.

“Westu hál, Éomer King,” he whispered.  “Be thou well, you and all your people.”

** TBC **

A ROHAN TAPESTRY

Chapter Six: Journeys of the Heart

“So we always do,” he said, as they sat down: “we look towards Númenor that was, and beyond to Elvenhome that is, and to that which is beyond Elvenhome and will ever be.” Faramir, ‘The Window on the West’, The Two Towers

It was a four-day, gentle ride from Edoras to the cleft in the mountains known as Helm’s Deep, four days in which the Company found themselves adjusting to new roles being assumed by the hobbits in their midst.

It began with Pippin, the first night out.  As everyone assembled on the grass to share the evening meal, Frodo and Merry could tell that there was something bothering their young cousin.  Finally Pippin simply stood up, faced west, bowed his head, and remained silent for a moment.  Those nearby quieted, staring at the Halfling.  But within moments, Pippin sat down and was his old cheerful self, teasing Aragorn about turning back into a scruffy, unshaven Ranger on this journey.   

Encouraged by the warm regard of Gandalf and Aragorn, he had matured greatly; and yet was still a hobbit tween, eyes sparkling with mischief and a joy in life.  He was one of the few who could make Lord Elrond smile and even laugh on occasion.

The next evening, Pippin again rose to his feet before eating, but this time, Aragorn, the northern Dúnedain, Frodo, Merry, Sam, and most of the young Gondorian soldiers joined him.

“A new age begins, Pippin,” Aragorn told him quietly, “but I promise you we will not let those traditions fade which still bring the people comfort, and link us to our past.  You are not the only one who appreciates the customs that Faramir preserved; thank you for this reminder, my young and treasured knight.”

Pippin beamed with joy, bowing low before the King.  Faramir and his men had said goodbye to them at Edoras, leaving no one in the travelling company to lead the Standing Silence of the southern Rangers.  Pippin had grown used to seeing it, and as a Knight of the City, a great love for Gondor and its customs had grown in his heart.

Merry rode each day on Stybba with a lighter heart, alongside the other hobbits -- sharing old songs and learning new ones with the Men who rode nearby.  He was proud to wear the bold green and white livery of Rohan, and spent much time with the few Rohirrim who remained with the Company as escort.  As Frodo had done on the long ride from Minas Tirith to Edoras, Merry now strove to learn as much from them as possible, in the short time left, of their customs, language, landmarks, and history.

Frodo and Merry usually walked together for an hour or so when the Company made camp each evening.  They talked about a great many things each had kept hidden from the other, of fears and sadness, and perceived failures, and both found great comfort and new strength on their walks.

Frodo had fallen into a new role as well, or rather, an old and much-missed role: that of older cousin.  It had been many years since Frodo had anyone to care for or look after; indeed, during the past few years he had given thought to little save a growing restlessness, and then the dangers and trials of the Quest.  But the ‘brother’ Merry had idolized as a child and respected as an adult now once more walked beside him, sharing wisdom and strength, love and gentle words.

As for Sam, he rode in great contentment.  With Frodo finally seeming so well in body, mind, and spirit, for the first time he allowed himself to think of other things... home and hearth, and what the future might bring.  It was still difficult accepting the small bows and deferential nods with which he was greeted by many; however, with that one exception, he was enjoying the ‘adventure’ in which he had found himself for nearly the first time since leaving the Shire.

He had even worked up the courage to approach Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn, to ask about the trees and flowers of Lórien that he had so admired.  They were gracious to him, revealing much to the small gardener that few knew or had ever thought to ask.  The Lady was especially pleased that Sam had kept, through all the hard journey and trials, the small grey box she had given him -- and bade him still to leave it unopened until he returned to the Shire, and felt with his heart “what needed to be done.”

*~*~*~*~*

On the last evening before reaching Helm’s Deep, Gimli and Legolas walked with the hobbits beneath the stars.  They could hear the rushing water of the nearby river, and the gentle rustling of grasses in the wind.

