A ROHAN TAPESTRY

Chapter Three:  The Black Breath

“Already he had come close under the Shadow before ever he rode to battle.”  Aragorn, ‘The Houses of Healing’, The Return of the King

“Éomer King...” Éomer looked up as one of the Rohirrim stepped inside the tent where he had been discussing Rohirric wedding customs with Faramir.  “You asked to be informed if any of the guests were in need...”

“What has happened?” Éomer asked quickly.

“The sons of Lord Elrond were seen carrying two of the holbytla into the feast hall.”

“Are they hurt?” Éomer asked, getting to his feet.

“I do not know, my lord,” the man said apologetically.  “I know only that it was Sir Meriadoc and the Ringbearer, Master Frodo.  They--”  He stepped aside quickly as both Éomer and Faramir rushed past him.

Éomer didn’t say a single word all the way to the spacious room that had been set aside for the hobbits, but Faramir could tell he was very upset.

“Really, Frodo,” Pippin was saying teasingly as they entered the room, “just because Merry is now tall as an oliphaunt and heavy as a troll, you still should have been able to carry him all the way up here.”

“I tried,” Frodo said, trying to see around Elladan to where Merry lay on one of the beds.  “Elrohir, how is he?  Is he awake?”

“Frodo,” Éomer said urgently, coming to the hobbit’s bedside, “tell me what happened.  Did someone offer insult to you, or Merry?”  Frodo sat up, alarmed at the intensity of the Man’s gaze and voice.  “Are you injured?”  Éomer continued.  “I will not have any of my guests treated without honor, or given cause to--”

“Éomer, no one harmed us, I swear it,” Frodo assured him.  “We’ve been shown nothing but respect and friendship.”

Éomer looked into Frodo’s clear blue eyes, and saw there nothing but truth.  He sighed, and visibly relaxed.  He had not wished one of his first acts as king to be punishment for one of his people.

“I am sorry if I frightened you,” he said, his voice more gentle.  “Has Merry taken ill?”

“I’m not certain what it is,” Frodo replied.  “He’s been very quiet since entering the city, and hasn’t been eating well.  This morning I found him sitting by your uncle’s barrow, and he started to...” Frodo frowned.  “He started saying strange things, and seems to be fevered.  But his right arm is very cold.  Elladan and Elrohir found us.  Elladan, you don’t need to... ohhh, that feels wonderful,” he sighed as Elladan began rubbing his sore feet.

Frodo had carried his cousin nearly half the distance up the steep path when Elladan and Elrohir spotted the two hobbits, alarmed by Frodo’s flushed face and Merry’s pallor.  Frodo had been a bit embarrassed over being carried the rest of the way, but was too out of breath – and worried about Merry – to protest.

“You will be fine, Frodo,” Elladan smiled.  “I suggest that you stay out of the sun for the rest of the day.”

Sam stopped pacing around the room like a caged Warg long enough to glare at his master.

“He will.”

“And try not to walk about too much.”

"He won't.”

“I won’t,” Frodo echoed.  “But what about--”

“Elladan,” Elrohir said quietly from where he sat by Merry, “would you find Aragorn, and tell him that he is needed?”

“What’s wrong with Merry?” Pippin burst out.  “Is it like... before, when he stabbed that wraith?

“Pippin, what are you talking about?” Frodo asked.  “Is there something you and Merry didn’t tell me about what happened after he stabbed the Witch King?”

“Of course there is,” Pippin said matter-of-factly.  “There are lots of things we haven’t had time to tell you yet.”

His face grave, Faramir knelt by Merry’s bed and took the hobbit’s right hand in his large, warm one.  As Frodo had said, it felt icy cold.  Merry tossed restlessly in what appeared to be a fevered dream.

“Do not lose your way in the darkness, my friend,” Faramir said softly, tucking a blanket around the hobbit.

“Darkness?” Frodo asked anxiously. “Pippin, I think it's time to tell me what happened.”

*~*~*~*~*

When Elladan returned with Aragorn, they found Faramir, Éomer, and the three hobbits deep in discussion.  Elrohir remained at Merry’s side.

“His rest is more peaceful now,” Elrohir said to Aragorn.  “I did what I could.”

“Aragorn, do you still have any of that athelas?” Frodo asked hopefully.  “From what Pippin and Faramir have told us, I think Merry might need it again.”

“I now know much about that plant, Frodo,” Éomer said before Aragorn could reply.  “I have not seen it growing within the borders of Rohan.”

