Aged to Perfection

Merry seemed none the worse for worry. We'd feared he'd taken a serious chill, falling into the well as he did. Wet to the skin, he was, and shivering when Bergil, lowered into the well by his father, looped the rope about him and Beregond pulled them both out. I'd never live it down, for he'd been seeking a drink of water for my benefit, at the time.

But no, he'd taken no lasting harm, and now a mere day later was toasting his rescuers--though all we Hobbits sipped cautiously at our mugs, this night, not wanting to repeat last night's performance, or the sufferings that came with the morning light.

'Tis a good thing the Dark Lord's forces were defeated and scattered, for the guardsmen were still celebrating Beregond's reprieve and promotion, and it looked to continue for some days. Ah, well, they'd had little cause for celebration for centuries now. Might as well make up for lost time.

When Faramir said Pippin had told him that this was not the first time Merry had fallen into a well, Beregond slammed down his mug and turned a stern look on my young cousin. 'Not the first time?' he demanded. 'Come, now, Master Meriadoc, tell me that you do not make a practice of falling down wells!'

 'Not a practice, no,' Merry answered, but a flush suffused his cheeks. Without thinking I held the back of my hand against his forehead, to feel for fever, but he warded me off with more annoyance than delirium. 'Pip, here, has had more trouble with wells than I.'

Pressed to tell the tale, he demurred, but finally persuaded, he began as only Merry can, a Took of a storyteller for all his Brandybuck origins. He told of Bilbo's Birthday, as only he can, and then of the day after. The chuckling drew ever more of a crowd around us, and he became more animated and ever more articulate with an appreciative audience to feed the glowing fires of storytelling.

But then, he reached the part of the tale where, in the gathering twilight, he blundered into an abandoned well that ought to have been safely and sturdily covered over. As he described the dark and cold his cheeks lost their rosy colour and his voice faltered.

Ever the protective older cousin, I thought it best to jump in to save the poor lad.

***

I can see a clearer head is needed at this point, cousin—not you, Pippin, for you weren’t even there! —and so, allow me to step in.

Ah, yes, the protective older cousin, as always, at your service... but your hand is cold as ice! Proprietor, a mug of something warm if you please!

...There now, Merry, you drink half that down and we’ll wrap your hand around the rest to warm. And more where that came from, I’m sure. Good! Another mug is coming, so you may drink that down with alacrity, Merry, and warm your hands on the next. And yes, I’m sure I’ll still be taking care of you when we’re old gaffers together. You do seem to want a bit of taking care.

Now, where were we? O yes. (As you know, Beregond, this is not the first time my young cousin has had to be pulled from a well!)

Merry had fallen down the abandoned well, and Samwise had run off for help, and I was reading in the study, quite absorbed, really, oblivious to my cousin’s mortal peril. (Hush now, Pippin, and listen respectfully to your elders.)

Samwise ran shouting, I’m told, shouting for all he was worth. Old Widow Tunnelly came to her door, calling questions, but he didn’t stop ‘til he got to the Mill and the stout hobbits there, for Sandyman the Miller would not yet have set out for the Ivy Bush; he and his son and helpers would likely be sitting down to supper.

As it was, Sam was in luck, for the Shirriff was talking with a Quick Post messenger at the corner. Robin Smallburrow, wasn’t it, Sam? Robin sent the runner off at a flash to Bag End to fetch me, and he ran himself to the Ivy Bush to fetch old Rory, Merry’s grandfather, who was due to leave with Merry for Buckland on the morrow. In the meantime, Samwise and the millworkers were running back to the well with lanterns and ropes, but when they got there...

I don’t think I’ve ever moved so fast in my life. I left young Tod well behind me as we pelted down the Hill. ‘Twasn’t hard to find the well; a ring of torches surrounded it, but for all the ropes and rescuers I saw nothing to hearten me, just sober faces and whisperings.

Old Rory was on his belly, nightcap forgotten on his head (he’d wanted to make an early start in the morning), shouting down into the well. ‘Take the rope, Merry! Take it, I say!’

