CHAPTER 32

Beorhstan took the plate and mug proffered to him by Miss Viola, blushing as he thanked her. The food smelled wonderful. The hobbits had taken some of the cheese and smoked pork, which they had placed between slices of his mother’s bread, and toasted until the cheese had melted. There were also some mushrooms which had been fried with what smelled like onion and garlic, and some potatoes, which had also been sliced and fried. In the mug was some soup--he wondered at how quickly they had made soup.

Master Brandybuck sat down next to him. “That’s some of the soup Jolly made last night with the last of our dried vegetables. We are so glad you brought some fresh ones, thank you!”

“You are most welcome, Master Brandybuck,” he replied. He saw Miss Viola move to sit next to the hobbit on his other side, and noted the fond look that was turned on her. He smiled to himself.

Master Bolger came and sat on his other side, his own plate laden, and he gave a glance at the food Beorhstan had barely tasted yet. “I do hope we gave you enough!”

“Oh yes, Master Bolger! Indeed, I am not certain I can eat *all* of it.” But he broke off a bit of the toasted sandwich and took a bite. Delicious, he thought.

By now the rest of the hobbits and the others in the camp had settled in to eat, and there was some silence, broken at first by only comments upon the food itself.

“Mister Mosco,” said Jolly, “you added somewhat to the soup here, didn’t you?” He took a sip from the mug, “Bit of thyme?”

Mosco grinned. “Yes, Jolly, I did add some thyme to it!”

There were comments on the mushrooms as well, as the hobbits seemed to be able to identify the different sorts by taste. Beorhstan came to the conclusion that hobbits must have a keener sense of taste than Men, for though he found everything quite delicious, he really could not identify the separate flavors that way.

As the Men began to flag, for the portions upon the plates were truly huge, the hobbits kept eating, but the conversation gradually moved away from food to more general subjects of conversation.

Master Bolger turned to Beorhstan and asked him how his family had come to be farming in Dunland, and the young Man explained. The hobbit nodded, as Beorhstan told of his injuries at the Battle of Pelennor, and how he had come to meet his wife and her brother.

“I must say to you, I shall ever be grateful to Holdwine, Sir Meriadoc, for his actions then. For had he and the Lady Éowyn between them not slain the foul sorcerer, we should never have gained the victory there, nor even come away with our lives.”

There was a brief silence, as the hobbits thought once more of the amazing things the Travellers had done, which they were only now beginning to understand. Then Berilac turned to Beorhstan.

“Master Beorhstan, I kept meaning to ask Merry, but I never got around to it--what is this ‘Holdwine’ that you and the Rohirrim call him? Is it a title?”

“Nay, it is not a title, but a name. In Westron it signifies ‘loyal friend’, and I am quite sure it was well-given, but I know not how he came by it.”

Éothain had been listening from across the campfire, where he and Targon sat a little apart. “The name was bestowed upon him by my cousin the Lady Éowyn, and confirmed by our Lord Éomer King. She it was who asked that he be made a Knight of the Riddermark, though I think it was an honor the King was of a mind to give anyway.”

Berilac chuckled. “It seems only right that Merry become a Rider of Rohan--he’s always been one for the ponies, ever since he was a little lad. I think that riding was the only thing he did not learn from our Cousin Frodo. In fact, in a roundabout way you might say that Merry taught Frodo to ride.”

Fredegar leaned around Beorhstan. “Now this is something I never heard.”

Berilac grinned and took out his pipe, as he’d finished his meal. Beorhstan watched in wonder as not only did the other male hobbits do the same, but Lord Éothain, Danulf, Anwynd, Leodwald, and Borondir did as well. He watched in fascination as they put crumbled bits of leaves in the bowls of the pipes, and used bits of tinder from the campfire to light them. He watched the smoke come out of their mouths in amazement, though the scent was a bit pungent and made his eyes water, it was fascinating.

Berilac blew out a perfect smoke ring, and leaned back a bit. “Yes, Merry was just out of faunthood, which is to say he was five years old--which I daresay would have seemed a bit younger to you Big Folk--”

Mistress Poppy nodded. “I daresay he would have been like a three year old in comparison.”

“At any rate, Merry had begun to learn his letters from Frodo--he was pretty bright. I’m two years older, and had just begun to do so myself. But, as I said, Merry was a very bright child. At any rate, he was enjoying his lessons with Frodo very much, but there was something else he wanted to learn--

“Frodo, when are you going to teach me how to ride a pony?”

