Title: Knights of the City and the Mark

Rating: G

Story Starter: The Field of Cormallen when Pippin announces to Frodo and Sam that he and Merry are Knights of the City and the Mark, when were they knighted?

Disclaimer: All names, places and events belong to JRR Tolkien.

This was written originally for Marigold’s Challenge #3. The stories for the challenges and other wonderful recommendations can be found here http:**www.geocities.com*marigoldsrecommendations* . (replace asterisks with slashes)

A big thanks to Marigold who did the beta-ing for me on this story. I really appreciate it, especially as it was last minute!

Knight of the Mark

Éowyn looked around the Healing chamber she had been placed in, her thoughts flying darkly here and there, remembering the past day. She had been called from the Black Shadow, the price she had paid for valor. Yet even now she wished to ride to the impending battle under the banner of her country. That it seemed would not come to pass, she would be left behind with the other wounded, among others with the Lord Faramir and Meriadoc of the Shire.

        With the thought of the halfling who had ridden so valiantly with her into battle, her heart gave a tug. That one had shown strength and dedication to her Lord the like of which she had not before seen. He had faced a creature that had sent men twice his height to their knees in terror. Perhaps he had been frightened but he had not let the fear drive him to madness like so many around them.

        Éowyn struggled to a sitting position, trying not to move the broken arm overly much. Merry deserved gratitude beyond words; if not for him her King would have most likely gone unavenged and she would have perished in the assault. All she had heard up until now was that he, too, had fallen under the Shadow but was again conscious to the world around him thanks to the High King. She had to speak to him, in person, he must know what place he had made in her heart.

        She got up and began to clumsily pull on a white linen dress that had been left for her use. She had made it to the door and was about to make her exit when it swung open. “Éowyn, sister, what are you doing out of bed?” cried Éomer in shock and concern. “You are not yet well enough to be abroad.”

        “I am well enough, not more then a broken arm, and bones mend.” replied Éowyn as she was led back to bed. “For the business which I wish to conduct a broken arm will not make a difference.”

        Éomer sighed, wishing his beloved sister would stay abed and give herself time to mend fully. “What business is it you wished to conduct?”

        Éowyn directed her cool gaze at the man before her. “I wished to speak to Meriadoc.”

        “If that be it, sister, I will gladly take any message to him myself.” said Éomer. “He, like yourself, is still commanded abed.”

        “You do not understand,” replied Éowyn. “Merry has done more for me then I can express through words, the least I can do is go to him! I do not know how to return what he has done for me.”

        The room fell silent, as Éomer contemplated his sister’s words. He did not doubt that without Merry he would not now be arguing with his sister. The hobbit had won the heart of his King, and his sister, who did not lightly let others enter her heart.

        “He deserves honor, Éomer, he has done what no man dared.” Said Éowyn, trying to make him see what she knew. “Merry is more valiant then any Knight I have yet to meet, and a heart of purer purpose can none find. Bestow on him a Knighthood of Rohan, Éomer! It is the only way to come close to repaying his valor!”

        Éomer considered for a moment; it would surely be something his Uncle would have approved of, Merry was certainly worthy of it. As Éowyn had said, he had done what no man dared. “After our return from the Black Gate, I will honor your wish.”

        “No, Éomer! It must be now, you may not return from that ride, none may return, this world may yet be lost to darkness.” said Éowyn adamantly. “I would have him understand his worth now.”

        Éomer found himself a few minutes later, against his better judgement, helping to lead his sister down the hall to the halfling’s room. After he had decided that Éowyn was correct he had tried to persuade her to stay in her rooms, suggesting that he could fetch another of the Rohirrim to witness Merry’s being knighted, but she had refused.

        After procuring some needed items Éomer, with his sister on his arm, knocked lightly on the door behind which soft voices could be heard. The door was easily opened and Éomer was a bit startled to be greeted by one of the Fair Folk. “Legolas,” he inclined his head. “Is Meriadoc awake and able to receive company?”

        Legolas smiled at them and stepped aside. The room was quite full with company already: Legolas closed the door behind them, Gimli the dwarf puffed on a pipe by the window, Gandalf leaned absently against the ailing hobbit’s bed, and stretched out next to Merry on the overly large bed was his companion, Peregrin. Merry still looked quite pale but it was obvious he had been eating and that laughter was beginning to chase away the shadows. He was dressed in what looked to be a child’s loose breeches and shirt.

        “I am sorry if we disturb you. Perhaps we should return another time.” suggested Éomer.

        “Nothing to disturb here but hobbit chatter.” replied Gandalf, scowling although his eyes twinkled with merriment.

