Chapter 4. Someone As You Can Trust

‘How about another glass of wine?’ Pippin said in too bright a voice, and Frodo, peering at him closely, saw that his younger cousin’s eyes, in the lantern light, shone with unshed tears.

‘I think you’ve had enough, young hobbit,’ Gimli rumbled.

‘I meant, for Frodo here,’ Pippin said.

‘I’m fine,’ Frodo said, squeezing Pippin’s shoulder gently. But it was the wrong move to make, evidently, for the youngest hobbit could not suppress a yelp.

‘Pippin?’ Frodo said in alarm. ‘What is it?’

‘Nothing, nothing at all,’ Pippin babbled. ‘Caught me on a ticklish spot, that’s all, and...’

Gimli grabbed Gandalf’s half-full wineglass from the wizard’s hand and practically shoved it into Pippin’s face. ‘Drink up,’ he said.

Frodo’s eyebrows rose at this reversal, but then looking to Merry he surprised a terrible expression on his Brandybuck cousin’s face. Merry was gazing at Pippin in the same way as on a long-ago day, when he’d braved the icy Brandywine to haul Pippin from the waters’ dreadful grip after a boat capsized. The lad had been blue, and not breathing, when Merry reached the shore with him, and though they’d piled blankets around Merry and tried to force him away, to the Hall, to a hot bath and hot drinks, he’d refused to leave Pippin’s side while his Uncle Merimac kept working over the little lad. Merry had stood there, that same expression on his face, until Pippin had coughed, and vomited water, and spluttered, and finally, breathed.

‘What is it you’re remembering, Merry?’ Frodo said softly.

Merry gave a start, drew a shaking breath, and tried to smile.

‘I left him in your charge, just as...’ Frodo went on, his brow furrowing with thought. Just as that day, so long ago, when he was pleading with us to take him fishing, and I had a cold and wanted to curl up with a book, and so I left him in your charge. You took your eyes off him, and... ‘I left him in your charge,’ he said again, ‘and you nearly lost him, did you? I know that look too well.’

Imagine his astonishment to look over at Pippin, to surprise a mirror of Merry’s look. ‘Don’t tell me,’ he said faintly, pinning Pippin with a steely gaze. ‘You nearly lost him as well.’

‘Really, Frodo,’ Pippin protested, his face immediately assuming the bland and innocent expression he used when he didn’t want his cousins to know what mischief he’d been making. ‘I don’t know where you get such an idea...’

‘Perhaps it’s because he can read either of us like one of his beloved books,’ Merry said in his driest tone.

‘Orcs killed Boromir,’ Frodo said suddenly, so suddenly that both younger cousins jumped, which made Pippin yelp again, albeit softly. ‘And they took you prisoner, I think, or you would have told me.’

‘Now you’re making less sense than I do, most of the time,’ Pippin protested weakly.

‘I’m making perfect sense,’ Frodo contradicted. ‘Orcs took you prisoner, and they were bringing you to their Master...’ He frowned, thinking on the maps he’d perused with Elrond and Gandalf. ‘But not to Mordor,’ he said slowly, ‘for Fangorn lies in another direction entirely from Parth Galen.’

Pippin and Merry exchanged glances. It appeared that they didn’t need to do any explaining, at the moment. Frodo was working it out for himself.

‘They were taking you to... Isengard?’ Frodo said. ‘That’s right,’ he said, looking to Gandalf. ‘Saruman had turned against the West. He hoped to get the Ring for himself, isn’t that right? And he had Orcs?’

‘He did,’ Gandalf said quietly. He’d poured himself another glass of wine, and now he sipped from it, and peered into its depths as if he hoped to find some answer to Saruman’s perfidy there.

‘But then the Riders of Rohan attacked,’ Frodo said, gaining momentum, ‘and... and they wouldn’t “know a hobbit from a hole in the ground”, as you so quaintly put it, Merry, and so you crept into Fangorn, that we were specifically warned against, thinking it the best of a bad choice, and met...’

‘Ents!’ Sam said in triumph, before his face wrinkled with puzzlement, and he scratched his head. ‘Though I’m blamed if I know what Ents are, and what they have to do with the two of you being taller than you ought.’

‘But that doesn’t explain how I nearly lost the two of you,’ Frodo said, returning to the uncomfortable part. ‘The Ents sound particularly pleasant and hospitable, what little you’ve told of them, and they marched on Isengard, as you said, so they are allies...’

