Sorrows and Fears

"Ah! Just smell that, Mr. Frodo. I’ve sorely missed the smell of the wind blowin’ over open fields. Smells nigh onto the Shire in the summer." Sam drew another deep breath in through his nose, closing his eyes to help savor the aroma of the dew moistened earth. "Near to the Shire, but not quite as good soil as we have back home."

Frodo grinned and shook his head. He never could be as discerning in such matters as Sam was. An Elf of Lothlorien, riding near to the Ring Bearers nodded appreciatively.

"You have the soul of a gardener, Master Samwise, not merely the occupation, to be able to tell this so easily."

"Well," Sam blushed and stammered. "Well. All I can do is be honest on it and be givin’ the credit where it’s due. I’d know naught ‘bout nothin’ if it weren’t for my old Gaffer. Now he’s a born gardener and no questionin’ that."

"Then the son has inherited well from the father, I would say, and you are strong testimony to the quality of his tutorage." The Elf bowed his head before returning his gaze to the broad plains before them. Sam continued to blush.

It was the vast open plains of Rohan that had set Sam’s nose to twitching as the members of the Fellowship rode mingled amongst the company riding as escort to the body of Theoden son of Thengel, King of Rohan. Frodo and Sam rode near to King Elessar, Pippin rode with the knights of the High King. Gandalf on Shadowfax and Legolas with Gimli on Arod moved as they chose, sometimes with the company of Gondor, sometimes with the Elves of Lorien and Rivendell and sometimes with the host of Rohan. Sir Meriadoc Brandybuck, Hobbit of the Shire, Holdwine of the Mark, Esquire to King Theoden rode upon the wain which bore his liege lord’s body keeping watch over Theoden’s sword, shield and helm. The Riders of the Honor Guard did not speak, but Merry’s keen hearing enabled him to listen to the Men of the Riddermark riding nearby. They spoke of Theoden King as he was before the dark times of Grima Wormtongue. They spoke of the confident young man who had led his eored with both strength and kindness. They spoke of the man who had spent many hours listening to gardeners and apothecaries to learn all he could of herbs. When Merry heard this, he hid his face and wept as the procession made its slow somber way to Edoras.

For fifteen days they travelled thus, so that it was only in the evenings when they stopped to make their camp for the night that the hobbits were able to spend time together, Merry and Pippin being given leave by their respective lords to have this time free of duties and to share quarters with Frodo and Sam. Aragorn and Eomer had counseled together in this matter.

"Our friends are, in the nature of their kind, much recovered from the Quest of the Ring," Aragorn said. "Yet, I also know there lingers a great deal of pain, both of the body and of the spirit, though they show it not to us. I am concerned for troubling memories of their Great Journey being stirred during this journey homeward."

Eomer nodded. "The King’s passing has borne heavily on Merry. Though he has wept openly on occasion, for the most part he has held to the silence of the King’s honor guard. It will be to his benefit, I agree, to have time away from the company of Men to be with his kith and kin."

These concerns proved to be legitimate mostly in regard to Merry and Pippin as Frodo’s decision at Amon Hen had led him and Sam away from Rohan, not toward it. Rohan and Edoras held no memories at all for them. Merry’s thought’s during the silent ride on the wain were of the turbulent Ride of the Rohirrim taken along this self-same route, the dread of battle, the horrors of the Battle of the Pelennor Fields. Pippin too had ridden this road before. His ride upon Shadowfax was a hazy memory at best but one with terrors at its beginning; fear, loneliness and Denethor at its ending. Merry’s hardest times were during the day, riding in silence upon the funeral wain when there was little else to do but think. Pippin’s odd dreams had marred his sleep for a while and now they increased in frequency while gradually beginning to invade his waking hours.

So the last journey of King Theoden slowly progressed as July, as some call it, ended and August began. On the seventh of that month the escort arrived in Edoras and three days later Theoden son of Thengel, seventeenth King of Rohan was laid to rest in his barrow. Then the great hall of Meduseld was filled with feasting to remember well the King now passed and celebrate the King now come. Praises were drunk to Eomer, eighteenth King of Rohan and also to his sister, the Lady Eowyn, as she and Faramir, Prince of Ithilien were officially betrothed in the sight of all present. On the fourteenth day of August those travelling further north and west-ward took their leave of King Eomer. Meriadoc Brandybuck, Holdwine of the Mark bore away in his heart the bond of love and fealty he shared with his King and the White Lady of Rohan, along with a small silver horn. An heirloom of their House and the only gift he would accept.