Frodo blushed. “We shouldn’t be worrying about ponies right now, Merry. Now can you write this word on your slate?” The two cousins were sitting at a table in the main dining hall, as Frodo gave Merry his lessons. Around them, other little hobbits were doing the same with parents or older brothers or sisters.

The little tongue poked out of the side of his mouth, as Merry laboriously traced out the letters, saying “Oh-nah-ee. Oh-nah-ee? No, you said some ‘Ees’ aren’t heard.” He concentrated for a moment. “Oh-nah? Own?”

Frodo smiled. “No, Merry, this is a word that breaks the rules. It is pronounced ‘one’.”

The grey eyes went wide and skeptical. “One? Frodo, are you sure?”

Frodo chuckled. “Yes, sprout, I’m sure. The next one breaks the rules as well.”

Merry squinted. “Ta-woe? No--that’s silly.” He looked at the first word again. “Frodo, is that ‘two’?” His tone was incredulous.

“Yes, it is.”

“But I learned that word, it’s ‘T-O’, which ought to be ‘toe’.” He looked highly indignant.

“Well, this has a different meaning, so it is spelled differently.”

Merry pursed his lips, and stared down at the words on his slate. “Well, I don’t think that’s *fair*! What is the use of rules if you have to keep breaking them? And we have numbers. Why do we have number *words* as well?”

His older cousin rolled his eyes, and took a deep breath, and tried to remember his own frustration when his father and mother had been teaching *him* to read. But thinking of them made him feel sad.

Merry quickly picked up his change in mood. “I’m sorry, Frodo,” he exclaimed, distressed.

“Oh, no, Merry, you didn’t do anything wrong. I was just remembering, that’s all.”

Merry didn’t ask what. He knew that for some reason Frodo had been reminded of his parents. He decided not to ask any more awkward questions that might make Frodo feel sad. He looked up for an instant at the other end of the table, where Berilac was having lessons with his mother. She seemed cross. Berilac looked up too, at that instant, and met Merry’s eyes, and they both smiled for a moment, before they returned to their respective slates.

For a little while, there was just the sound of chalk scratching on slate, and the occasional murmur of a word being sounded out. Then both lads heard footsteps, and looked up to see Merimac enter the room. He went over to where Berilac and his mother sat, gave her a quick kiss, and turned to his son.

“Well, Beri, are you ready to come outside now for your riding lesson?”

Berilac gave a little yelp of joy, and putting his slate aside, scrambled out of the chair to follow his father outside to the stables.

Merry looked after him wistfully.

Frodo noticed, and sighed. How could he bring himself to tell Merry that he couldn’t teach him to ride?

That evening after supper in the main hall--for it was Highday, and the Master and all his kin dined together--when Merry’s nursemaid Dahlia took him up to bed, and Saradoc and Esmeralda were still talking to various family members, Frodo slipped out of the smial, and headed for the stables.

In he went, and after lighting a lantern, walked over to the stalls. He looked quietly at the different ponies. He took a deep breath. Dapple, named for his dapple grey coat, would be perfect. The gelding was docile, and was usually used to loan various aunties who had a notion to ride, or for novice riders. His main fault was that sometimes he was too placid.

Frodo swallowed, and took an apple out of his pocket and offered it to the pony. Dapple whuffed at his hand agreeably as he quickly crunched down the treat.

Frodo looked at the saddle and the tack. How hard could it be? He had watched the ponies being saddled dozens of times. Surely, if he took it slowly, he could figure it out. He took down the blanket that hung next to the stall, and started to lift the latch.

“Frodo!”

He nearly jumped out of his skin. He turned apprehensively. “Uncle Sara!”

Saradoc came over, puzzled. This was *not* where he had expected his ward to go when he had followed him from the Hall. In a way, he had been relieved, but now he was confused. “What are you up to, lad?”

In the lantern-light, Frodo blushed and bit his lip. “Er, I thought that it was time I learned to ride.”

Saradoc’s jaw dropped. “By yourself? In the dark?”

Suddenly Frodo realized perhaps his idea was not such a good one after all. “Well, I’ve watched other people for years. I didn’t think it could be that hard. And--and I didn’t want Merry to know.”

