Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings is the property of JRR Tolkien, his family, New Line Cinema, etc. Not me (unfortunately). I am making absolutely no profit from using the great master’s wonderful characters.

Credit: www.Tuckborough.net

A Familial Bond

Minas Tirith

On the third day after the crowning of Gondor‘s long-awaited King, Meriadoc Brandybuck left Frodo in Gandalf’s illustrious company and exited the sixth-level apartments intent on meeting Pippin, who would soon be finished his duties as Guard of the Citadel for the day. It would have been an easy enough matter to remain in the house and continue his exploration of the extensive property and its gardens, but it was no fun to do so alone and he was feeling restless. Frodo and Sam were happy enough to remain on the lower level of the property in one of its many reception rooms, or in the large walled garden (which would at some point know the ministrations of an eager hobbit gardener, no doubt) and only rose above it when Nature demanded that they take their evening’s rest, but he enjoyed investigating the higher levels and all the mysteries it contained.

Frodo.

A brief cloud passed over Merry’s face as he paused at the front door. He threw a brief glance behind him in the direction of the rear of the house, but he could not see Frodo sitting in the garden from here, nor hear his soft, musical voice as he spoke quietly with Gandalf.

His cousin was improving after his ordeals during the quest, but Merry knew it was going to be a long, painful process before he would ever be the carefree, happy hobbit he had known as a lad.

If he ever fully recovered at all.

Sighing, Merry shook his heads to dispel the cloud of concern and decided he was being silly. Frodo was alive, safe and recovering nicely. He had been through a great ordeal of late, but his cousin was strong and determined. If anyone could defy the odds and rally again, it was a Baggins - and this Baggins in particular!

That was enough to cheer him up, so he exited the building into the warm afternoon sunshine and walked down the path before turning right and passing the stables a few minutes later. He passed several people leaving the stables with their horses and all offered the hobbit a friendly wave or a few awed glances (which made him smirk). Most Gondorians had never seen a hobbit before, but some were familiar with his kind after Pippin’s previous stay within the City walls and he was keen to let them know he could be every bit as affable and charming as his younger cousin.

More so, actually. He was a Brandybuck after all and it would not do to be outshone by a Took - even if he was family.

Grinning to himself, Merry entered the sloping tunnel and moved upwards, nodding at the guards as he approached the Citadel-gate. After a few pleasantries, he gave the password and they allowed him access to the upper level. He passed through the gate to the Court of the Fountain and crossed the paved surface before halting near the withered White Tree of Gondor. The nearest guard threw him a brief, assessing glare before resuming his stony gaze across the Citadel wall and Merry stifled a smile, assuming that he had just been judged as posing no threat to the dead symbol the tall man guarded so jealously.

Merry remained standing for a few seconds more, debating whether he should search the Towers encircling the Citadel for his cousin or not. But a quick glance at the sombre-faced guard a few feet in front of him convinced him that it may be considered impolitic to distract Pippin at his post, even in the final few minutes of his duties. He sighed. He really did not want to return to the house after coming all the way up to the seventh level. But if he stayed where he was much longer, the imposing guard (who was squinting suspiciously in his direction again) might change his mind about the threat the hobbit posed and decide to attack first and ask questions later.

Not that he would have difficulty disposing of one (very tall) Guard of the Citadel! After all, had he not helped to despatch a Nazgûl - and the deadliest one of them all at that?

Of course not! One guard did not give Meriadoc Brandybuck cause for alarm.

But the other three might…

Deciding to forego unnecessary confrontation, Merry turned on his heel and walked towards the stone wall enclosing the highest level of the City. He would enjoy the afternoon sun and while away the minutes waiting for Pippin there, for his cousin could not fail to see him when he made his way from whichever Tower he currently occupied to the Citadel-gate. After Pip’s duties were complete, perhaps he could encourage him to take a jaunt down to the lower levels. There were several drinking establishments within Minas Tirith and some of the lesser damaged ones had reopened for business. It was his duty as a friend of the King to investigate whether or not they were fit for trade…

And his duty as a hobbit to sample the foreign ales they contained, too. How would he know which to recommend to Frodo and Sam otherwise when they finally decided to explore the City?

Pleased with his unfailing logic, he leaned against the short (for men) wall and let his gaze wander across the Pelennor. Much had been done to clear the wide expanse of the destruction it had known so many weeks before when Sauron’s host had made its attempt to raze Minas Tirith to the ground, although it would be some time yet before the area was carpeted in the emerald green grass it had once boasted. Rain had washed away the blood and ash weeks ago, but some areas were still rough and scorched from both masonry which had been hurled from the City itself into the belly of the Enemy and fires which had burned in the enemy camp. Patches of newborn green were evident across the fields and they would spread quickly as Spring progressed, but, for Merry, it was still a pock-marked, scarred reminder of the recent battle.

There were, scattered across the fields, small groups of soldiers and ordinary Gondorian citizens valiantly attempting to fill the remaining craters with earth and smooth them over, so that - one day - the Pelennor might be fit to lay at the foot of their City again. The bodies of friendly forces had been returned to family for burial, the dead Men from the East had been buried in several mass graves. Only the orcs, trolls, and any other evil beasts from Mordor had been burned far away from the City walls, although Merry imagined at times he could still smell their lingering stench in the air.