The company went at a leisurely pace as they made their way to the Deeping Coomb and Helm’s Deep. It was now, with his responsibilities as a knight of the Riddermark and esquire to the fallen king no longer needed, that Merry had time to notice that his younger cousin seemed weary. Perhaps not to the eyes of other members of the Fellowship, they had become accustomed to the slightly more serious Sir Peregrin Took, Knight of Gondor. Pippin’s weariness would appear as attention to duty and rank to their friends. Perhaps not even Frodo and Sam would notice as they were with Gandalf, Legolas, Gimli and Aragorn much of the time while permission had been granted to Merry to ride with Pippin and the High King’s Guard. But his elder cousin did notice that Pippin would seem distracted as they rode along during the day. A strange look would come into his eyes, his brows would draw together ever so slightly as though he were uncomfortable or worried, but quickly all would pass and his eyes would be their usual bright clear green again.

In the evenings, Pippin seemed his usual high-spirited self, whether he and Merry were with Pippin’s fellow knights of Gondor, the Elves of Lorien and Rivendell or it was a small gathering of the Fellowship. But in the large elegant tent the hobbits shared for sleeping, it was a troubled Pippin who lay on the cot set between the canvas wall and Merry’s cot. Merry soon began to wonder if his restlessness was the reason for Pip’s choosing that spot for his cot, as far from Frodo as possible, fearing that his tossing about would wake their older cousin. It had been the part of the tent Pippin had claimed for his own starting with the first night out from Minas Tirith.

This day’s riding, as they neared Helm’s Deep, Pippin’s eyes had gone blank three times that Merry was aware of, as he had been trying to keep count the last day or so. The company spent the night in the mighty fortress and for reasons of his own Merry had requested he and Pip be given their own room, separate from Sam and Frodo. There were questions he felt needed asking.

Merry had long ago perfected the art of looking asleep when he wasn’t. This night, he quickly became sure of his guess about the location of Pip’s cot to Frodo’s while they had been in their pavilion. Now that their older cousin was completely out of the way, Pippin didn’t bother with lying there turning over and over like a sluggish mill wheel, he rose, checked that Merry was sleeping, then stole silently out of the room. A few hours later Pippin returned. Merry let the lad get settled in his bed.

"Up and . . ."

"What!" Pippin’s startled exclamation combined with rising, full bodied, a noticeable height off the bed was most rewarding. Merry sat up while calmly restating his question.

"Up and about rather a long while for a trip to the privy, weren’t you?"

Pippin now lay on his back with his right hand over his heart while his left raked through his tousled curls. "You. . ." he finally managed to say between panting breaths, "you were . . ." he drew in a slow deep breath, "you weren’t asleep."

"No."

"I can’t believe I still go for that." Pippin said, sighing out the deep breath he had just taken.

"What’s wrong, Pip?"

Pippin quit raking his hair and leaned up on his left elbow, the better to appraise his cousin’s expression. It was rather stoney he decided. "Well, there’s no taking the long road ‘round with you is there, Merry?"

"What’s wrong, Pip?"

"I’d a bit of indigestion and I . . ."

"I’m more than happy to keep asking till you can take no more of it, you know that, Peregrin Took. What’s wrong, Pip?"

The knight of Gondor’s eyes widened before he rolled forward to place his face in his hands. "I’m afraid." Whispered words, uttered in the voice of a small hobbit lad Merry had comforted more times than he could count. Merry knew to say nothing. In a few moments the soft voice came again from behind hands he saw were trembling.

"I’m afraid I shall find my way to . . . that part of the Great Smials that we were . . . that we aughtn’t have gone near. You remember. We left at such a run that we kept tripping . . . falling."

Merry held his breath.

"I think I’m going mad."

Merry’s breath left him as though it never meant to return, while his stomach clenched tightly. Of all the hobbits of the Shire and Buckland, madness was not spoken of lightly by the Tooks. They knew all too well . . . it ran in their blood.

