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The Road to Edoras  by Dreamflower

CHAPTER 47

Merry shook his head and sighed. The rocket had gone bitter in the Wedmath heat--well, rocket was supposed to be a little bitter and have a bite to it, but this was well nigh inedible. No salad tonight then; the lettuces had gone off the week before--bolted overnight. Sam had warned him it was too late to plant them, but he’d tried anyway. He should have known to listen; Samwise Gamgee was never wrong about things like that. But Merry did love a nice crisp salad.

On the other hand the runner beans looked to be doing quite well, he thought, as he began to pull them and put them in his basket, only occasionally nibbling on them.

He hoped next spring to put two more beds in, here at Crickhollow. His herb bed was doing splendidly as it was. He could put a smaller one next to the one he had now, and another long one next to the vegetable beds. And Sam had promised him some starts of asparagus. Perhaps Sam could spare him some two-year old plants, so he would not have to wait so long for a harvest. Bag End had the best asparagus.

Well, Bag End had the best of just about any vegetable, thanks to Sam…

“Merry!” Merry heard the sound of Pippin’s pony at the same time he heard the excited call. Pippin’s voice sounded urgent, but not upset. He wondered what could possible have his younger cousin all stirred up so, and dusting his hands on his breeches, he made his way around the corner of the little house just in time to see Pippin flinging himself from Sable’s back.

It was the sight of the green leather dispatch case that Pippin drew from his saddlebag that clued him in.

“Word from Rohan!” he exclaimed, hurrying up the path to take the case from his cousin.

Pippin handed it over. “Yes, well, you know I’d gone up to the Bridge to discuss the building of the new Ranger waystation with Mellor, and suddenly we heard a horse pounding up the road. It was one of the Riders from Rohan, and he had several messages. There were a couple of personal letters to some of the embassy’s family--including one from Freddy to Frodo, and an official report to Father. But this one’s for you, from Éomer King!” He pulled a face. “There wasn’t anything for me!”

Merry fumbled at the case, and then drew forth the folded and sealed message.

“What’s it say?” asked Pippin impatiently.

Merry shook his head. “I haven’t even opened it yet. And depending upon what my king has to say, I may not tell you. What about the Rider? Is he being taken care of?”

“Yes, he is! Mrs. Banks is feeding him, and he is going to share Mellor’s campsite. But he says he must hurry back to Rohan--he is to take an answer from you back with him as soon as possible!”

Merry took the missive into the house, and went into the little study, where he pulled it out, and put his thumb under the seal. He glanced briefly out the window--Pippin was taking Sable to their small stable. Good. He unfolded the letter, and began to read, his eyebrows climbing, and the smile on his face gradually spreading into a grin.

And then he became serious again. This was unexpected, as well as a big responsibility. It was possible that the future of Rohan depended on his answer. More importantly Éomer’s happiness and that of the woman he loved depended upon his answer. What could he say? He cast his mind back to his early courtship of Estella, and began to smile once more. He drew forth a sheet of notepaper and took up a quill, and dipped it into the inkwell.

He heard Pippin come in, and he could hear him bustling about in the kitchen. After a few minutes, he heard the teakettle whistle cheerily, and he knew what was coming next. He chuckled to himself and shook his head in amusement.

Sure enough, only a few moments later, Pippin came into the room with a tray--tea and sandwiches, and a few savoury biscuits their housekeeper Bluebell had baked the day before, and a bit of the seedcake Merry‘s mother had sent home with them when they had dined at Brandy Hall.

He sat back, and very carefully put the refolded letter atop the one he himself had begun, before reaching out to take the cup Pippin proffered.

“Well?” said Pippin.

“That’s a deep subject,” Merry retorted with the old childhood saw, meeting Pippin‘s eyes over the rim of his teacup.

Pippin cast his eyes to the ceiling in exasperation, and his face fell. “Merry?” He gave Merry his pleading look, but Merry shook his head.