This was one of those times.

He wrinkled his nose in disgust and chided himself for being so fanciful as his gaze slipped across the Pelennor, searching for the spot where the Witchking had met his doom. It would be impossible to pinpoint it from such a distance, but he could not stop his visual wanderings. It was almost as if he needed to reassure himself that the despicable being had, indeed, perished beyond recovery - that he would never return to haunt more than the hobbit‘s dreams. As if sensing his morose intent, Merry’s right arm gave a twinge of protest and he rubbed it absently.

Attempting to lift his sudden descent into the doldrums, he raised his eyes and looked beyond the Pelennor to where the Anduin flowed passed the City on its way to the Bay of Belfalas. The once-great city of Osgiliath was visible to the far left and he recalled that Boromir had fought there with his brother, managing to cast down the bridge which joined the two halves of the former capital and prevent the advance of Sauron’s forces into their lands. But eventually - inevitably - the Enemy had found their way across, and the beauty that Osgiliath once boasted had been defiled by their destructive presence.

A pang of sorrow hit him at the memory of his dead friend. How he missed Boromir! How he wished that he could have known the joy of their ultimate victory over the evil which had threatened his home for so long - an evil Boromir had long fought against.

But Boromir would never know that victory now. The Enemy had killed him in the end as he fought to save Merry and Pippin. The Enemy had deceived his father and precipitated Denethor’s spiral into madness before he killed himself and tried to kill his remaining son.

Uneasy at the course his thoughts were taking, Merry shook himself from his reverie and ripped his gaze from the distant Osgiliath, transferring it beyond the Anduin instead. But beyond the River, the hulking outline of the Mountains of Shadow only served to remind him of what had happened beyond the bleak range.

And what Sauron’s Ring had done to his beloved cousin.

Gripping the wall tightly with both hands, Merry shivered, no longer enjoying the sunshine so freely on offer. Frodo had had another nightmare last night…

In fact, the nightmare had been so violent, that his elder cousin’s yells of terror had echoed throughout the house awakening every last inhabitant. Merry had rushed to his bedroom to find him gasping in terror in Sam’s arms as Gandalf hovered over them both trying to calm him. Pippin had stumbled into Merry at the doorway, clasping at his arm in fright before they both rushed over to the bed to help soothe their cherished cousin. It had taken several minutes to calm him down, but once he had, Frodo only apologised for disturbing everyone’s rest without specifying what had disturbed his own. Every attempt to cajole him to elaborate had been met with gentle, but firm, refusal, until Sam - fed up with their persistent badgering - had sent them off to their own quarters.

Merry remained awake for a good while afterwards, ears straining for any sounds of further distress from his cousin’s room. He did not like feeling so helpless in these situations. Frodo had looked so small in the man-sized bed! So thin! His features were still gaunt - despite the fact that it was several weeks since Sauron’s destruction. No longer was he the carefree spirit who had laughed and joked with him over huge picnic lunches during summer visits to Bag End; who had read stories about Elves to his younger cousin and given him a deep appreciation for the beauty of the written word; who had scolded him after a quarrel with Barimac Greenglass had escalated into fisticuffs, but promised not to tell either of their parents if they apologised and shook hands.

Now he was solemn, quiet and pale.

Oh, Frodo tried to rally his spirits whenever they were around - and a good deal of the time he managed this very well. But Merry was not fooled. He saw how his cousin picked at his food instead of consuming it with gusto as every hobbit should. The Master of Bag End did not actively participate in discussions when all the hobbits were together. He listened, of course, but when it was his time to contribute, the crafty Baggins would simply ask a question related to the topic at hand - one that required a long, convoluted reply - then sit back while the others debated it fiercely. But during the small hours of the night, Frodo was unable to fool them at all, for he could often be heard calling out for Sam, or prowling the corridors restlessly because his sleeping hours offered him only torment.

Merry clenched his jaw as the forbidding mountain range dominated the horizon. How he hated them and what they hid! They were well named indeed, for Frodo was naught but a shadow of his former self. His innocence was gone forever, eroded by the trinket of a tyrant who had once dwelt behind the very mountains he now watched.

He suddenly gasped with the pain of it, fighting to hold in the sobs which threatened to wrack his body.

It was not fair! Why had he not been able to help? Why had he allowed himself to be so easily captured at Parth Galen? He should have followed Frodo all the way into Mordor as he had promised to do all those months ago before they even left the Shire! He should have saved him from the deceitful Gollum! Saved him from the hated Ring! Oh, if only he had seen it perish in the fires of Mount Doom - as he had seen the Witchking perish on the field of Pelennor! That way, he would know that it, too, was gone forever - that it could never really hurt Frodo again!

“Mr Merry? Are you all right, sir?”

Merry was pulled from his unpleasant thoughts by the sound of Sam’s voice and he whirled around to see the gardener gazing at him with some concern.

“Sam!” he gasped, surprised at the other hobbit’s presence. It was not like the gardener to venture to the seventh level if he could help it, and certainly not on his own. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, just running an errand for Mr Gandalf,” he replied mysteriously.

Merry frowned. Sometimes Sam could be even more evasive than Frodo.

