CHAPTER 40

The king of Rohan had completed his morning ablutions, and was prepared to go down and seek his breakfast, when there was a rap at his door.

“Enter!”

It was Bedwig, one of the many servants. “My Lord King, I was bidden to bring you news. Riders have been spotted approaching Edoras. I am to say that it appears to be Lord Éothain, returning with the embassy from the North. They should arrive at Meduseld shortly before noontide.”

Éomer smiled grimly. He had been looking forward to this meeting, and yet dreading it, ever since Leodwald had returned with the message of their delay. It would be good to meet these hobbits, kin to his Holdwine. But he was not so sure about having to pass judgement upon some of them.

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Perched in front of Borondir this morning, Cado watched the landscape fall around him with a leaden feeling in his stomach. For the first time, their destination began to loom larger and larger upon the horizon. It was much larger than Bree, and though in his heart he had known this would be so, it filled him with dread.

He looked at the gleaming roof atop the immense hill. There was the king who would decide his fate. He’d kept his ears open. He knew that these Men respected this king, that he was accounted “just” and “fair”. But he was also admired for his fierceness--he recalled the relish with which Éothain had spoken of a battle, in which this Éomer had slain many enemies. He’d described vividly the way an Orc-warrior’s head had gone flying, stricken off by Éomer’s sword. It had made Cado feel more than a little queasy. What *would* such a Man think was “just” and “fair” for his and Clovis’ stupid actions that fateful night? And yet, he knew it unlikely that they’d be executed--that had been the very reason they were being sent to Rohan instead of Gondor, where there would have been no choice in their sentence. For the first time, he wondered what their fate would have been if the guard Clovis’ stone had struck had been one of the Gondorians instead? He shuddered.

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Denny’s eyes grew wide at the sight of their destination, growing ever greater as they rode closer. This was Edoras, where they were to meet Mr. Merry’s King! What would a king be like? he wondered, and not for the first time. But for the first time he truly pondered the question. He glanced over at Lord Éothain. The King was his first cousin on the King’s father’s side, though it was through his mother the King's sister, he’d become King. Rolly had paid very close attention to such details. He remembered Mr. Merry telling him that Men didn’t set as much store to cousinship as Hobbits did, but it seemed to him that blood would tell. And, as the saying in Buckland went, blood’s a good deal thicker than water. And Lord Éothain was a right nice fellow.

As to looks, well, all the Men from Rohan seemed to favor one another, with that yellow hair worn long, and them great yellow beards. He supposed the King would look much the same, only maybe grander. And he heard tell the King was a year younger than Mr. Pippin, though that didn’t signify much. After all, young Bergil was eleven, and saving for his height, he looked more like a hobbit-lad of seventeen! All these Men were much younger than he’d ever’ve taken them for.

He glanced down at himself. He’d dressed a bit finer than usual today--all the hobbits had, what with arriving there. He hoped he’d prove a credit to his family, and Denny, too. They had a lot to live up to--and a lot to live down, as well, with them others what had disgraced their name being along. He cast a surreptitious look at Clodio. The old fellow weren’t looking too well. This being banished hadn’t done him much good.

Too bad. He should’ve thought of that before he disgraced the family.

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Mistress Poppy’s eyes grew round as she began to realize the size of their destination. She could see afar the glint of water--a stream, or river, or some such. And there beyond the water rose a mighty dike, topped with a large enclosure. Although the occasional rooftop she could glimpse rising up the hill that it enclosed seemed to be similar to those in Bree--mostly thatch--there were far more of them, and they were much larger.

And atop it all, crowning the hill was another house, a huge one, far bigger than The Prancing Pony, which up until now had been the largest building she had ever laid eyes on. It seemed to glitter golden in the high summer Sun.

So, that was Meduseld, Hall of the King of Rohan.

She hoped that there would be comfortable beds for weary hobbits, and a good meal and a hot bath ahead.

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Mosco glanced over at his Aunt Poppy. She had an anticipatory gleam in her eye. She was clearly enjoying herself immensely. He sighed. He sometimes wondered why he had come; although he enjoyed the company, and was finding the Wide World a more marvelous place than he could ever have anticipated, he felt somewhat superfluous--rather like an afterthought to the embassy. He had, after all, been the last of the volunteers, and they’d’ve done just fine without him.