        “Éowyn! Are you well then, m’lady?” inquired Merry, a light flush creeping up his cheeks.

        “Well enough, Merry. How fare you?” she asked sitting gratefully in the chair that Legolas moved over for her.

        “I am well. I must say I don’t see the reason of being forced to stay in bed.” replied Merry casting a long-suffering look at the wizard.

        Gandalf chose to ignore Merry’s glance and looked to Éowyn, his sharp eyes taking in pale features and trembling limbs. “What brings you to these chambers, Lady Éowyn, for I doubt your brother is just allowing you to stroll about Minas Tirith’s Healing Chambers.”

        A kettle that was suspended over a great fire began to whistle and Peregrin rolled off the bed landing lightly on his feet. He attempted to straighten the rumpled uniform of the Guard before offering both Éowyn and Éomer a cup of tea. They both accepted before there was an answer for the wizard’s question.

        “You are correct Gandalf,” began Éomer. “I do not idly let my sister wander these halls. It has been decided at the request of Lady Éowyn, Shield maiden of Rohan, that Meriadoc of the Shire should have a Knighthood bestowed upon him.”

        Gimli tamped out his pipe, Legolas smiled brightly at Merry, Gandalf laid a hand on his shoulder and Pippin’s green eyes darted first to Merry then Éomer and back again.

        Merry shook his head slightly as though not sure of what he had just heard. “My lord, I-I do not believe such an honor is fitting.”

        Éowyn quickly set aside her cup and moved to kneel next to Merry’s bed grasping both of his hands with her one good one. “Merry, your bravery and fortitude against such an enemy as you and I faced was a great thing. So great that I do not believe even a Knighthood can do you the honor you deserve. You saved my life, and you proved your loyalty to King and country by defending King Theoden in his last moments in this land.”

        “It is all too great for-“Merry was now a bright shade of red and was shaking his head. “I only did what I should have, after breaking his direct orders the least I could do was try and watch out for you.”

        “Merry, such a noble spirit you possess, you are humble and meek. You are dutiful and mean well to all you come in contact with - you are exactly the kind of Knight Rohan can be proud of.” Éowyn pressed his hands a little tighter and tears glistened in her proud eyes.

        Merry took a deep breath and looked down at his hands, trying to stem the flow of emotion. He had not spoken seriously of what had happened on the Pelennor and he had tried not to think about Theoden King’s last moments. He finally let out his breath and looked up at Éomer. “My Lord, I’m afraid I do not have a sword to offer you.”

        Éomer moved forward. “I know to what cause you lost your weapon, Meriadoc.” He pulled a sword that he had carried in with him out from beneath his cloak. It was smaller than most, which was perfect for a hobbit to carry. He turned it and presented it hilt first to Meriadoc.

        Merry hesitantly accepted the blade. Gandalf reached forward and helped him off the tall bed. He looked up at Éomer with respect and admiration, sparkling eyes tempered with wisdom and grief and handed the blade back to Éomer.

        “Kneel Meriadoc, son of Saradoc,” said Éomer solemnly. A bit stiffly Merry complied. “Meriadoc, through great deeds to king and country have you earned a Knighthood of Rohan. Do you swear an oath to continue to protect Rohan’s lands and people in times of war or peace until death may release you from it?”

        “I do.” Said Merry quietly.

        “I pronounce you Knight of Rohan,” Éomer tapped each of Merry’s shoulders with the blade and then moved back. “Rise Sir Meriadoc.”

        Merry rose, his blush contrasting vividly with his still pale face, as Éomer gave him back the newly acquired blade. Legolas and Gimli shared a proud smile and even Gandalf’s beard could not hide the wide smile on his own face. Pippin’s light laughter broke through Merry’s still shy demeanor and he too smiled.

        Éowyn rose and knelt in front of Merry speaking softly so that only he could hear, except for perhaps Legolas. “Merry, this is but a small fraction of the debt I owe you.” She said. “What you have done cannot be measured in words or even deeds.”

        “Ah, but lady, you owe me no debt.” said Merry, also quietly. “If not for your bravery I fear the battle would have gone even worse and I would not be here today. Perhaps others would not be here as well.” His eyes darted to the side to where Peregrin was quietly strapping his own sword on and making ready to attend to Faramir, a duty he had taken upon himself, to serve Faramir even if he had not been sworn to him.

        Éowyn smiled softly, an expression that was too often absent from her fair features.

        “Besides, friends do not accumulate debt.” He met her gaze shyly.