Sam ignored the frown. “But what’s disturbing you so Mr Merry? You looked all done in, hanging on to that there wall. You’re not feeling all poorly-like now, are you sir?”

He sighed. The gardener looked quite concerned on his behalf and he did not want to alarm him. It would not do to have Sam worrying about him when he already had a full-time job caring for Frodo.

“No, I’m fine,” he lied.

Now Sam frowned. “Begging your pardon, sir, but no you’re not. Why, you’re as white and shaky as a snowflake being tossed by the wind.”

Bother! And he thought he had managed to control himself. Merry was annoyed, more so at his own lack of control than anything else. Trust Sam to notice the slight tremble. He was definitely worse than Frodo.

“Honestly, I’m fine,” he lied again, turning his back on the gardener so he could not see the lie in his face. “I was just enjoying the view."

There was a touch of irony in his voice at that. Enjoying the view! Who could enjoy such a view? Still, he thought, it should be enough to get rid of Sam. It was well known that the once-sturdy hobbit hated heights and there was little chance of him lingering to interrogate Merry if he did not move away from the wall.

But Sam surprised him by stepping forward and taking his place next to him.

“Well, it’s a right fine view and all, sir - if you don’t look straight down, that is,” said his determined companion nervously. Merry glanced at him and saw that he, too, had now lost a little colour from his face.

“You don’t have to stand there if it makes you feel uneasy,” said Merry thoughtfully, touched that he would sacrifice his own comfort to bring some to a friend.

“Oh, I’m not uncomfortable,” squeaked Sam, attempting a brave face despite the outrageous lie.

Merry grinned. The only thing more stubborn than a Baggins was a Gamgee. Valar help Rose if Sam ever plucked the courage up to ask for her hand.

“What were you looking at, Mr Merry?”

The question was unexpected.

“Nothing in particular.”

“Begging your pardon, sir, but it must’ve been something in particular.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You looked angry.”

“You said I looked poorly.”

“Well, you are related to Mr Frodo, so it’s only natural that you can do both at the same time, if you take my meaning.”

Sometimes Merry wished Sam was not quite so perceptive; but then, it was probably the result of spending so much time with the notoriously cunning Frodo Baggins, so he could not blame him, really. Still, he was not used to baring his heart to Sam. They were friends, of course, but he was not as close to him as he was to his cousins - and Pippin was usually the one he spoke with when he was feeling a little ’off’. Besides, Sam had suffered beyond those mountains, too - he did not want to remind him of that.

His companion had other ideas though. He gazed at Merry with his patient brown eyes and it felt almost to the younger hobbit as if he was waiting for the Spring thaw.

“Go on, sir,” Sam said gently. “Tell your Sam what’s nipping at you toes and let him chase the frost away for you.”

Your Sam. Merry almost teared up at that. The gardener had never used those words with him before - only Frodo ever had that privilege.

But then, everything was different now, was it not? They were none of them the fresh-faced innocents from the Shire any more, despite the cheery façade they presented to strangers. They had all suffered: they were all still suffering to some extent, and it was in the inherent nature of the gardener of Bag End to reach out and soothe a troubled heart.

He sighed in defeat. “I was watching the mountains.”

Sam glanced at them automatically and tried to stifle a shiver, but Merry caught it and immediately felt guilty.

“I’m sorry, Sam.”

Brown eyes swivelled to him again, this time wide with surprise. “Whatever for, Mr Merry?”

“For making you feel uncomfortable.”

“You haven’t. Whyever would you think such a thing?”

The gardener was obviously puzzled because he hadn’t addressed him as ’Mr Merry’ or ’Sir’ - something Merry had been trying to snap him out of for years. Perhaps he should apologise to him more often?

Making a mental note to give that serious consideration, he returned to the subject at hand.

“I know the sight of those things must make your blood turn icy.”

Sam snorted. “There’s a few things that make my blood turn icy, Mr Merry, sir, but the sight of a few mountains sitting so far off in the distance that they can’t ever harm me isn’t one of them.”

‘Mr Merry’ and ’Sir’ in the same sentence? The gardener was obviously making up for his earlier omission.

“That may very well be, Sam. But the sight of these particular mountains must cause you discomfort.”

A short silence. He looked over to see the gardener studying them thoughtfully, as if weighing the truth of his statement.

“Maybe they do, Mr Merry, just a little. But not for their own sake, if you take me. Only for what they’re hiding, and that’s not as much of a threat any more.”

Not as much of a threat any more. He had said ‘not as much of a threat any more’, not ‘not a threat any more’. If Sam thought that - if he still felt discomfort even to a small extent - when faced with an indirect symbol of Sauron‘s tyranny, what must Frodo feel with all the memories he harboured?

The memories of Sauron’s Ring.

He gripped the wall again, feeling helpless once more.

“That’s why I’m sorry,” he admitted in a small voice.

Merry could feel Sam’s eyes on him.

“You didn’t put those mountains there, you know; they were the work of hands greater than even the Dark Lord’s, sir. You’ve naught to feel sorry about.”

A bitter laugh escaped Merry‘s lips. If only Sam knew how completely he had failed his cousin! He must know, surely? After all, he had been there in Crickhollow when the Brandybuck had made his faithless promise.