“Have you ever seen a dragon, Gimli?” Merry asked.  “Éomer said my horn was found in the hoard of one of them.”

“I have not,” Gimli said.  “The tales I have heard are from my father and cousins, and surely Bilbo spoke of Smaug the Great.”

“He did,” Frodo agreed.  “That’s a good question, though, Merry.  At the Council, Gandalf said that there were no dragons left powerful enough to melt the One Ring, if ever there had been.  That does sound as if there may still be some left, scattered and hidden.  I hope they remain thus.”

“Speaking of that horn, Merry, may I see it?”  Gimli asked.  Merry unhooked the heirloom from his belt and handed it to the Dwarf, who ran his practiced fingers over it, inside and out.

“It is sound, and worthy of honor,” Gimli pronounced.  “Dwarves crafted this long ago.  I am greatly pleased that you hobbits will return home with such fine examples of our craft – this horn, Frodo’s mithril mail, and that belt Sam tries to conceal.”

Sam blushed.  Along with Sting, Frodo had given him Bilbo’s belt of pearls and crystals from which it hung.  Frodo kept Sam’s old sword packed among his gear, but did not wear it – the only member of the Company, save the Lady Galadriel, to ride unarmed.

“Sting was well-named by Bilbo,” Legolas smiled.  “This ancient blade was destined to be wielded by three courageous hobbits, against fell spiders in both northern Mirkwood and the foul tunnels of Cirith Ungol.  And speaking of foul tunnels...” He frowned at Gimli.

“My dear elf,” Gimli chuckled, “once you have seen the caverns which lie in splendor behind Helm’s Deep, you will apologize for your narrow views.”  He beamed at the hobbits.   “I promise you a sight you will not soon forget.”

The hobbits smiled back, but Legolas looked unconvinced.

** TBC **

A ROHAN TAPESTRY

Chapter Seven:  The Sands of Time

“And lights, Legolas!  We should make lights, such lamps as once shone in Khazad-dûm; and when we wished we would drive away the night that has lain there since the hills were made.”  Gimli, ‘The Road to Isengard’, The Two Towers

The field below the ruined gates was littered with debris – ladders, rubble from the walls, shields, spent arrows and broken spears, and all manner of abandoned gear of war.  The Company had arrived at Helm’s Deep that morning, and after luncheon Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas walked about with the hobbits, describing what had taken place there.

“It’s been months since the battle,” Merry said in dismay, stepping carefully.  “Won’t this all be cleaned up and rebuilt?”

“Eventually,” Aragorn assured him.  “Rebuilding requires men, but once the mounds were raised and the dead mourned, Éomer wisely decided to let everyone return to their homes and salvage what they can of the summer crops.  Farmsteads need work, orchards need harvesting, and livestock must be counted and seen to.  For now, Rohan needs these things more than repairs to Helm’s Deep.”

“You’re right, Strider,” Sam said boldly.  “When you know your bit of garden is tended, your family safe, and your animals cared for, it puts more heart in you.”

“Will there be shortages?” Pippin asked anxiously.

“I do not believe so,” Gimli assured him.  “The caverns were stocked with veritable mountains of supplies.  I suspect that the stores of grain and other foodstuffs I saw will be distributed equitably.”

“It has already been done,” Aragorn said.  “No one will go hungry, Pippin.”  He looked around, and sighed.  “Minas Tirith will need much rebuilding also, but its farmlands, as well, must be restored first.  It may be many years before the White City is once again whole.”

“I hope to bring my folk south to assist,” Gimli said, bowing slightly.  “Until you have seen Dwarves at work, you have not seen true skill, or speed, when it comes to what can be accomplished with stone.  The bones of this land run true and strong,” he continued, gazing about thoughtfully.  “It would be most satisfying to labor here.”

