Stories of Arda Home Page
About Us News Resources Login Become a member Help Search
swiss replica watches replica watches uk Replica Rolex DateJust Watches

The Road to Edoras  by Dreamflower

CHAPTER 5

The group soon established a pattern for their travel: up with the Sun, a hearty first breakfast prepared by one or two of the hobbits, in which porridge only played a part. Then they would mount up and ride out, the banner bearers to the fore. At first the hobbits found themselves riding in the middle, with some of the Men ahead and some behind, but by the second day, the hobbits were often riding alongside the Men or Legolas and Gimli, so they could chat with them as they rode. They had to pace the horses to the ponies’ shorter legs anyway, so it was not difficult to carry on such conversations.

They would travel until lunchtime, when all would stop for a meal, quite aside from the constant nibbling most of the hobbits had been doing in the saddle; they would rest briefly for about an hour, and then once more they would continue the journey, riding along until about an hour before sunset, when they would stop once more to make camp for the night, and another hobbit-cooked meal.

The third day, Mosco was riding alongside Adrahil, who had Cado on the saddle in front of him, and Bergil.

“Bergil,” said Mosco, “I know that you were a good friend to Pippin while he was in the South. I was wondering if you could tell me a bit about what it was like for him there.”

Bergil grinned. There was nothing he liked better than to talk of his beloved Sir Pippin.

Cado scowled. Pippin. His cousin Pippin was the cause of all this trouble. He knew Clovis blamed the Brandybuck, but Cado never forgot that it was Pippin’s falling for their dare all those years ago that had started everything that happened to them since.

As usual, the rest of them acted as though he were not there.

“Well,” said Bergil, “the first time I met him” he blushed to remember “I offered to stand him on his head or lay him on his back. I thought, you know that he was just another lad. He told me he was ‘a halfling, hard, bold and wicked…”

His face shining with pride, he told of the first day he spent in Pippin’s company, and how they had gone out to watch the levies from the Outlands coming in for the defense of the City. Then, more hesitantly, and though still with pride, there was some restraint and a bit of pain in the young voice, as he recounted how Pippin had sought to save Faramir from his father’s madness.

“He asked my father to hinder the Steward if he could, little knowing what that would mean. He did not know what it would cost my father if he left his post.” There was a catch in Bergil’s voice, and he reached a hand up to dash away unwelcome tears.

Somberly he continued with the story of Faramir’s rescue, and the breaking of the siege by the Rohirrim. Occasionally, Adrahil interjected an observation. “I do not think I ever saw Sir Pippin look so sad and frightened as he did in the Houses of Healing, when he thought his cousin was dying. Poor Sir Meriadoc; he was so pale, and his arm was icy cold, and he scarcely breathed. But then Mithrandir brought the King, and the King’s hands were the hands of a healer.” Bergil gave a shy proud smile. “I was the one who finally found the athelas. I remembered that one of my friends had a grandfather who used it to when he had a headache…”

For a while the conversation lapsed. Mosco had a lot to think about. He knew that Freddy and Beri had heard a good deal of the story first-hand from Merry, but he did not know Merry or Pippin that well, and had not been one of their confidantes. He thought, though of the day he had watched them march Sharkey’s shirriffs through Frogmorton, sitting so proud and easy upon their ponies in their gleaming armor, with swords hanging at their hips. That day had been one of the highlights of his young life.

Cado, too, found himself uncharacteristically thoughtful.

After a while, Mosco said, “But you said it was Merry who was wounded in the fighting! When and how was Pippin injured?”

Bergil sighed. The last time he had recounted that tale, Pippin had gently rebuked him. But that was because the hobbit lads and lasses he was telling were so young. Still, he was not sure if he should tell it again. His dilemma was solved when Adrahil spoke up.

“Sir Peregrin was injured nigh unto death when he saved Bergil’s father, my brother and me during the Last Battle.”

“The day that we marched out of the White City to go to war, Pippin marched among us. There we were, those of us in the Third Company who were going--for some were left behind for defense of the City. We drew lots for who would stay and who would go, all except Bergil’s father Beregond, who must needs go, as he could not remain in the City as a Guard, and Pippin, who must needs go to represent the Shire. He stood on one of our outside ranks, for if he had been elsewhere, he might have been trodden on if he fell, ere anyone would see him. It so happened that he was alongside my brother, and I was on my brother’s other side. Beregond was in the file immediately behind us.

We were silent as we advanced, all of us feeling grim, for we were sure that we were going to our deaths. None of us expected to survive, for we knew that there was no way to defeat the Enemy. Only Peregrin of all our company, knew of the secret hope being carried into the heart of the Black Land, and he kept that secret well. But I am not sure that even he had much hope.

We did not talk until we came to Osgiliath, at noon. Pippin simply collapsed upon the ground, too weary even, to seek the noonday meal. Beregond brought him some of the rations, and sat with him, insisting that he eat. The rest of us did not know very much of your race then, or we too might have been alarmed at his lack of appetite. He ate a bit, and drank a bit, and stood with determination when it was time once more to set out. When he started to put his helm back on, I noticed he was very pale. Some of the others in the company were amused. I do not think they realized that he was not a child, and that he was as determined as the rest of us to see it through.