Merry paused until his breath finally returned to him. He hoped the pause had not gone on so long that it further frightened his best friend. "What makes you say that, Pippin?" Calm; he forced his voice to stay calm.

"Dreams, Merry, strange dreams."

Merry tried not to chuckle with relief. "Well, we’ve all had plenty of those. As soon as everything had calmed down enough for us to really start thinking about all that had happened. Dreams aren’t . . ."

"They’ve started coming in the day light," Pip interjected. His face, noticeably pale even in the dim light of the small oil lamp, popped out from behind his hands. He sat up, legs dangling, feet nowhere near the floor as his whole body leaned forward with his earnestness. "We are riding along and . . . and . . ." The lad’s eyes took on a haunted, pleading look. "It’s suddenly as if I’m somewhere else. A flash, a mere moment of time, then I’m back, back on my pony, back next to you. But you’ve not noticed and you’ve kept on talking and I don’t understand because I’ve missed part of it." Pip gasped in a breath. "And it’s different, Merry, different from when I daydream or simply don’t listen." Merry felt glad that this last admission brought a short, faint grin to Pippin’s lips. "And there’s . . . there’s . . ." Pippin’s head drooped and Merry could barely hear him now. "There are people Merry . . . people I . . . I know can’t really be there, but I would swear that they are."

Pippin’s mind was flying as fast as the bird he was named for. Soaring. Spinning.

Plummeting.

How much should he say? How much could he bear admitting, even to his dear Merry? Pippin forced the words from his mouth.

"Your Mum, Merry. It . . ." He raised his eyes to look deeply into those of this friend whom he trusted above all others. "It has happened before, Merry. When I was little. Only a few times and I only spoke of it with her once." Pippin didn’t mention that his aunt had not questioned anything his young self had related, that she had seem to be expecting to hear his strange tale. "But . . ."

Merry waited but Pippin seemed to have frozen in mid-sentence. "But?" he eventually encouraged.

Pippin’s eyes slowly closed. "It happened a lot on the Quest. It seemed that whenever I was . . . whenever we were . . . really sorely frightened, that she was there with us."

"You mean you saw her with us?"

"Well . . . ah . . . no. I didn’t see her."

Merry was finding this all increasingly confusing and upsetting. Over and over his brain was repeating, "He’s not mad. He’s not going mad," but he was sounding less and less convincing to himself. "Then what, Pip?" he said aloud. "I don’t understand."

Slowly Pippin’s eyes opened. The wavering flame of the small lamp seemed caught in his eyes. Merry stared as the light glimmered in his cousin’s Took eyes. Green eyes. Merry’s mother’s eyes. A small memory stirred in Merry’s mind. In the midst of the Orc camp, when he and Pippin had been dropped near to one another, when their hands had touched, when a vicious kick had shoved Pippin against him, when Merry rubbed his chin gently against his young cousin’s head to comfort him: there had come to Merry a glimpse of his mother’s face and the scent of lilacs.

"She is with me, Merry. She is in my head, my heart; she is in my eyes. Seeing us. Watching over you."

The soft voice was Pippin’s. The soothing voice was Merry’s mother’s. The spell-binding voice was a stranger’s, melodic and clear.

"I don’t know how. I don’t know . . . She is there to help me. She is there to help us. Hearts bound together."

Merry was surrounded by the voice and the stars flashing and dancing in green eyes. Then without warning he was back in the stone walled bed chamber lit only by a small lamp, in a great fortress of Men with his cousin-brother sitting across from him, his strange green eyes now closed. For a while neither spoke.

"You aren’t mad, Pip," Merry whispered as he got out of his bed to sit beside Pippin. He pulled the lad into a hug, holding Pip’s head to his shoulder, running gentle fingers though the soft golden brown curls. "I don’t know what this is, but you aren’t mad." Merry thought again of their captivity, of somehow feeling his mother so near to him. "Not mad," he said hugging Pippin tighter and laying his cheek against Pippin’s head. "A Took. Not a mad one, mind you. Just a Took."

Pippin clung to his beloved cousin. "Thank you," he whispered.

Merry held Pippin till sleep over-took him, then laid him down, covered him snugly, kissed his forehead then climbed into his own bed and soon joined his cousin in sleep.