“I think I do, Sam.”

“Well, that’s just daft. It’s not your fault they are what they are, or that they are where they are, now is it? You might be the future Master of Brandy Hall, but you can’t control things that as happens so far outside your home, you know, sir!”

The future Master of Brandy Hall clenched his jaw. Was Sam being deliberately obtuse, or just evasive again?

“If I am to be Master of my father’s home, then it will be my duty to know what happens outside of it as well as in,” he stated firmly. “Is that not what a good Master does? Takes care of his household and family? Protects them from threats seen and unseen?”

Sam had now turned away from the imposing view and faced him fully, but Merry would not take his eyes from the mountains.

“There’s not a one alive as can protect from the threat of the unseen, Mr Merry,” he said gently. “Any good Master will care for his own to the best of his ability, but not even the wisest of them can protect against unknown threats. The most he can do there is rely on others to keep a watch for danger. That‘s what friends are for.”

The last few words jarred his frayed nerves.

“What if your friends are faithless and untrustworthy?” he demanded heatedly, finally abandoning his view of the mountains to face Sam. “What then? What if they promise you safety, but abandon you in your hour of need. Are they still your friends then? When the unseen threat is finally banging at your door and they have left you to struggle alone!”

His pitch was rising and he felt his face flushing as he glared at Sam in challenge. The gardener was confused, but not intimidated.

“I’d say that all depends on the reason they left in the first place…”

“There is no reason that could forgive such a betrayal. No excuse for weakness!” Merry barked, cutting him off before he could finish. “If someone promises to help, then they should help, shouldn’t they? That’s what friends are for. That’s what family is for! Or at least it should be!”

Sam laid a hand on his shoulder. “Now then, sir. I’ve not met a family yet that would abandon one of their own just because there was a little trouble on the horizon. Even the S-B’s - begging your pardon, what with them being distant relations and all - never abandoned each other, and they were as unpleasant a folk as I’ve ever met. But they always stuck together. As for their friends, well, they never really had any, so there’s not much of an issue there, I suppose.”

Merry shrugged his hand off and backed a few steps away. “It’s not about the S-B’s, Sam! Can’t you see that? And I’m not talking about ‘a little trouble’, either!”

The force of his anger shocked him and he began to pace backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards in an effort to burn some of it off in case he started shouting. He did not want to bring the Citadel guards rushing over if they thought there was a chance he might attack one of the Saviours of Middle Earth.

“It’s more than that,” he declared passionately, tugging at the collar of his fine silk shirt before thrusting his hands into his trouser pockets. “I’m talking about someone who promises to stick to you through thick and thin to the bitter end, but becomes unstuck at the first sign of adversity! I’m talking about someone who promises to follow you like a hound and keep trouble off your back, but falls at the first hurdle and lets trouble stab at you where it hurts most. I’m talking about someone that you trust - someone you love - disappointing you in the most acute and painful way possible!”

“And who would that be, Merry?” queried Sam casually.

Merry did not even notice that Sam had finally used his first name alone in his address. He was too upset, too frustrated.

“Me, of course! Who else? I was the one who made those promises to him back in Crickhollow! Me! And what happened? I left him! Like the fool that I am, I allowed myself to be captured and left him! And look at him now! He’s suffering, Sam - and it’s my fault!”

“Now that’s enough of that, Meriadoc Brandybuck! I’ve heard a lot of daft things in my years, but that’s about one of the daftest and no mistake!” said Sam firmly, stepping in front of him and effectively halting his worried pacing.

The swift blockade only served to anger the troubled hobbit.

“It’s all very well for you to talk about daft, isn’t it?” he cried. “You went all the way with him. You protected him. You stuck to him.”

“And what good did that do then? Did it save him from the spider? Did it save his poor, dear hand? Does it save him from the nightmares?”

Sam’s voice was uncharacteristically harsh.

“But you were with him until the very end!” yelled Merry, now beyond caring if the guards heard him or not. “I was supposed to be there too. Maybe if I had been, I could have saved him from that ghastly spider, or saved his finger, or saved him from his nightmares!”

“So what you’re saying is that I wasn’t good enough? That I didn’t try hard enough? That I wasn’t strong enough or clever enough like you might’ve been?” Sam yelled back.

Merry stilled in shock at the words, and now he was the one watching as Sam paced back and forth. The gardener had never raised his voice at him like that before and he was stunned that he had pushed him to do so.

“Don’t you think I tried to protect him better than I did?” he demanded furiously, rubbing at his head in agitation. “Do you know how hard it was, watching him slip further away from me the closer we got to that cursed mountain? How much I hated that slinker Gollum for plaguing each step he took? But I could do nothing to rid him of any of his burdens because that Ring was fighting too hard, and that slinker was clinging too much. Just getting him up and walking was a battle in itself near the end. Is that what you wish for? To have seen the friend you love so much fade before your own eyes and know there was little you could do to stop it but haul his battered body off the ground and push it ever closer to the place you know will probably kill him? Watch him gasping for air in a poisoned land that would choke the life from all decent folk? Watch his tongue swell for the want of fluid, but not able to offer him anything for his relief except filthy drain water - if even that?”