‘Perhaps it has something to do with the troll,’ Sam said brightly, having just finished a man-sized glass of wine. Nearly everyone there stiffened.

‘Troll?’ Frodo said slowly, standing to his feet to gaze down at Pippin.

‘Gimli said something about a troll, a little while ago,’ Sam said, not quite so bright now, for he sensed he’d put his foot in it, though he hadn’t a clue how or why. ‘Trolls—trolls are a dangerous lot...’ he fumbled.

‘Was there a troll, Gimli?’ Frodo said.

The Dwarf hemmed and hawed, but finally he allowed as there had been a troll in the battle, more than one actually, a whole company of the fell beasts as a matter of fact, and...

‘And you were in this particular battle, Merry?’ Frodo said, turning a cold gaze on the Brandybuck.

‘No,’ Merry said with a thankful sigh for the fact that he could be truthful and did not need to evade Frodo’s question, at least at the moment. ‘No, I sat that one out.’

But Frodo wasn’t finished with him yet. ‘That one,’ he said significantly. ‘Ah-hah. I’ll deal with you presently.’ He turned to Pippin. ‘And you were in this particular battle, Pip?’

‘As a matter of fact, I was,’ Pippin said. ‘But I was out of it pretty early, and rather well protected against flying arrows and hewing axes and swords and...’

Gimli gave a snort at this, and Frodo turned to him. ‘Well?’ he said. ‘You have some light to shed on the matter?’

‘If you can call it protection,’ Gimli said stiffly. ‘I mean, you could, I suppose. Something like being struck by lightning makes one worry less about the rain.’

‘You’re not helping,’ Frodo said. ‘You might think that you are, but I’m sorry to inform you, that you are not.’

‘He’s not supposed to be,’ Legolas said lightly, and tapped Gandalf on the shoulder. ‘Save a little of that for me?’

The wizard emptied the bottle into his glass and held it up to the Wood Elf.

‘He’s not supposed to be?’ Frodo said.

Legolas laughed. ‘Look at you! Elves, having all the time in the world, are more straightforward in their discussion than you all are proving to be! Gandalf, how long are you going to allow...’

‘We were doing quite well, until you interfered,’ Gimli harrumphed, and stung at being compared to “Elves”, he added, turning to Frodo, ‘A hill troll fell on the lad, well, the lad slew the troll, actually, saving a life or three in the process, and that’s the long and the short of it! He was buried until I hauled the troll off him, and squashed flatter than a spider after a lass has finished screaming and taken action...’

‘I’m well!’ Pippin protested, rather ineffectually, considering the circumstances.

‘Well I’m glad we’ve cleared all that up,’ Frodo said, dusting his hands of the matter. Yes, he was shocked that a troll had fallen on Pippin, but no, he really hadn’t had time to absorb the information. Later on that night the realisation would waken him from a sound sleep, and he’d sit bolt upright, exclaiming, “Pippin!” and would have to be soothed back to sleep by a startled Aragorn. But for the moment he had other fish to fry.

‘And so, Merry,’ he said, ‘you weren’t in “that” particular battle, the one with the trolls, I mean.’

‘No, he was in the battle with Oliphaunts,’ Legolas put in helpfully.

‘Oliphaunts! I’d dearly love to see an Oliphaunt!’ Sam exclaimed.

‘Not these Oliphaunts, you wouldn’t,’ Pippin muttered darkly.

‘You were in the “Oliphaunt battle” as well?’ Frodo said in an ominous tone. ‘Just how many battles...?’

‘I’ve lost count by now,’ Pippin said in his most careless manner. ‘But I wasn’t in the Oliphaunt Battle, not really. I was safe behind the walls of Minas Tirith at the time, and the battle was out on the plain. Glorious battle it was, too, all those banners and horns and things, though I missed seeing the best part because...’

‘Merry!’ Frodo said, interrupting this stream of reminiscence. Merry jumped again, and stood at attention. ‘Merry,’ Frodo said in a gentler tone, and he went to Merry’s side, and put an arm about his younger cousin’s shoulders, though he had to rather reach up to do so. ‘Tell me about the battle, or battles, however many it might have been, where Pippin nearly lost you’

‘I cannot,’ Merry said, and he swallowed hard, and opened his mouth, and for a moment no further sound came out. At last he managed to rasp, ‘Please, Frodo.’

