A NEW RECKONING

CHAPTER 1: ECHOES OF A BAD TIME 

The Master of Buckland and his nephew Berilac were spending a fine morning in early spring inspecting the Ferry landing.

Berilac who was in a small boat, checking the pilings, called out “They look just fine, Uncle Saradoc! I don’t think they even need tarring!”

“That’s good,” he answered. “The decking is not in bad shape either, just three planks to be replaced. The uprights holding up the lanterns need some reinforcement as well.”

Another annual job done, and Berilac’s help appreciated, but Saradoc could not but help wishing it was his son, rather than his nephew, out here with him this fine morning. He shook his head at his own impatience--Merry’s return to the Shire, alive and in one piece was miracle enough. And it had been only a little over a week ago that he had feared he might lose his son yet. The thought of that day made him feel a bit weak in the knees, and he sat down on a handy barrel and took out his pipe, while he waited for Berilac to put away the boat and join him. It had been a frightening thing…

__________________________________________________

It had been a Mersday, the fifteenth of Rethe. They’d not seen Merry for almost a week. He’d told his parents that his cousin Pippin, who shared the house at Crickhollow with him, was having nightmares again. As this was exactly the reason the cousins had moved in together, Saradoc and Esmeralda had been understanding.

However, on Hensday, Pippin’s oldest sister Pearl had arrived at Brandy Hall for a visit. When she heard the news, she insisted on going to Crickhollow the very next day to check on her brother, and spurred by her concern Merry’s parents went with her.

When the three arrived, late in the morning between elevenses and luncheon, they noticed the curtains still drawn, and no smoke issuing from the kitchen chimney. A brisk knock on the door brought no response after several minutes. Saradoc knocked again to no response.

Filled with sudden dread, he remembered that dark day nearly a year and a half ago when he had opened the wages ledger in his study to find the note that told him his only child was gone into deadly danger. He fumbled in his pockets for the spare key Merry had given him. But Pearl was impatient, and began rapping constantly on the door.

Just then they heard Pippin’s voice, high pitched and querulous. “Whoever it is, just *go away*!”

Saradoc had found the key. “Pippin! We are coming in!” He reached the key toward the keyhole, when the door was yanked open.

Pippin stood there, rumpled and disheveled, his face drawn and grey, his green eyes dull and shadowed. “Look, we are going to manage just fine!” They stared at him in shock. “What?” he snapped.

Suddenly fearful, Saradoc asked “Peregrin--where’s Merry?”

Pippin breathed out, deflated and defeated. “Merry--Merry is not well today.”

Esmeralda pushed past her nephew and headed for her son’s room. Pippin quickly caught her up, and took her arm. “Look, Aunt Esme, he doesn’t want you to see him this way.” He was swaying with exhaustion.

But he was too late. They had arrived at the open door to his cousin’s room.

Merry lay in the bed, his face as pale as the sheet except for his cheeks, which were flushed with fever; his right arm lay outside the covers atop the towel-wrapped hot bricks Pippin had placed there. The room was filled with the scent of athelas. Esmerelda rushed over to him, placing one hand on his forehead, and the other on his exposed arm. She gasped.

“He’s burning up with fever, but his arm is as cold as ice.” She looked at Pippin entreatingly.

Merry began to fret and murmur. “Where is the king?” he whispered. “Where is Éowyn?”

Pippin pushed his way to Merry’s side and bent over him, taking the icy hand in both of his and rubbing gently. “It’s all right, cousin. I’m here.”

He swayed again, and sat down abruptly on the bed, but without letting go of his cousin’s hand.

“Peregrin,” said Saradoc sternly and firmly, “what is wrong with him?”

“Lord Elrond and Strider said this might happen. They called it an ‘echo of the Black Breath’. You see, he was exposed to it twice before he ever helped to slay the Witch King at Pellenor. In Bree. And on Weathertop.  And the battle was one year ago today. If he can get through the day, he ought to be just fine again. Until next year. We were hoping they were wrong--they weren’t entirely sure about it--we thought we could handle it on our own.”

He bent his head over Merry’s cold hand, and wept.

Pearl bent down beside him. “Pippin, you’re exhausted.”

“Haven’t slept myself in a week. Nightmares.” His own echoes of a bad time: the palantír, the siege, Denethor’s pyre, Merry‘s near brush with death--

It had been a long and frightening day. Pippin could not be persuaded to leave Merry’s side, but Pearl finally talked him into laying down next to his cousin, and eventually both of them fell into a restless sleep. From Merry’s anguished murmurs and Pippin’s occasional outcry, the three watchers pieced together more than they wanted to know about what their loved ones had been through. By nightfall, their slumber had quieted.

As Pippin had said, by morning Merry was better. He was more than a little chagrined when he awakened to realize that his family had been there, but he was feeling a great deal better. His arm was no longer cold, though it remained stiff and numb for most of the day. He got up and took breakfast with his parents and Pearl, leaving Pippin to sleep on until luncheon.

True to his nature, Merry had only one thing on his mind once Pippin had awakened and taken a light meal. “You know what this means. If *I* was going through this, then it must have been a lot worse for Frodo.”

Pippin nodded. “Probably. But Sam would be there for him.”

Merry pursed his lips. “More than likely. But Sam’s had a lot going on lately, with it being spring, trying to restore the Shire. And Frodo’s pretty good at hiding trouble. I’ll feel easier in my mind once we get to Hobbiton and check on him. We’ve got to start returning his things to Bag End anyway.”

Saradoc was not happy with this idea--not after what his son had just come through, but Merry could not be dissuaded. He would go check on Frodo as soon as possible.

The two of them had taken a cart-load of things with them, followed by hired carters with two laden waggons. They had returned a few days later, but they would not answer Saradoc’s and Esmeralda’s questions except to say that Frodo was “all right, *now*”. Yesterday they had left once more, with another cart-load of Frodo’s possessions, and were probably more than halfway there by now.

_______________________________________________________