“Your cities will need more trees,” Legolas said to Aragorn, “as well as flowers and gardens to delight the spirit.  There is also Ithilien to be restored, and river lands to be reforested.  Families who have known nothing but war might not fully appreciate the patience it takes to bring forth generations of growing things that bring beauty and joy to the eye and heart.”

“It will be beautiful,” Frodo whispered.

“Mr. Frodo, are you all right?” Sam asked suddenly.

“I’m fine, Sam.”  Frodo stood slightly apart from the rest, a far-off look in his eyes.  While the others spoke, he had found himself overcome by a sudden vision – an army of Dwarves swarming over these stones like ants.  As he watched in wonder, the cities of the south rose once again in splendor, rivalling those of old.  Gimli’s folk would bring their wisdom to the stones, as woodland Elves would bring theirs to the land.  And above it all shone the kings of Rohan and Gondor, bringing peace and plenty to a people who had known it but little.

“I think we’d best go back,” Merry said firmly.  “I can hear Frodo’s stomach grumbling.”

“That’s mine,” Pippin declared.

“Even more reason to go back,” Aragorn smiled.  “Are you ready, Frodo?”

Frodo nodded.  “An early supper would be wonderful.  And tomorrow...” He turned to Gimli with a smile.  “I hope to see those caves of which you speak so highly.”  He motioned to the other hobbits, who were nodding.  “We all do.”

“Ah,” Gimli sighed with pleasure.  “It will be an honor to share this sight with you, my dear friends.”  He chuckled at Legolas’s dour expression.  “Even this Elf might see something he will long remember.”

*~*~*~*~*

They picked their way carefully through the front chamber, littered still with the boxes, sacks, and fodder that had not yet been cleared out.  Gimli, leading the small party, and Legolas, in the rear, both held lit torches, as did Merry and Sam.

“Was that a sigh of joy, Master Baggins?” Gimli chuckled.

“You were right about the sand, Gimli,” Frodo smiled.  He stopped walking for a moment and dug his toes into the cool, soft ground.  “This feels lovely.”

“The walls are sparkling,” Pippin marveled, looking around at the passage.  “How beautiful.”

“We have yet to reach what I have brought you here to see,” Gimli said.  He rounded a corner, followed by the others, and held his torch high.  “Behold!  And this is but one chamber of hundreds, stretching for miles – or so I was told.”

The hobbits gasped as they looked about.  From every direction came glitter and flash, strange and beautiful formations, and delicate colors almost beyond comprehension.  Pools of clear water rang with the music of water falling, one slow drip at a time, from twisted flutes of rock, walls of gems, and curtains of marble.

Astonished, Sam walked up to a small outcropping of stone in the rough shape of a rose, and touched it gently.

“Can you feel it, Sam?” Gimli asked.  “Those rough edges?  Would not the true potential be realized were the sides shaped and polished so that each delicate blossom is best revealed?”

“You would prune the rock!” Sam cried out.  “Like with flowers and trees?”

“Aye,” Gimli said softly.  “You understand.  When it comes to living rock, Dwarves, too, become gardeners.  There should be a balance between the beauty of that which grows wild, and that which is encouraged to achieve a potential lying dormant within.”

“Look at the arrangement of those pale blue crystals,” Frodo said to Merry, pointing to a far corner of the cavern.  “Doesn’t that look like your mother’s chandelier?”

“Blue crystals?” Merry asked, squinting.  He walked forward with the torch until he reached the intricate formation.  “Frodo, how did you see this from back there?”

Frodo looked around, realizing that, as in Moria, he was able to see much more in the dark than his friends.  If only they could...

“This is like being inside a star,” Legolas murmured, speaking for the first time.

“Or maybe the star-glass,” Sam said in a hushed voice.

The phial.  Slowly Frodo drew it out, its gentle light radiating through his fingers.  “Aiya Eärendil Elenion Ancalima!” he cried out suddenly.

“What does that mean?” Merry wondered aloud.

“I’m still trying to find out what ‘the Mark’ means,” Pippin sighed.

