Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings is owned by J.R.R. Tolkien, his family, etc. Not me. I'm only dabbling my unworthy fingers in his magical world.

Credit: www dot Tuckborough dot net.

Swordthain of the Shire

"I received you for your safe-keeping… None of my Riders can bear you as a burden …"

The words spoken by Théoden not seconds before burned in his mind as Merry bowed and departed from his lord. His eyes lingered on the nearest company of men who were busy tightening girths and looking to saddles in preparation for departure to Gondor, and the hobbit envied them their deadly duty of war.

Coming to a stop by the gates leading into Edoras, Merry watched the companies part to allow the king and higher nobles to ride to the fore, where Théoden himself would lead them into battle. A light wind teased brown curls from the unhappy hobbit's face while he deliberated the aged monarch's words.

Why had he even been allowed to accompany Frodo if he was ever to be thrust upon others for his own safe-keeping? First Treebeard, now Théoden. His keeping would be none too safe if the battle in Gondor went ill and Sauron's forces marched ever westward like a dark tide of malice, destroying all they encountered. Could Théoden not see this? Did he not know of what Merry had already survived? The Balrog of Moria? Abduction at Parth Galen and three days of dreadful captivity at the hands of orcs and uruk-hai? The flight into Fangorn? The battle of Isengard? He had already fought as much as any tall soldier of Rohan, and would do so again if he had but the chance!

The Riders began to turn, assembling themselves behind the king in preparation for departure. The hobbit's head fell forward in dejection.

Why had this benevolent king - whom he had served, if but for a short time, and who had found some cheer when Merry imparted tales of his beloved Shire, or what little he was able to during the ride to Dunharrow - why would he name him a burden now? He whom Merry loved; who had moved him enough with his bravery and nobility that the hobbit had sworn to him his fealty; and who Merry would have gladly named as father?

He who now thought him naught but a hindrance to be disposed of; of no more use in battle than an eager child, and just as dangerous for the distraction he might cause others as they endeavoured to protect him from harm.

But Merry needed no protection! He was willing to fight as hard and long for what he believed in as any twice tall Rider of the Mark! He had his sword, and his shield, and a heart as stout and true as even the greatest knight in green and white! Small he might be, and short might fall the reach of his sword, but he was neither child nor burden!

Despair pulled at Merry's heart as the Riders filed past him. How was he to bear being left behind with the women and children of Rohan while others fought for him and them? If the battle of Gondor was lost, he would have to fight anyway, to save those he could, so why not let him do so where the need would be greatest? It was what his friends were doing, each in their own way. Pippin and Gandalf were already in Minas Tirith, and both would know the same battle which the Rohirrim raced to join. Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas were embarking on a dangerous journey to the Haunted Mountain in the hope of summoning a deadly army to Gondor's aid. And Frodo …

Merry swallowed. His dear cousin and Frodo's faithful gardener were in the midst of the most dangerous battle of all as they attempted to reach Mount Doom in secret and destroy the One Ring.

As for Merry? He was commissioned to wait with those others who had not been deemed fit for battle, whether because of age, sex or infirmity. Doomed to wander the halls of the king, fretting with the women and children of Rohan, looking ever east through the darkness, hoping for the best, fearing the worst. How was he to bear that, knowing that others fought while he waited like an anxious wife or mother for news of loved ones? If Gondor fell … well, Sauron's armies would crush all that breathed regardless of size when they swept West and North, so what would Merry's height really matter in the end?

Then again, what if the West was victorious? What if Strider successfully called the oath-breakers to his service and annihilated the Corsairs at Pelargir? If the Rohirrim defeated the Dark Lord's army in Gondor while Gandalf and Pippin helped in their own way, defending Minas Tirith from the inside? If Frodo destroyed his evil charge, and he and Sam managed to return from Mordor unscathed after their dreadful journey? After hurts were healed the hobbits would all wish to go home; but whereas the other three could return with their heads held high, knowing they had done their part to protect it, he, Merry, would be consumed with the shame of his forced inaction.

His cousins and Sam would never think less of him, of course; but Merry would think less of himself. How could he ever aspire to take up the mantle of Master of Buckland knowing that he had not done his utmost to protect his beloved Shire when he had had the chance?

Merry raised his chin and followed the long line of Riders with glittering eyes.