By the time we made the next five miles, to the Crossroads near Minas Morgul, he was stumbling. Several times my brother had reached a hand to him. The first few times, he had angrily shrugged it off, and fresh determination strengthened his stride for a short time. But soon he did not even seem to notice my brother steadying him. Once more, he collapsed where we stopped, and this time none of the three of us could rouse him to take more than a few sips of water. Worst of all was the sight of his feet which were sore and swollen. We had not been able to find any boots that would fit him, and he had disdained them anyway, saying that hobbits did not wear such things. This was most worrisome, and I am not sure what we would have done, had not the Elf Legolas with the Dwarf Gimli come at that point to check on their small friend.

They were very alarmed at the state they found him in; Legolas made some sort of Elvish oath, and Gimli rounded on all of us angrily. But they realized soon that we had not known what to do. Legolas took him up on his white horse, and rode off to seek the King.

He was not returned to us that night, and finally, Beregond, worried, went to the tents of the great captains to seek information.

He came back looking more cheerful. ‘The King himself has tended our valiant Ernil i Pheriannath. He is mostly exhausted. After today he will ride pillion with Mithrandir, for his short legs cannot hope to keep up with us at the pace we are setting, and we do not have the time to shorten our strides to accommodate him. When we come to do battle, he will once more stand among us.’ 

The next morning, our young friend came back among us as we sat to our meager breakfast rations. He said that though he would be riding with ‘Gandalf’ as he called the Wizard, he nevertheless would come and camp with us when we halted.

And so he did, leaving us each morning to mount up behind the Wizard, and returning to us each evening at sunset. Finally, the fifth night out of Morgul Vale, when he came to us, he was looking far more hale and cheerful. He had endeared himself to us all with his courage, and that night he also cheered us with songs and stories of his home, the Shire. I could tell that somehow he had recovered his hope.

But the next morning, the Captains of the West set all our host up in great array, and sent forth heralds to challenge the might of the Dark Lord, and call him to account for his evil. We were too far away to hear what was said, but it was clear that Sauron’s emissary had brought ill news.

Mithrandir rode back with the rest, and put Peregrin down. He gave a pat to his head, and then rode off on his magnificent horse. The hobbit came back among us, and all the cheer and hope we had seen in him the night before was dead. His face was white and grim, and tears rolled unheeded down his cheeks. He put his helm upon his head, and drew the small sword he carried.

Then the first assault of that foul host came pouring in upon us. I briefly lost sight of him, but then I saw him--he was as a small fury, cutting off the feet, stabbing the knees and legs, of orc after orc. Those of us who were in his wake had only to finish off the fallen enemies he left. Beregond, Artamir and myself were still trying somewhat to keep him in sight. Then suddenly came a company of trolls--as much bigger than we, as we were to the halfling. One of them came in our direction, swinging their clubs, Artamir was overborne and then Beregond. Then I was struck in the shoulder and borne to the ground. The troll was reaching for Beregond, when I saw Pippin once more. He went behind the creature and with his blade, he hamstrung it. Then ere it could fall, he darted back between its legs and holding up his sword, he stabbed upwards as it fell. I was sure then that it was the end of him.

Just as I myself swooned, I noticed his foot, protruding from beneath that foul creature.

When I wakened the next day, it was to the news that not only did my brother and Beregond yet live, so did our valiant Peregrin. All of us were astonished to have survived, and to learn that the War was won.

And then the rumor began to circulate of *how* the War had been won, that our battle had been a feint, to allow two small halflings to creep alone into the Enemy’s stronghold and put an end to his Ring, and therefore to him.

There were many who did not believe this, thinking that so great a victory could not possibly have been accomplished by such small hands, but those of us who had seen Peregrin in action could easily believe it, especially when we heard that one of the twain was his kindred, for after all, had not his other cousin helped to slay the Chief of the Nazgûl upon the Pelennor?

It was some days before Artamir and I were able to be up and about, but we were able to be there when the Kings honored both the halflings by making them Knights." He stopped speaking, and all were silent for a few moments.The Man took a sip from his waterskin, and shook his head when Mosco offered him an apple.

Then all of us went out in great ranks, to honor the Ringbearers, and my brother put Sir Peregrin upon his shoulders, that he might be able to see his cousin and his friend receive their honors and become Lords of the realm. That is a sight I will treasure the rest of my days.”

Mosco was deep in thought, wondering if he would have ever been able to do the kinds of things that Pippin and Merry had done, and wondering how they had survived such dreadfulness.

Bergil was remembering how close he had come to losing his father.

Cado was thinking that perhaps he did not envy Pippin quite so much as he had always done.

_____________________________________________





<< Back

Next >>

Leave Review
Home     Search     Chapter List