“That will be soon amended,” Aragorn said.  He took Elrohir’s place next to Merry and gazed down at the hobbit, concerned.  “I will see to it that athelas is planted wherever Men ride, or hobbits abide.”

“Can you do something, Strider?” Pippin pleaded.  “Didn’t you heal him, back in Minas Tirith?”

“I helped Merry find his way back to us,” Aragorn said.  “Healing, Pippin, is a process that takes time.”  He frowned in concentration.  “There is great sadness and loss within him.”

“He said... at Théoden’s barrow, he said everyone always tries to leave him,” Frodo murmured, his eyes filling with tears.  “I didn’t know then what he meant, but maybe I do now.”

“Tell me,” Aragorn said.

“We’ve all been talking,” Frodo continued.  “We think that...”  He stopped as Merry opened his eyes.

“What am I doing here?” Merry asked faintly.  “I’m cold...”

Frodo started to go to his cousin, but one look at Sam’s face stopped him.

“Faramir, would you...” Frodo looked up beseechingly, and Faramir smiled and lifted him from his bed onto Merry’s.  With Aragorn’s help, Frodo gathered up his cousin’s blanket-wrapped form and held him close.

Merry looked up at Frodo, seeming not to notice anyone else in the room.  “Are you going to leave me again?” he asked plaintively.

“I’m right here,” Frodo said reassuringly. “Keep talking, Merry,” he encouraged.

“You...” Merry’s eyes filled with tears.  “You went to live with Bilbo.  And then you would have left us at Crickhollow, and Rivendell, and... and then Gandalf took Pippin away, and...”

Pippin started to say something, but Frodo shot him a warning glance.  At least Merry was finally talking, even if it had taken this strange illness to at last let it happen.

“Théoden tried to leave me behind,” Merry sobbed, “and then he was killed, and I couldn’t stop it.  I... it was so dark and cold...”

“Pippin found you again,” Frodo said soothingly.  “And Gandalf found Sam and me, and we’re all back together again.  We’re here, Merry.  We’re all here.”

Merry suddenly started to cry uncontrollably, shaking in Frodo’s arms.

“This is what he needs most to heal,” Aragorn said.

“The wraiths were near him five times, you know,” Pippin said worriedly.

“Five?” Elladan frowned.

“The first time was in Bree,” Pippin said, “and then Weathertop, and on the river when they came at us, and one flew over us on its way to Isengard, and then outside the City when he...”  He stopped for breath.

“That is a great deal of exposure to the Black Breath – the Enemy’s greatest weapon,” Aragorn said.  “Such subtle poison can take root within even the most courageous man – or hobbit – and make its presence known when we least expect it.  Perhaps the feelings of despair it planted had the power to haunt Merry still, bringing hurts old and new to the surface during the funeral of one he held dear.”

“Yes,” Frodo said.  “That's what we were talking about when you came in.”  He rocked his cousin gently, as with a child.  “It’s all right, Mer.  It’s all right.  You’ve been so very brave.  When is the last time you really let yourself cry, you silly hobbit?”

Finally Merry’s sobs gave way to small sniffles, and he looked around, becoming more aware of his surroundings.  Frodo pushed a finely-made pocket-handkerchief into his hand.

“Where did you get that, Mr. Frodo?” Sam asked curiously.

“It is one of mine,” Éomer said, his eyes twinkling.  He winked at Frodo.  “The people of Rohan may not have many books, but we do have a few civilized comforts.”

“It’s all right to grieve, Merry,” Pippin said.  He climbed up on the bed to sit next to his cousin.  “We just don’t want you to get lost in the process, or stop talking to us.  Or stop eating,” he added fervently.

“I know,” Merry whispered.  “Théoden wouldn’t want that.” 

“Indeed, he would not,” Éomer agreed, coming to stand by the bed.  “And always remember, my dear friend, that Théoden King did not abandon you.  He is right here.”  He touched his hand to Merry’s heart, and then his own. “Sir Meriadoc, you swore fealty to my uncle, and the love you feel honors him, and me, and all of Rohan.  I name you Holdwine of the Mark, friend and citizen of this land in full freedom and privilege.”

“Thank you,” Merry said.  He felt very tired, and still cold, but... lighter, somehow. 

“Holdwine?” Pippin asked.

“It means ‘loyal friend’,” Frodo said.

“The Mark?”

“Perhaps the rest of your questions can wait until later,” Aragorn smiled.  He felt Merry's brow, which was still warm, then lay a gentle hand on one of Frodo's feet.  “Your cousins need to rest.”

“They will,” Sam and Pippin said as one.

** TBC **