Legolas was amazed to hear such fluent Quenya spring from Frodo’s lips, then gasped in awe at the pure Light coming from the hobbit’s hand.

As in Cirith Ungol, Frodo found the words seeming to come to him without conscious thought.  Light flooded the phial and overflowed.  The star-glass suddenly blazed, illuminating the cavern in a fierce, glittering fire.

As the others gazed at Frodo in amazement, Gimli had eyes only for the cavern in which they stood, lit with a dazzling radiance that he doubted had ever graced these underground lands in all the years since Mahal had woken Durin from his sleep.  He could envision it all, everything his folk could accomplish here.  Shafts, lamps, a slow pruning and enhancing of each precious crystal and chamber...

To his surprise and joy, the phial’s radiance also illuminated a rare sight: glowing phosphorescent minerals and plants.  Gimli looked about in wonder, thinking hard.  The oldest of their artisans claimed to know the secrets of creating light that revealed the hidden colors in rock, even in the darkest chasm.  Perhaps they could be persuaded to come, or send apprentices.

Here, surrounded by the materials of which the world was made, Gimli knew a deep, inbred satisfaction.   This was where he belonged; this was a place worthy of the efforts of his folk.

“Halloooo!” Pippin called out softly.  The young hobbit’s voice echoed throughout the chamber.

“Why don’t you sing something, Mr. Pippin?” Sam asked.  “I mean, if you want to.”

Merry turned to Gimli.  “Would that be all right?”

“I would enjoy it,” Gimli smiled.  “With the permission of King Éomer, I hope these chambers soon ring with the song of Dwarves as they enhance the beauty of what you see.  It is a pleasing sound, as is the joyful voices of hobbits.”

Seeing everyone nod encouragingly, Pippin stepped out alone into the center of the vast, glittering chamber.  He began to sing softly, one of Bilbo’s songs about springtime and new life, rain and the sunshine that always follows.  His lilting voice, blending with the music of the water all around them, echoed until it sounded as if a full chorus of Tooks sang, not just one.

“It’s all lovely, isn’t it, Mr. Frodo?” Sam whispered.

Frodo nodded.  Transfixed, he gently caressed a translucent sheet of marble. It seemed familiar somehow, a silver curtain floating in a sea of music.  He relaxed and let his hand drop, the phial’s light fading to its usual gentle pulse. 

Pippin stopped singing, but the echo of his voice continued faintly… until all that could be heard, once again, was the gentle drops of water falling into crystalline pools.  He and Merry came to join Frodo and Sam.

“That was beautiful, Pip,” Frodo said.  “I don’t suppose Bilbo felt like singing in Smaug’s cave, but it might have sounded just as wonderful.”

“This is fascinating, isn’t it?” Merry asked.  He held his torch high and watched carefully as a drop of liquid slowly ran down a nearby twisted flute of minerals to finally reach the tip, then fall to the sandy floor below.  “It must have taken ages for all of this to form.”

“Time moves differently down here,” Frodo said softly.  “It reminds me of how Bilbo seemed so young for the longest time.”  He sighed.   “I wish he could be here.  It’s his tale we’re in, even now.  We always have been.”

The other hobbits nodded in agreement.

Bilbo would love this, Frodo thought.  He’s the thread woven throughout the whole tapestry of our Quest... companion to Gimli’s father, burglar in King Thranduil’s halls, friend of a hidden king, and bearer of the One Ring... he’s at the heart of it all. I’ll bring him this story, with everything I can remember, and whatever years dear Bilbo has left, I hope to spend them at his side.

“Look at that,” Pippin murmured.  “I do believe he’s finally beginning to enjoy himself.”

The hobbits turned to see Gimli pointing out various wonders to Legolas.  The smile on the Elf’s face was genuine and appreciative.

** TBC **

The End!  I’ve written more about the hobbits’ trip north from Rohan in "Mind to Mind", and their arrival in Rivendell in “Return to Rivendell”.

