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A New Reckoning  by Dreamflower

CHAPTER 10

Bergil was excited. Targon had given permission for him to go home with the pheriannath. Amid a flurry of instructions to mind his manners, be respectful, behave himself usefully, eat well, dress warmly, and not be a nuisance, Targon and the others had bid him a fond farewell. He felt a little funny, now riding away and leaving them. The four men of the Third Company he had known all his short life; they were like uncles to him. And he had come to know the Rohirrim who rode with them very well over the last few months, also. But he was with his friends Pippin and Merry, and their families for now, and Legolas and Gimli were coming along, too. The Elf and the Dwarf had joined them when they had stopped at Imladris, and he had grown quite fond of them, as well.

He had to admit to himself to being just a little nervous that he would be spending the night away from them all, but Master Brandybuck seemed to be very nice; he was sure that any uncle of Pippin would take good care of him.

He felt a bit odd now, trotting alongside the--hobbits--he had to remember to call them that here in their own land. They were all grown folk, so much older and wiser than he--he cast a reverent eye on Frodo, the Ringbearer--yet they were all smaller. It just felt very strange.

The only thing he wished was that his father could have come. But the Prince was trying hard to get things settled in Ithilien; and as captain of his Guard, Beregond could not be spared. But Prince Faramir remembered how fond of Bergil Pippin had been, and had asked his father if it would be all right if he went. Prince Faramir would do anything for Pippin who had saved his life. The King had also thought it would be a fine idea.

Still, if Targon had not been leading the group that went, Beregond might very well have said ‘no’--but Targon was his best friend, and he knew he would take very good care of his son.

When Bergil finally got home, he would have much to tell his father.

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Esmeralda was in a flurry of preparation. Saradoc had sent a messenger to her as soon as he realized that he would be bringing guests back to the Hall. He had explained in his note that one was an Elf--of all things--and so very tall, another was a Dwarf--no problem there. Those two would actually be spending the night at Crickhollow. The third guest would be staying with them. A Man-child, only eleven years old, yet taller than their tallest adult hobbits. Poor little lad, so far away from home and family. Men were so strange!

Her niece Pearl was helping out. They were trying to figure out the seating arrangements in the main dining hall. “Aunt Esme, for the Elf, I think the best thing would be to just put down a cushion, and let him sit upon the floor. Remember how Gandalf usually sat on the floor when he would visit?”

“Yes, dear, I think you are probably right about that. And we can use a small step stool for the child to sit on; the Dwarf will be no problem, he’ll be not much taller than Merry and Pippin are now.”

“What about sleeping arrangements for the child?”

“We’ll arrange a comfortable pallet for him in one of the guest rooms. I don’t think he’d even fit into Merry’s new bed.”

With that decided, the two went to the kitchens to check on the food preparation.

_______________________________________________________

“Legolas!”

“Yes, Gimli?”

“I am no expert on horses, but I’ve bounced along on the back end of this one for months now, and even I can tell he’s not happy!”

Legolas laughed and leaned forward to whisper in Arod’s ear. The fiery steed settled down.

“That’s better,” said Gimli. “What did you tell him?”

“I told him to mind his manners; the ponies cannot help their shorter legs.”

Frodo was riding near enough to overhear the exchange, and gave a chuckle.

“I beg your pardon, Frodo,” said Legolas, “for Arod’s impatience.”

“Not at all, Legolas. I was just remembering how patient all you larger folk were of us on our trek through the wilderness. You must have felt very frustrated sometimes.”

“I do not recall being so frustrated over your pace--though this may not have been true for Aragorn or Boromir--however, I do recall being driven to distraction, having never before encountered a race that could *talk* so much. Especially Pippin.”

“Oi! I like that!” said the Knight of Gondor.

Merry grinned. “I seem to recall Strider and Boromir having a discussion once about people who could walk half as far on twice as much food!”

This was greeted with laughter, and then Gimli said “We must have frustrated the four of you no end by our refusal to have more than three meals a day.”

Pippin shook his head ruefully. “I thought all of you were trying to starve us to death! I could not understand how beings so very large could get by on so little food.”

There was general laughter at this. Soon it seemed, every other sentence was beginning with the words “Do you remember?”

Bergil listened with wide eyes as his heroes discussed their journey. Did the great warrior Boromir, son of the Steward, really get stuck in a bramble bush and have to be gotten out by Sir Peregrin? Did the *King* really put a lizard in Mithrandir’s hat?

Saradoc also listened attentively, amused by their anecdotes, yet all too aware of the hesitations and sudden silences over the things they did *not* say. Not for the early time of their reunion was the discussion of battle, horror and death.

Yet there was an easy understanding here, and he marveled. It had been all too obvious from the time his son and his companions returned, that their experiences had given four already close friends an even tighter bond, but he saw now that these two beings of other races were clearly included in that bond. And as he continued to listen, he came to realize that Gandalf and the King were also included ; he heard too, the note of wistfulness and sorrow at the mention of the dead warrior Boromir. This, then, was what Merry had meant when he spoke of the Fellowship, with a look of longing in his eyes. There was a sense of kinship in this relationship that had nothing to do with blood. He did not really understand it, but he thought he could almost envy it.

They were finally approaching the lane that led down to Crickhollow, and Merry rode up alongside his father.

“Da, we’re all going to stop off here, to unload packs and gear. Then we’ll all ride on down to the Hall for dinner. But Pip and I were wondering if you could lock our boxes up in the strongroom for now?”

“Certainly, son. That’s only reasonable. I’ll ride on ahead, and let your mother know that you are on the way.”

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