Disclaimer: All the settings and characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien (except for the minstrel Menelor, and the more fully realized Farohan who was nameless in the books). This story is my way of working out or interpreting ideas and concepts already present in The Lord of the Rings. This is done for enjoyment, and for sharing, but not for profit.

Chapter 8:   A Small Measure of Defiance

The sounds of hammering came clearly through the early morning mist.

"What are they building," asked Merry. He shivered and pulled his cloak around him more tightly. He looked around, stooped and tossed another faggot of wood on the fire.

"It seems to be a wall," said Gimli. "A short wall with no purpose that I can see."

Legolas smiled and took up the pot from its hook over the fire. Gimli and Merry held out their mugs. "It is where the minstrels will sing their lays. The wall will throw their voices forward so that all can hear."

Gimli withdrew his filled cup and grunted. "Stone would be better. Wood is porous."

A new voice answered him. "And where would they find stone, Master Gimli? For there is no quarry near here."

"Strider!!" said Merry. "How good it is to see you! I've seen you here and there, but you've been frightfully busy, it seems, and we've never had a chance to talk."

Aragorn smiled. "It seems as if I now have a little more time to spend however I wish."

"Good!" said Merry, and he smiled. "I've been wanting to thank you for that marvellous idea of a lay for Frodo and Sam. It seems as if that fellow, Farohan, is willing to listen to Pippin and myself, and not to the rumours flying about. Hopeful, that!"

"Then I fear you will not be glad of my next words," said Aragorn with a frown. "He will not be singing the lay."

Merry looked at Legolas and Gimli, and they all looked at Aragorn astonished. "Whyever not," asked Merry. "I liked him. He genuinely wanted to learn about hobbits."

"It seems that, in his eagerness to learn, he has left himself with little time for writing. This was to be his first great lay, and he has not the skill for writing speedily."

"Who will write it then?" asked Merry.

"Farohan's master, Menelor," Aragorn said. "I too am sorry to see him lose this chance, yet I trust Menelor's words, and it is my fondest wish right now to have Frodo and Sam greeted by their story in song. If Menelor says that Farohan will not be ready, then I must follow his advice."

"I was impressed by the Master Harper's skill and artistry in the brief time that I talked to him," said Legolas. "He will write a good lay. Yet it saddens me that all of Farohan's work should come to nothing."

"Why don't they work together," asked Gimli. He drained his mug. "Farohan's knowledge, Menelor's skill--what would be the problem?"

Legolas smiled. "If you, friend Gimli, were asked to fashion a gold piece of jewelry, studded with rich gems, and it was to be given in a great ceremony to a high lord, would you not want to work the thing into a treasure true to your own vision, unsullied by others' ideas or demands?"

Gimli nodded. "I would," he said. "I see the problem."

Merry scowled. "Why doesn't Farohan write it and ask for Menelor's help when he needs it?"

"The decision has been made, Merry," Aragorn said. "I will not gainsay the Master Harper in his area of skill."

Merry filled another mug, put it on a tray and turned to leave. But before he did so, he looked back at Aragorn.

"I would sooner trust one I know to be willing to learn about us hobbits than to one I only know to be skilled in singing of Men. Or has Menelor sung of hobbits and you have yet to tell me?"

Aragorn did not answer.

o O o

The wall was built. The hammer blows had stopped, and birdsong had ceased in the stillness of an afternoon in the warm sun.

The door flaps to Pippin's tent had been rolled back and tied. Cooling breezes banished the stuffy heat of the tent and the sweet spring smell of Ithilien freshened both mind and body.

A Man and a Dwarf came to the edge of the tent awning.

"Go in," Gimli said gruffly, for Farohan had hesitated. "They won't bite." And with those words of dubious comfort, he left.

Beregond, Merry and Pippin were all there. Mutely, in dread of what was to come, Farohan sat on a proffered stool and waited. But he did not expect the words that came.

"We want you to write the lay for Frodo and Sam," Merry said.

Farohan blinked. But all three looked steadily at him.

"I can't," Farohan said miserably. "My master has taken back the task. I have failed in my duty."

"I don't see how," Merry said. "Sam and Frodo haven't woken yet, and you should still have a few days."

Farohan only shook his head and cast his gaze downward.