Sam lowered his voice, but his eyes still burned intently as they pierced the Brandybuck. “Would you want to watch him standing at the Crack of Doom, when madness finally overtakes him, and listen to a voice that’s not his own claim the very burden he tried so desperately to rid himself of? Do you think even you could‘ve helped him then?”

“No! Stop, Sam, please. I can’t listen… I didn’t mean…”

They faced each other, cousin and friend both, tormented and angry - but not really angry at each other.

“I never meant to imply that you didn’t take care of him, Sam. Please believe me,” whispered Merry, horrified into shame that the gardener might have thought for one second that he did.

His companion gave a sheepish chuckle. “I never thought for one second that you did, Mr Merry.”

Now Merry was confused. “I don’t understand. You just said…”

“Oh, I know what I said,” replied Sam, waving his hand in airy dismissal as if his passionate speech had been nothing more than a bee sting. “But I wasn’t angry at you, I was angry at me.”

“Angry at… Why on earth would you be angry at your…”

It suddenly hit him.

“You think you failed him too, don’t you?” gasped Merry in disbelief.

“I think we’re both a couple of ninnyhammers is what I think.”

Merry was reeling. “But you were with him every step of the way! All the way to Mount Doom! You carried him up the stupid thing and got him back out of it to safety!”

“If you can call a tiny ledge on the side of an exploding mountain safety, though I think the credit for getting him to real safety belongs to the Eagles, if you take my meaning.”

He said it with so much plain hobbit sense that Merry had to laugh. And once he started, Sam lost control too and their hearty guffaws rang through the air in direct contrast to the heated words of a few seconds previously.

It was several minutes before they regained control and took a seat by the wall they had leaned over earlier.

“I’m sorry for shouting at you like that, Mr Merry,” said Sam contritely after the last of their chuckles had subsided. “It wasn’t my place to do so and I beg your pardon for it.”

“Now you’re the one being daft, Samwise Gamgee,” replied Merry, slapping him playfully on the arm. “If I recall correctly, I started shouting first. You had every right to retaliate.”

Sam grinned. “Well, maybe you’re right. Still, I expect I could’ve made my point in a more polite manner. You do know what my point was, don’t you sir?”

Merry cocked a mischievous eyebrow. “That I’m a self-centred, boot-loving Brandybuck?”

To his amusement, the gardener took a suspiciously long moment to mull that over before replying:

“I don’t remember anyone saying anything about any boots.”

He laughed again. “You’re worse than a Baggins, Sam Gamgee! So, I’m just selfish, is that it?”

“Course not, Mr Boot-loving Brandybuck, sir. My point is that it wouldn’t have mattered who was there. He would have had his work cut out either way, given his burden.”

This was a truth which could not be refuted. Sauron’s Ring was an evil too powerful for any to have withstood indefinitely. That Frodo had managed to do so all the way to the Sammath Naur was a feat of incredible strength of character. Could he, Merry, have withstood its dreadful lure so long, or remained as true of heart as Sam had in its presence while he followed his master into that cursed place? Would he have been able to do as Frodo bid and allow Gollum to lead his friend into the Black Lands, knowing all the while that the duplicitous wretch was just waiting for the chance to murder them both and steal back his Precious?

Could he really have gotten Frodo all the way to Mount Doom, watching his beloved cousin suffer and struggle with his burden all the way before it finally claimed him and only Gollum’s greater lust could save the day?

He would like to think that he could, but in the end it did not matter. Frodo was saved and though he suffered yet, he would recover - but only over time. Merry knew he must be patient and accept this.

Sam‘s earthy hobbit tones intruded on his musings. “You were wrong about not being there all the way to the end, though.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Merry, completely mystified. Of course he had not been there all the way to the end - that was the spark which had ignited their little argument in the first place.

“Well sir, when we was in the Dead Marshes and poor Mr Frodo was getting the shivers at the mere thought of what lay beneath the water, who do you think cheered him up?”

“You, of course.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “No. You did. He told me about the time you took him swimming in the Brandywine and jumped in with all your clothes still on. ‘Trust a Brandybuck to do such an unnatural thing’ I said to him. And he laughed - he actually laughed in the middle of the Dead Marshes, if you can believe it. Said as how your mum was none too pleased that you‘d ruined your best Sunday breeches in such a careless manner.”

Merry smiled softly at the memory his words conjured. He remembered that day. Esmeralda Brandybuck had been livid when he walked nonchalantly back into the hall in dripping wet clothes and tried to blame it on the rain (it had been sunny all day).

“That laugh kept him going for a good while, you know. Helped him endure the horrors of them stinking marshes and no mistake.”

The gardener clasped his hands tightly together and rested them on his lap. Merry watched little patches of white appear around the areas where his fingers dug into the back of his hands and wondered what was causing his tension.

“Course, the closer we got to the Black Lands, the harder it was to get him to so much as crack a smile, as weighed down as he was with his burden and all. Sometimes he’d go for hours on end without so much as a word and his face all tense and fraught as he struggled against the Ring’s pull. I’ve never hated anyone or anything as much in my life as that Ring, sir and that’s a fact!”

Merry sympathised completely.

