Chapter 14. Celebrating

Merry stood in the ranks of the knights of Rohan. He unsheathed his sword, a gift from Éomer to replace the one lost to the Dark Captain's demise, and joined the rest in calling out praise for the Ring-bearers. Frodo and Sam passed by, their eyes shining with wonder and their faces flushed, too bewildered by the spectacle even to notice Merry and Pippin in the ranks.

Merry grinned as Frodo recognized Strider and ran to meet him, Sam close behind. He nodded in quiet satisfaction as the Man bowed on his knee before them, took them by the hand, said a few quiet words, led them to the throne and placed them upon it. Merry joined the rest in the shout of acclamation, then quieted to hear a minstrel sing the tale of the Quest, and he wept and he laughed with the great host at the telling of the tale. He had heard bits and pieces of it, of course, from Gandalf, who was not so close as he had been, and Legolas and Gimli, who’d been there when the Eagles had landed, and of course he’d lived a good bit of the tale himself, before the Company was broken at Parth Galen. But now, to hear the tale from beginning to end, and all in order; to know what Frodo and his faithful Sam had encountered, surmounted somehow: Black Riders, Orcs...

Merry found himself shuddering, his hands icy cold, when suddenly a large, warm hand rested on his shoulder, gave a gentle squeeze, and remained, a reminder of life and warmth. Merry swallowed hard, nodded to himself, stood a little straighter, but the hand remained a moment or two more, steadying him. He glanced, up and a little behind him, to see Éomer, his face a study in concentration, brow furrowed with concern as the Ring-bearer collapsed, in the story, unable to go on, and his companion took him up in his arms and made to carry him.

Merry wept, and saw tears on the faces of the other warriors surrounding the throne, and his rage at Gollum’s sudden treachery was reflected in the faces he saw, and looking at the figures on the throne, he saw that Frodo had taken Sam’s hand, holding it tight through this last part of the tale, where they stood upon the flanks of Doom itself and the world trembled.

A great sigh went up as the Ring went into the Fire, and Merry realised only then how tense he’d stood, how he’d held his breath at the last, long enough to make his head swim. He drew deep breaths as Gandalf, in the song, called to the Eagles; they leapt into the sky, they flew on the wings of the gale, swooping up the heroes of the tale, snatching them from the burning jaws of death even as the Mountain split itself in terrible throes, vomiting a river of fire to devour everything in its path.

He drew deep breaths of the fresh, green air of Ithilien as the tale concluded and the minstrel bowed before the hobbits on the throne, offering his instrument before him, in homage, as if, once such a tale had been played and sung, the harp could never play again any lesser song.

But Frodo shook his head, put out a hand to touch the minstrel’s, nodded, and said something—Merry heard nothing of the low, quiet words, but the minstrel blinked away tears, smiled, bowed his head a moment, and then rose, dismissed by Aragorn to attend the feast.

Pippin joined Merry briefly as they walked to the pavilions made ready for the feasting. 'Did you hear what he called us?' the younger hobbit said mischievously. 'We are Greathearts of the Shire.'

'I think he was talking about Frodo and Sam,' Merry answered.

'I thought he'd never finish,' Pippin continued. 'I'm about to drop from hunger.'

'Well you don't get to eat quite yet, you have to serve the king, you know.'

'What, Strider?' Pippin cried. 'He's served himself for so long I don't think he knows how to be served.'

Merry smiled. 'He is a Man of many talents,' he said. 'Don't underestimate him.'

'Don't make me nervous, now, cousin,' Pippin warned, 'or I'm likely to drop his wine cup in his lap, and then where would I be?'

'Off on patrol to hunt Orcs, I suppose,' Merry answered.

'Huh. Sounds a lot more diverting, somehow. It would be nice to be the hunter instead of the hunted, for a change.'

'Shhh. It's time for the Standing Silence,' Merry hissed.

For a wonder, Pippin was able to stand a moment without speaking, then nodding to his cousin with great dignity, he took his place behind Aragorn's chair as Merry moved to stand behind Éomer's.

Merry heard Sam's voice raised, calling Frodo's attention to them. 'Well if it isn't Pippin. Mr Peregrin Took I should say, and Mr Merry!' Merry met his wondering gaze and gave a little bow. 'How they have grown!' Sam continued. 'Bless me! But I can see there's more tales to tell than ours.'