‘You cannot remember?’ Frodo said, brushing a hand across the scar on Merry’s forehead, a scar that had not been there, the last time he’d seen his cousin, half a Quest ago.

But Merry fought back a sob, and then he buried his face in Frodo’s shoulder, and Frodo put both arms around Merry and hugged him tightly, revelling in the feeling he thought he’d never know again. ‘Merry,’ he whispered. ‘All is well, Merry. Steady on, lad.’

‘He cannot... tell you,’ Pippin said in a hollow tone, and his expression was bleak, and an echo of some remembered hoplessness.

‘But I can,’ Gandalf said, patting the youngest of the hobbits on the shoulder.

‘Please, no,’ Merry sobbed against Frodo’s shoulder.

‘You see, Frodo,’ Gandalf said, quite as if he were a kindly old grandfather, recounting the deeds of a young hobbit on the playing field, ‘Merry faced a terrible foe on the field of battle, and though terrified, he kept his wits about him...’

‘She should not die alone, unaided,’ Merry whispered, ‘so fair, so desperate...’

‘Merry,’ Frodo hushed, stroking and soothing the younger cousin’s back. ‘Hush.’

Pippin struggled upright, somehow gained his feet with only a little steadying from Gandalf on the one side and Gimli on the other, and he tottered forward, to envelop Frodo and Merry in his embrace. ‘He killed the Witch King, Frodo.’

‘I didn’t,’ Merry shook his head. In the meantime, Frodo was standing still, feeling rather as if he'd been struck by lightning.

‘O yes you did, Merry!’ Pippin said, nodding vigorously. ‘Good as, anyhow. You and Eowyn between you, the two of you killed him! He and the rest of his evil kind are banished from the world—the others were destroyed when the Ring went into the Fire, but you destroyed the Witch King first!’

‘You did that, Merry?’ Frodo said, putting his cousin back, resting a gentle hand under Merry’s chin and lifting, until Merry was forced to look into his eyes. ‘You... you killed the Witch King?’ And while it is true that he grasped what was said, in that moment, and was seized with wonder and dread, it wouldn't really hit him, not really, until somewhere between middle night and morning, some time after being soothed to sleep by Aragorn, when he would sit up suddenly, exclaiming, "Merry!" ...and have to be soothed to sleep again, before he should waken Samwise.

‘He nearly died of it,’ Pippin said, tears coming to his own eyes, ‘but Strider saved him... “The hands of the King are healing hands” as they say in Minas Tirith.’

‘I’m sorry, Frodo,’ Merry whispered, tears still spilling from his eyes.

‘Sorry!’ Frodo said, startled.

‘We never should have kept it from you,’ Merry said. ‘We just thought...’

‘...and knowing what you’d been through, and...’ Pippin added.

‘And I’m so proud of you both,’ Frodo said, his eyes shining, and then he was gathering his cousins close for another long and heart-felt hug, though he slightened the grip of the arm holding Pippin when he felt the youngest cousin stiffen. A Troll!

Sam broke the silence, after the three cousins had embraced long and silently, and put one another away, and were gazing from one to another in amazement to find themselves alive, and whole (relatively, anyhow), and in this place, after all that had happened.

‘Yes, Samwise?’ Frodo said, turning his head at hearing the gardener clear his throat.

‘I was just wondering,’ Sam said.

‘What were you wondering, Sam?’ Frodo said. He could think of any number of things that bore wondering, at the moment.

‘I was just wondering,’ Sam said again, and stopped.

‘Yes, Sam?’ Pippin and Merry said together.

‘Well, you see,’ Sam said.

‘Did you want another glass of wine, Sam?’ Frodo said. ‘Gandalf, is there any more of that wine?’

‘I was just wondering,’ Sam said, ‘how a draught, of all things, could make a body taller than he ought to be?’ He scratched his head, looking from Merry to Pippin and back again. ‘Can’t understand it at your age!’ he said. ‘But there it is: You’re three inches taller than you ought to be, or I’m a dwarf.’

***

A/N: A small bit was borrowed from “The Field of Cormallen”, from The Return of the King by J.R.R. Tolkien, from which the rest of this story was spun, and chapter titles come from a few turns of phrase in “A Conspiracy Unmasked”, from The Fellowship of the Ring, also by J.R.R. Tolkien.