“But he never failed to perk up whenever we talked about you or young Mr Pippin. The mere mention of either of your names was enough to distract him for a while. He talked about your determination in Crickhollow, you know, and he was worried that you might not forgive him for slipping away and making it impossible for you to keep your word.”

The Brandybuck was startled to hear that. “But that’s ridiculous! That wasn’t his fault! He did what he felt he had to - I don’t blame him for that. Anyway, me and Pip had just been captured by Saruman’s orcs, so I couldn’t have kept my promise even if I wanted to!”

Sam smirked. “I’m right glad you think that way, Mr Merry, because that’s as good a reason for not being able to keep your word as any I’ve ever heard.”

The younger hobbit chuckled in disbelief. He had just been outmanoeuvred. “Why, Samwise Gamgee! If you aren’t the most devious of all scoundrels, then I don’t know who is!”

“Coming from a Brandybuck, I’ll take that as a compliment, if I may.”

“You may,” he laughed, amused at his friend’s teasing. Sam was right: he should not blame himself for events that were beyond his control. He may be a Brandybuck, but he still only hailed from a simple, peaceable sort of folk who preferred good food and a quiet life to the more adventurous hustle and bustle that lay beyond their borders. Hobbits did not usually go looking for adventure or threats which lay beyond the Shire.

Not that he was simple, of course.

“You were also with Frodo when we made our trek across the Gorgoroth,” said Sam returning to the matter at hand. “When the ash and the poisons of the land were choking him so much he could barely draw breath and there weren’t so much as a drop of water to be had, you and Mr Pippin were there in that old drinking song you both love to sing at the Green Dragon. Do you remember it?”

Merry did. He began to sing it as they leaned against the wall surrounding the Citadel and his clear, sweet notes were a balm to both their ears. Sam joined in before the first verse ended:

*

An ale! An ale!

An ale to make me hale

A beer! A beer!

A beer to bring me cheer

*

A glass of wine

Is very fine

Its fruity bliss

A throat doth kiss

But always first

To quench a thirst

Drink golden yield

From barley field

*

An ale! An ale!

An ale to make me hale

A beer! A beer!

A beer to bring good cheer

*

“That’s the very one, Mr Merry. Your presence - and Mr Pippin’s - was in every note of that song and it helped carry him further towards the mountain despite his troubles.”

“You sang it to him? On the Gorgoroth?”

“That I did, Mr Merry, sir.”

“I’m surprised you had the energy to do so if it was as harsh and dry as you say it was.”

“Oh, it were harsh and dry all right, or my name’s not Sam Gamgee. But it were even harsher watching him suffer, so I needed the help of a Brandybuck and a Took to help him on his way, if you take my meaning. And as sure as the roses bloom at Bag End, there you both were when he needed you! He weren’t fit to do much singing himself, of course, but he was able to bob his head a little, and hum a verse or two. And when the Ring had finally been destroyed and we stood on that rocky ledge while the mountain behind us exploded with more fury than Mistress Lobelia at the reading of a Baggins will, when all the world seemed to us to be drawing to a close and I was wishing for songs and lays about Nine-fingered Frodo and the Ring of Doom, do you know what he said?”

The younger hobbit shook his head. This was news to him, for he had not known that Frodo had said much of anything at that point.

Sam shook his head in wonder. “He watched fire and rocks tumbling down the mountain, and smoke curling thick in the air and he said: ‘Merry and Pippin will be so upset at having missed all the fun, Sam. However shall I make it up to them?’ And then he smiled in that way he does when he’s having a little joke! Having a little joke - right there on Mount Doom itself. That‘s the Brandybuck in him, you know.”

A horn blew short and sharp from the Tower of Ecthelion, signalling the changing of the Guard, but Merry was too distracted to pay it much heed.

“So you see, Mr Merry, you did keep your promise to him - you and Mr Pippin both. You stuck to him through thick and thin to the bitter end, just as you said you would, and he was thankful for it. There’s no amount of distance that could ever come between you both, and truly part you, as long as you’re in each others hearts and minds.”

It was impossible not to see the sense in Sam’s words, and they lifted Merry’s spirits to new heights. He had stayed with Frodo. Even though they parted physically at Parth Galen and were not reunited until after the Ring’s destruction, he had helped his cousin in ways he could not have dreamed of. That gave him a certain peace.

“Thank you Sam,” he said gratefully. “I should have known that out of sight does not always mean out of mind - especially because he was with me too: when Pip and I were captured by the orcs and later escaped into Fangorn, when we fought together with Treebeard and the Ents to still the dreadful might of Isengard, and also on the Pelennor when I was fighting against all the hordes of Mordor and beyond and taking a stab at the Witchking himself. He was with me each and every time, encouraging me ever onwards and beaming with pride at my accomplishments.”

“And also throwing in the odd word or two to stop that Brandybuck head of yours swelling fit to burst, I should imagine,” said Sam dryly, and they both laughed.

“Yes, he might have chastised me on occasion for that, too,” Merry chuckled. “Either that or it was his fussy gardener, because you were with me too Sam.”

The gardener blushed. “Well that’s a right decent thing for you to say, Mr Merry. Though why you want my nonsense clogging up your head I’ll never know.”

Shaking in head in mock frustration, Merry pulled himself off the ground and reached a hand out to help his companion do likewise. He held on to Sam’s hand when the gardener was standing and took a step forward to clasp his arm warmly.