He would have his chance still! He would! And if that meant defying the king himself, so be it. He was a Brandybuck after all, and Brandybucks did not shirk their responsibilities. If Théoden would not let Merry fulfil his duty as the king's swordthain, then Merry would fulfil his duty as the heir of Brandy Hall. If Théoden would not let Merry fight for Rohan and Gondor, then Merry would fight for the Shire! Théoden could not stop him - not when he had released him from his service.

And Merry would fight! He would not let his friends down. He would not spend the rest of his life - however long or short that may prove to be - ashamed to look at himself because he did not pick up arms for his people. He had the right to fight; to stand up for what he believed in, to protect those he loved and that which he cherished. And, well-meaning or not, no lordly man could say otherwise.

"I will fight by myself if I have to," he promised himself. "I will take my pony and follow them in secret. I will keep from all sight until the last and - even if I am discovered - it will then be too late for any to do aught but acknowledge my claim to slay or be slain as I see fit. I will not allow kindly strangers to dictate my fate! I will do this for me, and for Frodo, and for the Shire!"

"Where will wants not, a way opens, so we say," said a voice in Merry's ear, and it startled him so that he jumped. He had not been aware that his words were overheard. Looking up, the hobbit saw the same Rider whom he had noticed in the morning, slighter in height and girth than most men of Rohan, and with the memorable clear grey eyes that had earlier lacked all hope. Yet something burned in those eyes now; a depth and conviction that stirred the hobbit's spirit, and he recognised it for the same determination that burned in his own. The Rider gazed down at him steadily. "You wish to go whither the Lord of the Mark goes: I see it in your face."

"I do," responded Merry, as hope sprung in his chest.

"Then you shall go with me," said the Rider. "I will bear you before me, under my cloak until we are far afield, and this darkness is yet darker. Such good will should not be denied. Say no more to any man, but come!"

"Thank you indeed!" cried Merry softly. "Thank you, sir, though I do not know your name."

"Do you not?" asked the Rider with equal softness. There was a brief glint of humour in his eyes, but Merry was too relieved at the chance to prove his worth to question it. "Then call me Dernhelm."

"Then I thank you, Dernhelm of Rohan, for allowing me to fight for those I love. Yes, even for the king who would name me a burden, for I love him too and would gladly lay down my life to protect him. I thank you for allowing me to prove that I am worthy to be his swordthain, even if he would not have me for it now."

"You are swordthain still, Master Holbytla, though perhaps now to Mistress, not Master. Yes, for your Shire is your liege now, and you may do her service in war if you wish. And why should you not? Why should not any who possess the will and strength not fight if they wish? For if all goes ill in the East, we shall all have to fight sooner or later, and better that we face our doom with conviction than have it thrust upon us when there are none left to see to our aid."

Dernhelm's words gave Merry pause, and he looked briefly over his shoulder at the crowd of women, children and the aged as they gazed solemnly at their mail-adorned menfolk. A shaft of something akin to shame shot through him as he realised he was willing to abandon them to their fate, be it good or ill.

But he was not abandoning them; at least not intentionally. He wanted to fight for them, to give them hope for a future where they need never have to wait and worry for the safe return of kin and loved ones from battle; where they need never fear the loss of their children to the hungry stroke of an orcish blade.

"Then I will fight for them also," Merry said in determination. He turned to look up at his new friend. "I will fight that they need never fear the thrust of a dark doom upon them. I will be their aid, whether or not I am with them when I deliver it! And I thank you for giving me the chance to prove it, Dernhelm. I swear I shall be no burden to you."

The man smiled, but it was more grim than joyous. "True heart and courage are never a burden, Master Holbytla, no matter the size or shape. At least not to Dernhelm of Rohan. Come, let us ride to war, you and I, and together we shall prove what those who might be left behind may be worthy of!"

So it was that when the horn finally sounded heralding the departure of the Rohirrim to war, the great grey steed Windfola carried Meriadoc the hobbit and Dernhelm the warrior both on his sturdy back through the deepening shadow towards war.

And no burden to him were either.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Author's Note: Some text and dialogue lifted from The Lord of The Rings, The Return of The King, Book Five, Chapter 3: The Muster of Rohan.

Yep, another intended drabble. Disgraceful, eh? From one hundred words to over eighteen hundred. Tut, tut, tut.

One of these days, I'll reign in my enthusiasm and nail that blooming drabble. One of these days …

Kara's Aunty ;)