“You didn’t want Merry to know? Frodo, I don’t understand.” Saradoc privately was berating himself--he should have seen to this long ago. Most Brandybucks were excellent riders, though they didn’t spend as much time ponyback as Tooks did, but Drogo had been a Baggins, and most Bagginses weren’t much for riding. Old Bilbo had known how, though he seldom did so, but Drogo never rode, preferring a pony-trap or carriage. And Primula could have taught her son--she had taught him to swim after all--but she had not ridden since her dear friend Pearl Took had been killed by being thrown from her pony years ago.*

Frodo stood silent, with his head hanging down. Saradoc moved to put his arm around the lad’s shoulders. “Frodo, why don’t you want Merry to know?”

“Merry wants me to teach him to ride, Uncle Sara. I can’t let him down. He doesn’t know I don’t know how.” The rest remained unspoken, but Saradoc understood. As far as Merry was concerned, his cousin had hung the moon. There was nothing Frodo did not know, or could not do. Frodo had no intention of allowing that illusion to be shattered. Meriadoc considered Frodo the ultimate expert on everything.

“Merry’s still a bit young to learn how to ride, Frodo.”

“Yes, but--I just don’t want him to know.” Tears stood in the blue eyes, which Saradoc had never been able to resist. “And he’s being so good about learning his letters.”

Saradoc squeezed the lad’s shoulders, and stood in silent thought for a moment. Then he smiled. “I have an idea, Frodo. Do you mind if I talk to Mac about this? I will need his help, but I think you know he won’t be indiscreet.”

Frodo looked up at his cousin with dawning hope.

A couple of mornings later, as the family of the Son of the Hall sat at breakfast, Saradoc said “Merry, I understand that you want to learn how to ride a pony.”

Merry’s grey eyes went wide with delight.

“You are a bit young to begin to learn to ride by yourself. And I know that you asked Frodo to teach you. But I’m your Da, and I would like to teach you myself. Now since you are a little too young to ride alone quite yet, what we will do is this: you will ride in front of me, and, so you can learn what it is like to ride alone, Frodo will also ride with us, and I will talk him through it as though he is taking lessons. That way, you will learn from watching him until you get just a bit bigger. And we will join your Uncle Merimac and your cousin Berilac when Beri has his lessons, so you can watch him as well.”

Frodo stared at Saradoc in admiration for his cousin’s clever solution. He would be taking lessons himself, but Merry would just think that he was showing him what to do.

“When can I ride alone, Da?” Merry asked, feeling just a little disappointment that he would not be able to ride by himself yet.

“Well, Berilac started last spring. So when you are as tall as he was then, you may begin to ride by yourself.”

Frodo grinned. “When can we start, Uncle Sara?” he asked excitedly.

“I believe we shall meet Merimac and Beri at the stables right after elevenses.”

Berilac grinned at his audience, who had listened in fascination to this story of the Ringbearer’s youth. “Of course, my da and Uncle Sara never said anything to anyone else, but I heard them talking to one another from time to time, and pieced the story out. I knew better than to say anything to Merry though. If I had so much as hinted that Frodo did not know everything, I would have been in big trouble. But several years later, when Pippin was learning to ride, Frodo told Merry the whole story himself. And by that time of course, Merry found it highly amusing.”

Freddy chuckled. “Bolgers weren’t much for riding either. But my father learned to ride so that he could court my mother. Riding was one of the few Tookish activities my mother enjoyed. Of course, she saw to it that my sister and I learned how.”

Éothain chuckled. “Most children of the Rohirrim ride in front of their parents before they are given their first pony. But I remember how jealous I was of my cousins--they were both give horses--small horses, it is true--but horses instead of ponies.”

Targon shook his head. “Horses are few and far between in the White City,” he said. “Especially before the War. I did not learn to ride until I was a cadet in the Guard--and even then, I did not have my own horse. We shared the horses of the Steward’s stables, and rode them at need.”

“Well,” growled Gimli, “Dwarves will ride ponies at need. But I never rode on the back of so great a beast as a horse until that day on Rohan’s plains when Aragorn, Legolas and I were challenged by É omer, as we hunted down the Orcs that had stolen Merry and Pippin.”

Legolas chuckled. “And you do not ‘ride’ now, Master Dwarf,” he teased. “you bump along behind me like a sack of potatoes.”

Everyone laughed, including Beorhstan, who was amazed to hear the fond banter of this group of strangely assorted friends.

“Well,” said Jolly, “this has all been very interesting, but I think that we need to see to the washing up, now!”

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*This Pearl Took is not Pippin's sister, but Paladin's oldest sister, for whom his daughter was named.