Pippin gave Merry a wink and turned to Sam. 'There are indeed,' he said, 'and we'll be telling them as soon as this feast is ended.' He suggested, with mischief in his eye, that Sam should ask Gandalf if he wanted to hear any tales at that moment, 'though he laughs now more than he talks,' Pippin concluded, and Gandalf fulfilled his words at that moment with a merry, ringing laugh.

'Peregrin...' the wizard began, shaking his head, but decided instead to laugh again.

'See?' Pippin said. He neatly filled Aragorn's wine cup and presented it gracefully to the king. 'For the present Merry and I are busy. We are knights of the City and of the Mark, as I hope you observe.' Belatedly recalled to his duties, Merry filled Éomer's wine cup and made sure the king's plate was filled.

'And now, Sir Meriadoc, I am well served,' Éomer said, 'and I order you as your king to take your seat beside me and partake of the feast.'

'Who am I to disobey my king?' Merry asked, and Éomer laughed. Aragorn had seated Pippin beside him, Merry noted, and his famished cousin had managed not to drop from hunger, or spill wine all over his charge for all his threats.

After the feast had ended, Merry and Pippin walked with Frodo and Sam under the trees until they came to a quiet place where lanterns hung from branches, and the white Moon flickered through the fluttering leaves. They sat there on the grass, breathing the fragrance of Ithilien and talking. Gandalf joined them there soon, and after a while Legolas and Gimli found them, and they talked long into the night of all that had befallen the Fellowship since their parting.

Sam scratched his head, looking bewildered. 'It sounds as if you've taken a book of fairy tales and mixed up all the pages, and then jumped into the story,' he said. 'I can't make heads nor tails of it.' He eyed Pippin again. 'But what I'd really like to know is how you got to be so tall, young Mr Pippin!'

'We've told you already, twice or four times, perhaps,' Pippin answered laughing. 'It was the Ent-draughts.'

Sam shook his head. 'Walking trees,' he muttered. 'It just don't sound possible.' He looked up sharply. 'You're putting me on, Mr Pippin, it's one of your jokes, it has to be! I'm a gardener, I know well enough about trees.'

Pippin laughed helplessly. 'He'll never believe us, Merry,' he said. 'We're just going to have to take him there, and let him see for himself.'

Gimli gave a shudder. 'Believe them, lad,' he said. 'And leave your hatchet at home when you go to visit!'

They could have talked through the night and well into the next day but for Gandalf, who rose finally, to call an end to the evening. Not unkindly, the wizard said, 'It is now time to sleep again,' peering from under his bushy eyebrows at Sam and Frodo.

Merry got up. 'I'll walk you to your beds,' he said, 'seeing as my own bed is set near yours.'

Gimli growled at Pippin that it was well past time for him to seek his own bed. When Frodo heard the dwarf tell how near death had come to his young cousin, he threw his arms around Pippin and held him tight for a moment. 'I had no idea,' he said soberly.

'It would take more than a troll to finish me,' Pippin said reassuringly.

The dwarf snorted. 'Come then, young hobbit,' he said. 'I'll escort you to your rest, to make sure you don't go astray and end up where the guardsmen are pouring more ale.' The other hobbits laughed as he took Pippin firmly by the arm and led him away.

Legolas took his leave, and the hobbits stood a moment to hear the elf as he went singing down the hill.

Frodo sighed. 'What is it, cousin?' Merry asked in concern.

'It is sad to think of all the Fair Folk leaving Middle Earth and sailing away,' Frodo answered. 'Seeing the friendship that has grown between those two, I wonder what Gimli will do when Legolas finally seeks the Sea.'

'Well, perhaps he will stay for another hundred years of Men, as he said,' answered practical Sam. 'He might stay until he loses Gimli, at least, and by then it won't matter to us if he goes or if he stays, now will it? Dwarves live a lot longer than hobbits do.'

Frodo shook his head and smiled. 'Come, Sam,' he said. 'I think we had better look to our beds before Gandalf comes back and shortens our lives further with a scolding.'

Arm in arm, the three hobbits walked back to the grove. Merry was relieved to find no healers on watch. He saw Frodo and Sam to their beds himself.

Gandalf's estimate of their energy had proven accurate; when they reached the grove Sam and Frodo were more than ready to stretch out on their beds, and were asleep as soon as their heads touched their pillows. Merry pulled up the covers over the two, and softly bade them good night, though he doubted they heard. He looked down upon them for a long time, then sought his own bed, falling quickly into dreamless sleep.