“I want your ’nonsense’ clogging up my head because you are important to me too, silly Gamgee. You were my friend even before we started out on this quest you know - even though you drive me to distraction with all those ‘Mr Merrys’ and ’Sirs’.”

Sam flushed.

“But you’re more than that now. You saved Frodo’s life. You took care of him when I couldn’t and placed his comfort before your own every step of the way. You starved so that he could eat, thirsted so that he could drink and climbed with him over your very back so that he didn‘t have to.”

“Stars and trumpets, Mr Merry! You make it sound a lot more impressive than it actually was…”

Merry cut him off with a wave of his hand. “No, Samwise Gamgee: you make it sound a lot less impressive than it actually was. You always try to avoid attention. You’re too much like Frodo in that respect. But you forget that I know Frodo very well, and I know you very well too. I’ll never forget what you did for him and I’ll always cherish you for that. But I’ll always cherish you for your own sake too, because you are kind and patient, faithful and wise.”

Sam was clearly touched - he could not even answer and his eyes were suspiciously moist. Wishing to spare him any further embarrassment, Merry decided to lighten the topic with a little humour. He released Sam’s arms so the gardener could discreetly wipe his eyes and casually brushed at his smart green coat.

“And let us not forget, that you and Frodo are as thick as thieves, more so now than ever before. Why you’re practically brothers! And as Frodo is my cousin, there is really only one thing left to say…”

He trailed off deliberately waiting for Sam to take the bait. He was not disappointed.

“What, Mr Merry?” the elder hobbit asked curiously. “What is there left to say?”

“Welcome to the family, of course! You are now part Gamgee, part Baggins, part Brandybuck and part Took! What do you say to that, you boot-loving Bucklander?”

He laughed at the look of sheer astonishment on Sam’s face and slung a comradely arm round his neck.

“Oh, come on Sam, it’s not so bad,” Merry said cheerfully as the gardener continued to gape at him. “Just think, with all that Brandybuck blood flowing through your veins, you’ll be able to look forward to a nice swim in the summer, instead of running for the hills whenever you see a body of water larger than your bathtub!”

Sam glared at him. “I do not run for the hills Meriadoc Brandybuck. I just…I just don’t go anywhere near the river if I can help it. And anyway, if I’m part Brandybuck, then you’re part Gamgee, so that means there’s no excuse for not rolling up your sleeves and helping me manure the garden beds in Spring.”

Not in a thousand years would Merry go anywhere near that barrow of horse droppings his new ’cousin’ rolled through Bag End’s front gate every April. But Sam need not know that.

“Ah, but you’re forgetting that I like plants more than you like water,” he said smugly. “It won’t be as much trouble for me to get stuck into a garden as it will for you to get stuck in a river.”

The gardener glared at him again and then they both laughed, before they were interrupted by a new arrival.

“Hullo you two!” said a cheerful voice and they looked ahead to see Pippin approaching, looking very smart in his silver and black livery. “I didn’t know you were coming to meet me. Where’s Frodo?”

“He’s in the back garden with Mr Gandalf,” replied Sam. “I was just on my way back to him this very minute.”

“On your way back to him? What were you doing here then?”

Pippin’s innocent enquiry made the gardener flush and Merry realised he was embarrassed. It took him a few seconds to recall Sam's evasive reply to a similar enquiry he made a short time ago and his natural curiosity reared its head once more.

What on earth was this errand Gandalf had despatched him for?

“Nothing much, Mr Pippin.”

“Oh come on Sam! It must have been for something to drag you all the way up to the Citadel with Merry.”

“Actually, I was up here already…enjoying the view,” offered his cousin without elaborating. Sam frowned at him, but he merely grinned in return. He was determined to eke out the other hobbit‘s secret.

The Knight of Gondor’s eyes widened in surprise as he stared at the flustered gardener. “So you came up here all by yourself? It must have been something really important, then. It’s not Frodo, is it? He is all right? Only he looked to be in a terrible state last night and I was worried about him all day…”

“Frodo’s fine, Pip. And he’ll keep being fine as long as we allow him time to recover properly from his ordeal, isn’t that right Sam?”

The older two hobbits shared a look of understanding and came to a silent agreement that they would not tell him of their earlier discussion. That was to be their own little secret, for the moment at least.

“That’s right, Mr Merry. Mr Frodo’s fine today. Recovering nicely in the back garden with a book and a nice plate of cheese and ham sandwiches and a few spiced buns.”

“Sam, if it’s the last thing I do, I will make you stop calling me ‘Mr‘!”

“That goes for me too. You can’t go around calling us ‘Mr’ all the time - you are family, you know,” said Pippin, not realising that Merry had already welcomed him into it. “Anyway, stop trying to change the subject by talking about food. I know you’re only trying to distract me. What were you doing up here by yourself? You might as well tell me now, because I can always find out from the guards if you don‘t.”

Merry grinned. It was not often that it was someone other than him on the receiving end of one of his younger cousin’s blunt threats, and he was enjoying the novelty.

Especially when Sam began to squirm and mumble something about trolls not ‘doing their jobs proper-like‘.