        Éowyn’s smile widened. “No, I don’t suppose they do.” She bent forward and kissed the top of Merry’s head then rose. Éomer offered her his arm, and as he escorted her from the room she turned to smile once more Meriadoc, Knight of Rohan. Title: Knights of the City and the Mark

Knight of the City

        Aragorn lifted the tent flap and entered one of the many tents set aside for those who were being treated for their wounds. The Battle before the Black Gate left many dead and more in need of healing and it was quite a feat to attend to all. The occupant of this tent Aragorn felt a special dedication to.

        He moved silently over to the bedside of an ailing hobbit. “How is he?” he whispered to the dwarf who currently watched over him.

        “Not much out of the ordinary.” replied Gimli eyes still fixed on the hobbit in the bed. “He woke twice on my watch, and thrice on Legolas’, naught enough so as to complain but only to shift restlessly and cry out once.”

        Aragorn nodded. “I will take over until morning. Then I believe he will awaken and no doubt Merry will be the only satisfying company.”

        Gimli grunted as he raised himself from the chair he had been occupying. “Most likely.” He reached out and gingerly brushed the tangle of curls off Pippin’s face before turning and exiting the tent.

        Aragorn took the vacated chair and studied his charge – too often of late had he sat at the bedside of one ailing hobbit or another. He lay back and propped his booted feet on the bed to wait out the last few hours until dawn.

        Not long after dawn the little one began to stir. His nose wrinkled up in pain and he tossed restlessly before settling, his green eyes blinking open.

        Aragorn sat forward to be in his line of vision. “Good morning, Pippin, how was your night?”

        Pippin took a moment to focus on his surroundings and then grinned at the Ranger. “Not as bad as the night before. I never actually woke up enough to articulate a coherent thought.” He struggled to sit up and Aragorn moved to help him in the task.

        When Pippin was situated Aragorn began to check him over. Asking Pippin to do certain things here or there, such as “flex your fingers”, “take two deep breathes”, “rotate your shoulder” and so on.

        “You are no worse for a good nights rest.” he said, after he finished looking over Pippin’s many injuries incurred during battle. “I believe you may even get out for a while this morning if you feel up to it.”

        Pippin smiled broadly and scooted closer to Aragorn so that he was leaning against him. Aragorn smiled also as he draped an arm over the hobbit’s slim shoulders. All the while Aragorn had known him, Pippin had always been the most physical in his affection towards other members of the Fellowship, a quick hug or just leaning against someone for comfort, with his cousins a kiss wasn’t out of place either.

        “Pippin there is something I would like to speak to you about, all right?” he felt the hobbit nod his head against his chest. “Many things have occurred since we first met. I have watched you grow and mature more then I thought possible when I first became acquainted with your flippant personality.” Aragorn shifted so as to look Pippin in the eye. Pippin, for his part, seemed to be trying to decide if he was being scolded or complimented. “You have become a strong, dependable hobbit, who has preformed deeds beyond comprehension. Your bravery and strength of character allowed you to survive and give others a second chance at life as well. I would like to honor your deeds and name you Knight of the City.”

        Pippin’s brow puckered into a frown. “I – do you really, but – “he sighed and looked up at Aragorn a bit defeated and lost for words. “It would be an honor.” He finished quietly.

        “There is to be a ceremony when we return to Minas Tirith to honor those who have earned their knighthood these past weeks. I know no man personally who is to receive this honor, and though I am forever grateful and indebted to them I don’t mind marking one day to honor them all together. However I would prefer to perform your ceremony privately with only those who are closest to you present.”

        “I-I guess I don’t really know how these things are suppose to work.” replied Pippin again leaning against Aragorn’s side.

        “I will mention it to the others and we will most likely commence in a day or two at the most.” continued Aragorn.

        Pippin nodded again but before he could say anything else the tent flap was held back and Merry entered calling “Breakfast!” as he came.

        Aragorn helped situate Pippin on the pillows so that he could easily eat before taking his leave to inform the other members of their Fellowship of the ceremony to be performed.

        The next afternoon the remaining members of the Fellowship were to assemble together in Pippin’s tent. Aragorn arrived earlier then the rest to make sure that everything was as it should be. On first entering he noticed that Pippin was dressed in the Uniform of the Guard, looking closer he saw that he was sitting quite rigid. Thinking he must again be in pain he moved to stand next to him.

        “Are you hurting again?” he asked softly.

        Pippin startled at the voice and then, a bit fiercely, shook his head.

        Aragorn pondered for a moment on what could be wrong then sat down next to him. “What is the matter Pippin? Something troubles you, that is plain.”

        Pippin looked up and Aragorn noticed tears stood in his eyes. “I shouldn’t be here.” His voice was rough with restrained emotion. “I have done nothing extraordinary, there is no reason I should have survived!” He then broke down and began to weep pressing his good hand to his eyes.