Now they were arriving, and they’d have to begin doing their job. He knew what Freddy’s job was--he was their leader. And Beri, well, he did just fine as Freddy’s second. Rolly and Denny were there to learn the ways of not only Men, but of being gentlehobbits. And Jolly, he was sure, had come mostly to support Freddy, and perhaps to see the places where his brother-in-law was considered a hero.

But what would his own job be? When he’d first come, he’d thought it would be to keep an eye on Aunt Poppy. But she really didn’t need anyone to take care of her. He knew that now.

Would he be able to find his own place in this group? Would he ever be of any use at all?

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Freddy gazed upward at the gleaming Golden Hall. He was elated that they were finally arriving, but he felt no small amount of trepidation. They rode now between the barrow mounds of the Kings, dotted over with thousands of tiny white flowers. He felt very solemn and inadequate.

Would he really be a good representative of the Shire? The only hobbits these people had known before were heroes: Frodo, Samwise, Meriadoc and Peregrin--all of them had accomplished mighty deeds, the like of which other hobbits, safe in the Shire, had little knowledge of. Would the King expect him to be like them? A mighty warrior, like Merry or Pippin? A brave adventurer, like Frodo or Sam? Would he be disappointed in Fredegar Bolger, a hobbit who’d been too timid to venture out when the others did?

He thought back to a conversation in the Spring, one he’d had with Frodo at Bag End. Merry and Pippin had gone to Bywater, with a last minute gift for Sam and Rose, who were sitting for their gifts at the Cotton farm. Legolas, Gimli and Bergil had all been up at the Men’s encampment. He had talked to Frodo about his fears.

“Frodo, I know I need to do this for myself. But--am I the best person to be in charge? To represent the Shire? I’m such a failure.”

Frodo had turned to look at him sharply. They were in the kitchen having tea, as they were alone in the smial. “Whatever do you mean, ‘failure’, Fredegar Bolger?” he had exclaimed. There was almost a note of anger in his usually soft-spoken voice.

Freddy took a deep breath. “I am. I failed you at Crickhollow--I ran away like a coward! I failed to keep Folco safe! I failed to stop Lotho from his stupid and dangerous takeover of the Shire! I failed to keep my band of ‘rebels’ safe from the Lockholes! I failed at all of that!”

Shaking his head, Frodo had poured the tea, and put down the teapot, before sitting down next to Freddy. “Freddy,” he said, “look at me.”

There was no denying him when he used that tone of voice. Freddy swallowed, and did his best to meet the stern gaze.

Very deliberately, Frodo held up his right hand and spread his fingers in front of Freddy’s face. Never before had Freddy had so close a look at that gap in his cousin’s hand. He blinked, and then sought Frodo’s eyes.

“You are not a failure. I know that Merry has explained to you that you could never have resisted the Black Riders. Running was the only thing you could do. As to the rest, you only did the best you could, and things would have been far worse for the Shire if you had done nothing.” He wet his lips. “If you want to see true failure, look at this.” He moved his hand back and forth. “There’s the evidence of true failure. I know that you know what happened; you of all people in the Shire had the right to know. My failure nearly lost the world.” Abruptly, he put the hand down. He had grown very white, but the color returned gradually to his face. He looked up once more, and his blue eyes were filled with love. “I am very proud of you, cousin. You did much more than you realize, and you will do more.” He smiled. “Now, do you want some of those biscuits that Marigold sent up with Sam yesterday?”

Freddy had known the subject was closed. He felt warmed by Frodo’s confidence in him, and worried that Frodo did not seem to see his own success in the same way that he could see Freddy’s.

Freddy blinked away the memories. He hoped he would do Frodo proud.

Suddenly, the group halted, and Freddy realized they had reached the gate of the town. There before the gates stood a line of Men, clad in mail. One of them stepped forward. “Welcome, Éothain Éodred’s son, kinsman of Éomer King! And welcome and greetings to you as well, Men of Gondor, and to you, Legolas and Gimli, heroes of Helm’s Deep, and to you Holbytlan of the Shire! You are expected!”

The gates were flung open, and the company began to ride up, through streets lined with cheering throngs.

Viola moved her pony a bit closer to Berilac’s. “Oh my!” she breathed.

He smiled at her reassuringly, but to himself, he thought “Oh my, indeed!”

They had arrived in Edoras at last.