Chapter 69. Remembering Day

Merry stared out the window at the work crews on both sides of the River, filling barrels with water and loading them into waggons. He shook his head. 'I've never seen the River this low,' he said.

Berilac answered, 'It's got a ways to go, yet.'

He put his head in his hands, and Merry asked in concern, 'Are you all right?'

'I'm well,' Berilac said without looking up. 'Wondering when those waggons will come.'

'If we hadn't planted last week, I'd be tempted to order the seed ground and made into bread,' Merry said. 'How long since you ate last?'

'Yesterday, I think,' Berilac said. 'No, the day before... was it? Might have been the day before that.'

The Master nodded. 'I think you're right. The food ran out... two, no three days ago. There's just enough to keep feeding the most vulnerable,' he looked out the window again at the sweating hobbits, 'and the labourers.'

'Mud pies are sounding better all the time,' the Steward said.

'Perhaps for tea,' the Master answered. 'I'll ask the cooks about it, they've nothing better to do.'

'Remind me why we planted that seed, anyhow,' Berilac muttered.

'Because to plant is to hope for the future. To eat the seed is to admit there is no future,' Merry said.

'Is there?' Berilac asked, low. Merry had no answer.

A tap came on the door and Estella entered with the tea tray. 'Teatime!' she caroled.

'I'm glad we still have tea,' Berilac said, raising his head. 'Reassures my stomach that my throat hasn't been cut.'

'Cousin!' Merry reprimanded. He shook his head. 'Those guardsmen are a bad influence.'

'Sorry, Estella,' Berilac said, accepting the tea that she poured out and sweetened. There was no milk, of course. Without fodder, the cows had gone dry.

She nodded with a smile. 'I heard worse from the ruffians, believe you me,' she said.

'No need for hobbits to start talking like ruffians,' Merry said sternly.

Berilac took a sip of his tea, put his cup down, and leaned back, hands behind his neck, stretching his elbows out. 'O, I dunno,' he yawned. 'Big People aren't so bad, once you get used to them. They're much like our own folk.'

'Only bigger,' Estella smiled.

'Much bigger,' Berilac agreed.

Estella poured out Merry's tea, brought it to him, moved around behind him to rub his shoulders while he drank. 'Have you eaten, love?' he said, tilting his head to catch a glimpse of her face.

'Yes, dearest beloved, Auntie Nasturtium scrambled me some eggs, I've no idea where she found them, and sat me down and watched me eat every bite until they were gone.'

'The guardsmen are going hungry, you know,' Berilac said.

'O?' Merry looked back to the steward.

Berilac nodded. 'They shared out their rations, as far as they would go. Said they'd wait with the rest of us.'

'That doesn't help them recover from the fever,' Merry said, worriedly.

Berilac lifted his cup. 'It's after teatime,' he said pointedly.

Estella laughed, and Merry had to smile. 'Yes, cousin,' he said. 'Point taken.' He sipped his tea.

'Besides,' the steward added, 'It didn't strike them half so hard as it did hobbits.'

'A good thing, too,' Merry said. 'I do not know how we would have coped with a hundred delirious Big People.'

'Merry,' Estella said warningly.

'Yes, yes,' Merry said, throwing up his hands in surrender. 'I am done worrying for today!'

'Good!' Berilac and Estella said together.

Estella looked out of the window. 'What are they doing?' she said in surprise.

Merry followed her glance, to the firepits with the carcases turning on spits. 'Ah,' he said. 'I gave orders to slaughter three of the Hall's flocks. Some of the meat is being roasted here in the Hall this day, all the rest of the mutton was given away in Buckland and Stock and Rushy. The people will have a Remembering Day feast if it is only to be roast mutton and brandy to wash it down.'

'King Elessar has explained Remembering Day to the guardsmen?' Berilac asked.

Merry nodded. 'Yes. We have made it clear that they are welcome if they remain quiet and respectful. It is, after all, the most solemn occasion of the year.'

Berilac nodded. 'I have a high opinion of these guardsmen of Elessar's,' he said. 'If all Men were like them, there would be no need for the King's edict.'

Estella shuddered; her hands stilled on his shoulders, and Merry knew she was remembering an encounter with other Men, ruffians. He lifted one of his hands to cover hers in silent comfort, until she regained control of herself and began to massage his neck and shoulders once again. 'It is a pity, that Men cannot be more like hobbits,' Merry agreed softly. He drained his cup, and set it down.

'More, beloved?' Estella asked.

He shook his head. 'No, it will be sunset before you know it and we must make ready for the ceremony.' He straightened the teacup more precisely on the saucer. 'There will be many to remember, this day.'