        “Oh, Pippin,” Aragorn pulled the distraught hobbit into a loose embrace. “It is not uncommon for one who survives a battle to feel what it known as survivors guilt, to not see why they should live and others not.”

        “By all rights I should be dead!” choked Pippin. “I have messed up everything; Gandalf should not have fallen in Moria, Boromir shouldn’t have died, and here even at the last I gave up hope! I wanted to die!”

        Aragorn rocked gently letting Pippin continue to sob into his tunic. “Perhaps you did not have the right to choose. Do any of us have the “right” to choose whether we live or die? That choice is beyond any of our control.”

        Pippin shuddered trying to reign in the sobs that tried to choke him.

        “Peregrin, do not belittle your worth to this company. You have stood against many foes and conquered them! I fear our fate would have been much worse had you not joined our Company.” said Aragorn, turning Pippin so that he looked into his face. “Things that at the time seemed to be a bad thing turned out for the better: Gandalf returned to us as the White, although looking into the Palantir was frightening you confused the enemy, you were sent to Gondor and there you saved Faramir’s life. Is that not something worth living for?”

        Pippin looked down and answered softly. “Those things perhaps all had a reason but before the Black Gate, why me? All those who died, brave men, who no doubt have someone who will mourn them. Me, I was ready to die, oh Strider, I gave up hope! I shouldn’t be here, I had given myself to death and so many out there did not want to die! I do not deserve to live, much less be honored for it!”

        “It was their time to go, not yours. It is that simple, you are to live and be free from the Shadow,” Aragorn wiped a stray tear off Pippin’s cheek. “It is not because you lived that I wish to honor you. It is for that which you accomplished. Can we go on with that?”

        Pippin leaned forward and rested his forehead on Aragorn’s chest, sniffing only slightly. He was quiet for a long time and they just sat in companionable silence, each one thinking over the words the other had spoken. “I’m sorry I spoke like this to you. I do not mean to belittle what others have given, you forced no man to the Gates, they came knowing what was to befall.”

        “It is all right that you needed some time to say what you were feeling,” said Aragorn, softly. “Are you ready to continue?”

        Pippin nodded and Aragorn set him on his feet. Pippin tugged at the uniform, pulling out the creases that had been made by sitting. He then moved over to a basin used to wash up in and splashed his face; removing lingering traces of the tears. He finished none too soon either, as Gimli and Merry came in chatting amiably.

        Soon two hobbits, one man, a wizard, an elf and a dwarf were gathered in the small tent. Aragorn moved forward to where Pippin stood next to Merry and began to speak. “To earn the knighthood of Gondor you must prove your bravery, skill of arms and love for the country. Deeds that you, Peregrin son of Paladin, have displayed with great nobility over the past few days. Your service to Gondor is indeed worthy of the knighthood that I wish to bestow upon you. Your blade.”

        Pippin removed the barrow-downs sword from its place at his side and presented it hilt first to Aragorn.

        “Kneel, Peregrin son of Paladin,” said Aragorn taking the sword. “Do you so swear your fealty and service to Gondor and its Lord, to come and to go as need makes it, until death part you from your oath?”

        “I do, m’lord,” said Pippin quietly, remembering when he had repeated words similar to these a week or so ago to the Steward, Denethor.

        Aragorn lightly tapped each shoulder with the blade. “I dub thee, Sir Peregrin. Knight of Gondor, rise.”

        Pippin complied. Everyone was smiling, each had watched the little hobbit grow and learn, becoming the knight who now stood before them. As Aragorn handed back the blade, Pippin met his eye and grinned, his eyes speaking far more then the oath could have of love, dedication and thankfulness.

        But when, after the Standing Silence, wine was brought there came in two esquires to serve the kings; or so they seemed to be: one was clad in the silver and sable of the Guards of Minas Tirith, and the other in white and green. But Sam wondered what such boys were doing in an army of mighty men. Then suddenly as they drew near and he could see them plainly, he exclaimed:

“Why, look Mr. Frodo! Look here! Well if it isn’t Pippin. Mr. Peregrin Took I should say, and Mr. Merry! How they have grown! Bless me! But I can see there are more tales to tell then ours!”

        “There are indeed,” said Pippin turning towards him. “And we’ll begin telling them, as soon as the feast is ended. In the meantime you can try Gandalf. He’s not so close as he used to be, though he laughs now more than he talks. For the present Merry and I are busy. We are knights of the City and the Mark, as I hope you observe.”

Lord of the Rings: Return of the King, chapter 4 of Part 2: The Field of Cormallen, by JRR Tolkien