“I heard that,” said Pippin, pouting slightly.

“Oh, all right! IhadtomeettheemissaryfromtheWoodofGreenleaves.”

“What did you say?” Merry asked, laughing at the gardener’s impossibly fast explanation.

“He said he had to meet the emissary from the Wood of Greenleaves,” Pippin offered, showing off like a true Took. “What emissary is that Sam?”

Sam huffed in annoyance at being so easily deciphered. “The one that came to pay his respects to the new King of course.”

The news was a bit of a surprise to the other two hobbits, especially Pippin.

“I didn’t see any emissaries arriving while I was on duty.”

“And there were no crowds on the street to welcome them either when I left the house, which you would expect,” Merry added, puzzled. “After all, Gondorians love Elves even more than you do, Sam.”

By this time, Sam was scarlet with embarrassment. “It wasn’t an official visit as such, he arrived early this morning. Mr Legolas’ old gaffer sent him with news that Dol Guldur has been destroyed and the shadow has lifted from the forest that used to be called Mirkwood. And also to say well done to his son and old Strider and such.”

This was very welcome news indeed. Legolas would be so happy! Merry and Pippin were thrilled for their friend (after they stopped laughing at Sam for referring the Elven King Thranduil as ’Mr Legolas’ old gaffer’).

“But why would Gandalf send you on an errand to see this emissary?” asked Pippin, still trying to get to the heart of the mystery.

Clearly unhappy at having to go into greater detail, Sam started fussing with his smart blue weskit, one of the many new items of clothing he had received from the grateful tailors of the city.

“Seems that Mr Legolas wrote to his gaffer when we were on our way to Cormallen and told him about Mr Frodo’s spot of bother up at Cirith Ungol.”

Suddenly, Merry understood. “You mean, he wrote to him and told him how one small hobbit gardener from the Shire battled the mother of the Great Spiders that have infested his forest for almost two thousand years - almost certainly killing her…”

“Now then, Mr Merry. There’s none as can say for certain that she’s dead…”

“And none can say she’s not. Has anyone bothered to check?” asked Merry smugly. “So, anyway, as I was saying: he wrote to his father to tell him that you mortally wounded her…”

Sam frowned in disapproval, so he quickly amended his words.

“…probably mortally wounded her and Thranduil was so impressed he sent an emissary all the way out here just to thank you. Am I right?”

“Don’t be daft. He didn’t come all the way out here just to see me. He came to see Legolas and Strider.”

“So why did Gandalf send you up to see him then?” challenged Merry with a knowing smirk.

“Well if you must know, he brought me a letter from Mr Thranduil saying he was very happy that Frodo and I were recovered.”

“That was nice of him,” said Pippin, greatly impressed.

Merry was not convinced that was all there was to the letter. “And?”

The gardener began to fidget. “Well, he says hullo to you two as well. He was very impressed that you fought that horrible Witchking and stuck him with your sword. And he says he wouldn‘t mind meeting the hobbit that even a mountain troll can‘t flatten.”

Pippin stuck out his chest proudly. “Yes, well. I am indestructible, it seems.”

Merry rolled his eyes at his cousin before rounding squarely on the bashful gardener. “Samwise Gamgee, if you don’t tell me what he said this very instant, I shall go straight to the King and tell him you are suffering from a relapse. Strider will have you whisked off to the Houses of Healing and swallowing all sorts of nasty remedies for the next week! You‘ll not get so much as a whiff of a mushroom if Mistress Ioreth has her say!”

It was the ultimate hobbit threat and it worked. Sam caved in under the extreme pressure.

“He says that he’s honoured to know his son is a great friend to Shelob’s Bane and that the Elves of the Wood of Greenleaves will sing of the victory at Cirith Ungol even after every last Elf in the Wood has left for the Undying Lands. There! Are you satisfied, you bothersome Brandybuck?”

The bothersome Brandybuck was more than satisfied. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it? And imagine that? An Elven King singing the praises of a fussy hobbit gardener who is always trying to make his deeds seem less important than they actually are! I’d love to see you trying to convince Legolas‘ crusty old gaffer that he shouldn‘t clog his head up with nonsense! He’d probably be so annoyed with you he’d have you shot by his Elven archers! At least you‘d die happy, though. You‘ve always admired Elves.”

Sam glared at the cocky Knight of Rohan while Pippin guffawed heartily. But the staring contest did not last for long and Merry was glad to see him finally give in to the laughter that was bubbling under the surface.

Two minutes later, with arms linked together (and all thought of investigating the newly opened Inns on the lower levels dismissed for the present), the merry trio left the Citadel to share the news from the Wood of Greenleaves with Frodo - or at least Merry and Pippin would share it with him.

It had been an afternoon of surprises for all of them, and a day of reckoning for at least two. Their shared love of Frodo had drawn them all together as friends many years earlier, and now it drew all of them even closer as family.

And that bond was never broken.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Author's Note: This is just my own wild guess at how Merry and Sam (and Pippin, of course) might have become closer than friends. No doubt it started during the hobbits' recovery at Cormallen, but that would not suit the purpose of my story, so forgive the 'artistic' licence (one of the many in this chapter, no doubt).

Hope you enjoyed it, regardless,

Kara's Aunty ;)