 ‘Too far gone,’ the Shirriff muttered.

 ‘We’ll have to send someone down after him,’ Ted Sandyman said, but of course he wasn’t offering. Most of the hobbits there were too fat to fit, as it were, and none of them could swim.

 ‘I’ll go,’ I said at once, doffing my coat and shirt. Samwise quickly made a loop in one of the ropes.

 ‘Put your foot there, Mr. Frodo, and we’ll lower you down,’ he said. Eminently practical, our Samwise! Another mug for Samwise, here!

They lowered me down, and you were far gone, Merry, your face barely above the water, your legs still kicking feebly, though you didn’t answer or seem to see me.

To make a long story short (none of that, Pippin!), I got a rope around him and they hauled Merry out of there and carried him to Widow Tunnelly’s house, where they stripped off his sopping clothes and wrapped him in the blankets she’d set by the fire to warm as soon as she’d gathered what had happened.

They were debating whether to send a messenger to fetch Merry’s parents who were halfway to Buckland by then. They’d be easy to find, for they always stayed at the same inn. But Old Rory looked grave, and said he didn’t want to disturb them with such distressing news, at least until we knew which way things were going to turn.

I must admit, Merry looked more dead than alive, cold and pale as the grave and not even shivering.

The Widow patted my arm. 'Sing to him,' she said. 'Call him back to light and life with a cheery tune!'

The only tune I could think of was a silly one Merry had made up to amuse his uncle Paladin.

Old Farmer Paladin
Went to let the ponies in.
The old grey gelding tickled him
With the silv'ry whiskers on his chin!

...but Merry gave no sign of hearing, and there were murmurings and shakings of heads and I saw tears upon old Rory's wrinkled cheeks as he pleaded with his grandson to waken.

 ‘D’you have any strong drink here?’ the Shirriff asked Widow Tunnelly, and she allowed as she didn’t.

I was all set to run back up to Bag End to fetch some—strange how panic addles the wits; the Ivy Bush would have been much closer. I didn’t have to, however, for old Rory Brandybuck was clutching a bottle in his hand, though no one, not even himself, had noticed up to that point.

 ‘What’s that?’ Widow Tunnelly asked, pointing.

Rory gave a start. ‘Wine,’ he said, ‘Old Winyards, part of what Bilbo left me. I was just about to open it, to toast the old hobbit’s memory, when...’

 ‘Is it strong?’ the Widow said.

 ‘It is!’ Rory said. ‘Strong and red, good for the blood!’ He looked down rather ruefully at the bottle. ‘But I rather doubt this is drinkable,’ he said. ‘Got quite shaken up along the way.’ 

 ‘It’ll do in a pinch,’ the Widow said briskly, taking the bottle from him and opening it right then. She poured out half a glass and I began to coax it into Merry while other hobbits chafed his hands and feet, and she poured another glass for Rory (“as he was the one who brought it in the first place”) and another for herself, to settle her nerves, she said.

Ah, but it was a grand thing when Merry began to shiver! I think my heart began to beat again. I’m not sure, but it certainly seemed to be in my throat from the time young Tod came shouting to Bag End until Merry pulled his hand from the chafers to take the glass and whispered, ‘Any more where that came from?’

There was, as a matter of fact... enough for a full glass for Merry, and another for Old Rory, and as I recall they gave me a glass as well, though I put it down only half-drunk up and I’ve no idea what happened to it.

The good Widow wanted to bundle him into one of her spare beds then and there, but Merry would have none of it. He had his mind fixed on Bag End, and once that stubborn cousin of mine fixes his mind... drink up, Merry! And don’t interrupt your elders when they’re in the middle of talking!

In any event, someone ran to the Ivy Bush to fetch a spare set of Merry’s clothes. We’d just got him clad when the healer arrived and had him remove his shirt, waistcoat, and coat once more, that she might be able to listen to his breathing. In the meantime, quite a party was breaking out. Rory drained the last of the bottle of Old Winyards from his glass and voted Bilbo “a capital fellow!”.