“It’s not my place to tell you, Pippin. He has not given me leave to do so, and it’s private. I wouldn’t press you, if Strider wrote to you in confidence.” Merry used a firm and no-nonsense tone.

Pippin sighed. “I know. But you can’t blame a Took for being curious.”

“No,” chuckled Merry, “it would be like trying to blame a bird for flying or a fish for swimming or a squirrel for climbing trees.” He relented just a bit. “It’s not bad news, at any rate. And if he gives me leave later, I will tell you about it. Now, why don’t you go along, and allow me to finish my reply. He is in a bit of a hurry to receive my answer, Pip.”

Pippin shrugged, and then he grinned, his face lighting up as though he had a sudden idea. “I think I shall go up to Brandy Hall and pester Uncle Merimac.”

Merry laughed. “Whatever for, Pippin?”

“Well, it’s closer than Bag End. And he got a letter from Beri.”

“You do that, then! And I am sure you will wheedle every last detail out of my poor uncle.” He hid his look of triumph--there was no way that Éomer would have confided the subject of *this* letter to anyone. And with Pippin gone down to the Hall for the rest of the afternoon, he could finish his answer in peace.

He could not resist once last jibe. “And if Uncle Merimac fails to deliver, you may go try your luck in Hobbiton and Frodo-wheedle all you like. If Freddie revealed anything to him, I wish you luck in getting it out of him!”

Pippin made a face and stuck out his tongue saucily, before leaving the room, laughing ruefully.

When it came to being close-mouthed, even Gandalf could not compete with Frodo Baggins, as Pippin knew all too well.

Merry watched out the window in front of the desk, as Pippin’s figure walked down the path to the little gate. Then he pulled forth the letter he had begun, and looked at it.  

“My dear liege and friend, Éomer King ,

Greetings from your knight and esquire, Holdwine of the Mark--and your friend Merry, as well!

I am more honoured than you can begin to imagine that you are seeking my advice on a matter like this.

You are a brave warrior, and you are courteous and kind and generous. I cannot but think that this Princess Lothí riel will fall in love with you if she spends much time with you. I can recall from our time in Minas Tirith the swooning glances you received from many a Gondorian maiden--and not merely because you were a king and a hero. In spite of the fact, that being a Man, you carry your extra hair upon your chin and not upon your feet, you seem to be regarded as a comely specimen of your race.

Merry put the letter back down on the desk, and dipped his quill into the inkwell once more. The best he could do, he supposed, was to recount his own courtship of Estella. He smiled to himself at the thought of her, and began to write.

Still, if you are concerned with catching her attention, you could do worse than to tell her stories…”

___________________________________________

Éomer stood at his window, and gazed down at a sleeping Edoras. He could not sleep. It was past midnight, and all was dark. He cast his eyes further, to the starlit plain spread before him, and he wondered. Where was she? The messenger said the party of Gondorians had set out at the same time he had, and he had arrived this very day.

But a single messenger riding in haste could make that journey in only four days--É omer knew very well that a larger company, consisting of not only riders, but wains and waggons as well, could take a good deal longer to travel that same distance. It had taken twenty days to reach Edoras when they had brought the body of his uncle home.

Today, his letter should have reached Meriadoc, if all had gone well. And if Merry answered as quickly as he hoped, he would soon have his answer. But would the answer come before Lothíriel arrived? It would be a very close thing--and all depended on his messenger riding with all the haste he could muster, with no delays or troubles on the way. Éomer knew better than to count on that.

He sighed deeply and gave a rueful chuckle. What would the men on his council think, or the warriors of his éored, if they knew that he was placing so much store by the advice of one little holbytla. They would think him foolish. Yet in matters of the heart, he thought, Merry would be very wise, and being in love himself, would understand his liege‘s desperation. His people seemed to understand such things so easily. He was sure he could trust Meriadoc’s counsel.

If only it would arrive in time.

 

 





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