Beregond spoke then. "I know that it is not done--to gainsay your master's word--and so I will not. But I do know there can be more than one lay for a great deed or hero. Surely you would not betray your teacher if you were to simply write a song for the Ring-bearer's friends to hear?"

There was a pause and then Farohan spoke softly. "Menelor showed great trust in me, and now he says I have failed in that trust. He has never before led me astray. I can only think, in that case, that I do not deserve the honour he tried to show me. I am not ready."

Merry and Pippin looked at each other and unspoken words passed between them. They once more faced the minstrel.

"You may have failed your master's trust, but you haven't failed ours. You asked us yesterday if there was anything that you might do for us. Both Pippin and I agree on this: we want you to write for us that lay."

Farohan breathed in sharply. "I would not be able to sing it at the great assembly when your friends awaken."

"Then sing it after--just for us," said Beregond.

"And Legolas and Gimli," added Pippin.

"And," said Merry, "For Sam. At the very least for Sam. If not for old Frodo himself. I feel no doubt, that Sam would love such a thing. Two lays! He would be beside himself: bashful, but thrilled."

Farohan shook his head. "I don't know. It feels wrong somehow."

"This is no longer the lay you were writing for Aragorn. This is a lay you are writing for us," said Merry firmly. "You asked us if we wanted anything done for us. This is it."

Merry watched Farohan closely. There seemed to be deep within the minstrel a longing to comply, but a look of self-doubt crossed his face, and the impulse was quelled.

Merry leaned a little closer. "If you say yes, I will help you with your writing. Legolas has said that he is still willing to teach you Elvish. And... I will help you in another way. If you will write about Frodo--I will take you to see him--this very afternoon."

"You will?" A look of hope dawned on Farohan's face. "You would not mind?"

"It is for a good purpose," Pippin said solemnly, and then he smiled. "Beregond told us of your wish."

"It is true that I have wanted to see him, even if he is asleep," Farohan admitted. Light was in his eyes. "I will write for you that lay."

"Wonderful!" Pippin crowed.

"Mind you," Merry said warningly. "You still do not have much time."

Farohan smiled a little crookedly. "Last night, in defiance, I continued to fit words to a melody. I have not wasted time."

"Good!" Merry rubbed his hands together. "We'll need to get started."

Farohan looked at him questioningly.

"You want to see Frodo, don't you?" Merry said, patiently.

"Yes! Yes, of course," Farohan stammered.

"Right then. I will just go and look to see if they're along, and then I will return. Wait here!"

And with that command, Merry was gone.

Farohan took a deep breath and turned to Pippin. "Is... is he always like that?"

Pippin glanced at Beregond. "Like what?"

Farohan faltered. Two pairs of eyes gazed at him curiously.

"It's nothing," he said.

o O o

It did not take long for Merry to finish his errand. Even so, he found, upon his return to the tent, that Pippin had already fallen asleep, Beregond had moved to his favourite spot in front of the awning, and Farohan was seated cross-legged on the floor. The minstrel's eyes were closed and his body was moving very slightly in a rhythm while his lips soundlessly formed the words.

Yet it was Pippin who instantly awoke upon Merry's arrival while Farohan remained seemingly unaware. Merry sat at the foot of Pippin's bed and they watched the man as he silently sang.

At last the two hobbits looked at each other and smiled. Merry rose to his feet and softly walked to where Farohan sat. He touched his shoulder.

Farohan opened his eyes.

"We had better go," Merry said.

Farohan was on his feet instantly, but then Pippin said, "We should tell him about Gandalf's letter."

Both Merry and Farohan stopped at this.

"Why?" said Merry.

Pippin beamed. "We wouldn't want our minstrel to mix up Sam and Frodo, would we? We had better describe Frodo to him so that he is prepared."

"Ah! Yes... of course." Merry faced Farohan then. "A stout little fellow..."

"...with red cheeks," said Pippin.

"Stout...?" Farohan said.

"Taller than some..." said Pippin.

"And f... no... no, he has a cleft in his chin," Merry said.

"A perky chap," continued Pippin.

"...with a bright eye," said Merry, "although that won't help you much--his eyes will be closed."

"This is Gandalf's description," Pippin said cheerfully. "Wizards never lie."

"It is?" asked Farohan. "I mean, they don't?"

"It is," Merry answered firmly. "And they don't. Shall we go?"

"Yes..." said Farohan.

To be continued