The proprietor of the Ivy Bush had fetched along several more bottles along with Merry’s clothes, “just in case”, and now these were being opened and distributed to alleviate the shock and worry of the rest of the hobbits who’d gathered to attempt the rescue, though as I said before, none of them knew how to swim, and they, most of them, were all too fat to fit in the well, and they hadn’t thought of letting down a tween, such as Samwise, into that awful hole. They’d been more likely to witness a drowning than anything else, and were quite prostrated at the realisation.

Old Widow Tunnelly began stirring up some cakes, saying ‘twas “an ill wind that didn’t blow nobody any good” and she hadn’t had so much diversion since her youngest had married, and someone brought out a fiddle, and they pushed the furniture to the walls and began clapping and dancing, and...

No, that was one party where Merry did not live up to his name. We put him on a borrowed pony and walked him slowly up the Hill, Old Rory, Samwise, the Gaffer and I, and tucked him up with blankets and hot water bottles and hot drinks and all sorts of comforts, and then Old Rory walked back down the Hill with the Gaffer to the Ivy Bush.

And he still had got his nightcap on his head!

***

A/N: Merry's rescue from the well in Minas Tirith is described in "All's Well That Ends Well". The full story that Frodo is relating here, in support of Merry, is found in "Birthday Present". After Merry (and Frodo) finished the storytelling, it is likely that the events detailed in "Frogs" took place. All three stories may be found on SoA.

For the reviewers who took the time to review the chapter, I "saved" the reviews here. Thanks again for taking the time to comment!

Hai Took	Reviewed Chapter: 4 on 7/24/2004
Dear me! I like how you switched voices here with Frodo telling the story! I guess Merry wouldn't be much in a state for it now would he? At least he is out of the well! I like how this alludes to one of your other stories about this not being the first time Merry has been pulled from a well! I think I will have to go back and read that one as well! Thank you!
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Dreamflower	Reviewed Chapter: 4 on 7/23/2004
Aha! I loved the shift to Frodo's POV, and the mention of Beregond did the trick--this is after "All's Well" isn't it? How sneaky! (in a good way) I love that Frodo saw immediately that he needed to go down to fetch Merry because none of the other hobbits seemed to be thinking straight, and were too fat and couldn't swim, to boot. Yes, I can see how a party would break out when all ended well (no pun intended.)
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FantasyFan	Reviewed Chapter: 4 on 7/22/2004
I just figured out that this is your story, so I'm reading all the chapters now. Sorry! The switch in point of view from Merry to Frodo in this chapter surprised me a little, and it took me a minute or two to figure it out. I think part of that was because the style changes a little too, at the same time. This chapter is much more conversational as well as being in first person, and it seems like Pippin is there too, listening in? Will he have a chapter later, or is he too young for the events of this story? Of course, it makes sense that Merry can't relate this part, as I am sure he doesn't remember it clearly. I'm sure glad Frodo was there, for though he talks about panicking, he does everything right and Merry is saved. Somehow that impression of Frodo rings very true - I don't think he'd be the type to panic much at all, though I can see Sam or Merry panicking very easily. Pippin probably wouldn't, I think, but for a different reason than Frodo's level-headedness. I think Pippin acts without concious thought so much, he operates on gut instinct and doesn't have time to panic (until maybe later). What do you think? Author Reply: I think you're right about Pippin; I perceive him much the same, acting on instinct or so quickly he himself would have a hard time recreating the thought process that led to the action. I'm still not sure I'll keep the chapter; my editor (checking in briefly from vacation) tells me it's "background" and that I'm lazy not to try to work it out to keep the whole piece in Merry's voice. Sometimes the "easiest" way is not the best. At the moment, though, none of the writing is going easily. Probably a good thing that the computer's going in the shop as soon as we finish backing up our files...
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Connie	Reviewed Chapter: 4 on 7/22/2004
Thank goodness you got him out of there quickly. Nice tie-in to your story of Merry falling down the well in Minas Tirith. The night cap was a nice humorous touch. Thanks. Connie. Author Reply: You're welcome and thanks for commenting!