CHAPTER 14

In his guest room at Brandy Hall, Paladin lay awake. Meeting these people from his son’s life was disturbing; the matter of the money was disturbing; and most disturbing of all was what Pearl had told him after dinner.

There was the lad, Bergil. Only eleven years old, and his father had allowed him to journey hundreds of miles away from his home, not even travelling with kin. Dark hair, solemn grey eyes, very serious and polite. Paladin had realized with a start halfway through the evening that the child reminded him of nothing so much as Frodo at that age. He had caught Esmeralda’s eye, and she had nodded. So his sister saw the similarity, too.

And the Elf. Paladin had never before met one, and he had not realized how disconcerting it would be to look into ancient eyes in a youthful face. They were at once both merry and grave, and filled with memory. And Pippin had introduced him as the son of the King of Mirkwood, a somewhat intimidating fact. The Elf had bowed and acknowledged the introduction with formal grace in a mellow and musical voice. Paladin could not help but notice that Pearl, and even Esmeralda, tended to blush whenever they looked at Legolas. He could not decide whether to be amused or annoyed at this, but it was perfectly understandable. There was no denying that Legolas was an exotic and handsome creature.

Then there was the Dwarf. He had met a few Dwarves before, but only briefly, and during the course of business.

But Pippin had brought this one forward and said, “Father, this is Gimli son of Gloín, who saved my life. If he had not found me, I would never have left the battlefield at all, alive or dead.”

“Ah, now, laddie,” the Dwarf patted Pippin on the arm, and then bowed. “Gimli son of Gloín, at your service, Thain Paladin. Your son was our companion in the Fellowship. He would have done as much or more for me had our situations been reversed.”

More than the grave look on his son’s face, or the unshed tears that stood in the Dwarf’s eyes, it was the stricken look on his nephew’s face that convinced Paladin of how dire it really must have been. For Merry stood behind Pippin, and for an instant looked as if he might swoon. He noticed that the Elf moved a step closer to Merry, and put a supporting hand upon his shoulder.

He bowed. “Paladin Took at *your* service, now and always, Gimli son of Gloín. I thank you for the life of my son.” And now *he* was having to blink away tears.

But as he stood there looking at the four of them standing there he suddenly realized that in some inexplicable way, these two strangers were closer to his son and his nephew than he would ever be from now on.

During the meal, the mood lightened as Merry and Pippin regaled their guests with tales of their childhood misdeeds. Paladin watched in amusement as Bergil’s eyes grew wider and rounder, torn between amazement, admiration and disbelief. But when Merry brought up the story of how Frodo, when he was seventeen, had tried to climb up a chimney on a dare, and gotten himself stuck, Bergil could not stand it, and burst out “Oh, now! Not truly!” For he could not imagine the brave, wise, solemn Ringbearer doing any such thing.

Frodo laughed. “Yes, truly, Bergil! I was stuck up there for what seemed like hours--”

“It was only about half an hour, dear,” put in Esmeralda.

“--and when Cousin Seredic and Uncle Dinodas finally managed to haul me out, I think I lost half the skin on my upper arms, and my clothing was in shreds. It is funny now, but it certainly was not funny then.”

This led to more such stories, with even the Elf contributing a story of a prank that he had helped the King to pull when he was just a lad growing up in Rivendell. Paladin found his credulity strained a bit at this, for Legolas would have been an adult for many long ages--why would he get a child into such mischief?

And then the meal had ended, and after a bit more of such conversation, Saradoc went to see the guests out, and Esmeralda went to see Bergil to his bed.

This had been Pearl’s first chance to talk to her father alone, and she took it, telling him first of that dreadful day on the fifteenth of Rethe, and how they had found Merry and Pippin.

“Father, it was dreadful. Pippin was sick himself from lack of sleep; he had horrible nightmares. I heard him crying out when he finally did sleep. But Merry was in such dire shape, I’ve never seen anything like it. Pippin told us that Merry must *never* be alone on that day--it could be the death of him yet. Frodo suffers so, also, though the Elf-Queen has given him something that helps--have you seen that jewel he wears on his neck?”

Paladin nodded. He had never seen Frodo without it since his return.

“And then today, I heard Bergil tell about Pippin’s battle with the troll--” she went on to relay the story as the child had told it. “Do you understand why it frightens me so?”

The implications of the story were not lost on Paladin, and he said so. She seemed relieved that he took it as seriously as she did.

Now he was awake in the dark, thinking about those implications, and wondering what he was going to say to his son, and when he would get the chance to say it. For in the morning, they had to ride up to the Bridge to meet with the rest of the official delegation, and hear the King’s response to the letter they had sent to him.

And he still had to decide what to do about all that money.

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