A ROHAN TAPESTRY

Chapter Eight: Epilogue

The travellers now rode with more speed, and they made their way towards the Gap of Rohan; and Aragorn took leave of them at last close to that very place where Pippin had looked into the Stone of Orthanc.  ‘Many Partings’, The Return of the King

“This is called Dol Baran,” Aragorn said to Sam and Frodo, pointing up the slope.  “We camped down here, at the base.”

“It wasn’t this green,” Merry said, gazing around at the luxuriant bushes, and up into the branches of a flowering hawthorn tree.  “It’s hard to believe it was nearly six months ago.  So much has happened since then!”

“Look,” Pippin said, pointing to something barely visible in the heather. The round stone he had substituted for the Palantír lay upon the ground where Gandalf had left it.  “I still don’t know why I just had to look into that thing.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Pip,” Frodo said gently.  “I know how it feels to be compelled to do something your common sense tells you is dangerous.”  He smiled and waggled a hand at his cousin.  “At least it didn’t bite off one of your fingers.”

“True,” Pippin said, “although Gandalf might have been relieved if it had.  He said, ‘the burned hand teaches best’.”

“And there,” Merry pointed, “is where Gandalf swooped Pip up on Shadowfax and galloped away with him.”  He looked grim.

“That was difficult for you,” Aragorn said softly.

Merry looked up at him, a look of awe on his face.  “That night, you told me that my road lay with Théoden King.  How did you know?”

“I did not know, exactly,” Aragorn admitted.  “It is something I felt.  Do you regret swearing allegiance to Rohan?”

“Not at all,” Merry declared.  “I’m proud of it.”

“Éomer King is most proud of his knight,” Aragorn said, then lay a gentle hand on Pippin’s shoulder.  “As am I.”  He looked at the Ringbearers.  “Sir Samwise and Sir Frodo?” he asked hopefully.  “It is not too late.”

“No, thank you,” Frodo and Sam chorused.

“I had to ask one more time,” Aragorn said, and the hobbits laughed.

“I wish to return home as I left it – a simple hobbit of the Shire,” Frodo said.

“So do I, sir,” Sam nodded.

“Speaking of returning home...” Frodo said to Merry and Pippin, “I’m going on to Rivendell; I need to see Bilbo before I return to the Shire.  But you two don’t have to go so far out of your way.  If you ride northwest, you’ll come to the Old South Road, which leads to The Greenway, and--”

“You,” Pippin announced, “are a silly Baggins, and always will be.”

“Pip’s right,” Merry agreed.  “Do you really think we’d leave you and Sam now, Frodo?  What nonsense.  We’re going home... together.”

“I had to ask one more time,” Frodo smiled.  He pulled a sheaf of papers from inside his jacket, and held them up to Aragorn.  “Will you give these to Éomer, next time you see him?”

“Ah, the mysterious documents!” Aragorn said.  “You four have been scribbling away on these for days.  May I ask...”

“Recipes,” Sam explained.

“They really need them,” Frodo said firmly.  “I don’t wish to disparage the cooks at Meduseld, but...”

“I could not agree with you more,” Aragorn said, unable to keep a smile from his face.  “I doubt there is any gift that will be more welcome to the good folk of Edoras.”  He knelt before the hobbits.  “You have grown even wiser and stronger than when we met, and I rejoice in it.”

“Don’t forget taller,” Merry laughed.

“And better dressed,” Pippin grinned, straightening Frodo’s velvet tunic.

“Be well, my friends,” Aragorn said.  “You will be safe in the company of Gandalf and the Elves, but I no longer believe you have need of any protection.”

The hobbits embraced him, then stepped back and bowed in unison.

“None of that, you rascals,” the King chuckled.  “Go on, now.”

“We’ll miss you, Strider,” Sam said for all of them.

“And I will miss you,” Aragorn said fervently.

Farewells said, the hobbits led their ponies to where Gandalf and the Elves stood with their horses.

It was time to return to Rivendell, where Bilbo was waiting.

** END **