'Yes,' Estella said softly. 'Even the guardsmen are carving boats.'

'They are?' Merry said, surprised.

'Yes,' Berilac said. 'I was explaining the custom to Terlon, and he must have told the others... the Big People have loved ones to remember, as well.'

'And they are far away from home and loved ones,' Estella whispered.

'If they remember with us, then they must feast with us as well,' Merry said suddenly.

'But of course, beloved,' Estella answered. 'I shall give orders for their places to be set.' The guardsmen had found it possible to sit at table with hobbits; they just sat upon the floor, without the use of chair or bench. 'Would you like any more tea, Berilac?' she asked.

Berilac shook his head, then drained his cup. 'No, thank you kindly, Mistress. I don't think I could manage another drop.' Estella nodded, collected the cups, and took the tray away.

'Amazing how much more time one has, with no meals to disrupt the schedule,' Berilac said. 'Perhaps we should continue this practice after things return to normal.'

'Perhaps you are delirious and should take yourself off to bed,' the Master answered.

Berilac chuckled, then said, 'My escort is a bit late this day.'

'Probably being corrupted by the guardsmen,' Merry muttered darkly. 'They were learning some sort of wagering game the other day.'

Just then the errant Elberic and Doderas entered the study, stopping short to see the work already cleared away.

'Tea's over and done with,' Merry said, not without sympathy. 'You're late.'

The lads gulped, and the Master added, 'There will be a feast of mutton this evening to look forward to.'

'Yes, Sir,' Doderas said quietly, as he and Elberic moved to either side of Berilac to lift the steward from his chair.

'I'll check on the details of the feast,' Berilac said, 'and meet you by the River at sunset.'

***

Merry stood at the water's edge with the unlit torch, Estella on one side of him, Berilac, supported between Doderas and Elberic, on his other side. Silent hobbits, mingled with tall guardsmen, stood in a crowd around him, all turned to the West, watching the Sun as she sought her bed on this, the most solemn of days.

As darkness fell, Merry lit the torch, and the faces turned to look at him and the light he held.

He spoke clearly the words that were being heard all over the Shire this night. 'We gather together for remembering, as is our custom on this day. We remember those who have been lost to us since the last time we gathered so. We are here to celebrate their lives, their memory, our love which can never be lost, and the hope we share.'

A farmer stepped up to him, four boats in his hands. He put three of the boats down at his feet and held the remaining boat out to the torch. All stood quiet as he lit the first wick. 'Trillia,' he said, naming his wife, and set the boat upon the water, picking up the next two, lighting them, setting them upon the water together. 'Joram, and Marigold,' he said, naming his eldest son and daughter-in-love. He picked up the last boat, cradling it a for the space of a breath, lighted the wick, and set it down. 'Rosebud,' he said, his voice breaking as he named his youngest. The rest of his children surrounded him, arms around him and each other, and escorted him to the edge of the crowd.

A tall guardsman stepped up, kneeling before the Master to hold the wick of his carefully carved boat to the torch. He nodded to the Master, then turned to set his boat in the water, speaking his mother's name. Word of her death had reached him some months earlier at his post in Fornost, so far away from Gondor.

One by one, hobbits and guardsmen honoured their loved ones, and the floating candle boats spread out upon the River. More flickering boats began to be seen, floating down from gatherings further upriver, and from the tributaries that flowed into the Brandywine, until the water flowing by seemed to be a River of light, reflecting the pinpoint stars in the dark skies above.

Riders arriving at the Brandywine Bridge pulled their mounts to a stop and stared in wonder at the candles that had floated down the Water from Hobbiton, Bywater, Frogmorton, Whitfurrows, Budgeford, and smaller gatherings along the stream. One of the riders slipped from the saddle, to walk to the guardhouse for directions.

'What is it?' Eowyn whispered, strangely moved. Faramir reached over to clasp her hand in his as they watched. Behind them, the first of the heavily laden wains creaked to a stop, the drivers feeling reluctant to shout as the River bore the flickering flotilla past.

A song arose from the hobbits on the banks of the River, and scraps of words floated to the silent listeners. Eowyn's hand tightened on her husband's as she gasped. 'They honour their dead,' she said. 'Are we come too late?'

'No,' came the voice of her brother, King of the Rohirrim. 'No, they say we are come in good time.' He mounted his horse again. 'They were to have feasted for the last time, this night, but now...' the King smiled at his sister. 'The Sun shall rise on the morrow to shine on new hope for the People of the Shire.'